Marshall Ramsey

“Welcome back, this is the Marshall Ramsey show.” It started as an average day on my afternoon radio show. It soon became one that I’ll never forget — for the bad and the good.

Four years ago today, violent tornadoes tore across the Southeastern U.S.. Now we’re used to tornadoes. But these were different. They were the Great Plains wedge-type long-track EF-4 and EF-5 monster beasts. While I was on the air, storms began to pop like kernels of corn in the microwave. People were dying in real time. And all I could was watch and try to give what warning I could.

As I walked out of the studio at 6 p.m., an EF-4 monster tore through Tuscaloosa, Alabama. It looked like the Devil himself was making a house call. The destruction across Mississippi, Alabama, Georgia and Tennessee looked like a bomb had gone off. The tornadoes left behind broken pines and broken lives.

Of course, that’s when “chainsaws and casseroles” kicked in. You know, that moment when you are pulling yourself out of the rubble and a church van pulls up with volunteers holding chainsaws and casseroles. Because when things get bad, we get good. To see the response in Smithville, for example, still warms my cynical heart. Four years ago today, so many lives changed in an instant. Four years ago, so many responded for the good.

Because that’s what we do. Oh, we have plenty of practice. But it’s comforting to know that when you have to pick of the pieces, you’ll have help.

That’s who we are. That’s what makes up special.

And we were reminded of that four years ago today.

I keep a car 200,000 miles. Sure, there have been random repairs, but for the most part, they run problem free. The secret? Maintenance. You have to maintain your vehicle. You can’t skimp on regular servicing. Because saving a buck today will cost you a small fortune tomorrow.

Of course, we’re quick to maintain our cars but then let our bodies go to seed. We eat crap, sit on our duff and wonder why when we hit 100,000 miles, we start falling apart. We end up eating a bowl full of pills and feeling miserable. And then we act surprised when it happens.

Watching my parents struggle with their health was my epiphany. I have their genes so now, at my age, I know it is time to act. The years are starting to move really, really quickly now and I know if I want to be healthy at 75, I need to invest in my health now. And of course as an added bonus, I’ll feel better today.

I exercise six days a week. I try to eat well and reduce stress. I do the little things that add up over the years.

As we watch our medical system change (daily), we all need to focus on preventive medicine. If an apple a day keeps the doctor (and the bill) away, I’ll buy a bushel. Gone are the days are being to run to the doctor for every sniffle. It’s just too darn expensive.

As I type this, my car is getting its oil changed. It’s at 115,000 miles and running well. My body also has about that many miles on it, too. My goal is to keep both for many years to come.

“Go turn on the water,” my dad instructed. Seven-year-old me ran up the hill, turned the knob and he hosed off the car (I am not sure why he didn’t buy a sprayer, but I digress). We did that same routine so many Saturdays in a row.

Dad was the Master Car Washer. I was his apprentice.

By the time I was 13, I had my own car-cleaning business. A clean car meant a happy Marshall. Then as an adult, I kept the same routine up — every Saturday, I’d scrub both of our cars.

Life got busy and my routine was disrupted. By the time our first child was born, Amy didn’t want me out there washing the cars on Saturday. She wanted me to help with the baby. The life got busy. And busier. And then insane. And the cars got dirtier. Every once in a while, I’d even cheat and run through the car wash. The car was clean. But I felt dirty.

Today my youngest and I washed the cars. I watched as he sprayed me, the car, the house and anything else that did and didn’t move. I called up dad to tell him. I hung up and smiled.

Like Darth Vader once said, “Once I was the apprentice, now I am the master.

Today’s a very busy day and I thought about praying for a miracle to get through it. But then I realized I got one already. In fact, I got several. I traveled through the air at over 400 mph to a funeral and back yesterday. I arrived safely. I woke up today and was able to hug my boys this morning. Miracles happen every single day. Sometimes they aren’t what we’re looking for necessarily. But they’re there. And they are no less amazing. 

Nearly 10 years ago, Katrina crushed the Mississippi Gulf Coast. And it wasn’t just the wind that smashed us. The storm sent in a massive storm surge, drowning the coast for nearly a mile inland. The wall of water was 30 feet in places. It was our own tsunami and it was deadly. When the water came in, it looked harmless enough. Wave after wave washed onto the shore. But unlike normal, the waves never went out. Water piled up. Soon, life changed forever.

Life’s like that sometimes, too. Bad thing after bad thing happens and your seawalls, like family, savings, etc., start to break apart. Soon you are left to tread water.

At that point, it is tempting to become a martyr. Being a martyr is more addictive than cocaine or sugar. You get the emotional rush of people saying, “poor you.” I’ve seen it in politics (recently). I’ve seen in the workplace. People who lose an election or lose their jobs fall into the trap of thinking, “Poor little me.” And then they become a victim.

But being a victim gives the person who screwed you over the power. Do you really want that? And at the end of the day, are you better off? No. You aren’t one step closer to solving your problem. So you lost the election. Learn from it and win the next one. So you lost your job. Get busy and find another one. So life handed you crappy hand of cards. Play them the best you can.

How do I know all this? I’ve been a martyr before. And it did me no good. None. Not until I refocused myself did I begin to succeed. People like to see you succeed. They know your story. They know things are tough. What they want to see is you overcome your woes.

They want to see how much fight you have in you. They want to see how well you swim when the life’s water comes in.

A few thoughts on a busy Wednesday.

1. Somewhere someone is more passionate than you.
2. Somewhere someone is outworking you.
3. Somewhere someone wants it more than you.
4. Somewhere someone cares more than you.
5. Somewhere someone needs you.
6. Somewhere someone will be inspired by you.
7. Somewhere someone has faith in you.
8. Somewhere someone is pulling for you.
9. Somewhere someone is in pain.
10. Somewhere someone will be comforted by you.

