Marshall Ramsey

At mile 10.5 of my run this morning, I turned the corner and headed toward the house. I smelled natural gas. “It’s not our house,” I thought, “I’m about nine houses away.” I turned another corner and heard a waterfall. But it wasn’t a waterfall.
I checked my phone. A message from my son read, “Come home now. We have a gas leak.”

The last .6 miles was the fastest of my run.

The dry soil had pulled the gas line from the gas meter. The house, and maybe my neighbor’s, stood a very good chance of blowing up and burning down.

I called the gas company. A nice lady from another state asked me several questions. I urgently told her, “I don’t need to fill out a survey, I need you guys to get out here and turn off my gas.” My neighbors would hate me if I blew their house up.

When you smell gas, you leave. Immediately. You don’t use your phone or turn on a light. Any spark and kaboom! My wife, kids and dog were safely out. Good. The gas continued to hiss its evil hiss.

I called 911. “You might want to get the fire department out here. I have a bad feeling they may be needed soon.”

A few minutes later, the parade arrived. The police, a fire truck and a couple of smaller trucks. The firefighters turned off the gas. Soon afterwards, the gas company showed up (he had been on a call in Jackson and made record time — he had also called the fire department). Within 20 minutes, he and his partner had masterfully fixed the gas line and we began to air out the house.

I tell you this because I am thankful and lucky. We had thought about being out of town today. We weren’t — so we were here to catch it as soon as it broke. Amy was lighting a candle but stopped when she heard the break — that could have led to a kaboom. I have a great neighbor Paul who called the gas company, too (my wife had also). He also alerted my other neighbors. The firefighters got here fast. The gas company’s technician did a great job getting everything fixed.

I’m thankful we still have a house and that my neighbors still have windows. My middle son said, “well, it would have been the ultimate Thanksgiving lesson — that we’re ok even though we lost everything.” My wife and I looked at him and shook our heads.

Because of the professionalism of the fire department and the gas company (and a lack of a spark) it turned out to be no big deal. But it sure would have been an inefficient way to cook the turkey.

Thanksgiving is the one holiday that should be celebrated more than one day a year. In fact, I’d say it should be celebrated 365 days of year. Now I’d suggest it would be nice to have Christmas 365 days a year, too — but that would get expensive fast. And there’d be a lot of stress. The only upside would be that you could keep your decorations up all year round. Stores do that pretty much half the year now anyway.

No, I want Thanksgiving on days that end with Y.

I’ve always been a fan of Thanksgiving. I have great memories of my great uncles piling food on their plates like they had never eaten before. I remember going to my grandparents house and watching the Macy’s Day parade as the smell of Turkey wafted through the room. Driving down a gravel driveway reminds me of the excitement I felt when I would get to see the four people who I knew loved my sisters and me unconditionally. My grandparents were truly great. I will miss them as I always do on Thanksgiving.

The story behind Thanksgiving has always appealed to me. Indians and Pilgrims breaking bread in the spirit of being thankful that they were still on this side of the grass. If they could sit down at the table together, we can stomach our drunk uncle who parrots political talking points he has heard on cable news. Well, maybe there are some limits to being thankful.

What am I grateful for?

This Godawful year. I know, that doesn’t really make a lot of sense but hear me out. All the crap that 2016 has thrown at me as made me realize a lot of truth — about myself and about some people who are close to me. I’ve been able to adjust course and get out of some ruts. I’ve been able to see myself for who I am and need to be. I’d like to think I’m better for it — but I know I have some more work to do. Discomfort is the way to growth. I should be 10 feet tall this year.

So how will I celebrate this year?

I’ll love my family (of course). I’ll eat too damn much. I’ll watch the Macy’s parade and football. But I’m also doing something new. I’m making a list of what and who I am thankful for. And I won’t just do it one day a year. I’ll make it a daily exercise. Like a turkey on Black Friday, I’m just thankful I’m still here. The rest is dressing and gravy.

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.

Here are 20 questions I get frequently asked:

1. Do you worry about coming up with an idea?

Do you worry about brushing your teeth? I know I will come up with an idea. It may take a while. It may not be the best I’ve ever done. But I will come up with something. I did on 9/11. I did during Katrina. Mississippi gives me lots of ideas.

2. Where do you get your ideas?

I have a crack staff of writers who work in the State Capitol. Seriously, I am a veracious reader and try to make two and two equal five. My cartoon idea is usually laying at the end of the driveway on the front page. I just have to find it.

3. What’s your favorite cartoon?

That’s like asking which is my favorite child. But I do particularly like the eagle head after 9/11 and Bert Case and Kirk Fordice.

4. Who is your favorite politician to draw?

I liked Fordice, Frank Melton, Ronnie Musgrove, Haley Barbour and now Phil Bryant. I particularly like drawing people who complain about it. If you complain, I make the caricature worse.

5. Does hate mail and comments bother you?

Nah. I dish it out. I had better be able to take it.

6. How long does it take to draw a cartoon?

Depends on the artwork. Less time now that it used to — because I have less time to draw them. But I am a fast drawer (as you can probably tell by looking at my work.)

7. What’s your favorite town in Mississippi?

I have several. The only town left I want to go to is Hurley. That’s my wife’s maiden name.

8. Why did you move to Mississippi from San Diego?

San Diego is paradise for weather. Mississippi is paradise for an editorial cartoonist.

