Marshall Ramsey

The convoy kicked up a cloud of dust into the sapphire blue Afghanistan sky. Sergeant Jimmy “Killer” O’Reily grumbled. He knew the Taliban could see them for miles. As he leaned on the Humvee’s .50 caliber machine gun, he scanned the hills.

They were a sitting duck and he knew it.

And he knew it from experience. This was his fourth tour overseas. One to Iraq (that was a bucket of chuckles) and three to Afghanistan. The moon was a more hospitable place than Afghanistan. And there weren’t little green men trying to kill you every turn along the road. His luck was running out.

An A-10 Warhog roared overhead. Basically a plane built around a Gatling Gun, the A-10 was a Marine’s best friend. When it came time for close air support, it was Killer’s weapon of the choice. The sound of its gun firing made a “BRRRAPPPPPT!” sound — and it sounded like the song of angels. Or at least the song that sends people to see the angels.

Death. Killer tried not to think about dying. But he had seen too many friends go home in body bags. There really was nothing more heavy than a corpse.

He wiped his forehead with a glove.

And then everything went black.

Killer found himself sitting on a worn, wooden dock. He looked around at the green trees in the distance. This wasn’t Afghanistan. No, there was too much water. And too much foliage. It looked like…. like….. well, it looked like the Tennessee River. But it couldn’t be. And besides, the water wasn’t murky brown. It was crystal clear. He saw bass and bream swimming by the dock. The dock seemed familiar.

Killer recognized it immediately. It was the dock at his grandparent’s cabin.

“There you are little Jimmy. I’ve been lookin’ for you. Need any help baitin’ that hook?” Killer recognized the soft Southern drawl. It was a voice who had comforted him when his parents had died so long ago.

“Grandpa?”

“Of course. Who else would it be?”

Something must have happened. One minute he was in Afghanistan and the next…

The old man sat down on the dock next to him. “Been waitin’ here for you. I love fishin’ with my little Jimmy.”

Jimmy felt tears well in his eyes. “Grandpa, why am I here?”

“Because you aren’t there.” It sounded like something the old man would say. “But you can be. You have a choice. You can stay here and fish with me. Or you can go back.”

“Back?”

The old man waved his arms and the clear water turned into what looked like a video screen. There, in front of Killer, was a burned-out hulk of the Humvee and a crater where the roadside bomb had gone off. A Medivac Blackhawk helicopter landed and loaded his body on board. Killer saw the dust leap off the water.

“I wouldn’t blame you if you stayed. It will be a rough road for you.” He waved his hand again. Killer could see him going through multiple surgeries. “You’re not going to come out of this whole.”

Killer saw himself in rehab. He saw the struggle. He could tell he was in pain.

“You have a choice.”

“A choice? Why should I go back?” Killer felt fear creep into his soul.

The old man waved his hand again and Killer saw himself at the Children’s Hospital, playing with kids who also had lost their legs. He saw himself running a marathon. He felt the inspiration as he spoke before other veterans at the local VA. He saw himself in Congress. He saw his first child being born.

“You have a choice. You can live. But you’re going to have to truly live — and pay your blessing forward. But no whining. No pity parties. You have served your country. Now you must go serve your fellow man.”

Killer looked at the water and said, “God doesn’t give you anything you can’t handle.”

The old man ceased to look like his grandfather and started glowing.

“No son, I don’t.”

Right now, our brothers and sisters up North are laughing at us (just like we laugh at them when they melt when it gets over 75 degrees). They think it is downright hilarious that we can’t drive in snow. Well, for the record, we can drive in snow. What we can’t do is drive on several inches of ice. And I don’t think our Northern friends can either. Add to the misery is that the only plow we have is connected to a mule. We believe that salt goes in margaritas and not on roads. We don’t live in the frozen tundra (Boston) so we don’t have the experience of driving on white death. I mean, c’mon, it was 80 degrees here yesterday. Add to it, I can make a solid case that we can’t even drive when it is sunny. (don’t even mention rain — there will be 100 car pile-up on the Waterworks Curve.)

So here are a few tips for coping with driving on today’s sleet and ice.

1. Get the Flu. Staying home is your best option.
2. Act like you have the Flu. Even better. That way you won’t have the flu.
3.Get your teaching degree. You stand a better chance of staying home when there is ice. Administrators try to avoid buses full of children from plunging off of icy bridges.
4. When you get to a bridge, slam on the brakes. Seriously, don’t do that. But I seems like most of you do. Ease off the gas and coast across the bridge instead.
5. Black Ice is not an illegal drug made in a RV by a guy name Walter White. If the road looks wet and the temperature is below 32, it’s safe to say the road is icy.
7. Elevated surfaces freeze first. That includes bridges, overpasses, culverts and politicians’ egos.
8. Scrape your windshield — unless you like driving blind. Apparently some of you do.
9. Pray. Because it seems like most of the cars around you have decided to let Jesus take the wheel.
10. Wait and let others do the wrecking for you. If you can telecommute, great. If not, let the trailblazers get out there and play demolition derby for you.

