Marshall Ramsey

Like a plant, when a person with deep roots in a community is suddenly yanked from it, it leaves a hole. When a person with no roots is gone, no one notices.

An acorn dropped to the ground on that dry, fall day among hundreds of others. Squirrels, rakes and drought took many of them. But not that one — it was special.  Time passed and it began to put down a small, shallow root.

Days turned to months and months turned to years. The young acorn became a small oak.  And as it grew, it put down roots. Those roots took water and nutrition from the soil. The soil of the community. Leaves and branches reached for the sky. But the oak was firmly anchored in the rich earth.

More time passed and the oak grew.  And the community came to love it.  As much as the oak took from the community, it gave back. Kids played in it. Lovers courted beneath its huge branches.  Families picnicked in its shade.  Over the years, it came to symbolize the strength of the community.  The town even used the oak on its logo.

One day disaster struck — a violent windstorm hit the town. While the oak’s mighty roots had held it in place through previous storms, this one was too much for the tree. CRASH. It toppled over, leaving a giant hole in the earth. The town came together, held hands in a circle around the tree and mourned.

People are like the oak. They put down roots in a community, grow strong and make a difference.  And when they are taken from us suddenly,  it hurts.  Badly.

I think of the Craig Noone’s of the world. A man who used his talent to make amazing food and then made a difference in the redevelopment of Downtown Jackson.  I think of Kent Hull, who used his gifts on the football field  and saw that kids needed help and raised money for Blair E. Batson Children’s Hospital. Oaks in the community. Oaks who leave giant holes in the ground in their absence.

You can be the weed who barely scratches the surface of life. My prayer is for us all to be an oak.

Good (cold)  morning! Have a great day!

A Congressman from a forgotten state stood at the podium in the U.S. Capitol.  He gazed blankly out into nearly empty chamber, took sip of water and began the speech of a lifetime.   CSPAN cameras captured every word.  Here’s the text:

Ladies and Gentlemen of my district. America. Any other sucker who is watching this. You see, I know there aren’t many of you out there. My guess? Probably a couple of dozen or so. How do I know that? You’d rather be entertained.  And that’s why this country is falling apart. We don’t want to think. You don’t want to work. Even the Romans would shake their heads at our decline.  Does that hurt your feelings? Well I don’t care.

See, I just have to fool a few of you sheep out there every two years.  My real concern is raising money.  There are a handful of lobbyists for big corporations/labor unions who I really listen to. Oh yeah, and the talking points. I couldn’t live without my talking points.  Hell, I could switch parties tomorrow and it wouldn’t matter. I don’t have to think for myself. I am told what to think. And honestly, it’s easier that way. I have more time for the junkets and the parties.  Sure, I curse Washington when I am home in that Godforsaken district I represent, but don’t get me wrong: I love me some Washington. I have a blast up here. That’s why I do what it takes to get re-elected.

So there. That’s what it is all about. Being re-elected. Power rocks. The ladies love it.  My ego does, too.

Wait, I’m supposed to fit some talking points in here. Hang on. Hang on.  Debt. Debt. Jobs. Jobs. Jobs. The Children. Medicare. Social Security. Health Care. Immigration. Civil Rights.  Rinse and repeat.

Better?  Good, now, where was I?  Oh yeah. It’s about the election. Everything you hear out of my mouth has to do with 2012.  Sure, I’ll say I care about you.  I might even scare you to get your vote, too.  Fear makes you drool like Pavlov’s dog. You don’t know who Pavlov’s dog is? Oh that’s right. You’re busy watching a B-list celebrity ice skate or something instead of reading a book.

That’s OK. You’re easier to manipulate that way. Watch the news channel that only spouts your views.  It works for me. And as soon as the poll comes back, I’ll get on TV and spout those views right back at you.   It’s my version of constituent services.

I aim to please.

So let me conclude this speech this way: SUCKERS!  I’ve always wanted to say that. God Bless America. He needs to.

The next morning, the Congressman was checked into a special hospital for the exhausted.  Some say his family checked him in. Others say he went on his own. Others noticed leaders of his party holding his hand as he was escorted through the front entrance. The Congressman’s speech was his last. But it was his most memorable.

His grandmother’s spirit visited him from time to time. It was the little things that made him aware: A fleeting memory. The cool fog that made him think of mornings on her farm.  She guided him through the hardest points in his life. Moments of great doubt.  Times of great change.

She had grown up during the hardscrabble years of the Great Depression. While her sister sat dressed up in her Sunday best, she was out in the barnyard, killing chickens. The blisters on her hands were proof she wasn’t afraid of work.  She had developed a work ethic that made a successful teacher and mother.  And grandmother.

The fog wrapped around the Standard Life Building as he walked down the busy downtown street.  Storms were crossing the Mississippi River so moisture was streaming up from the Gulf of Mexico. You could almost smell New Orleans early that morning: The humidity was at 100% and rising.

