Debbie and I enjoyed spending a few days with family at the Midwest Old Threshers Reunion, Sept. 3 – 7, in Mount Pleasant, Iowa.
        This was our 19th year out of 20 (Covid year) to attend and camp at the Old Threshers Reunion.
     While on the grounds, I stopped at Printers’ Hall in Museum B and purchased the annual publication of “The Threshers Bee” newspaper for $1.
      The eight-page newspaper, which is printed on an antique press, features numerous old-time stories, quotes and advertisements. While thumbing through this year’s publication, I found a story entitled “What Happened To Sunday Dinner,” the namesake of this column.
     The story peaked my interest, so I opted to read it, and the following are a couple excerpts from the story.
       “Perhaps it went out with high-button shoes, kerosene lamps and the dependable old cob-burning stove,” the unknown author wrote.
       “Most farm families enjoyed three meals each day, but tradition decreed that Sunday dinner should be special,” noted the story. “The efficient hostess usually called her prospective guests during the middle of the week, if she was fortunate enough to have a telephone, which she cranked, and luckier still, to find a time when the lines weren’t busy. Visiting on a party line was both a necessity and a virtue. The faithful telephone operator was praised and condemned according to the whims of the caller on a particular day. If the Sunday guest contacted accepted the invitation, it meant some extra hurrying and scurrying to get all the little extra things done.”
      “Coffee was ground as needed and “settled” with a well-beaten egg; an ultra-clear beverage,” the story noted. “The grinder was usually square with a handle on top, and was held between the knees for ballast. Later, newfangled glass ones were fastened on the wall. Both creamer and sugar bowls were generous in size, and knew no competition from today’s substitutes.
        “Once the Sunday meal was prepared and served, Father sat at the head of the table and returned thanks for their many blessings and asked guidance for the footsteps of his offspring, who sat with heads bowed and hands folded.
      “Mother blushed at the many compliments that came as her delicious food was passed, and humbly apologized for not having had as good of luck as usual with some.
        “No radio interrupted with the noon weather forecast, nor did TV monopolize with a football game. After dinner, the men retired to the parlor, while the ladies did the dishes. Later all enjoyed the newest stereopticon views and the family photograph album.
      “Yes, each week still has a Sunday. People still eat, but with all of our modern packaged foods and efficient equipment it is easier to say, “Let’s go to the Redwood Inn (or some other restaurant) for dinner.”
            “America lost something when we put Sunday dinner “in mothballs.”
The Parker family table
        I don’t recall my mom entertaining that much as young lad growing up in Tulsa. Maybe she did more than I remember. Our dining room featured a large 48-inch round table with four wooden chairs. There were two additional leaves that stretched the table to 72-inches if the need arose.
           Mom kept the fine China in a kitchen cabinet and sitting atop the buffet, which was a bedroom dresser with a large mirror, was my mom’s silverware. It featured every type of China known to man in the large wooden China box.
        Each drawer of the buffet was filled with photos, linens, school papers from my brother and me and many other important papers.
           What I do remember are the many holiday meals, family birthdays and celebrations at our dining room table. In the early days of my youth, we always ate at home on Sundays after an earlier trip to the First Baptist Church to worship God.
            In later years, Sunday dinner was a bucket of Kentucky Fried Chicken’s finest. And if company was coming, that meant two buckets of chicken.
            We then started eating at the Eastside Café in Tulsa. They had the best greasy onion rings and country foods such as chicken fried steak, hamburger steak, meat loaf or a special of the day. Top that off with mashed potatoes with gravy, a vegetable and dinner rolls and one was in for a feast. And if we were lucky, we enjoyed a slice of homemade pie to top the noon meal off.
           And I would take the dinner check and add each meal in my head along with the tax to come up with a final tally, which I shared with the cashier. I was usually right on or only off a few cents.
          And of course, my dad refused to leave until he’d finished off atleast a pot of coffee, with the waitress stopping often to refill his cup. I enjoyed a cold glass of Pepsi or ice tea.
        What I do recall is the many holiday meals we enjoyed at our dining room table along with birthday celebrations and even my high school graduation party with family. I was tickled to have my family there while opening gifts and cards and enjoying a cake baked by my mom.
        My mom had a cake business and often was called on to bake and decorate a wedding cake or a birthday cake. She probably had 40 or more Wilton character cake pans she used in her business. 
            I remember one birthday when my dad bought me a pair of boots. My dad had to play a joke and hide one of the boots and wrap the other in birthday paper.
          He finally pulled the second boot from its hiding place and I could then wear my new boots.
          One Christmas eve when I was a youngster, I went to bed at 6 p.m., so Christmas would arrive sooner than later. I got up at 2 a.m. and couldn’t sleep any longer, so I woke the family and we all sat around the dining room table and opened our gifts, before going back to bed.
          I hold lots of great memories and enjoying tasty home-cooked meals in my heart and they will be with me all my life.
Always remember that Good Things are Happening, every day and always.