Bonus: Have a buddy with a 4×4 truck and a chain on speed dial.

Godspeed folks. And remember. When in doubt, slam on your brakes. Life is too short. Make it shorter.

Welcome to special IceFreakout 2015 Coverage, I’m Cordon Bleu.

And I’m Melanie Marsha Maggie Megan.

Tonight’s top story is the psychotic weather. We now go to our Chief Top Grand PooBah Meteorologist, Storm Front who is in our Weather Lab — which is three feet away from me.

Thanks Cordon. Tonight’s weather conditions are sponsored by Lithium. Well, it’s colder than Elsa’s armpit out there tonight, folks. This after a high today of 84 degrees. Yep, if you don’t like Mississippi weather, wait around for the next commercial break.”

Storm chuckles at his own joke and continues.

” We’ve turned on our high-powered Mississippi Electric Super Duty Doppler Microwave 3-D Radar Range Radar and you can see the frozen precip headed down I-55. I’ll be back with the five-day forecast after some news and lots of commercials. The forecast is sponsored by bread and milk. Break and Milk, just add eggs and you have French Toast.

Cordon speaks. “We’re going to skip the usual murder and mayhem to go straight to our reporter in the field, Ima Freezin.”

A young reporter shivers while standing in the middle of the interstate.

“Cordon, the windchill is dropping faster than my core body temperature. In fact, I can’t feel my face. My lips are blue. My cameraman’s eye is stuck to his camera. If you’ll notice, the weather is now causing a huge backup on I-55.”

Cars honk and you hear drivers shout obscenities. A 1996 Malibu slams into the back of the parked live truck, which is parked in the center lane of the Waterworks Curve.

Melanie Marsha Maggie Megan comes on after the screen goes blank. “We seem to have lost the signal. Right now, we have the following school closing updates.

“Clinton, Rankin, Madison and Jackson Public Schools might be closed. Maybe. They’d tell you but they’d have to kill you. Parents are advised to panic now.”

“And we have this just in from Governor Phil Bryant. State employees are to report to work at 10 a.m., unless he cancels work all together at 9:59 a.m. Stay tuned and get ready to be stuck in your car.”

Cordon interrupts Melanie Marsha Maggie Megan, “We have Ima Freezin back.”

“I’m OK, Cordon. Apparently, parking the live truck in the middle of the Waterworks Curve was not a good idea. I can now report that I-55 will be closed for the next 12 hours.”

“OK, Ima, thanks for that MDOT Traffic Cam update. Now back to Storm Front in the Weather Lab that is three feet away from me.”

“There is ice in my sweet tea. And there is a chance it will get on the overpasses and trees. This update is brought to you by Lipton Iced Tea.”

Melanie Marsha Maggie Megan speaks, “Thanks Storm. Now for sports. Here is the Captain of our sports team, Right-Field Ronnie.”

“Big news on the home front. There will be a luge race tonight on the Stack and there will be professional shopping cart races in the milk and bread aisles in Kroger. Otherwise, there are no other sports. Everything was cancelled.”

Cordon, “Thanks Right Field, Mother Nature has been arrested on the 500 block of Northside Drive. JPD has charged her with assault and battery. She was led to the patrol car screaming, ‘IT’S FREEZING TODAY. IT WILL BE 70 BY THE WEEKEND!!!!!”

Melanie Marsha Maggie Megan, “One last word on the weather, with Storm Front.”

“We’re all going to die.”

“Thank you and that concludes our special coverage of IceFreakout 2015.”

The sound goes down as the anchors idly chit chat.

Editor’s Note: None of my hardworking TV friends were harmed in the making of this blog. 

From the fourth floor of the Mississippi State Capitol to my drawing board, it’s four blocks. Today at noon, I carried on a continuous conversation with nine different people for the entire four blocks.

People ask me what makes Mississippi unique. I tell them its the relationships.

On any given weekday, you might only see two people in downtown Jackson. But chances are you’ll know at least one of them. It might be from school. From the soccer or baseball fields. Or church. You might have helped them at a fundraiser. You might be neighbors. Or you might know their sister, who was the roommate of your first girlfriend out of college.

I’ve never lived in a place where relationships are as important as they are here. We don’t have six degrees of separation here. We have two. And if you know someone’s mama, it’s one. Mississippi is truly a big small town. Sometimes that’s good. Sometimes that’s bad. But one thing is for sure:

It’s who you know.

I tell people it’s the most important marketing information people need to know to do business here: If people don’t know you, they’ll ignore you. I’ve seen business people and politicians both fail miserably because they ignored this simple rule. (of course, sometimes they know you and think you’re a complete jerk — but I digress)

For nearly 20 years, I’ve enjoyed watching this state. I find the people colorful, unique and for the most part, good. I’ve enjoyed living here, too. And today, while walking down Capitol Street talking to friends, I was reminded why.

