Marshall Ramsey

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.

When I lived in Conroe, Texas, my editor Dan Turner always used to go on about how he was going to be buried under the racetrack of this fair he always went to in the summer in Mississippi. I thought, “OK, Dan.” I never thought I’d ever go to Mississippi and I especially never thought I’d go to the Neshoba County Fair.

Three years later, I was standing on that very racetrack with a sketch pad in hand and a Pig Pen-worthy red dust cloud behind me.

I’ve covered the Neshoba County Fair every summer ever since. The politician speaking there is one of the last places in the country where candidates get up and actually give live speeches. There is no polish. No makeup. It’s lots of hot air (and not just from the weather.) It’s a healthy dose of sawdust, red dust and bullsh*t.

Over the years, I’ve developed friendships at the Fair (Billy and Martha at the Underwood cabin for example) and developed an addiction to Mrs. Denley’s banana pudding. While the speeches are OK (not as good as they used to be, to be honest), the gossip around the Pavilion is the equivalent to a Masters in Mississippi Political Science. For many years, you could talk to Gale Denley and learn a textbook. When he died in 2008, it was the equivalent of a library burning down. But you can still sit on Sid Salter’s front porch (the Salter/Denley cabin) and talk to all the politicians who come up to visit Sid.

In the 20 years I’ve been covering the speeches, I’ve watched children grow up into adults, adults act like children and seen Mississippi history take place. I’ve nearly caused Trent Lott to chop his hand off (covered in an earlier story), I’ve heard Kirk Fordice curse the world and the “liberal” Sid Salter. Speaking of Sid one of the great moments was when perineal candidate Shawn O’Hara said he was going to turn corn into gas. Sid and I, who had just eaten, looked at each other and said, “We’re doing that right now.”

The cabins are colorful and the campaign signs cover poles all around the Fairground. Horses race, bands play and red dust covers everything. It’s either hot and dusty or hot and muddy. Since I’ve been going, air conditioning, satellite dishes and cell phones have invaded the fairgrounds. But front porch visiting is still the rule of the land. If you don’t eat at least six lunches, you’re doing something wrong.

I’ve drawn hundreds of Fair cartoons in the past two decades. Most are quick sketches that I draw at night sitting on a front porch while the kids party. I’ll hear the late night sing and then finish up while the last stragglers head back to their cabins. Then I get ready for the next day’s speeches and do it all over again.

I look forward to next year’s Fair and seeing what I can find new to draw about. And Mrs. Denley’s banana pudding. A man has to have his fix.

Good morning.

It’s the week after the election. Many of you are still trying to process the results of last week’s vote. Some of you are happy. Many of you aren’t. And some of you are shocked. I’d include the President-Elect in that category.

For the fourth time in our history, the loser of the popular vote won the Electoral College. But the system worked liked the Founding Fathers had envisioned. Now we have to sort our way through the outcome.

I’m not going to tell you how to feel. Nope.  You have a right to your opinion just as much as I have a right to mine.  I will say, though, that I haven’t seen America this divided in my lifetime — well, I am too young to remember Vietnam and the Civil Rights movement. But you know what I mean. You’ve probably read Facebook this week.

Somewhere along the way, we’ve lost our collective minds.  It has become popular to paint people who disagree with us a broad brush. And people who disagree with us now are 100% evil.  Gone are the days of Ronald Reagan and Tip O’Neill (two men who didn’t agree on much) having a beer together. Now it is all or nothing.  I have a theory on why this is happening.  We’ve had a steady diet of commentators on TV and radio vilifying people who don’t share their point of view for nearly a quarter of a century and now we’re shocked when Americans do the same.  It’s like being shocked you have a mouth full of cavities after you eat sugar every meal.  Sure, the sugar is tasty — but it’s not healthy over the long run.

Empathy has gone the way of the Dodo. Lord knows I’ve been called about every name in the book this week.  I’m a big boy and can handle it — but it sure has made me lose respect for a lot of people. The best insult I got last week? “Your stupid.”  Ironic and hilarious.

But I understand. People are hurt. They are mad.  They are scared. I get that. That is why they have voted like they have. That’s  why they are in the streets after the election protesting.  It hasn’t been a bucket of chuckles since the Great Recession.

Like I said before, I’m not telling you not to feel.  But let me share with you a quote I stumbled across this morning from Mahatma Gandhi: “Be the change that you wish to see in the world.”

If you don’t agree with the election, organize, get focused and work the system to get your candidates in power.

If you think your side is being portrayed unfairly, don’t act the way you’re being portrayed.

Use your energy to change things, not just slam people on Facebook.