        My mom was born on Oct. 12, 1936 in New Madrid, Mo., located along the Mississippi River in the Bootheel of the state.
      She spent 15-years of her life in New Madrid and the surrounding area before her family moved in 1951 to Van Buren, Mo., made famous as the home of Big Springs on the Current River.
        Her dad and my grandfather came to the Bootheel in 1924 from northwest Alabama after my great-great grandfather was caught bootlegging moonshine and had to leave or go to jail. My grandmother’s family, who also was from northwest Alabama and knew my grandfather’s family, followed eight years later in 1932.
        My grandparents were married on Oct. 30, 1932 at the New Madrid Courthouse. They raised seven children with my mom being the third oldest. The seventh child, Genola, died at age 4 after getting sick. I’m not familiar with what happened.
        My mom was quite fond of Genola and when my grandmother died, Mom inherited the family trunk. Inside were clothing items, a couple dolls and other belongings that Genola had.
         Outside of my family ties, New Madrid is probably most known for the New Madrid Fault line that runs from Marked Tree, Ark., in the northwest part of that state, across the Bootheel through New Madrid, the fault line’s name sake, into southern Illinois and on to southern Indiana.
       Between December and February, 1811 – 1812, the area was struck with three major earthquakes. The first occurred on Dec. 16, 1811 and tipped the Richter scale with a magnitude of 8.1. The second to hit the area struck on Jan. 23, 1812 and tipped the Richter scale at 7.8 magnitude. The third and final earthquake took place on Feb. 7, 1812, with the Richter scale tipping out at 8.8 magnitude, causing the Mississippi River to run backwards.
            According to the City of New Madrid, the three major New Madrid earthquakes were the biggest earthquakes in American history. They were felt as far away as New York City, Boston, Montreal and Washington, D.C. President James Madison and his wife, Dolly, felt them in the White House and church bells rang in Boston. During the time period, there were more 2,000 earthquakes reported in the central Midwest, and between 6,000 – 10,000 earthquakes in the Bootheel of Missouri, where New Madrid is located.
            Reelfoot Lake in Tennessee, south of New Madrid, was created during the earthquakes.
            While a student at the University of Missouri-Columbia, I wrote a story on the New Madrid earthquakes that was published in Missouri Life Magazine.
         The story centered around Iben Browning, a self-proclaimed climatologist from New Mexico, who predicted some years earlier that a major earthquake would strike in one of three places, including New Madrid, Mo. on or around Dec. 3, 1990.
           The prediction drew news folks from all across the United States to New Madrid. Nothing ever became of the prediction. One of the local eateries, Tom’s Grill, came up with a Quake Burger that sold like hot cakes. Basically, it was hamburger with a cracked bun to mimic the fault line. While in New Madrid doing research for my story, I stopped at Tom’s Grill and enjoyed a Quake Burger myself.
       Anyway, my family often traveled to the New Madrid area in August during our yearly vacations. My mom had family in New Madrid, Malden, Matthews and Bertrand, all small towns in the Bootheel area.
         We sometimes stayed with mom’s cousin and husband, Raymond and Margaret Marrow, on her mother’s side that lived in Bertrand, a small town located along Highway 60 east Interstate 55.
       Margaret was the daughter of Aunt Nova, my grandmother’s older sister. Aunt Nova lived next door with her husband, Uncle Claude.
       The Morrows had two boys and a daughter and were a big time farmers, raising corn and beans in the area, including on Wolfe Island in the Mississippi River.
       Wolfe Island is part of Kentucky, but easily accessible from Missouri. At one time, the Marrow family had around 12,000 acres of farm land on Wolfe Island, plus other land they farmed.
        It was sometime in 1970s and Dad and I rode in Raymond’s pickup truck to Charleston, Mo. and picked up three dozen garden hoes for the migrant laborers to hoe weeds in the soybean fields.
        Being a city boy, I was curious of the laborers and the next day offered to hoe the beanfields for the Marrow’s oldest son.
      I hoed a couple short rows of soybeans, working less than hour, and he paid me $10 by check. 
        I carried the check with me and was with my dad when we were sitting under the carport at Aunt Nova’s place visiting with Uncle Claude.
      Uncle Claude had a small black tackle box for sale and offered it to me for $3. My dad encouraged me to buy the tackle box, so I did with the $10 check I earned chopping soybean weed. He gave me back $7 in change.
        I have lots of fond memories of visiting family in the Bootheel. I remember my Uncle J.B. and Uncle B.C. in New Madrid. Uncle J.B. sold Tom’s Candy and my mom always bought a box of colorful coconut bars every time we visited.
         I remember staying with an uncle in Matthews, Mo. and fixing his broken roto-tiller.
      And in later years, I enjoyed attended Horton Reunions on my grandfather’s side. Debbie and I attended one of last reunions in Sept. 2004, just before we got married.
       I’ll never forget the impact of the blessed childhood I enjoyed and the love and teaching from the Good Book I was given by my parents.