Last night my middle son asked, “Can I watch The Shawshank Redemption?”

“Um, sure,” I said.

Yeah, it’s rated R, but I have the movie memorized and knew when to tell him to close his eyes.

So we watched it. I’ve probably seen it well over a dozen times (enough times that I can finally spell “Andy Dufresne”). And I could see it that many more times. At one point, I wondered if Andy was doing Chris Epps’ books. But I digress.

My son is particularly good at chess, so I mentioned Andy’s strategy. How he never gave up hope. How he was playing chess while the warden was playing checkers. Yes, it was unfair Andy was in jail. And when he was attacked. That the young convict he was helping (and could have proved his innocence) was murdered. But Andy didn’t quit, whine or fall into the fetal position of self pity. He had a plan and saw the whole board. He looked for small victories and continued to have hope.

(Spoiler Alert in case you are one of the three people who haven’t seen it). The movie’s payoff is one of the best I’ve ever seen. Andy’s crawling through a 1/4 mile of sewage is such a powerful metaphor for what he experienced in his life. But at the end, when he rose with his arms in the air — well, that was indeed sweet victory.

He got the warden in checkmate and walked away a free man.

As the credits rolled, my son looked at me and said, “Get busy living or get busy dying.”

I patted him on the back and said, “And hope is a good thing, maybe the best of thing, and no good thing ever dies.”

My family watched the movie Whiplash this weekend. It was shot in 19 days with a $3 million budget (In Hollywood terms, that is almost a home movie.) It didn’t make a gazillion dollars at the box office. In fact, I didn’t even know it existed until the Oscars. But as I sat on my couch Friday night, I was shocked at how much it moved me. Partly because of its amazing acting and gripping story. But mostly because it reminded me of a very important life lesson about success.

Veteran character actor JK Simmons plays Fletcher, a hard-driving, abusive music teacher (Simmons won the Academy Award for Best Supporting Actor for the role and deserved every ounce of it). Fletcher pushed Miles Teller’s character Andrew to become an incredible jazz drummer — but not without blood, pain and tears.

No doubt, Fletcher was a jerk. He was foul-mouthed and verbally abusive. And if my kid bumped up against a coach or teacher like him, we’d have words. But I also know sometimes it takes a jerk to make you great.

Fletcher tells Andrew the story about how saxophone legend Charlie Parker became great. One night, when Parker messed up on stage, Jo Jones threw a cymbal at his head. Parker walked off in shame. And then he went home and practiced to make sure that never happened again. Fletcher then said, if Jones had said, “Good job,” the world would have been deprived of the greatness of Charlie Parker. Charlie Parker became a legend. And Andrew did that, too, by fighting for his dream.

While I don’t necessarily agree with Fletcher’s teaching methods, I do agree how Andrew reacted to him.

I’ve had bosses and coaches who wanted me to quit. I’ve had teachers who looked me in the eye and said I could do better. I’ve suffered public failures. I’ve been embarrassed and humiliated. I’ve had a few cymbals thrown at my head.

And I thank God for all of it.

Because when I’ve suffered my worst defeats, I’ve been motivated to overcome them. Maybe it was because of wounded pride. Maybe it was just self-preservation. Like Andrew, I got busy and wanted to prove the world wrong. That’s when personal growth happened.

My sons and I talked about Fletcher, Andrew and the lessons of the movie. I told them they’d encounter their own versions of Fletchers in life. When they do, I hope they stiffen their spine and fight for their dreams. Because life doesn’t give participation trophies. And greatness is achieved by those willing to fight for it.

Whiplash was a great reminder that heat and pressure turns coal into diamonds.

Everyday, I drive the same route to work. And everyday, I pass a little patch of land. It’s a garden, maybe a quarter acre in size. Right now, it lies empty with only old stalks on top of weeds. It’s brown and dead. But soon, I know the farmer will plow the land, plant seeds and begin to grow vegetables. It will erupt into a green explosion of life. I’ve seen it happen year after year. I’ll see him out there early each morning with a hoe in hand, weeding. He’ll spray to kill insects. And he’ll water when it’s dry. The farmer will practice patience and planning — and will be rewarded. In the late summer, he’ll harvest an amazing crop — just like he has for the past 17 seasons.

Down the road there’s another patch of land that lies fallow. It is full of twisted weeds and is full of brush. It has the potential to be as productive as the other garden. But it’s not. It just sits there, producing nothing.

We’re all given our own little plot of land called life. Some are granted richer soil. Some have a space that is full of rocks. I’ve seen people with rich soil produce nothing but weeds. And I’ve seen people with rocky soil grow amazing crops.

It’s about what we do with what we’re given.

I thought about that when I passed the garden the morning. What am I going to grow this season? How will I use this gift I’ve been given?