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Observations, musings and miscellany from an unapologetic sentimentalist.

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Mrs. Childs and the Center of the Universe

on June 28, 2017

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She Was Radiant

She was radiant. You would have said her hair was red, but it was not. It was copper, a brilliant, deep orange that caught the light and threw it back at you. It could easily be mistaken for a halo. Natalie Henderson Bates was an angel of an intern in our public relations department. She was perfect for the role. She was funny, engaging, professional and memorable. The team we worked with marveled at her perfect hair, perfect makeup and perfect wardrobe, all pulled off on a college student budget and a boat load of talent and instinct. It was a few years after her internship, after college and after she had married the love of her life when we found out she had leukemia. It seemed cruel and wrong, but if Natalie felt that way you wouldn't know it. Natalie braved the treatments and their side effects and turned them into an opportunity to shine and to inspire. She fought back with flair and panache, and she was winning. With cancer in her past, Natalie

Mrs. Childs and the Center of the Universe

When my dad died just a little over 19 years ago, and when my mom passed 7 years later, Eloise Childs was the first person to knock at my door. “I had to come check on my Will,” she said with a card, check and a strong, deep-hearted hug. Mrs. Childs always called me "Will." I loved it. Today, it was my turn to do the checking on her family. Mrs. Childs’ funeral was today, and I’ve teared up more than a few times thinking about her and her legacy. I’m certainly not the only person who has benefited from the selfless heart that beat inside her chest, but she sure made me feel like I was. That was her gift. Mrs. Childs made every person in her life feel like he or she was the center of the universe. I met Mrs. Childs when my family moved to Cave Spring Road. I was getting ready to enter the second grade. We were poor as dirt. We lived at the top of dusty hill that looked over the squalor of a place called Clemonesville. We were surround

Becky Sue Hits the Big Time

FIRST, A NOTE: I love the craft of writing, and I love it when other writers do well, especially when I have a personal connection to them. That's the case with Rebekah Faulk. Rebekah and I worked together for about four years. She departed for a job closer to her beloved Georgia coast. It, evidently, was just the medicine to inspire her. Since leaving just nine months or so ago, she has started blogging about her favorite subject in all the world–food, and finding some real success. Her blog is entertaining, and her videos, well, you just have to see them. It's even better when you know Rebekah, who I dubbed Becky Sue not long after she joined our team. Since many of you won't get the chance to meet her personally, I thought I'd share with you a glimpse of Rebekah. I wrote it for her a day or so before she left. After reading about Becky Sue, I hope you'll go over to her blog and subscribe to it. I've got a feeling we may see her on TV one day. Som

The Life and Times of Henry P. Fortenberry

My wife gave me a DNA test for Christmas last year, and since then, I've developed an appetite to learn more about my ancestors. Over the past few months, I feel like I've finally gotten to know Henry Fortenberry, my great-great grandfather, just a little bit. Here is his story: Alabama 48th Soldier John P. Alldredge served in Company A. Henry served in Company H. I do not have a photo of Henry. Like his ancestors before him, my great-great grandfather, Henry Fortenberry, was a survivor. Life was hard for Charles and Alsey Fortenberry, when Henry, their second child was born. They were living in Spartanburg, South Carolina with two-year-old Isaac, their first born. America was reeling from the Panic of 1837, an economic depression that closed banks and cost many Americans their wealth. And, food was sparse following a severe drought in 1838, the worst ever recorded in the South. One year later, the year Henry was born, the last of the Ch

He Loved Hot Rods, Banjos and Jesus

Stanley Walker was a legend and a folk hero living in a body far too little for his big personality and his over-sized heart. He loved hot rods, banjos, his grandbabies and Jesus, but not in that order. For the first half of his life, Stanley was the go-to paint and body man in Lindale and surrounding parts. If you wanted your standard issue Ford or Chevy to look on the outside like the lioness she was under the hood, Stanley was your guy. Stanley had a reputation for turning out tough-looking hot rods. He favored Studebakers, Packards, Corvettes, Indian motorcycles and the AMC Rebel Machine. He could hand-paint stripes so perfect you’d swear they came off a roll, and his flames were not the standard Hot Wheels variety. Stanley’s flames danced off the car like they were coming straight out of the motor. His basement garage on Maple Road drew men, young and old, who loved cars like he did and wanted to see his paint come to life. I was about 7 or 8 years old

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