I got sucked into a Netflix documentary about how Vikings made their amazing swords. They had forging technology that was waaay ahead of their time and had swords that made them powerful warriors. I watched as a man recreated how the Vikings forged their swords. I was mesmerized at the how the pounding, the heat and the pressure turned crude iron into nearly indestructible steel.

It’s easy to apply that metaphor to human development. Learn about the training Navy SEALS go through and you’ll see forging at its finest. But I wonder why some people crumble under the pressure and heat and others emerge like a Viking sword. What is it that makes the difference?

For me, I try to look for the good and take things one step at a time. I believe that the worst moments are the seeds for the best. That’s a philosophy that keeps me moving when I know I should stop. It gets me through the tough times. I also train hard in the morning because I believe that a good physical beat-down prepares me for the day. But you have to have a goal first. You can’t take a beating just for a beating’s sake.

So to answer my own question, I think what makes the difference is having a purpose bigger than yourself. You have to have a reason for living. That’s what gets you through the heat and the pressure of your forging. It’s the what turns your iron into steel.

Enjoyed an intriguing interview with cardiologist and nephrologist Dr. Olurotimi Badero on my radio show this morning. Dr. Badero, a native from Nigeria, was named the top student in Nigeria. He has studied at NYU, Emory and Yale. He is an accomplished oil painter, too. But he told me something his father told him that really stuck with me. He’d bring home 98’s from school and his dad said, “Don’t go by the standards of your school. They may not be good enough. You need to create your own higher standards.”

Wow.

Create your own higher standards. Don’t just play by the rules. Make better rules. And the strive to top them.

Obviously he has. I caught my reflection in the studio glass and I thought, “What about my own standards? What can I do better.”

Thank you Dr. Badero for being on the show today. Thank you for your medical service to Mississippi. And thank you for giving me a little bit in our interview that made me be a better than I am today.

I’ll post a link to the interview as soon as it is online.

I am pretty sure Uncle Bill told me my first dirty joke. I know he made me laugh. And I know he loves my aunt. Bill is my dad’s sister’s second husband. I never knew her first. Don’t need to. Bill has been perfect for her and therefore, perfect for me.

He is tough guy. I think this story illustrates his toughness as well as any. In his later years, he suffered many health setbacks. About 15 years ago or so, he had to use a cane to get around. One day he was emptying the coin machine at his carwash in the Knoxville area. Two men saw an easy mark and cornered him in the little closet in the car wash.

That was the worst mistake of their lives.

Soon both men were on the floor with drill holes in their chests and faces. Bill had grabbed a power drill and dropped them. Later on, we found out they were escaped prisoners from Florida. One was a murderer. Bill walked over their bodies and they went back to prison.

That was Bill. He doesn’t take grief off anyone.

Bill also shows me how to love someone. He adores my aunt. And as he became chair bound, she took care of him. They personified “for better or worse.” I don’t know how she did it sometimes. My aunt is as tough as Bill. And as loving.

As he became sicker, my sons didn’t know what to make of Bill. You would have a hard understanding him when he tried to talk. It frustrates him, too — his mind is as sharp as a tack. But I loved telling them Bill stories. They came to love their Uncle Bill. Because they knew my aunt loved him.

Bill died last night from lung cancer. It took him quickly — but its still hard for me to believe that anything could whip my uncle. But I’ll forever remember him for how he loved my aunt. His last gesture was to kiss my aunt on the cheek.

A tough man’s last tender moment. And then a love story ended.

I’ll miss you, Bill.

I was 40 when I was 10. I saw the glass half-empty. I figured either the Russians or Killer Bees would wipe us out by the time I was 21. Y2K was going do me in when an airplane fell out of the sky on top of me. The Mayans? Well they predicted the end of the world on my birthday. Really. Debbie Downer told me once to cheer up. I didn’t exactly believe in the power of positive thinking.

The Russians might yet get us and there is still time for Killer Bees to get their act together. Y2K came and went. The Mayans’ prophecy fizzled. So, am I still negative?

Nah, not really. Somewhere along the way I learned a little truth: It ain’t what happens, it is how you react to it. And honestly, I’ve learned that how you react to it is determined by how you SEE it. We’re all bombarded with the same stimuli. It’s just how our brains interpret it. I make a conscious effort NOT to be negative. For example:

This morning, I took my son to school for a Beta Club Meeting. My wife called and said she had forgotten some artwork. I was going to be even later to work. I had every right to be grumpy because I HATE driving in traffic. But instead, I chose to enjoy the extra time with my son and the chance to see my wife again. The traffic didn’t seem so bad. I heard some good tunes on the radio as a bonus.

I had to cut the grass yesterday. I could have complained about it — my allergies are in full bloom. Instead, I took satisfaction of how good my yard looked when I got done. It was nothing to sneeze at (even though I did.

Some people think the newspaper business is dying. Not me. I just see it radically changing. That change has given me new and exciting opportunities for me to use my talents.

I had a type of cancer that sometimes comes back. I could be afraid of that but instead, I choose to embrace every sunrise. Tomorrow will be my 14th anniversary of my diagnosis. Thanks be to God — I have a grateful heart. And am on top of the grass.

I’m not a pollyanna. In fact, I’m still that 40-year-old 10-year-old at heart. I’ve seen cruelty and felt pain. I struggle with moments of depression. But I don’t choose to stick my head in the sand. I meet negativity head on with humor and optimism. And I see the good in things even when they’re sometimes not apparent. Yeah, sometimes it is the most difficult thing I’ve ever done. But the rewards are priceless.

Yes, the glass is half full. And it is full of the most precious gift of all. Life.

I’m a lucky man.