Marshall Ramsey

As amazing as the 2nd Annual Mississippi Book Festival’s panels were (and they were very good), the author’s lounge was a little piece of heaven. It was a refuge from the hustle and bustle out in the Capitol’s hallways. And it was well-stocked with pastries and fresh fruit.

It also was well-stocked with authors. I got to catch up with long-time friends and met a few new ones. Several of my Twitter friends were there, too. I was like a literary family reunion. But that’s how Mississippi works. And it is one of the reasons I’ve really enjoyed living here. You can bump into talented people nearly daily. And they are glad to see you when you do.

One person who I wasn’t so sure would be glad to see me is former Senator Trent Lott. My cartoons were fairly tough on him back in the day (and rightfully so). I got his attention, he introduced himself (like he needed, too) and I said my name. A look of recognition washed over his face.

“Oh. You used to draw me with a helmet head.”

Well, yeah.

Anyway he told me this story that I’ll share. Back when Bill Clinton was President (probably around 1999 or so), Senator Lott slipped a piece of legislation into an appropriations bill that would have extended duck season. Many years, duck season would end before the ducks made it to Mississippi. Clinton threatened to veto it. So I drew a cartoon with Lott explaining to a wide-eyed Clinton why it was important, “Imagine if intern season ended before any interns showed up.”

Senator Lott found the cartoon amusing and asked for the original. I figured it was the most I could do, so I gave it to him. The good Senator promptly framed it and hung it in his Senate office’s bathroom in the U.S. Capitol.

Most artists hope to end up in the Louvre. I end up in the darn loo.

When Hillary was sworn into the Senate, President Clinton needed to hit the bathroom. So he popped into Lott’s office to use his. When he came out of the bathroom, he was laughing because of the cartoon. He promptly gave Senator Lott another cartoon (by another cartoonist) as a present as a payback.

The part of the story I didn’t know is that both original cartoons were lost when Katrina washed Senator Lott’s home out to sea.

I’m going to look in my electronic archives and find that cartoon so I can make a copy of it for Senator Lott. If for no other reason, he gave me a good story. But that’s what the Mississippi Book Festival was all about — good stories. And that’s what Mississippians do so darn well.

Last night I heard a grandfather powerfully eulogized his 13-year-old grandson. No grandfather ever should have to do that.

Ever.

As he spoke, his love for his grandson reached out and wrapped its arms around everyone in the audience. There wasn’t a dry eye in the church.

Then he asked all his grandson’s classmates to stand. They did. The grandfather challenged them to reach out to everyone in their school. To lift someone up, whether it be a smile, a fist-bump or some other act of kindness. He told the kids that they could change their school for that day. And then he asked they do it again the next day.

I’m not sure how many kids got it — but even if it was just one, it’ll change a life. And it’ll help heal pain. Pain that his grandson obviously felt.

It’s advice we all should live by.

I watched my own 13-year-old son stand-up and thought of his grandson. I can’t even imagine his pain.

Thunder rumbled outside. And then I heard the rain.

Right now, thousands are waking up on a shelter cot, wondering, “what the hell is next?” Because Hell already visited them in liquid form. Brown, murky flood waters quickly rose in the night, stealing homes, dreams and lives.

Our friends in Louisiana are suffering.

A flood really is the worst. When the water goes down, your stuff is still there. It’s just ruined. Plus, it’s not like your neighbor can take you in. He or she is equally suffering. Heck your whole neighborhood and town are, too. And because it’s not as sexy as a hurricane or tornado (which both suck), the national media practically ignores you. The cavalry aint’ coming from afar.

It will be your neighbors after all. Good people who somehow avoided the devastation will put their boats in the water and will rescue you. The Cajan Navy is a prime example of this. Good people do good things.

There are a lot of good people in Louisiana.

This once-in-a-lifetime weather system put down as much water as the Mississippi River dumps into the sea — in 40 days. It will be years before the affected areas fully recover. We’re sitting here, 100 plus miles away, high and dry. But our day will happen. We learned that during Katrina. During our various tornadoes and ice storms. And as Jackson has learned itself, during floods.

Louisiana will recover. They are tough people. But it will happen quicker if we help. If you get a chance to make a donation, do. Because there will come a time that we need that kind of help, too.

