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.

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.

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 remember my interview for this job like it was yesterday. I flew from San Diego to Dallas to Jackson almost exactly 20 years ago. Our flight came in around 9 p.m. I remember how dark it seemed as the plane began its landing cycle (compared to the bright lights of Southern California). I noticed a large body of water (the Reservoir) and thought we were going down. We weren’t — although I’m sure me wearing my life vest spooked the other passengers.

My friend Jon Broadbooks picked me up at the airport. Jon and I had worked for the same paper chain in Houston, Texas — just proving how small of a world journalism really is. He took me on a tour before dropping me at my hotel. A few of his quotes were: “There’s Applebees. If you’re not going going to get the job, you’ll eat there. If you’re going to get the job, you’ll eat at Shapleys.” “That’s Eudora Welty’s house– I think.” “That’s UMC and it’s a great place to go if you’re ever shot.”

It was not a Chamber of Commerce moment.

He also told me that if I complimented the publisher’s picture Reagan, I’d get the job. He was joking — I think. I never brought up the picture (although it was a nice picture of the Gipper).

I nestled into the now boarded-up Edison-Walthall Hotel in downtown. I flipped on the TV and saw Channel 16’s then garish blue set (I was used to Southern California news). I noted how southern all the accents on the commercials were. Then I turned to comedy gold — Jackson City Council’s meeting on public access television.

I knew I wanted to move here.

That morning, I walked over to the paper. We had am eventful editorial board meeting with Rep. Bennie Thompson and I met with various editors and writers. Then Executive Editor John Johnson told me I could make the job into anything I wanted to — I thought if I get the job I’d go out into the community as much as possible. I met a string of people at the paper. Then I sat in the Human Resources Director’s office for another interview. I noticed all the Marshall University items on his wall. “You know much about the plane crash?” I asked naively. The HR director was Nate Ruffin, the player who gave up his seat on the plane to a booster and survived — and was featured in the movie We Are Marshall.

Editorial Page Editor David Hampton picked me up that evening and he and several others took me to Shapleys. OK, so no Applebees. That’s a good sign. Then I thought everyone eating with me liked me — but I now know it was because they were getting a free steak. Speaking of, that was the biggest steak I had had in years. I’m sure Gannett’s stock price dropped after that meal.

The next morning, Joe White (editorial copy editor) and Jim Ewing (editorial writer) volunteered to take me back to the airport. John Johnson told him and Jim Ewing not to get too close to me because I might not pass the drug test. I never got to work with John. I never got to work for him — he was gone by the time I came here in December.

Joe took me to the airport in his Aunt Ann’s 1974 Buick. We cruise by the old Gold Coast (where you bought liquor during prohibition) and a private prison. As I flew back, I met a great couple from Jackson who I still know today.

When I got home, Amy asked me what I thought of Jackson. I told her I had never seen it in the daylight (I hadn’t.) But I did love all the people I met. I had a feeling that this would be a good move. When David Hampton called me a few days later to offer the job, I accepted.

The interview was actually kind of bizarre. But I took the job anyway. Maybe it was a leap of faith. Or maybe I was just intrigued by Gov. Kirk Fordice, Enoch Sanders and Kenneth I. Stokes. Who knows. Actually it was the people I had met while here. I have had the please of working with dozens of amazing journalists.

When we pulled into our apartment complex that December, I saw a Clarion-Ledger box. I smiled and thought, “That is my paper.” It was a feeling that I’ll never forget. Just like that interview so many years ago.