Marshall Ramsey

When I moved here, I had a non-county specific weather radio. If a cow farted in Port Gibson, it would go off — and my blood pressure would go up with it.

I’m not a big fan of tornadoes. I don’t chase them. I run from them.

Which is why living here makes no sense whatsoever for a funnel-cloud coward like me. I know the Great Plains gets more press, but we have as many tornadoes here in Mississippi as anywhere in the U.S. (Per square mile). And we don’t have wide-open spaces to see them coming. They’re like your crazy uncle: They just show up, rumble through the house like a freight train and leave a huge mess behind. And they can show up anytime of year. Sure, spring is the big tornado season. But as we found out last night, they can pop in during the late fall, too. Add to the joy, most of us don’t have basements or storms shelters. We just have a big ol’ target on our backs.

Lucky us.

I used to worry when a tornado would show up in another county. Now I turn on the TV, see that it is only one block away — but headed the other direction — and go back to sleep. I think Katrina made me a little more fatalistic. Anyway, my family has a weather radio, a plan and will execute that plan at a moments notice. Otherwise, I sleep. I’m too tired to worry.

Mississippi will do that. I’ve never lived anywhere were a tornado watch meant, “Pucker up big boy, it’s coming your way.” That’s usually reserved for a WARNING! Why? Because it just isn’t a tornado. It’s the really mind-blowing super-cell thunderstorm that will vomit hail that makes your car look like it had acne or tear up your roof and brings lightning that flickers like a haunted house strobe light. Also your trees try to do the limbo. That’s not natural.

Our weather is the stuff that made Jim Cantore famous. After 20 years of dodging it, I want one of those tornado tanks like Reed Timmer drives.

Severe weather is part of who we are. It shapes us. It defines us. Like I said in my book Chainsaws and Casseroles, before you can crawl out of the wreckage, there will be a church van in your yard full of people with chainsaws and casseroles. When disaster strikes, we pull together. I know, a quaint concept, right?

Hope you got through last night’s storms OK. I’ve read a few problems on my Facebook feed and on the news. One of my friend’s oven caught fire due to a lightning strike! (YIKES!) I know I was thankful for the 1.43 inches of rain we received. My Yazoo Clay was thankful.

But the moral of this story:

The sun came up. We made it through another storm. Which took me moving to Twister Land to  understand why that is such a metaphor for our lives.

Today, something will happen that has not happened in a long, long time. A mysterious mind-controlling liquid will fall from the sky. This liquid will make people forget how to drive. It will cause cars to bump into each other. Small children, who have not seen it in their lifetimes, will cry. Chaos will break out. Salty raindrops will fall down your cheeks, only to be washed away.

A few tips when the liquid falls.

1. Use your dry-rotted umbrella. This will keep you from becoming wet. But if you do happen to get wet, you are not made of sugar. You won’t melt.

2. If driving, look for the switch that turns on your windshield wipers. I know you’ve forgotten where they are — plan ahead and test all the buttons out on your dashboard. (The horn is in the middle of the steering wheel).

3. When driving when the liquid falls, turn on your car’s headlights. I know this is difficult — but it isn’t so you can see. It is so the other cars can see you. I hope you are listening Mr. “I drive a gray car and like to pretend I have a cloaking device when it rains.”

4. Slow the #$% down. The roads, with months of built up oil on them, will be slicker than owl feces. I know you’ve been itching to try out your airbags, but don’t do it today.

5. Stay calm. I know — wet stuff falling from the sky is scary, and different. But take a deep breath. With an ounce of calm we will all make it through this rain apocalypse.

Godspeed. May you survive this calamity.

At mile 10.5 of my run this morning, I turned the corner and headed toward the house. I smelled natural gas. “It’s not our house,” I thought, “I’m about nine houses away.” I turned another corner and heard a waterfall. But it wasn’t a waterfall.
I checked my phone. A message from my son read, “Come home now. We have a gas leak.”

The last .6 miles was the fastest of my run.

The dry soil had pulled the gas line from the gas meter. The house, and maybe my neighbor’s, stood a very good chance of blowing up and burning down.

I called the gas company. A nice lady from another state asked me several questions. I urgently told her, “I don’t need to fill out a survey, I need you guys to get out here and turn off my gas.” My neighbors would hate me if I blew their house up.

When you smell gas, you leave. Immediately. You don’t use your phone or turn on a light. Any spark and kaboom! My wife, kids and dog were safely out. Good. The gas continued to hiss its evil hiss.

I called 911. “You might want to get the fire department out here. I have a bad feeling they may be needed soon.”

A few minutes later, the parade arrived. The police, a fire truck and a couple of smaller trucks. The firefighters turned off the gas. Soon afterwards, the gas company showed up (he had been on a call in Jackson and made record time — he had also called the fire department). Within 20 minutes, he and his partner had masterfully fixed the gas line and we began to air out the house.

