Marshall Ramsey

With today being the 72nd anniversary of the end of World War 2, I think it’s appropriate I’m reading reading the book Mission: Jimmy Stewart and the Fight for Europe by Robert Matzen. Dan Fordice suggested the book to me and I immediately picked up a copy. I’m thankful I did.

Jimmy Stewart has always been my favorite actor (I like Tom Hanks for many of the same reasons). He played the “Everyman” in his movies and he played it well. But there was always a flash of anger in him after World War 2. Watch some of his westerns. See pain he feels when he’s at the bar in It’s a Wonderful Life and realizes he is about to lose it all. He came back from the war with an edge.

Now I understand why.

Stewart had already won a Best Actor Academy Award by the time he was drafted before the war started. He could have slid into a Hollywood film-making unit and avoided combat. But Stewart was a pilot and like his father and grandfathers before him, he chose to serve. Clark Gable told him that his career would be over. Jimmy Stewart did not care.

He was a commander of B-24 bombers at a time when bombers were being knocked out of the skies like flies. He saw Hell up close, was intimate with death and experienced carnage that most of us will never understand. But he repeatedly strapped on his parachute, climbed into his bomber and performed admirably each mission. He, like thousands of Americans like him, sacrificed and came home changed.

Jimmy Stewart did his job, didn’t brag about it and even his children never realized the extent of his service. When World War 2 started, he left Hollywood behind. We’re fortunate that he survived and returned to the big screen.

Like I said, I’ve always been a fan of Jimmy Stewart. But after reading about his time in the service, I’m an even bigger one now.

He truly did live a wonderful life. And we’re better off for it.

There’s a big bucket at Geyser Falls that repeatedly fills up and then dumps hundreds of gallons of water on your head. Mother Nature just did that at our house. We got .71 of an inch of rain in just a few minutes.

Right as the rain started, lightning struck nearby. And right behind it was a massive clap of thunder. The house shook and the dishes rattled. And Miss Pip was not pleased. She began barking loudly (and she is quite loud even on a normal day). It wasn’t that she was scared. She was just pissed off.

Banjo used to not really care much about storms. Then Katrina hit. He really wasn’t the same after that day (who was?). He’d shiver, freak out and make a weird little bark. We finally figured out what was bothering him so badly. We’d open the door and he’d pace in front of the boys’ rooms. He was the alpha dog and he was worried about his pack.

Pip’s way of dealing with storms is more confrontational. She will attack the evil thunder and scare it off by being louder than it. She’ll get lots of practice this week. Which is a good thing: A good guard dog much always stay at the top of her game.

The thunder will soon realize who is the boss.

P.S. The sun is now out. Welcome to Mississippi — if you don’t like the weather, just wait five minutes.

Every year we line the boys up in front of the back door and take a picture that would make most photographers cringe. It isn’t art, but to us it’s a masterpiece.

It’s the “First Day of School” photo.

The cast? Our three boys. And every year we watch as they change, grow taller and get more and more grown up. This year will be the last year we have the three of them in the shot — our oldest will be a senior. It’s a feeling Amy and I share with so many of my friends on Facebook. We’re watching our kids prepare to leave the nest. Which of course raises the question, “Where did the time go?”

While I don’t know where it went, I do know it went quickly. I remember seeing my oldest’s little face in my car’s rearview mirror as I took him to preschool. I remember him standing next to me as I signed his elementary school’s mural I designed. I remember seeing him play his first band concert. I remember…

I will soon remember his senior year in high school.

His school has a countdown to graduation on their electronic sign at their entrance. Each day I’ll watch the days tick away until it ticks down until zero. And each day, I’ll desperately hang onto every second.

I am so proud of him and the man he is becoming. I am proud of his dreams and how he is working hard to achieve them. I was once just like him. I couldn’t wait to get away. I’ll soon know how my dad felt when I did.

Wednesday we’ll take that picture. It may turn out a bit blurry — but then again, that may just be my eyes.

A long time ago in a galaxy far, far away, I played high school football. It was an education in itself and has given me lots of skills — like being able to tell when it is going to rain. But it also taught me the value of teamwork, gave me the gift of resilience and showed me that even when you are down, you don’t quit until the clock says 0:00. Tonight I’ll be the speaker at Madison Central High School’s Playbook and Pearls event. I have about 15 minutes or so to talk — I need to make every second count.

Like my old high school coach (Coach John Paty) always used to tell us, “I need to get my mind right.”

So what will I say? Not sure yet. But I do know I’ll remind the parents how damn important they are to the success of their kids. Sure, I’ll be preaching to the choir. But the choir needs to know how important they are to the congregation’s spiritual well being!

For every football player, cheerleader, dance-team member, manager, band member and any other student out on the field on a Friday night, there is someone who loved them enough to get them there. Sit in the stands and you can feel the pride wash over you like a wave. That pride is the fuel that takes a kid to practice everyday, carts a student to the doctor when a bone needs to be x-rayed, propels a hand when writing a check or inspires a shift in the concession stand.

