Marshall Ramsey

Photo by Tate Nations

Was talking to a couple of friends last night. The companies they work for have cut back many times in the past few years and several of their coworkers have been laid off. Now, numbers are soft and it looks like their jobs are at risk yet again. They’re tired — and I really don’t blame them. I can only imagine how they feel. But what amazed me was how they were reacting to the storm on the horizon. One is locked in fear. The other is building an ark.

My friend who is locked in fear is depressed. He loves what he is doing and is hanging onto it for dear life. I understand that feeling. I love what I do and don’t want to give it up, either. But he’s really almost in the fetal position. Fear has gripped him. He doesn’t know what he’ll do next. He complains. He worries. He’s mad at his company. I’m sure he’s a real treat once he gets home, too. I worry about him if he does get laid off.

My other friend is busting his butt trying new things. He’s making new contacts and experimenting everyday. Even as we were talking, he was doing some consulting work. “I’m going to throw as much against the wall and see what sticks,” he said with a smile. I asked him what he thought about his company. “They have to do what they have to do and I have to do what I have to do — and that’s protect my family the best I can. I’m grateful for the job I have and will make the most of it for as long as I can.” Obviously, I’m not that worried about him if he gets cut. He’s leaning into the storm. He’s building an awesome ark.

Who my friends are and who they work for doesn’t really matter because they could be any of us. We live in a crazy and turbulent world with all kinds of unexpected surprises. My conversations with them happened to be a good reminder for me. You are your own brand. So keep your chin up. Do your best work. Make each day count.

I want to be like my second friend. I don’t want to ever be locked in fear. Because happiness isn’t a destination. It’s a journey.

Careers are born in funny places. Mine just happened to breathe its first breath in a concrete room tucked into a steep hill overlooking the Tennessee River. Like a seed buried deep underground, my editorial cartoons sprang to life there. It was Room 5 of the Communications Building at the University of Tennessee. It’s where UT’s daily student newspaper, The Daily Beacon, calls home.

In the fall of of 1986 and Rusty Gray, my Greve Hall resident assistant at the time, suggested I try out for the Beacon. (Rusty is now Russell W. Gray, managing shareholder in the Chattanooga office and is on Baker Donelson’s Board of Directors.) With his encouragement, I walked through the doors for the first time with a cartoon in my hand. My work started to appear in the spring of 1987.

My life was changed forever.

I tell my sons that you get your education from many places in college other than a classroom. Working for a daily student newspaper shaped me like a potter shapes a chunk of clay. It was a daily opportunity for me to learn the skills I still use today. And as my son and I walked back through that door last Friday, I thought about how my experiences 27 years ago are still relevant in my life.

1. I learned to create under pressure. For three years, I drew five cartoons a week and never missed a paper. (I was the Cal Ripken of college editorial cartoonists.) I also never missed a deadline. People ask me how I can be creative on command. It’s like running. Run in 7th-grade P.E. and you nearly barf a lung. Train for a marathon and you perform miracles. The Daily Beacon was my first marathon.

2. I learned to work with all kinds of editors. I had 13 editors in my time as a Beacon cartoonist. Thirteen. After that experience, I learned a very real-world lesson of working with very different personalities. One of my editors, John Jackson Miller, is now a Star Wars author. Another, Nathan Rowell, is an attorney. All 13 were very different. All 13 made me better at my craft.

3. I was surrounded by positive influences. The non-student staff at The Daily Beacon had one thing in common, they wanted me to succeed. Eric, who is still a friend, was a talented artist who saw potential in my work. Debbie, taught me how to truly find appreciate life. Jane, who was the head of Student Publication, fought for my editorial independence. Karen and Lynn in advertising offered friendship and advice. Betty was like another mom. When I sat and talked with Eric, Lynn and Karen on Friday, I felt like I was visiting family.

4. I got my first platform. My work was seen by thousands of UT students everyday. That led to awards and other opportunities.

5. I was able to experiment. My work evolved from 1987 to 1991 because I was able to try to techniques and styles. I could never have developed it in a one-semester class. It took hundreds of drawings for me to become what I am today.

6. I learned failure isn’t failure. In 1988, I had a comic strip called “Big Orange Crew.” It wasn’t bad. But it wasn’t good. My editor Andy Logan didn’t particularly care for it so he made me a deal, “Quit the strip and you can draw editorial cartoons daily.” That was an offer I couldn’t refuse. The worst moments lead to the best!

7. I had experiences I never would have had otherwise. I was able be in the room with the President of the United States. I met Alex Haley and Howard Baker. It opened doors for me I never would have ever seen.

8. I met my mentor and friend Charlie Daniel. No, Charlie doesn’t play fiddle. He’s the long-time Knoxville editorial cartoonist who continues to give me valuable career and life advice to this day.