       Always remember that Good Things are Happening, every day and always.

         It was Aug. 21, 1974.
       A few days earlier, my family and I had made a trip to Waynesboro, Tenn., about 100 miles south of Nashville, to stay with family on my mom’s side.
       I remember the trip well as our truck broke down near Dixon, Tenn. on I-40 on our way to Nashville. We’d planned to attend the Grand Old Opry, but didn’t make the show in time.
      While in Waynesboro, I saw the movie, “Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid,” at the local theater while staying with my mom’s cousin, who had a son about my age.
        We were on our way home and stayed that evening at a KOA Campground in West Memphis, Ark.
       The next morning, I awoke to learn that the legendary Tennessee Lawman Buford Pusser, 36, died after crashing his Corvette into an embankment while driving at a high rate of speed. Pusser was ejected from his car, which caught fire and burned.
      The crash happened four miles from Pusser’s hometown of Adamsville, Tenn. after he had attended the McNairy County Fair that evening.
        I was entering ninth grade in the fall that year and didn’t know that much about the lawman. Something drew me to him and as time went on, I took more of an interest in his life, especially after watching the third and final movie in the “Walking Tall” series in September 1977, my senior year in high school.
      Pusser, who grew up in Adamsville, was a towering 6’6,” 250-pound man who served as sheriff of McNairy County Tennessee from 1964 – 1970.
        Following graduation from high school, Pusser joined the U.S. Marines, but his service ended in boot camp when he was given a medical discharge for asthma.
       In 1957, Pusser moved to Chicago, where he was a local wrestler known as "Buford the Bull." He married Pauline Mullins on Dec. 5, 1959.
     Pusser returned to Adamsville in 1962 and in September that year was elected as Adamsville's police chief and constable.
     In 1964, he was elected sheriff of McNairy County after then sheriff James Dicky was killed in an auto accident. At the time, he was the youngest sheriff in Tennessee’s history.
     He was known to carry a big hickory stick to fight local bootleggers and organized crime, which included the Dixie Mafia and State Line Mob. He targeted Illegal moonshining, gambling and prostitution along the Tennessee-Mississippi border and made a name for himself. He had several alleged assassination attempts on his life.
       One of those attempts came on Feb. 1, 1966, when Louise Hathcock attempted to kill Pusser during an on-site investigation of a robbery complaint at the Shamrock Motel in Corinth, Miss. on the state line. Hathcock allegedly fired on Pusser with a concealed .38 pistol. Pusser returned fire and killed Hathcock. On Jan. 2, 1967, Pusser was shot three times by an unidentified gunman, and lived.
     Life changed for Pusser on the morning of Aug. 12, 1967 when Pauline was killed in an ambush. Pusser said his phone rang before dawn that day informing him of a disturbance on New Hope Road in McNairy County. He responded, and his wife, Pauline, rode along.
      Shortly after the couple passed the New Hope Methodist Church, a fast-moving car came alongside theirs and the occupants opened fire, killing his wife and leaving Pusser for dead.
        Doctors said Pusser was struck on the left side of his jaw by at least two, or possible three, rounds from a .30-caliber carbine. He spent 18 days in the hospital before returning home, and he had several more surgeries to restore his appearance.
       Despite vowing to bring his wife's murderers to justice, Pusser was unable to indite those involved in the shooting before he died.
More on Buford Pusser’s death
      Speculation regarding the cause of the accident that killed Pusser included rumors of sabotage to the steering mechanism and the tie rods. The Tennessee state trooper who responded to the accident, Paul Ervin, later became the sheriff of McNairy County. Ervin claimed that Pusser's death was caused by drunk driving without a seat belt.
        Dwana Pusser, his daughter, a passenger in another car, came upon the scene of the accident minutes later. No autopsy of Pusser's body was performed.
         Earlier that day, Pusser had contracted with Bing Crosby Productions in Memphis to portray himself in the sequel to “Walking Tall.”
         The first two movies, 1973 and 1975, featured Joe Don Baker as Pusser and the third a final movie, 1977, featured Bo Severson as the lawman.
        A television movie about Pusser was released in 1978 and featured Brian Dennehy as the lawman. In 1981, a short-lived television series about Pusser aired.
         As sheriff, Pusser was credited with surviving seven stabbings and eight shootings.
       Pusser was the subject of three biographical books written by W.R. Morris: “The Twelfth of August: The Story of Buford Pusser” (1971), and “The State Line Mob: A True Story of Murder and Intrigue” (1990). In addition, Morris also created a pictorial history book of Buford called “The Legacy of Buford Pusser: A Pictorial History of the ‘Walking Tall Sheriff” (1997).
       Dwana released a book in 2009 entitled “Walking On,” which is also an account of his life. Dwana has since passed away.