He looked at the vapor as it tickled the illuminated sign that read “Standard Life”.

A sign. How he would love a sign.

His bank had laid him off six-months ago.  It was a passionless job but a job none-the-less.  It kept the lights on, a roof over their heads and food on the table.  The Great Recession had put an end to that. An emergency surgery on his son had also put an end to what little savings they had.  He and his wife’s marriage was being torn apart by the drumbeat of crises..  He looked back up at the sign.  “Standard Life”.  The morning fog would dance in and out of the letters, hiding some of them from view.

The sign on the building now read: “Stand”

Stand. The man looked up at the word and realized it was time to stand on his own. He needed courage.  He needed strength.

A slight breeze blew across his face and made the fog swirl again.

The sign on the building now said, “Life.”

Live life.  Live it to the fullest.  His bank job had been a dead end for several years. He knew it. But it was comfortable. It paid the bills. But he wasn’t truly living.  He needed to take a stand and live his life to the fullest.  A warm feeling crept back into a stone-dead heart.

He put his hands in his pocket and pulled out his iPhone.  He started to take a picture of the building when another gust of wind blew the fog around one more time.  “Standard Life.”

He had had a pretty standard life. No more.

Up on letters, a disembodied voice said, “Good job with the fog. A very original and clever idea.”

“Sometimes a sign is a sign. That boy is as hardheaded as you were.”

The grandmother materialized next to her long-time husband’s spirit.

“But I think he’s going to be OK. I think I got him safely out of the fog he was in.”

With their grandson safely on his way, they both laughed and disappeared into the morning mist.

The alien craft hovered over the cotton field.  Three giant landing claws extended as the ship quietly landed on Earth with a thud.

Two green aliens emerged from the ship and stretched. They looked around at the lush landscape. The aliens walked down a translucent glass staircase and looked toward the lights in the distance.  The taller of the two aliens looked at the shorter one and made a series of hand signals.  He pressed a button on his purple atmospheric suit and began to talk.  “Let’s look for intelligent life.”  The shorter alien nodded and both walked across the field  toward the town.

Cottonpatch, Mississippi was a small town by most standards. Well, except for by Delta standards. By Delta standards it was a metropolis. In fact, it was so big that it even had a Wal-Mart out on the by-pass.  Yup, Cottonpatch was a happening place. Cottonpatch would throw a party just because the day ended with Y.  And tonight was Halloween. The whole town was shut down for trick-or-treating. It was a giant spooky street party.

The aliens walked into the edge of town, looking for intelligent life.  A small terrier ran up to the two aliens and started barking. The tall alien pulled out a gun, pointed at the dog and pulled the trigger.

ZAP.

The growling dog turned into a tiny fuzzy kitten.  The shorter alien laughed and said,  “This is going to be fun.”

They came to the first house. It was 101 South Magnolia Street and the home of the Widow Frances Greenback.  The two aliens came up to the door, pistols drawn and knocked on the screen door.  “Oh how cute. You must be the Smith boys.” The old lady reached into the bucket and shoved a couple Butterfingers into their three-fingered hands.  She then slammed the door, leaving the two stunned aliens on her front porch.

The short alien unwrapped the Butterfinger and popped it in his right mouth.  “Yum,” he said.  The tall alien ate one of his and also said, “Yum.”  Both looked at each other and saw two teenagers with panty hose over their heads and sacks of candy. They had been robbing younger kids and cleaning out the bowls left out by people who weren’t home.  The tall alien pointed his ray gun at the shorter teen.

“Give me your candy, brat.” the zit-faced kid demanded.

ZAP.

The kid’s left arm started whacking his own face repeatedly. The other kid, knowing when he was about to take a beating at his own hand, dropped his bag and ran off screaming.

The two aliens grabbed the bags and looked at the houses on the street.  They headed to 113 South Magnolia and stood behind a ghost and a Princess Leia.  “TRICK OR TREAT!” the two children screamed.

It was the aliens’  turn. They stepped up to the door and said, “TRIKE OR EAT.” They held out their bags while Billy Jo Smith’s Uncle Billy Bob dropped in some Hershey Kisses.  The tall alien turned around quickly and a kid in a Darth Vader costume bumped into him.  “Do I know you?” kid asked the aliens.  The aliens shrugged and the tall one said, “We’re from a long time ago from a galaxy far, far away.”

Up next was Granny Wissing’s house.  She gave the two aliens 20 Smarties. “YUM,” the tall alien rubbed his stomach as he popped the small candies into his left mouth.  They moved on to Bobby Sue Franklin’s manufactured home.  Bobby Sue was giving out the good stuff: Reese’s Pieces.

Five hours passed and the two aliens (with a major sweet tooth) hauled their sacks full of candy back to their spaceship — They had hit every house in town. With a thunderous roar, the ship lifted off into the Delta sky. And the residents of Cottonpatch, Mississippi had no idea that they had just had a close encounter of the Halloween kind.