Talk to people. Get outside of your  a la carte news bubble. Read opposing viewpoints. Read news sources you think are “biased.” Figure out the truth for yourself. Don’t have it spoon fed to you.  And just because news isn’t spoon fed to you, doesn’t mean it is biased. It just might mean that your comfort zone is being breached. That’s not a bad thing.  And please, stop using terms and talking points you hear the commentators use. That makes your arguments look weak. Very weak.

America faces some pretty tough challenges. The good news is that you have the power within yourself to make your world a little bit better. Accept responsibility. Take action. If you are worried, find a way you can make a difference.  Imagine how great American really would be if we all did that.

Don’t be helpless. Don’t make yourself into a victim. Fight for what you believe in. Just don’t be a butthead. We already have plenty of those.

Be like the Sheep Dog and the Coyote from the Bugs Bunny cartoons. Fight like hell during the day, and then clock out and go home.

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.

For 15 of my 20 years here, I didn’t have an office, but I did have a huge window right in front of my drawing board. My view? The Capitol Towers parking garage. The editorial department was tucked behind the sports department, far from the newsroom. And for fifteen years, I watched the world go by as I drew.

Here’s a sample of what I saw:

1. For the first two weeks, I thought the door to the building was the door to the Christian Science Reading Room (which is now a donut shop). One day, I saw about 20 people come out of it, and I thought, “Damn, they have some good stuff in there.”

2. I saw one of the car wreck lawyers hand a wad of cash to a man on the sidewalk. Who knows what that was about.

3. A JPD Parking Meter officer was writing a ticket and a person came out and started giving her crap. Before you can say “stupid idea,” she had his ornery butt on the ground and in handcuffs. I contend that if she were in charge of fighting drugs in this city, there would be no drugs. I know I’m not messing with her.

4. After the Bert Case incident, Governor Fordice, with pistol on his hip, walked his dog Lance past our office. He also had a guard (which I guess was to protect the world from a very pissed-off Governor Fordice.) For fun, I put a sign in my window that read, “Marshall Ramsey’s office” with an arrow pointing toward my boss’ office’s window.

5. A guy parked with a dead deer in the back of his pickup truck. Except the deer wasn’t really dead, or was Lazarus, because he came back to life. Wildlife and Fisheries came and dispatched Bambi to the great beyond.

6. I would watch the same people walk from the Electric Building to their cars. I started making up lives for them. I also watched several pregnancies come to term. I see the walkers (not zombies) now and feel like I know them — but don’t say anything. That would be creepy.

7. During Hurricane Katrina, the metal siding on Capitol Towers squealed like bad breaks — except it was much, much louder. Construction barrels and debris also blew down the street. That’s when we knew it was getting really bad.

8. One day, the sky turned green. Soon afterward, we were in the hallway for a tornado warning. I saw many storms blow through. When the street lights turned on during the day, you knew it was time to step back away from the glass.

9. At night, I was like a fish in the bowl. If someone was really mad at my cartoon, they could have shot me then and there. Thankfully they never did.

10. After 9/11, I had a printed American Flag in my window. That seems like that was a million years ago.

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.

Ah, it’s election day. Election day brings back special memories for me — of live blogging, deadline cartoons and cold pizza. I never went out and covered the candidates, but I did sit at my desk, beating my head until an idea popped out. I’d face a 10:30 deadline, praying that the election would be called in time (Bush v. Gore threw a wrench into my plans.) I’d sweat blood but would somehow get the job done. My muse is cranky but consistent.

I can close my eyes and see many of my old coworkers rushing to make deadline. And I can tell you this, I worked with some really good people. Here are a few memories of a few of them.

1. David Hampton. David was my editor for 15 years and is a big reason why I am as successful as I am. He never told me what to draw (in fact, we frequently disagreed on issues). But he knew what was a good cartoon. And he is a fine man. I’m proud to still call him friend.

2. Shawn McIntosh. Shawn was my executive editor for a brief time. My 16-year-old, who was a baby during her tenure, would fuss at her — and I always felt bad about that. She’d like him now, though. I need to run him by the Atlanta Journal Constitution sometime so they can talk government. I think she’d be impressed. She owns the Eagle Head cartoon from 9/11. It has a fine owner.

3. Bobby Cleveland. Could read the phone book and make it funny. He also told me the best dirty joke I know. He’s a hell of a cook. Always said he had the best job in the newsroom. I got paid to draw. He got paid to hunt and fish. When he left the paper, I missed him immediately.