      Singer Eddie Bond wrote and recorded several songs honoring Pusser, beginning with "Buford Pusser" in 1968. Many of them were collected on a 1973 LP album, “Eddie Bond Sings the Legend of Buford Pusser.” Pusser himself was also a recording artist, with "It Happened In Tennessee," released in October 1973. Southern rock band Drive-By Truckers told the story of Pusser's battle with organized crime in several songs, "The Boys from Alabama, "Cottonseed,” and "The Buford Stick." 
         The Buford Pusser Museum was established at the Adamsville home he lived in at the time of his death in 1974. A Buford Pusser Festival is held each Memorial Day weekend in Adamsville where an officer of the year is recognized and officers fallen in the time of duty are honored. 
          Always remember that Good Things are Happening, every day and always.
       Editor’s note: Much of the information for this article was taken from Wikipedia and other news sources.

         When I was a kid, the Florence Park Neighborhood in Tulsa where I lived had a city park.
The park included tennis courts, swings, a merry-go-round and a sprinkler during the summer months.
        It was located about four city blocks south of my boyhood home. I spent a good deal of time during the summer months at Florence Park playing in the sprinkler.
        I’m sure there have been many changes to the park since I was a kid.
     And across the street was the Florence Park Library where I attended summer reading programs and checked out books. I also enjoyed riding my bicycle in neighborhood, stopping to hang our with friends and sometimes staying the night.
       Florence Place was the street I lived on and in the 1970s it was also my paper route along with Florence Avenue, College and Evanston streets.
       And a few miles from my boyhood home was McClure City Park. The park featured various rides, swings, picnic tables, tennis and basketball courts and restrooms. It also featured a large public swimming pool that was always filled to the brim with youngsters on hot summer days.
         It was the first place that I jumped off a 10-foot tall diving board. I had a blast in the pool.
        I knew most all my neighbors and to this day can remember their names. I’m sure most, if not all, have passed on since I left Tulsa many moons ago.
        Mr. Wolfe, who lived a few houses south of me, tied my tie for me when I had my senior photos taken in August 1977. Back in the day, the photographer took two indoor poses and that was it. 
           My next door neighbors to the south were Frank and Lucile Watson. Growing up, it wasn’t Frank and Lucile, it was Mr. and Mrs. Watson.
           They were the ones who gave me my first camera, an Argus Twin Lens Reflex camera, that used 620 Kodak film. It was their son Johnny’s old camera. I still have it to this day.
            And many times my dad and I would stop and visit with Mr. Watson in his garage. He had an office upstairs that we would often check out.
            Mr. Watson loved Ford automobiles and the old LTD model was one of his favorites.
          The vehicle was wider than his driveway, so when he backed toward the street, he would drive the vehicle wheels into the grassy area between our driveway and his.
            If it was muddy from a rain storm, he’d make big ruts.
        My dad was always working on that strip of dirt and digging up grass from behind our garage and trying to patch the mud holes.
            It was all to no avail as when Mr. Watson had somewhere to go.
           I was probably about age 7. I had a small red bicycle with solid rubber tires. They were like riding on rocks.
         I was riding up and down the street when my dad cautioned me not to drive through his mud hole, as I called it.
          Well in true J.O. fashion, I drove through his mud hole and was he ever mad. He yanked me off my bicycle and proceeded to tan my hide as we marched to the back garage.
            I put up more of a fuss and scene than the actual spanking.
            My mom carried the belt in our home growing up and when I got in trouble at school, she met me at the front door and would tan my backside.
            I’d usually jump around and yell until it was over with.
         When I got older and in trouble, they’d take my 10-speed bicycle away from me for a month. I did get to ride my Schwinn bicycle on my morning paper route, but not to school. I had to walk.
           I built a club house in our garage and it fully furnished with a cot and sleeping bag, bean bag chair, games, lights, a big fan, a coffee table, posters, including a Raquel Welsh one.
           My neighbor to the north was Mr. and Mrs. Belknap. Mr. Belknap, who was born in the late 1890s, was raised in northwest Iowa in the small community of Harris in Osceola County. He attended college at TCU in Fort Worth where he met his wife, Marge or Mrs. Bell as I called her. 
         I enjoyed stopping to see Mr. Bell and playing dominos or just visiting. He had season tickets to the minor league Tulsa Oilers and later the Tulsa Drillers. He’d often take me to a game and I still have a mini baseball bat he bought me as a youngster.
           Mr. Bell would fix me popcorn on occasion and we’d sit at the kitchen table and eat a bowl full together. While the popcorn popped, Mr. Bell would sometimes cusp his hand and slap me on the knee. I’d usually jump a foot off the stool I was sitting on.
          Mr. Bell sold advertising trinkets such as ink pens, keychains, rulers, calendars and such. He’d let me go the garage and take all of the goodie samples I wanted.
           When I was little, I would stop and feed the birds at Mr. Bell’s place. He used a trash can lid to place the seed and had a bird bath.
           I went to his house on my birthday at age 7 and inside was that brand new red bicycle that I mentioned earlier.