To my boys,

School is here. While the thermometer may disagree, summer is over. No more sleeping late. No more binge-watching Netflix. Time to cut Snapchatting back by at least 1/2. It’s time to get up, get ready and get the heck out of the house. Here are a few things I want you to remember today:

• You’ve gotten your school schedules. You’ve already done reconnaissance on your teachers. Great. I only request one thing: Go into their classes with an open mind. Remember, just because one of your friends didn’t like a teacher might have something to do with your friend, not your teacher.
• Sit as close to the front as you can. Ask questions. Seek help after class or make an appointment. If your teacher knows you, that will help your grades — and your learning experience.
• Do your homework. I know, you just heard that in your mother’s voice. But do as much preparation as you can before you get to class. The more you are exposed to material, the easier it is to learn it.
• Don’t make good grades your goal. Make learning your goal — good grades will follow.
• Don’t cram for tests. Trust me, you won’t remember anything a couple of days after the test.
• Don’t procrastinate. Do as Elvis said, “Take care of business in a flash.”
• Have fun. I’m 30 years out from high school and I still remember the good times. (Just don’t have too much fun. I’m still your parent, after all.)
• Know that your mother and I are very, very, very proud of you. We are here to support you. Now, if you screw up and get in trouble, you must pay the consequences. But we’ll always be behind you to help you succeed. We know your potential. You can exceed us in so many ways.

Just remember this.

Chase your dreams. Catch your dreams. Own your dreams.

You’ve got this.

Love, Dad.

These are remarks about my Dad’s passing that I shared on my 7/11/16 radio show:

A week ago, I was sitting in a hospital holding my father’s hand as he struggled to breathe. I had just rolled into Atlanta from Mississippi and was in shock from all the driving and the sensory overload caused by the hospital. Dad had been admitted earlier in the day and hadn’t opened his eyes, but he knew I was there. And he knew my oldest sister was there, too. She had just gotten back from her vacation. When he heard our voices he’d mumble or squeeze our hands. When my middle sister made it in from out of town, he turned his head slightly toward her voice.

He was glad we were with him.

Dementia had robbed him of much of his memory – the last couple years have been rough on him and our family. But dementia never truly defeated my dad. He still knew his kids. He still loved his wife. Although he struggled with details, the core of who he was still existed.

But we weren’t there because of dementia. His kidneys were shutting down. He had a UTI infection. And he was letting go.

The next day, my sisters and I continued to hold his hand after he had been transferred to hospice

He was transitioning.

The peacefulness of the hospice facility caused him to be more calm. I arrived early Tuesday morning to tell him what a good dad he was. What a difference he had meant to the community. And what an amazing life he had.

My dad died the way he lived – with a purpose. He passed away on his 59^th wedding anniversary and was surrounded by his three children. When he took his last breath, I thought of Victor Hugo’s quote: To love another person is to see the face of God.

It was definitely a God moment.

In typical Ramsey fashion, my sisters and I worked hard to execute all the plans my mother (to her credit) had set up. The funeral home was contacted. So was my parents’ minister. Everything was set. My sisters and I sat together that night and thought of all the good memories we had – and some of the bad ones. My dad never played favorites with us. Yes, he loved us in different ways. But we are very different people.

We are remarkably close. It’s my dad’s gift to us.

Saturday, my sisters and I stood in front of a fairly full church and told everyone what we had learned from our dad. My middle sister spoke first and was elegant and funny. My oldest sister then spoke and hit it out of the park. I batted cleanup and told what lessons I had learned from dad. When my sons were born, I realized I had no experience with kids. I fell back on his example on how to be a father.

From him teaching me to waterski (my father waterboarded before it was popular), I learned resilience. He’d pull the boat up to me after I had fallen and drank about half of the Tennessee River and say, “It’s not how you fall, it’s how you get back up.” After I had cancer surgery, he made me get out of bed and walk the neighborhood. As he walked with me he said, “It’s not how you fall, it’s how you get back up. Make THAT your story.”

He taught me that humor is a healing balm. I learned about giving back to the community. I learned about having a quiet faith. Dad was a pray in the closet kind of guy. He wasn’t flashy. But he tried to be good to others.

We need more like him in this world, not less.

Whenever we’d all go out to eat, Dad would announce “That was the best meal I’ve ever had.” My kids joke about that. Heck, I do to. But as we were sitting together the other night after his funeral, I realized I had had the best meal I had ever had. And it wasn’t the food. It was the company.

Dad loved his family first. That was the meaning of success to Dave Ramsey. He lived for family. And he died with them holding his hand.

He was the most successful man I’ve ever known.

We live in a world of turmoil. The past week has had violence and brutal killings. People are talking past each other, not too each other. Empathy is not a hashtag. Empathy is understanding. Dad taught me empathy.

I sat by his coffin Saturday afternoon as it was about to be lowered into the ground. I saw two motorcycle policemen salute dad as the flag was folded. I saw graves for people of every race, gender and nationality. But they all had one thing in common – they were underground. Ashes to ashes. Dust to dust.

We’re all headed there. While it is fun to get on social media and scream about our differences, we all have the same fate in store for us.

I was blessed to have my dad for 81 years. He was funny, grumpy, wise, kind, loud and giving. He believed in his son and his crazy dreams. He wasn’t perfect – neither am I but he was perfect for me. As his coffin exited the church, the organist played Rocky Top and the crowd sang. Everyone left on an up note – dad, a UT graduate, would have wanted that. That’s who he was in life.

Thanks Dad. I celebrate your life. And I’ll see you again. But until then, I hope I’m half the man you were.