4. Rick Cleveland. Rick is a hell of a writer. Sure, he is a legendary Mississippi sports writer, but his piece he wrote about a mother sacrificing her life to protect her child during a tornado is one of the best pieces I’ve ever read. We’d see each a couple of times a year and I always looked forward to it. Proud to work with his son Tyler now.

5. Orley Hood. You miss Orley. I miss Orley. We all miss Orley. The guy was a brilliant writer, loved his wife and sons more than words and always brightened the day with his smile. I wish he could have had enough time to write a book. It would be amazing. Cancer sucks.

6. Billy Watkins. If I ever do anything worthwhile, I want Billy writing about it. He’s as solid of a writer as there is — an amazing storyteller. He also knows more about the Beatles than Paul McCartney does. He’s as good of a man as I know.

7. Joe White. You probably don’t know Joe, but Joe was the editorial department’s copy editor. He also was the person I first ran my ideas by in the morning. Joe has a neat store near the courthouse in Mendenhall and is one of the most interesting people you will ever meet.

8. Ruth Cummings. People called her mama Ruth because she took young reporters under her wing. Ruth also makes amazing cheese straws. I miss Ruth.

9. Debbie Skipper. Debbie is the keystone that holds the newsroom together. She has put in monster hours since I’ve known her. She is also a good friend and has a good ear. I run my cartoons by her when Sam Hall isn’t available now.

10. Mike Knobler and Rusty Hampton. Two of our past sports editor and both very different in style. But both are brilliant and ran a great department. Neither were shy about voicing their opinion. Mike is a great pilot (and sketchy driver) and has flown to Europe in a single engine plane! Rusty now is a strong cyclist.

11. Joe Powell. (One of the sports writers.) One New Year’s a rifle slug came through the ceiling, struck the desk next to him and ricocheted and hit the light, causing it to shower sparks like the Natural. Joe didn’t flinch. Bullet hole is still in the ceiling tile.

12. Kyle Veazey Kyle got social media before anyone else in the newsroom. He went from building a strong sports following to easing into politics. A good guy.

13. Jim Ewing. I sat four feet from Jim for 15 years. I’ve watched his struggles and victories. But I can tell you this, there is no one who can write informed copy any faster. He was a walking encyclopedia of issues.

14. Sid Salter. There aren’t many people who I respect personally more. Love or hate what he writes, he is one of the most solid human beings I’ve ever met. I look up to him and am proud to know him.

15. Annie Oeth. Annie has a big ol’ heart and is as tough as nails. She’d lie down in front of a truck for her kids.

16. Earnest Hart. Earnest had a rare ability most artists don’t have — he is calm in a storm. He’s now at the Secretary of State’s office and lays out the Bluebook. And he never changes.

17. Godfrey Jones. One of the most talented human beings I’ve ever met. I wish I could draw half as well as he does. The guy loves his cars, too. Would always love seeing what he’d drive into the parking lot.

18. Nate Ruffin. Nate was the HR director and one of the people who interviewed me when I got the job. He also was the Marshall football player who gave up his seat on that fateful flight. (Watch We Are Marshall). As long as he lived, he kept the memories of his teammates alive.

19. Frances Mack. Frances is the glue that holds the C-L together. She pretty much runs the place. But she’s also a great friend and a good ear when you’re having a bad day.

20. Jon Broadbooks. John and I worked for the same newspaper company in Houston, Texas. We were married on the same day. We both went to UT (he got a masters from there.) He picked me up from the airport on my job interview here in Jackson. Jon went up the food chain and became an executive editor before transitioning out of journalism. Great guy.

21. Chris Todd. Chris is a very good photographer and a better man. He’d bust my chops occasionally and had a very dry, acrid wit. But his resilience is something I deeply respect.

22. Keith Warren. Keith and his family were the heart and the soul of The Run for the Sun. He’s a talented photographer, a loving husband, father and grandfather. He can also make a Mac computer run when no one else can.

23. J.D. Schwalm. Cancer took J.D. from us. He showed us how to live while he was dying. A brilliant photographer but an even better human being.

24. Bill Hunsberger. Read one of my previous posts about Bill. An amazing man.

25. Emily Wagster Pettus and Gary Pettus. I’ve known Emily and Gary for a long time. Both are excellent writers. Gary’s sense of humor is as dry as it comes and he doesn’t give a rat’s ass who he offends. Emily is a solid government reporter and a good friend.

I could continue this all day. I’ve worked with hundreds of people in the past 20 years. Most were passionate. They all loved what they did and what they covered. Many were Mississippians. Some have gone on to the big time (Michael Wallace, Seiko Smith, Paige Porter, Ian Rapoport). Some haven’t. But all have shaped my work in one way or the other.
It was never about money with them. It was about passion. That’s something people who only focus on money will never understand.