        In later years, I mowed Mr. Bell’s front yard as our yard and his were connected. I sometimes would mow his back yard. I mowed other yards on my street, a business I took over from my dad and grandfather before him.
Often times I would cut through Mr. Bell’s yard to walk down to Dixon’s Grocery Store.
            It was an old neighborhood grocery store where I would get a Pepsi in the bottle, a candy bar or a big bag of Taco flavored Doritos for $.49. I sometimes would pick up pop bottles and sweep the store to earn a dollar or two.
            They also had a two-pump gas station out front.
            One year I was cruising the neighborhood in my 1959 Chevrolet Impala when I ran out of gas a block from the store. I shifted into neutral and coasted a block and pulled right up to the pump. In those days you could fill your tank for just a few dollars. 
           All my neighbors where some of the best friends and role models and I’m thankful to have grown up in the Florence Park neighborhood.
           Always remember that Good Things are Happening, every day and always.

         It was three years ago when Debbie and I were featured in a display entitled “Love Stories at the Fair – Campground Love.”
         That year marked 20 years since we met at the Iowa State Fair in 2003. The display featured our photo, a copy of our Iowa State Fair book and a story about our lives together.
         We were one of about a half dozen Iowa State Fair attendees who met at the state fair and were featured in the display located in the Ralph H. Deets Historical Museum behind the Pioneer Hall. 
          And this year, we celebrate another milestone.
        It was 20 years ago in 2006 when we published our first book, “Iowa’s Tradition: An ABC Photo Album of the Iowa State Fair.”
          We took all the photos in 2005 and spent most of the next year laying out the book.
          Having grown up at the Iowa State Fair, Debbie came up with the book idea.
We met with Gary Slater, the now retired CEO of the Iowa State Fair, that spring and were given the official OK on the book project.
        We spent most of the fair working on the project. I took the photos using my film camera and Debbie took notes and got signed releases.
        After developing the film, Debbie edited the photos and we started laying out the book at the old Montezuma Republican office at night when I was off the clock.
          We self-published the book and had it printed at Sutherland Printing in Montezuma.
Somehow word about the book hit the airwaves and we received a call from Partners, a now closed book distributor in East Lansing, Mich.
         And through them, we got our new book in Barnes and Noble and also Borders, which is now closed, and other bookstores.
        We had author events at two Barnes and Noble stores and the Borders store in West Des Moines a few years ago. And we have also showcased our book at numerous craft and vendor shows. It was even available at the Machine Shed Restaurant in West Des Moines.
          One year later at the 2007 fair, we had a table set up in the food building where we sold our book and also sponsored a food contest entitled, “Fair Favorite Foods.”
           The contest centers around folks who have a special recipe they make and serve during the fair in their camper or at home. The contest is still going. It costs us a few dollars for prizes, but we feel it’s good publicity. We look at it as a way to advertise all of our books.
            We also sponsor a contest for kids to make a dessert based on their favorite book. The top prize receives a $25 Amazon card. And in the past, we had a contest centering around a food that would have been served during harvest time when steam engines were in use. We don’t sponsor that contest any longer.
         We have now published eight books. Debbie has five novels, including a novella entitled “Mr. Christmas,” and I have my book of newspaper columns along with our two Iowa photo books, one about the state fair and one about the Midwest Old Threshers Reunion, which was released in 2008.
           Debbie is currently working on her sixth novel, which is number five in the Hope Series.
There are a lot of opportunities to showcase your work at the state fair. I always enter antiques. I’ve done it for at least 15 years.
         The best I have done is winning a purple Best of Show ribbon for my Will Rogers mantel clock in 2019. And I’ve had years that I didn’t win anything.
           I’ve entered a little bit of everything from postcards to a cowbell, old barbwire, singletrees, glassware, photos, books and Iowa State Fair memorabilia.
          This year, I am entering an old Am/Fm tube radio that I inherited from my dad along with some postcards, a glass cornbread pan and an antique stereoscope viewer.
            I always thought it would be neat to create and display a doll house at the fair. 
And some years ago, I won third place in the black and white adult division in the fair photo gallery show in the Cultural Center.
          I’ve thought about entering photos again, but the deadline is in June and I don’t get around to getting my photos together that early.
          My favorite food at the fair is Beatties Watermelon Stand next to where the old giant slide was once housed. They make some of the best ham and roast beef sandwiches and pork tenderloins for fans of that tasty Iowa delight.
         The best part of the fair is meeting folks and sitting for spell and visiting, especially in the campground. Enjoy the fair and enjoy life.
           Always remember that Good Things are Happening, every day and always.

        I stood by my mom’s bed and reached my hand over and placed it on a baseball-size lump on her head.
       It was late September 2009 and I knew time was short for my mom. Cancer had taken over her body and the diagnosis wasn’t looking good.
       It had been 12 years earlier in August 1997 when doctors first found cancer in one of her breasts. Mom opted to have it removed.
        At the time, my mom chose not to have chemo administered after the surgery. She recalled an uncle and aunt in Tulsa who both died in their 60s a few years apart, and both had cancer.