I wrote yesterday that I now understand why my dad loved watching me play football so much. It wasn’t just his love of the game. It was his love of me. I watch my kids passionately perform and my heart bursts out of my chest (and I don’t breath for 15-20 minutes, either!)

Soon, the lights will blaze brightly on Friday night. I hope parents remember how important they are in making that happen.

Maybe I’ll say this. I dunno. Whatever, I look forward to evening. And I won’t quit until the clock says 0:00.

Some of my earliest memories were going to the old ATL airport and waiting for dad to fly in from a business trip. My mother would take me up to the observation area and I’d watch the parade of planes take off and land. I remember the first time the “new” ATL airport opened. We rode the underground trains to go to and from our flights — it was like Disney World without the Mouse. Recently I flew through Hartsfield-Jackson and remembered those trips as I was running like a bat out of C-Concourse so I could make my flight. Atlanta is no longer where I live and the airport is no longer my final destination. Home is another flight away.

As I waited for the tiny plane to Jackson to board, I stood at the end of the concourse watching the world’s busiest airport in action (there wasn’t a ground stop because of thunderstorms — I was grateful). Planes clawed up into the air like overweight pelicans while others glided gently back to earth like hungry gulls. The concourse looked like someone had kicked over a human ant nest. Soldiers traveled to far off destinations. Parents drug their protesting kids along. People quickly drug their suitcases behind while beeping carts parted the mass of humanity like Moses. Yes, it was chaotic — but there was a visual poetry behind it all. Everything worked because of its purpose. It wasn’t confusion for confusion sake.

I looked out the window at the control tower. Its domain is the five runways before it. Like a conductor at frenetic symphony, they kept things in order. If they didn’t — well, there’d be twisted wreckage watered by tears.

As I was sitting there eating my grossly over-priced airport burrito, I thought about what a great metaphor the ATL airport is for life. It’s what makes your destination and plans possible. It’s chaos, but it works because of purpose. There is a healthy dose of faith and action. Planning behind the scenes makes everything work. Well, planning plus execution. I’m sitting here this morning, thinking about where I want to go in the next few years. Like the big screens on the wall, I’m thinking about my arrivals and my departures.

Like airplanes, dreams require a lot of work to take flight.

They say you have to go through Hartsfield-Jackson International Airport to get to heaven or hell. There’s probably more truth to that old joke than we all know.

A marriage is like a book. Some end happily. Others end only a few pages in. Its contents are written by two people who change throughout the story. Sometimes they end up on the same page — other times, well, that’s when stuff gets divided and tears flow. People from the outside try to tell the story for the writers, but honestly, they are the only two people who can tell it. The setting sometimes changes over time. The plot is linear and ever-changing. It’s illustrated with joy, tears, laugher and occasional anger.

Amy and I are now 24 chapters into our book. There have been great moments and not-so-great moments. We’ve tested “for better or worse,” several times. I know there have been days when she has been sick of me. And there have been days when I’ve been smart enough to keep my mouth shut (and other days when my mouth has been my worst enemy.) We started as the two main characters. Now we are the supporting cast to three new characters. They are currently the stars of our story.

I’ll never review another person’s story critically — I know how hard it is to write. Yet I will tell everyone who’ll listen that I’ve been lucky. I picked a great co-author. She, thankfully, has agreed to continue writing the remaining chapters with me.

How will it end? I don’t know. But what I do know is that I hope the last chapter ends with these six words: “And they lived happily ever after.”

There were no bars on my phone and the Avett Brothers were blaring from my SUV’s speakers. The rural Mississippi countryside whisked by me, blurring the various shades of green. God prefers a two lane road. The Devil prefers a two-lane road with traffic. Today was heaven-sent. It was just me and the road with no tractors or log trucks in sight. My foot pressed down on the accelerator; my speedometer teased the speed limit sign that I had just passed.

I was on my secret shortcut to the Neshoba County Fair. The line leaving Leake County welcomed me to Neshoba with orange dirt. Neshoba is a county that has produced some of Mississippi’s most frightening history. It also is the home of some of the nicest people I know. In the past 20 years, I’ve discovered this one simple truth –nothing is ever simple in Mississippi. As I turned right down another country road; I heading toward the dust-covered parking lot. It would be the 20th year of political speeches I’ve covered. I knew the drill: I’d catch up on political gossip and see people I haven’t seen in 365 years.

Like the blurred countryside, time has passed quickly.

That same rapidly moving time didn’t allow me to spend my normal amount of time this year. But I caught up with Dan, my editor and friend from Conroe, Texas days. I visited with Kate, who’s a master lemon cake maker and the daughter of one of the finest men I know. Billy and Martha welcomed me into their cabin once again. I listened to the speeches, had a few pictures taken with fans and then headed back home.

The Avett Brothers were blaring once again as I left the Fair behind in a cloud of red dust. The song ‘The Once and Future Carpenter’ sonically wrapped itself around me.

I smiled as these lyrics played:

Forever I will move like the world that turns beneath me, And when I lose my direction I’ll look up to the sky.
And when the black dress drags upon the ground, I’ll be ready to surrender, and remember
We’re all in this together.
If I live the life I’m given, I won’t be scared to die.

Amen.