Marshall Ramsey

The road ran along a bluff that kissed the Mississippi River. I was on the highest point in the county; a rise so mighty that even old man river couldn’t conquer it during the great flood of 2011. My feet crunched the gravel and sank slightly into the sand. Bugs made the temperature seem hotter than it was and the humidity made the eight miles seem like at least twice that. The thick, lush Delta growth wrapped my senses in a thick, green wool blanket. And the orange eye of the sun peeked over the Mississippi, setting the river on fire.

I looked down at my running watch and felt sweat drip off my nose: 7.5 — only a half-mile left to go. The finish was near.

Thanks be to God.

I walked up to the house and sat on the porch. Mopping my brow, I watched the muddy water continue to slip its way to New Orleans. I was struck by the quietness of the river. A dog barked in the distance but the river flowed by without a sound. You could see the strong current — particularly when a barge was heading downstream or when a random piece of flotsam shot past. It didn’t scream, look at me. It just didn’t it’s work.

And that’s when it struck me.

The Mississippi River is like the great people I know: Strong. Deep. Powerful. Swift. Bold, yet quiet. It quietly moves a continent with confidence. A small babbling stream has to let the world know of its greatness with its sound. Not Old Man river.

It’s about action, not words. Something I knew I should strive for. More water flowed by. There was something mesmerizing about it all.

My nephew Bryce moves into his Ole Miss dorm this week — and my sister’s nest is now officially empty (except for a very spoiled cat.) He’s moving to Mississippi (from Atlanta) and will join his brother Blake in the Magnolia State. I’m Uncle-proud and extremely pleased he’ll be here. I swear he was born yesterday.

Time flies — We just hang on for the ride.

As he settles into his new life, I have a simple prayer for him: I pray he treats his time on campus as the adventure it is. I hope he seizes every opportunity college has to offer and refuses to let go. I hope he has the time of his life (within reason for the sake of my sister.)

Of course, today, I’m reflecting on my move-in day at The University of Tennessee. I think of the loads of stuff. The nervousness. Watching my parents drive away. The blank slate of opportunity ahead of me.

If I had to do it over again, I would’ve taken more advantage of the opportunities outside of the classroom. Because that’s where so much of my education took place. Hiking in the Smokies. Hearing President George H.W. Bush speak. Working on the Student Newspaper. Drawing cartoons. Playing harmonica in a bar. Meeting Alex Haley and Senator Baker. Sitting in my advisor’s office as she helped me chart my career. Meeting the cartoonist at the local newspaper (who is my mentor and friend). Being challenged by amazing faculty to do better. Getting to know the Dean of Students personally. Serving as a Resident Assistant. Serving on Student Government. Running on campus. Going to UT football and basketball games. Playing intramural football. Seeing plays and concerts. Going to guest lectures. Making friends. Friends who I still cherish today.

Twenty-eight years from now, Bryce will probably watch his nephew move into a dorm, too. I hope that when he does, he as no regrets.

Godspeed, Bryce. And have the time of your life (within reason for the sake of my sister.)

My running watch said 5:43 a.m. and my window to get into the shower was slamming shut.

Thus is life at the Ramsey house on a school morning. It’s orchestrated chaos. You have to hit your marks.

I was about a quarter of a mile from the house and the shortest route back was the hardest — it was straight up the biggest hill in my neighborhood. I have an affectionate nickname for that hill, but I won’t share it here. This is a family blog after all. Let’s just call it #$%$.

I looked at the time. I could go straight (the flatter route) and risk throwing the shower schedule into chaos. Or take #$%$.

Another glance at the watch.

#$%$ it was.

One of the most important things I’ve learned from running is that hills are 90% mental. And isn’t that true in life as well? I broke the hill into 10-yard mental segments. “If I can only make that mailbox.” “If I can make it to that driveway.” “If I can make it to the next house.” I looked at the ground in front of me, concentrating on each step I took, not the steep rise ahead of me. How do you eat an elephant? One bite at a time.

Exactly one minute later, I had crested the hill. My heart rate was screaming but I had done it. I sprinted down the other side and into the shower. I had finished my 3.16 mile run, peace was saved, avoided a shower by garden hose and all was right in the Ramsey world.