        They sought the best treatment possible and the cancer won.
        My mom always said, “What the cancer didn’t do, the chemo will finish it off.”
       In the years that followed, Mom would give me a call and update me on her cancer diagnosis following each checkup.
      It wasn’t until 2008 that the cancer started moving again. She’d developed gallstones and was in the hospital in Tulsa at the start of the year.
       I wasn’t until February of that year that doctors tried blasting the gallstones and that didn’t work. I believe doctors tried a second time and it worked.
       It was shortly after the gallstone episode that the cancer started spreading again. It quickly moved into her liver and then her bones. She underwent cyber knife surgery in November 2008 in Tulsa. The surgery is a non-invasive radiation treatment called stereotactic radiosurgery that uses a robotic arm to target cancerous tumors.
        The cancer quickly moved into her brain, thus the lump on her head.
       My folks didn’t let the cancer stop them. Mom, dad and my sister-in-law made the trek from Tulsa to Iowa and spent Thanksgiving that year with Debbie and me. My brother wasn’t able to come as he was hauling fright in an 18-wheeler.
       Family on Debbie’s side came and we had a great celebration. My folks went shopping and bought some new pants, a shirt and some shoes for my dad at the outlet mall in Williamsburg.
       In June 2009, we took Mom to Cancer Treatment Centers in Tulsa. They ran a few tests and said they might be able to help. She agreed to a couple rounds of low dose chemo. It’s didn’t help.
       My mom died on Sept. 27, 2009, one day after my 50th birthday. I’m thankful that she hung on that one extra day for me.
        I was not in Tulsa when she died, but had been there about a week earlier.
      I knew when I left that I wouldn’t see her alive again. That was the toughest part, but I needed to go home. I had been in Tulsa for a week. She was receiving the best care possible from my family and hospice.
      I had earlier written my mom a letter and thanked her for raising me right, taking me to church and teaching me the Good book.
       She was a hard worker and loved her family. She could be stubborn, but she always stood her ground and fought the good fight for what she believed in.
        It’s never easy to lose a parent, especially at 72-years of age.
      My dad died nine months later on July 10, 2010, mostly of a broken heart. He had had some issues with cancer, Dementia and Alzheimer’s as well.
       I made a trek to Oklahoma in the spring of 2010 to see my dad and start the process of cleaning out 52 plus years of life packed in every nook and cranny there was.
       My brother woke my dad up and he saw me and said, “It’s good to see you, son. I got a lot of stuff I want to do around here, but I need to take a nap.”
       He was moved to a hospice house in Tulsa on June 9 that year.
      I was in the room the next evening when he passed and I watched as Jesus himself came down and took him to heaven. That was a peaceful and an awe-inspiring experience.
      I wanted to share this story as I know there are people out there who are fighting battles with no end in sight. I’ve heard the stories and I’ve heard the good reports and the victories.
      Our youngest nephew had cancer two years ago and he is cancer free to this day. I was diagnosed with cancer in March 2025 and I’m cancer free to this day, too.
      Those who see this story, don’t be disheartened. Don’t give up. Keep fighting, keep praying, keep getting up every day and doing good for others.
      If something in your body doesn’t seem right, see your doctor or visit a specialist. Don’t wait until it’s too late.
       In my case, I was suffering from some severe stomach pains and at the urging of Debbie, decided to see a specialist. I’m so glad I did.
      My cancer was found early and it hadn’t broken through the wall of my colon. I had a great surgeon who took good care of me.
       I read a story some years ago about a woman in Houston, Texas who got cancer. Every day she got up, got dressed and went out and prayed for others who were sick. She was healed by faith and lived at least another 30 plus years.
       There is hope!
      Always remember that Good Things are Happening, every day and always.

​        My dad grew up in the sticks east of Tulsa in what was referred to the Verdigris bottoms and the Oak Grove areas of Wagoner County.
      Verdigris was a 300-mile-long river and tributary to the Arkansas River that ran from Southeast Kansas through northeastern Oklahoma.
        My dad loved fishing on the Verdigris River and could sit in a lawn chair or on a five gallon bucket and fish until the cows came home.
        All he needed was a few worms and a bobber.
       I couldn’t do that and would spend the day tossing my bait in the water and reeling in my line and doing it again and again. Needless to say, I didn’t catch any fish and my dad would often catch a mess.
My dad loved to visit with the hardworking fine folks of the bottoms. On occasion, Dad and I would travel to the sticks and visit, including stopping at the Replogle place.
        I always thought that was the coolest name.
       I remember one Sunday afternoon when I was a youngster, my family took a trip to the sticks and stopped at a house where my dad grew up.
      The windows and doors were all gone and the house was nothing but a well-worn frame and a memory from years past. We all sat on the back porch and enjoyed a picnic lunch that my mom had prepared.
       It was at the house in the late 1940s that the Verdigris river got out of its banks, not once, but twice. It knocked down the cornstalks, but didn’t destroy the corn.