9. I made amazing friends. James Raxter and Kendall Kaylor were in my wedding. I still keep up with so many talented people I worked with.

10. I became a storyteller and developed my brand. I see the students today at The Daily Beacon and I know they will be facing an industry that changes nearly daily. But they’re developing skills that will take them forward no matter the platform. The invaluable opportunity of doing what you love daily is one of the greatest teachers out there. I still use what I learned every single day.

Newspapers are facing financial pressures. And sadly, The Daily Beacon isn’t immune to those pressures. But I hope the laboratory tucked into the hill continues to exist. I hope University of Tennessee students continue to have the opportunity to experiment, fail, learn and succeed. And after meeting Rachel, the new director, I know it will.

Room 5 is a magical place. And it was good to revisit the room where my career was born.

Six months into being a custodian, my mood was particularly foul. My life wasn’t “fair” and I didn’t see any hope for my future. I didn’t “see” the path ahead of me. As far as I knew, I would be cleaning classrooms for the rest of my life. My attitude was as nasty as the toilets on the 400 hall.

I had lost my vision. And my dream was in peril.

I remember that day like it was yesterday. It was the Friday before I heard the sermon on the Parable of the Talents. I had an epiphany and realized I was burying my talent. The next Monday I walked into the school with a smile on my face and began drawing everything I could draw.

I love to tell that story when I speak. It was a prime example of how a “worst” moment turned into a best. Things began to happen quickly. My co-worker Maggie set me up with her daughter. And I ended up having the four best moments because of it — seeing her blue eyes look at me as she walked down the aisle and seeing my three boys (with those same blue eyes being born.) I had to go work at Pope High School. And I now look back on that year as one of the best of my life. I still keep up with many of the teachers from that year. It was a special place full of special people.

Yesterday, I felt like I had lost my vision once again. Granted, I am not a custodian now — but I had that same moment of doubt. My dad is not well. My mom doesn’t feel well either. My career is stronger than ever, but I just felt like I had hit some kind of wall and lost control. Fatigue was whispering lies in my ear. Worry crept into my head. I just wanted to give up.

This morning, at 3:54, my alarm went off. The covers were warm. I was exhausted. The bed was inviting. Even Pip didn’t stir. I opened one blurry eye and looked at the clock. 3:55. I so wanted to roll back over.

But I didn’t. My feet swung around and hit the cold, wood floor. I went and did my morning workout. I was lifted up by my friends. My coaches inspired me. I pushed forward into my day. The worry that had crippled me yesterday faded. Fatigue backed away from my ear. Its lies stopped. Hope began to return.

In 1992, I used my talent to change my life. As I worked out this morning, I realized that it was time to dust off my old strategy. You will see that here. More drawings. More writing. More fun.

My family will see it, too. I will love more and worry less. I will be a better dad and husband.

Yes, the future worries me. But that doesn’t have to be my future. I have the power to make a better one for my family.

And the time is now.

“I realized my cancer was bigger than me and that I couldn’t control the outcome. So I put it in the Lord’s hands. And at that moment, I felt a peace like I’d never felt before. And I’ve felt that peace ever since.”

You can sense that peace when you’re around Jim Wiley, a Vietnam veteran and cancer survivor. He personifies calm.

Jim discovered that peace when he was about to undergo surgery for Stage IV cancer. It was in the 1980’s – normally a diagnosis like Jim’s was a “go home and get your affairs in order” moment. But not for Jim – life had bigger plans for him.

He has shared that peace to so many other Vietnam veterans. And with the help of Jill Connor Brown and the Sweet Potato Queens, he helped get the welcome-home parade they so richly deserved.

Jim’s quiet faith helped him help others.

A little known fact: I am a doubting Thomas. Seriously. I’ve had doubts about my career, doubts about my health and more doubts about a whole list of things. I am a Jedi-Master of worry. And most of it is stuff I have absolutely no control over.

Doubt is nothing more than fear’s straitjacket.

Yesterday, I took a brief pause and looked at my last two weeks. I have been able to do some amazing things. I’ve emceed a Tedx Talk. I’ve spent hours on the floor at Mistletoe meeting new people and sharing the gift of Banjo’s spirit. I’ve shared a great football game with good friends. I’ve met with students from all across Mississippi. I’ve have had amazing people say amazing things about me. I have watched my sons excel at sports and school. I’ve seen my wife succeed at her job. I have been wrapped in blessings. I’ve truly lived a wonderful life.

And yet I worry.

No more. I am turning my worry over like Jim Wiley did. I am letting go of my fears and anxieties. I’m going to enjoy every moment.

This morning, we listened to Christmas music as we were getting ready for work and school. And for the first time in a long time, I felt joy. I felt peace. I felt worry dissolve away.

Jim Wiley shared his peace with me. And for that, I am thankful.