I tell you this because I am thankful and lucky. We had thought about being out of town today. We weren’t — so we were here to catch it as soon as it broke. Amy was lighting a candle but stopped when she heard the break — that could have led to a kaboom. I have a great neighbor Paul who called the gas company, too (my wife had also). He also alerted my other neighbors. The firefighters got here fast. The gas company’s technician did a great job getting everything fixed.

I’m thankful we still have a house and that my neighbors still have windows. My middle son said, “well, it would have been the ultimate Thanksgiving lesson — that we’re ok even though we lost everything.” My wife and I looked at him and shook our heads.

Because of the professionalism of the fire department and the gas company (and a lack of a spark) it turned out to be no big deal. But it sure would have been an inefficient way to cook the turkey.

Thanksgiving is the one holiday that should be celebrated more than one day a year. In fact, I’d say it should be celebrated 365 days of year. Now I’d suggest it would be nice to have Christmas 365 days a year, too — but that would get expensive fast. And there’d be a lot of stress. The only upside would be that you could keep your decorations up all year round. Stores do that pretty much half the year now anyway.

No, I want Thanksgiving on days that end with Y.

I’ve always been a fan of Thanksgiving. I have great memories of my great uncles piling food on their plates like they had never eaten before. I remember going to my grandparents house and watching the Macy’s Day parade as the smell of Turkey wafted through the room. Driving down a gravel driveway reminds me of the excitement I felt when I would get to see the four people who I knew loved my sisters and me unconditionally. My grandparents were truly great. I will miss them as I always do on Thanksgiving.

The story behind Thanksgiving has always appealed to me. Indians and Pilgrims breaking bread in the spirit of being thankful that they were still on this side of the grass. If they could sit down at the table together, we can stomach our drunk uncle who parrots political talking points he has heard on cable news. Well, maybe there are some limits to being thankful.

What am I grateful for?

This Godawful year. I know, that doesn’t really make a lot of sense but hear me out. All the crap that 2016 has thrown at me as made me realize a lot of truth — about myself and about some people who are close to me. I’ve been able to adjust course and get out of some ruts. I’ve been able to see myself for who I am and need to be. I’d like to think I’m better for it — but I know I have some more work to do. Discomfort is the way to growth. I should be 10 feet tall this year.

So how will I celebrate this year?

I’ll love my family (of course). I’ll eat too damn much. I’ll watch the Macy’s parade and football. But I’m also doing something new. I’m making a list of what and who I am thankful for. And I won’t just do it one day a year. I’ll make it a daily exercise. Like a turkey on Black Friday, I’m just thankful I’m still here. The rest is dressing and gravy.

To mark my 20th year of being a cartoonist in Mississippi, I thought I’d dig out 20 tales from the past two decades. Some are funny. Some are serious. All tell the story of how I came to fall in love with this sometimes frustrating but always fascinating state we live in.

Here are 20 questions I get frequently asked:

1. Do you worry about coming up with an idea?

Do you worry about brushing your teeth? I know I will come up with an idea. It may take a while. It may not be the best I’ve ever done. But I will come up with something. I did on 9/11. I did during Katrina. Mississippi gives me lots of ideas.

2. Where do you get your ideas?

I have a crack staff of writers who work in the State Capitol. Seriously, I am a veracious reader and try to make two and two equal five. My cartoon idea is usually laying at the end of the driveway on the front page. I just have to find it.

3. What’s your favorite cartoon?

That’s like asking which is my favorite child. But I do particularly like the eagle head after 9/11 and Bert Case and Kirk Fordice.

4. Who is your favorite politician to draw?

I liked Fordice, Frank Melton, Ronnie Musgrove, Haley Barbour and now Phil Bryant. I particularly like drawing people who complain about it. If you complain, I make the caricature worse.

5. Does hate mail and comments bother you?

Nah. I dish it out. I had better be able to take it.

6. How long does it take to draw a cartoon?

Depends on the artwork. Less time now that it used to — because I have less time to draw them. But I am a fast drawer (as you can probably tell by looking at my work.)

7. What’s your favorite town in Mississippi?

I have several. The only town left I want to go to is Hurley. That’s my wife’s maiden name.

8. Why did you move to Mississippi from San Diego?

San Diego is paradise for weather. Mississippi is paradise for an editorial cartoonist.

9. What do you draw with?

Micro pens and calligraphy pens on Bristol Board. I do some stuff digitally and do color everything digitally.

10. Who is your favorite Mississippi sports team?

I’m Switzerland. My normal operation is to pull for all Mississippi teams (I like happy neighbors). If a Mississippi team is playing Tennessee, I pull for Tennessee (they gave me money in the form of a scholarship). During the Egg Bowl, I pull for the underdog (who usually wins).

11. How long will you continue to draw cartoons?

As long as I am able.