        My dad and his younger brother, Charley, hand-picked the 40-acres of corn and they sold it for enough money that my grandfather used it to buy a used Alias Chalmers tractor and harrow for $1,500 in nearby Broken Arrow.
          I have a set of horse harnesses that were my grandpas that he used during the WPA days to build roads in Oklahoma. I don’t have any documented history on the harnesses other than what my dad told me. I’ve considered donating the nearly 100-year-old harnesses to the Midwest Old Threshers Reunion, but haven’t followed through.
         A trip to the sticks also meant a visit to see Sonny and Ova Smith.
       We often enjoyed big family get-togethers on my dad’s side at the Smiths. Ova was quite a cook and there was always enough food to feed a dozen for a week.
      Sonny died some years ago, but Ova lived a good number of years in a comfortable ranch-style home that the couple built in the 1960s.
      And just down the road was the Oak Grove School where my dad attended through the eighth grade. He never finished high school. Some years later, the Smith’s boy, Mike, turned the school into a house and lived there for a while.
       Every time Dad and I visited the good folks in the sticks, I’d find a comfortable chair and quickly fall asleep. When dad was finished visiting, he’d would wake me up and off we’d go to the next place.
       One of those stops was the home of Nelda and the now late Archie Brown on old Highway 33. My dad grew up with Archie and enjoyed visiting with him and Nelda when visiting the area. The couple had two boys and I believe a daughter. They used to own a DX service station up the road from their home.
      It was one of those places where you could fill up your gas tank and your stomach with a deli sandwich, a bag of chips and a cold bottle of Pepsi from the cooler.
      My dad also had family living near Locust Grove, Okla., near the Boy Scout Camp that I attended from 1972-1976. Locust Grove is about 50-miles east of Tulsa.
      When in the Locust Grove area, a stop to see Fannie and Bowman Grimes was always on the agenda.
       The couple built a new house in the 1960s and there was no toilet. They still used the outhouse and water from the well to drink and do dishes when I was a kid. The couple had one son, Robert.
      When I was a youngster, probably age 7, I found an old antique wood burning stove iron in the barn and took it home. When my folks learned of the error of ways, they made me take it back and fess up to my sins. It didn’t bother Fannie and Bowman a bit.
      There was also Buck Grimes who lived down the road on Highway 82 between Locust Grove and Tahlequah. His daughter, Bernice, married my mom’s younger brother, Leon.
        Buck was as good as they come. His house was small, but was inviting and comfortable. And I can’t forget about Howard Hemphill, a friend of my dad’s. Howard lived in an old shack up the hill and behind Fannie and Bowman’s place. There were old vehicles and junk everywhere. He’d tinker around and build an old wagon and pull it behind a team of horses. I always enjoyed taking a spin in the wagon when we visited.
       In later years, Howard moved into an old mobile home in Rose, Okla., east of Locust Grove, where he oversaw a herd of cattle that my uncle Orval owned. Orval was my dad’s younger brother. Dad and I went to visit Howard one year when I was around age 12.
       As I was milling around outside, I discovered that I was covered in ticks. I said something to my dad and he stripped me down and poured alcohol over me. Later that day, I took a shower and it was brown well water fed. If the alcohol didn’t do it, I’m sure the brown well water finished them off.
       Howard went through vehicles like some people go through shoes. He drove the gravel roads fast.  He’d get to the top of a hill and shut the engine off and coast to the bottom and let out the clutch and start the engine again and off he’d go.
      What I remember the most is when you’d step into his home there on the chair or counter was his well-worn Bible.  
       I have lots of great memories from back in the day!
       Remember that Good Things are Happening, every day and always.

         I enjoyed the opportunity to judge 4-H photography at the Southern Iowa Fair in Oskaloosa on Saturday, July 13.
           This year for the first time Debbie came along with me as she had to drive. With my back surgery, I’m not yet getting behind the wheel.
            This is my 13th year to judge 4-H photography in the last 14 years.
            I started my 4-H photography judging experience in 2012 at the Southern Iowa Fair. I remember the experience well.
           I was shaking like a leaf on a tree during a wind storm and struggled to judge some photographs. In fact, on a few occasions, I had to ask for help from a couple other judges.
         What made it more intimidating is one judge, a studio photographer from Southern Iowa, showed up with a small table easel and a rule of thirds marker. I showed up with a love for photography and heart to try this new experience.
          I do remember one young 4-H’er who had photo she had taken from the back of a motorboat with a person skiing. It was terribly out of focus and I said that to her and she proceeded to tell me that it wasn’t out of focus. It was obvious that it was out of focus, but she continued to argue with me.
            Looking back, I should have given her a white ribbon, but I was new and trying my best. I ended up giving her a blue ribbon. I typically give 4-H’ers with out of focus photos a red ribbon.
         It was Kathy Lents, the former Poweshiek County Extension Director, who got me started as photography judge.