I thought is was cool that we had a local celebrity living around the corner from us. Amy and I had just moved into our new house and the celebrity was WLBT anchor Sherri Hilton. She and her husband Ken soon moved into a new, much nicer home in a swankier neighborhood (not because I moved in) but I got to know Sherri personally and professionally. I always admired her smile and laugh. Life’s too short not to have a great smile and a hearty laugh.

And yes, life is too short. I found out yesterday from a friend that Sherri had suddenly passed away. She was a very young 55.

Sherri was ahead of the curve when it came to reinvention (something so many of us in the media are experiencing these days). She left television and became a successful business owner, a leader in the community and then transitioned again over to working in state government. I always enjoyed seeing her when she came into my Supertalk show with Treasurer Lynn Fitch. Sherri lit up the studio.

When I began my own transition, Sherri gave me good advice and encouraged me. When I saw her this summer at the Neshoba County Fair, I saw her smile from across Founder’s Square. That smile is gone now and the world seems a little less bright without it. And I have to admit, her sudden death has rattled me. Fifty five is young. Very young. Her loss is another cruel reminder that life is indeed short and there are no guarantees.

My prayers go out to everyone who knew and loved Sherri. And to Ken. I can’t imagine the pain he feels right now.

Carpe diem, folks. This is all we got.

The last few years, I’ve gone from working the “8-hour day with a long lunch” model to more of a retail one. It has changed how I approach my workflow and structure my day. If I’m not hustling, my family is not eating.

Today, I’ll be at Mistletoe Marketplace, one of my favorite events of the year. I’m joining my friend Rachel Betts Ravenstein in the Interior Spaces booth and selling my books and prints. This year is no different. I’ve been out there talking to customers and selling books and prints. It has been an education — almost as good as the Marketing degree I earned so many years ago.

Here are ten things I’ve learned from retail.

1. You hustle. And then you hustle some more.
2. If you take a break, you miss a sale.
3. It’s all about engagement. You have to find out what the customer needs and serve that need.
4. Talking to the customer is your greatest source of marketing information.
5. You can’t fall in love with your product. If it doesn’t sell, find something that does.
6. ABN: Always Be Nice. A smile, eye contact and a friendly hello go a long way in a crazy world.
7. You have to create an experience for customers. They can buy somewhere else — and probably for cheaper.
8. Wear comfortable shoes. Concrete is not your friend.
9. There is no guaranteed check at the end of the day. You have to go out and hunt to bring home your supper.
10. It’s a great way to meet new friends.

My mission is to create a great experience for all my customers and the allow them to take a little piece of that experience home with them. It can be a Banjo book, a set of notecards, picture or even just a smile.

I want to say thank you to Rachel, her staff and the Junior League of Jackson. Mistletoe Marketplace is run so well and is amazing experience. I’m very proud to be part of it. And I’m thankful for how it has made me appreciate everyone who sells for a living.

Photo by Tate Nations.

I’m still trying to wrap my brain around it.

There have been 10,000 Tedx Talks all across the globe. They’ve been held 49 states and even Antarctica and Mount Everest. But never in Mississippi — until yesterday. And I emceed it.

I’m still trying to wrap my brain around it.

I shared a stage with Kermit the Frog. I heard speakers talk about creativity, new technology breakthroughs, medical innovation, mentoring, infrastructure and policy changes. They were big ideas presented on a grass stage. It was truly fertile ground.

I’m still trying to wrap my brain around it.

I saw a diverse audience of people who had one thing in common: They truly care about this amazing, yet challenging state we live in. Ideas were like seeds blown into the wind. You could see connections being made. I know I made several new friends.

I’m still trying to wrap my brain around it.

I got home last night and was physically wiped out. It was 10 hours of thinking on my feet and reacting to technical difficulties as they arose. I had no script — just a few bios and talking points. I made it up on the fly. And I had the time of my life.

I’m still trying to wrap my brain around it.

I emceed a Ted Talk. As a speaker, it was on my bucket list. I experienced one of the finest days professionally of my life. I am so amazingly grateful to the organizers, speakers and audience yesterday for being so kind to me. I got to be a small part of a huge day for Mississippi. I hugged my kids last night and felt so amazingly blessed.

Yes, I’m still trying to wrap my brain around it.

I like Halloween. I love Christmas. But I cherish Thanksgiving.

And it’s not just because of the food (oh the glorious food!). Thanksgiving is the one holiday we should celebrate everyday (just not the food part, though. I already struggle enough with my weight.)

Being thankful is a gift in its own right. I changes how you see the world and like bacon, it makes everything better. Even if you are going through Hell, if you can find something that’s a blessing to focus on, it makes the trip easier to stomach. I think about Victor Frankl’s classic book Man’s Search of Meaning. He wrote about how some could survive in the concentration camps by finding something small to believe in. And others would fall ill immediately because they lost hope.