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.

I passed by his portrait the other day. He had a slight smirk and his eyes were smiling. He was in front of the business he loved while holding a printed copy of The Clarion-Ledger. I looked around the room at the empty chairs and could envision our old staff meetings. The room was full of nervous employees and could almost hear someone yell, “So, how’s business?” Then I could hear his voice.

Bill Hunsberger, the publisher at the time, wouldn’t sugar coat things. That was before things really began to change — but clouds were on the horizon. The room would soon be much emptier. One of those empty chairs would belong to Bill. A heart attack took him much too early from us. I wonder what he’d think about how our business has changed. (Actually, I think I know). I also wonder if anything would have been different if he hadn’t left us too soon.

God I miss Bill. I’ve worked for some great bosses in my time — Bob Witty, Chris Eddings, David Hampton just to name a few — but Bill was special. He believed in Keith Warren and I enough to help support the birth of The Run from the Sun. The 5K race brought thousands of people downtown to The Clarion-Ledger once a year for a great event thanks to his initial support. He also believed in my work.

But Bill really believed in the community.

There’s a reason the room I was standing in is called The Bill Hunsberger Community Room. His love of the community made him special. And he understood the #1 rule of Mississippi business: If people don’t know you, they won’t pay attention to you. He gave back more than he took. We were all better off for it.

Bill Hunsberger wasn’t a saint. But he was a damn good boss. And as I look back at my 20 years in Jackson, I’m so grateful for the time I worked for him.

P.S. I will give the current C-L publisher Nate Edwards credit. In the short time he has been in Mississippi, he has engaged with the community with an effort that would make Bill proud.

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.

It seems appropriate I now have a television show called Conversations on Mississippi Public Broadcasting. For the past two decades, I’ve enjoyed the back and forth I’ve had with readers. In the beginning, it began as letters to the editors, e-mails and phone calls. Now it’s primarily through social media — although I still get some old school communication. Most of it is positive — although there are people who (gasp) disagree with me.

I know — shocking, right?

One of my first phone calls was from Jerry Clower’s brother Sonny. Sonny might have been a nice man, but he didn’t particularly care for my work or me — and let me know it. Another frequent critic was a local Jacksonian named L.D. Bass. Reverend Bass called me a “blue-eyed devil,” and liked to equate my cartoons to some of the ones in the Jackson Daily News. He was convinced I was a racist — which always put our conversations off on a wrong foot. But I’d let his insults roll off my back and after a while, I even found out what he loved the most — his grandchildren and Tiger Woods. I knew I could bring up either and our conversation was going to take a turn for the better.

Certain events also bring out the worst in people. The 2001 Flag Vote was one of those times. I’m thankful there wasn’t social media back then — the phone calls and e-mails were bad enough. Let’s just say charitably that the Mississippi State Flag Vote didn’t bring the best out of people. But I didn’t mind. I would rather people people be honest with me. And people were very honest with me then, during the McDaniel/Cochran Race and now about Donald Trump — to a fault. Oy.

I’ve also had anonymous posters on local blogs cheer when I had career setbacks and even went as far as hoping my family starved. If you wonder why I don’t post my kids’ pictures and names — well there you go. They don’t deserve that. I sign my name to my work and am willing to accept the consequences. I don’t have much respect for people who take shots at you without signing their name. It’s chickenshit.

But I’m a big boy. I dish it out and can take it. And I’ll tell you the one moment that put it all in perspective for me. On the day of the Mississippi Flag Vote (April 17, 2001), I received numerous heinous phone calls. Then at 5:30 p.m., my doctor called. “Marshall, I don’t know how to tell you this, but you have cancer.”

I didn’t care about the other calls after that. Still don’t.

Ninety-nine percent of what I hear from Mississippians is positive. I love the conversations. I like to hear what’s on people’s minds and I’ve even made friends with many of them. A great group of folks used to hang out on my old Clarion-Ledger blog. They called themselves the Marshall Ramsey Bloggers Association. We’ve had picnics and many remain close friends to this day. I look forward to the conversations my Facebook and Twitter fire up everyday. I will occasionally argue with people but most of time just sit back and read what is on their mind. We all walk different paths and see the world in different ways.  I don’t spend a lot of time picking Twitter or Facebook fights, though. Not that I don’t care — it’s just that I don’t have the time.

My job isn’t to make people laugh or even mad. I’m not trying to convince anyone of anything. But if you read my work and think hard about what you believe, then maybe I’ve made a difference that day.

Thank you for being part of the conversation. And allowing me to have one with you for the past 20 years.