9. What do you draw with?

Micro pens and calligraphy pens on Bristol Board. I do some stuff digitally and do color everything digitally.

10. Who is your favorite Mississippi sports team?

I’m Switzerland. My normal operation is to pull for all Mississippi teams (I like happy neighbors). If a Mississippi team is playing Tennessee, I pull for Tennessee (they gave me money in the form of a scholarship). During the Egg Bowl, I pull for the underdog (who usually wins).

11. How long will you continue to draw cartoons?

As long as I am able.

12. Who is your favorite cartoonist?

Charlie Daniel (Knoxville News Sentinel). He and his wife Patsy are dear friends, mentors and like second parents. I love Peanuts and Calvin and Hobbes. I liked Far Side. I consumed Mad Magazine. I have several cartoonist friends who I really admire personally and professionally.

13. What do you enjoy doing most? Cartoons, radio, TV, speaking, writing….

They are all different. Speaking is fun because you get a reaction with you show your work. I’m probably a better speaker than anything else I do.

14. Why are you still here?

To disappoint people who don’t like me. And because I’ve chosen to be here.

15. Are your kids artistic?

Not that I know of. But all three are wickedly creative, musical and talented. It’s not about me. I want them to soar with their own gifts.

16. What’s your favorite thing about Mississippi?

The people. Followed closely by the food.

17. What’s your least favorite thing?

The summer heat and humidity.

18. Do you accept ideas?

No. Ninety percent of a cartoon is the idea. I don’t even like looking at other’s cartoons (in fear that the idea will seep into my head.) And besides, if I am going to get yelled at, I’d prefer it be my idea.

19. What would you do if you could be anything other than a cartoonist?

I’m already a half-dozen other things. But if I could do math, I’d be a meteorologist.

20. What’s the best job you ever had?

I love this job. But I’d honestly have to say being a high school janitor. I learned how badly I really wanted to be a cartoonist back then.

I’ve watched Paul Lacoste’s faith grow stronger as his body became broken. Surgery after surgery for an infection brought on by the effects of West Nile took their toll. Then, as the battle for the infection started turning the tide, cancer was discovered. He’ll continue his medical journey tomorrow. He has heard the three words we all dread. But he has another three words that will pull him through: “Powerfully deep faith.”

This morning, he addressed all of us who have worked out with him. He was humbled and I’d imagine a little scared. But he stood up in front of us and was honest. Even when most people would have wanted to quit, he has kept going. That’s the inspiration that you learn when you do his program. He’s not all talk. That’s what the next level is all about.

He’s had things happened to him that would have broken most of us. I’ve joked that Job would look at him and go, “Daaaammn.” But he plows through. He loves his wife. His sons. His family and his friends. And he loves God.

I’ve watched Paul go through a deep, powerful transformation. And in the process, he has brought several people along with him. I’m proud he is a friend. I’m proud that he has transformed my life and made me physically strong. And I feel sorry for cancer for picking on the wrong guy. It’s about to get its butt kicked and kicked hard.

A while back, I had a commenter say that my worldview would enslave children. I ignored it because it was BS. But I figured I’d share my worldview with you just so you know that I am not a secret child enslaver.

1. I believe in hard work. Hard work doesn’t cure everything but does make things better than say sitting on the couch 24/7 watching Real Housewives of Omaha or Tulsa.

2. I don’t believe in painting groups of people with a broad brush. Stereotyping is lazy. I prefer to dislike people on a one-on-one basis. You never know who has an amazing story to tell. Why hate and miss it.

3. I believe we still live in the greatest country in the world — even if it does have a lot of warts.

4. I believe in dreams, chasing them tenaciously and not giving them up easily.

5. I don’t believe government is the solution to everything but I want the government we have to work. I hate paying taxes and seeing dysfunction. I don’t think the village should be burned to save it.

6. I believe in education and its amazing powers. Knowledge is power. But you have to apply knowledge for it to be powerful.

7. I don’t believe in whiners — especially politicians who make themselves out to be victims. Or try to convince you that you are. I also don’t trust people who are on the radio and TV who try to make me afraid.

8. I believe in free will — but once was a Presbyterian so I believe I was predestined to believe in free will.

9. I believe in God and am a Christian. But I also am a pray in the closet kind of guy and feel like that my faith is better enacted than spoken. I’m a sinner but am working on it.

10. I believe in the power of family — but sometimes know that family can be a bit dysfunctional.

11. I believe in a good steak, a good glass of wine and having friends with you when you are enjoying a good steak and a good glass of wine. I have a lot more steak than wine.

12. I believe in moderation — except when it comes to bread. I love bread. It’s a weakness.

13. I believe that struggles are how you learn and grow.

14. I believe that angels come in weird clothing. Some of the worst people in my life have helped me grow the most.

15. I believe there is evil in this world and that you must stand up to it. Bullies, too.

16. I believe in a good nap, a good sunrise and a good run.

17. I believe in being grateful and paying blessings forward.

18. I believe I married a very good person who is a very good mom to our very good kids.

19. I believe a good dog can cure a lot of things that trouble you.

20. I believe that the world needs more empathy. And that its hard to have some days.

That’s a partial list. I don’t really fit into a neat category or label. But I will say this, I believe in the best in most people until they prove me wrong. That happens a lot — but I’d rather err on the benefit of the doubt.

M

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.