I’m not a Pollyanna and I know Frankl wasn’t either. But the bottom line is this: Accept your reality. Find the good in it to buoy yourself during the storm. Then try to fix what you can.

I know. It’s hard. Trust me, I know. I don’t come by naturally. I’m generally a “glass-half-empty” kind of guy. I live in a negative world.

So I make the effort to be thankful. And I have so much to be thankful for. I married a wonderful woman. We have three great kids. I am employed. I get to use my talent. I come from a solid family. I’ve worked with some amazing people. I survived cancer.

You get my point. I could fill this page with blessings.

I do that when things really suck. I have a book I fill with lists. And it really seems to work. I honed this skill when I was freaking out after being diagnosed with cancer. I became a Jedi Master when my career started spinning out of control.

So I declare today Thanksgiving (without the Turkey) Day. And tomorrow. And the next day.

(Maybe I will slip in a piece of pumpkin pie.)

The first morning rays of Halloween haunted their way through the bedroom’s curtains like happy ghosts. Stanley Ryan opened one eye and then another. There was nothing spooky about this morning: He felt great. In fact, he woke up feeling better than he had in years. He knees didn’t hurt. Even his scar on his back didn’t burn. He looked over to tell his wife of 30 years, Ann. But Ann wasn’t there.

“She wouldn’t listen anyway.” Stanley grumbled to himself. He and Ann were married in name only. He couldn’t even remember the last time she allowed him to even give her a hug.

But no matter. Even Ann couldn’t ruin how good he felt today. He stretched and walked down the hall. There he saw their cat Diablo.

“Hey you little devil” Stanley said to the black cat. But Diablo just arched his back and hissed at him.

“What the Hell?” Stanley grumbled as headed to the kitchen. No stupid cat or grumpy wife would ruin how amazing he felt. He hadn’t felt this alive in years.

He entered the kitchen and noticed something strange on the kitchen counter — an empty bottle of pills. He looked at the bottle. Painkillers. And not good painkillers. The kind of painkillers he was deathly allergic, too.

“Did you do it?”

Stanley heard a voice at the front door. It was Ann’s doctor, Frank Carbuckle.

“Just like you said.”

It was Ann’s voice. Stanley rushed into the living room to see Ann embracing her doctor.

“Did you call 911?”

“Yes. They should be here soon.”

Stanley saw Ann kiss Frank.

“I’ve waited for this moment for years…”

“SONOFA…”
But Stanley’s voice was muted. Almost like he was screaming underwater. Neither Frank or Ann seemed to hear him.

Fear shot through his body. He ran back to his bedroom and looked at his bed. There, lying prone on the top of the covers was his body. The cold truth hit him.

He was dead.

And Ann had killed him.

That night, at Frank’s house, Ann and Frank sat at the dinner table in robes.

“I loved the way you cried and screamed when the police came. You should win an Academy Award, dear.” Frank raised his glass. “Here’s to us and our new lives together.”

Ann got an evil smile on her face. After 30 years of living with a loser, she now could be with an accomplished man. A man who knew how to take care of her. A man who listened. “It’s just too bad Stanley had to commit “suicide,” like that.”

Both laughed.

Ann got up and gestured toward the bedroom. Her robe opened slightly, in an inviting way.

“I’m going to go freshen up and take a bath. Meet me in the bathroom in fifteen minutes.”

Frank felt his face flush with anticipation. How that loser Stanley could not appreciate a woman like Ann was beyond him. Idiot. Oh well, his loss. Literally.

Ann walked into the doctor’s huge master bathroom. She turned the water on as hot as she could stand and watched as the tub filled to the top. She untied her robe, allowed it to slip to the floor and climbed into the hot water. Steam rose as she felt her old, miserable life wash away.

Then she felt something cold come into the room. The chill gripped her and took the heat out of the bathwater. And then she felt a bitter cold on her shoulders.

Suddenly her head was thrust under the water. She tried to scream and gasp for air at the same time. Her arms flailed but whatever was holding her was just too strong.

And then it released.

She looked up, gasping for breath and swore she saw mist. Then as the mist solidified into shape, she tried to scream…

It was Stanley.

He stared at her and transformed into a fiery demon.

“YOU WILL PAY!!!!” his demonic voice screamed as he grabbed Ann’s head and shoved it under the water one last time.

Epilogue:

The anchor tried to look serious as 10 p.m. news. Halloween night was always full of strange stories. He cleared his throat as the teleprompter began to roll.

In local news, the widow of a local man was found dead this evening in the home of a local doctor. Frank Carbuckle, an OB-GYN, was charged with first degree murder of the Ann Ryan. Ryan’s husband Stanley was found earlier today after committing suicide. Police said they received an anonymous tip about the murder. Carbuckle was led from his Bel Air home in handcuffs and is being held without bail.