12. Who is your favorite cartoonist?

Charlie Daniel (Knoxville News Sentinel). He and his wife Patsy are dear friends, mentors and like second parents. I love Peanuts and Calvin and Hobbes. I liked Far Side. I consumed Mad Magazine. I have several cartoonist friends who I really admire personally and professionally.

13. What do you enjoy doing most? Cartoons, radio, TV, speaking, writing….

They are all different. Speaking is fun because you get a reaction with you show your work. I’m probably a better speaker than anything else I do.

14. Why are you still here?

To disappoint people who don’t like me. And because I’ve chosen to be here.

15. Are your kids artistic?

Not that I know of. But all three are wickedly creative, musical and talented. It’s not about me. I want them to soar with their own gifts.

16. What’s your favorite thing about Mississippi?

The people. Followed closely by the food.

17. What’s your least favorite thing?

The summer heat and humidity.

18. Do you accept ideas?

No. Ninety percent of a cartoon is the idea. I don’t even like looking at other’s cartoons (in fear that the idea will seep into my head.) And besides, if I am going to get yelled at, I’d prefer it be my idea.

19. What would you do if you could be anything other than a cartoonist?

I’m already a half-dozen other things. But if I could do math, I’d be a meteorologist.

20. What’s the best job you ever had?

I love this job. But I’d honestly have to say being a high school janitor. I learned how badly I really wanted to be a cartoonist back then.

I’ve watched Paul Lacoste’s faith grow stronger as his body became broken. Surgery after surgery for an infection brought on by the effects of West Nile took their toll. Then, as the battle for the infection started turning the tide, cancer was discovered. He’ll continue his medical journey tomorrow. He has heard the three words we all dread. But he has another three words that will pull him through: “Powerfully deep faith.”

This morning, he addressed all of us who have worked out with him. He was humbled and I’d imagine a little scared. But he stood up in front of us and was honest. Even when most people would have wanted to quit, he has kept going. That’s the inspiration that you learn when you do his program. He’s not all talk. That’s what the next level is all about.

He’s had things happened to him that would have broken most of us. I’ve joked that Job would look at him and go, “Daaaammn.” But he plows through. He loves his wife. His sons. His family and his friends. And he loves God.

I’ve watched Paul go through a deep, powerful transformation. And in the process, he has brought several people along with him. I’m proud he is a friend. I’m proud that he has transformed my life and made me physically strong. And I feel sorry for cancer for picking on the wrong guy. It’s about to get its butt kicked and kicked hard.

A while back, I had a commenter say that my worldview would enslave children. I ignored it because it was BS. But I figured I’d share my worldview with you just so you know that I am not a secret child enslaver.

1. I believe in hard work. Hard work doesn’t cure everything but does make things better than say sitting on the couch 24/7 watching Real Housewives of Omaha or Tulsa.

2. I don’t believe in painting groups of people with a broad brush. Stereotyping is lazy. I prefer to dislike people on a one-on-one basis. You never know who has an amazing story to tell. Why hate and miss it.

3. I believe we still live in the greatest country in the world — even if it does have a lot of warts.

4. I believe in dreams, chasing them tenaciously and not giving them up easily.

5. I don’t believe government is the solution to everything but I want the government we have to work. I hate paying taxes and seeing dysfunction. I don’t think the village should be burned to save it.

6. I believe in education and its amazing powers. Knowledge is power. But you have to apply knowledge for it to be powerful.

7. I don’t believe in whiners — especially politicians who make themselves out to be victims. Or try to convince you that you are. I also don’t trust people who are on the radio and TV who try to make me afraid.

8. I believe in free will — but once was a Presbyterian so I believe I was predestined to believe in free will.

9. I believe in God and am a Christian. But I also am a pray in the closet kind of guy and feel like that my faith is better enacted than spoken. I’m a sinner but am working on it.

10. I believe in the power of family — but sometimes know that family can be a bit dysfunctional.

11. I believe in a good steak, a good glass of wine and having friends with you when you are enjoying a good steak and a good glass of wine. I have a lot more steak than wine.

12. I believe in moderation — except when it comes to bread. I love bread. It’s a weakness.

13. I believe that struggles are how you learn and grow.

14. I believe that angels come in weird clothing. Some of the worst people in my life have helped me grow the most.

15. I believe there is evil in this world and that you must stand up to it. Bullies, too.

16. I believe in a good nap, a good sunrise and a good run.

17. I believe in being grateful and paying blessings forward.

18. I believe I married a very good person who is a very good mom to our very good kids.

19. I believe a good dog can cure a lot of things that trouble you.

20. I believe that the world needs more empathy. And that its hard to have some days.

That’s a partial list. I don’t really fit into a neat category or label. But I will say this, I believe in the best in most people until they prove me wrong. That happens a lot — but I’d rather err on the benefit of the doubt.

M