I had conquered the hill known as #$%$. And now, I’m ready to conquer any other hill life throws my way. One bite at a time.

Half my life ago, I started as a night janitor at Pope High School. It was my fifth-year in high school and the most important job I’ve ever had. Working at Pope taught me 5 things I never could learn in school.

1.Judge people by their heart not job title.
2. That I am not my job. That how I do my job reflects who I am.
3. That putting a textbook in a toilet and pooping on it is not funny.
4. A pity party is only enjoyed by the person who is throwing it.
5. Talent + Attitude + Effort = A clean school and a bright future.

I think about that job now because I am in a similar place. I must use my talent, have a great attitude and put in the effort.

I thought being a janitor was the worst moment of my life. But it led to so many great moments. It taught me a perspective that got me through cancer and career hiccups. Change seems scary. But it’s also opportunity’s best friend.

So thank you Pope High School for my education. I’m not a graduate, but I am proud to be your only two-time Pulitzer-Finalist Custodian.

P.S. When I was a janitor, I worked with a lady whose husband was an out-of-work Eastern pilot. She worked hard keeping family intact. That lady, who I grew to admire for her grit and work-ethic, is now my mother-in-law.

That’s the end of the Custodian Chronicles. I always think about Pope HS when the kids go back-to-school.

Saw this rainbow immediately after I heard about Robin Williams. Not sure it means anything but it brought an ounce of comfort in a sea of sadness.

But I don’t mind
‘Cause all comedians suffer
On the outside
Try so hard to look tougher
But there’s a cost
When you radiate sunshine
And dreams get lost
Like keys get left on the counter

“All Comedians Suffer” by Neil Finn

This song rattled in my head when I heard the news about Robin Williams.  I thought to myself, how could someone who radiated so much sunshine succumb to the grip of gloom? How could his dreams have gotten lost?  How could he have killed himself?

I guess the pain was just too much.

In hindsight, I guess the signs were there that he suffered from depression.  He battled addiction (self-medication). And I can list several hyper-creative people who have battled mental illness.  Fertile soil grows great weeds as well as great crops. But last night still came as a shock.  A shock that really left me, well, depressed myself.

I guess it’s easy to ask, “With all the bad news in the world why we should care?” Well, it’s BECAUSE of all the bad news.  The world is a frightening place. ISIS, Ebola, war in the Mideast, the turmoil in Missouri, the economy — you name it.  How could the world lose someone who has provided so much joy? Particularly now? We need MORE people who bring light and joy into this dark world, not less.

I just wish someone could have helped Robin Williams find joy at that moment of his darkest hour.

Depression is a sneaky thief that lies you as it pulls a shroud over your eyes.  I know. It lied to me, too.  The year after I was diagnosed with cancer was the most miserable time of my life. Anxiety, fear and gloom joined together to cripple me.  I was terrorized to a standstill.  It’s hard to describe it, really, because it was reality for me.  My world was in chaos yet it seemed so normal. So painful.  So overwhelming. This lie was reality to me. Thankfully, the storm passed because I got help.  I made changes that made incremental improvements.  Joy returned to my life. If you see me out running a million miles, you now know why.

But the bottom line is this: Mental illness shouldn’t be stigmatized; it should be treated.  Williams wasn’t crazy. He was ill. If he had had cancer, high blood pressure, lung disease, rickets or any other disease, we wouldn’t think twice about him seeking help.  Mental illness isn’t just in someone’s head. It’s not selfishness. It’s your brain lying to you.  There are treatments. There are ways of getting people help.  I know many good people who won’t seek that help because they think it will cost them their jobs or that people will think they’re “nuts.”  Some insurance plans won’t even cover therapy. This has to end.

If you know someone with depression, reach out to them. Love them. Get them the help they need.

Me? I’m going to celebrate the force of nature that was Robin Williams. I’m going to watch Good Morning Vietnam, Dead Poet’s Society, Mrs. Doubtfire and Good Will Hunting. I’m going to appreciate an amazing life.  One that has been snuffed out way too soon.