          I have since judged in Mahaska County (3 times), Keokuk County Expo (2 times), Washington County (3 times), Poweshiek County (2 times), Warren County (1 time), Marion County (1 time), Iowa County (2 times), Linn County (2 times and Benton County (2 times). I have also judged open class in Iowa County twice and Poweshiek County for about 10 years.
            I had a chance to judge in Polk County this year, but turned it down due to my back surgery and the travel time from Montezuma to Des Moines.
           In 2019, I judged 4-H photography at the Iowa State Fair. That was a great experience, but I’m not wanting to try that again as I enjoy talking with the 4-H’ers. Judges don’t get that opportunity at the ISF.
           The one area that I believe 4-H’ers need to work on is the write ups. Most need more detail other than, “I just wanted to take a great photo.”
           It was hot and it was a long day at the Southern Iowa Fair, but a good day. I met some wonderful 4-H’ers and saw some great work. I pulled 18 photos out and gave the 4-H’er a purple ribbon and the opportunity to be considered for the Iowa State Fair. Of those, four moved on to the ISF at the end of the day.
            Each county has a limit to how many 4-H photos can be submitted at the ISF. There is a 10 photo limit for the Southern Iowa Fair and the same 4-H’er can only have one photo. I believe each 4-H’er can send no more than two projects to the fair. For instance, a photo and a woodworking project.
Moving on
           And for the first time in 26 years, I did not cover the Poweshiek County Fair or take photos of a hog show, something I’ve done every year since moving here.
During that time, there were two years that I took a brief retirement from the news business (2016, 2017), but I still covered the Poweshiek County Fair hog show.
            I love photographing hogs, swine or pigs, whatever you want to call them.
           I remember one year, this young show person stood at the backdrop holding her banners while two fathers tried to corral the onery hog to get in-line. It took a while, but I got the photo.
The first year I photographed hogs was in 1998 at the Iowa County Fair. It was an afternoon show and for some reason, the powers that be decided to skip the photos at the end of each class and bring all the hogs back to the showring after dark for photos. That was a train wreck waiting to happen. 
           Those hogs were tired and it was late and they had no desire to have a photo taken at 9 p.m. So, the hog show organizers got one hog to stand still and I took about 10 photos of prize-winning 4-H’ers with their banners and the same hog.
           That was quite an experience for a new journalist and city boy. I’d never visited a hog house or watched a hog show at the state fair. My closest experience with hogs was eating pork chops and bacon.
            It was a tough decision not to cover the fair this year. With my back surgery, I’m not quite ready. I’m still using a walker outside and have to have some help from Debbie getting around.
I felt it was best to give my body more time to fully heal and come back strong next year.
         I’ve handled the change OK, but have missed being around the kids. To me, that is what the county fair is all about.
           4-H is a wonderful organization where kids learn and grow and I’m glad to be a small part of that in the lives of many Poweshiek County area youth and those who I have judged their photography in other counties.
          Remember that Good Things are Happening, every day and always.

         There are two places that I believe people these days don’t spend enough time sitting a spell and getting to know each other – the porch and the kitchen table.
           My mama had an old metal table with four chairs in the kitchen. We ate most of our suppers and meals at that table together as a family.
            The kitchen table provided lots of great memories as a kid.
            Experts say time spent at the kitchen table offers profound benefits. It serves as the literal heartbeat of the home where families gather to share meals, pray and build lasting relationships. I have to agree.
            It was at the table where I helped snap green beans as a kid from the garden or turn mom’s antique food grinder. It was an aluminum coned shaped device in a three-legged stand that was used to smash and drain tomatoes for canning.
            These days you can buy an electrical grinder that will do the same thing with less effort.
            My folks had a small garden in the backyard of our Tulsa home. They raised a few vegetables including cabbage, lettuce, onions, okra and tomatoes.
            My dad always enjoyed gathering a head of lettuce and some onions and my mom would make him a bowl of wilted lettuce using hot bacon grease. Of course, we had a grease can on the stove top.
           The grease was often used to season fried potatoes or okra. I remember once my mom used the grease to make homemade lye soap.
           In the late 1960s and early 70s, my folks and another family, the Schellhorns from the First Baptist Church, raised a huge garden together on a spot of land in East Tulsa.
            My dad would load his Montgomery Ward roto-tiller in the back of his 1967 Chevrolet truck and carry it to the garden and till the earth.
         They raised everything from watermelons to cantaloupes, tomatoes, okra, green beans, carrots, potatoes, corn, squash, beets, radishes, peas and every other kind of vegetable imaginable.
             I remember many summer days being in the kitchen and hearing the pressure cooker whistling away on the stove. There were two large pantry cabinets in our kitchen that were always stocked with canned goods.
            On Friday nights in the late 1970s, my dad and I would make the five or so mile trek to north Sheridan in Tulsa and stop at the Chuckwagon drive-in. The restaurant was shaped like a chuckwagon and featured drive in carhop and walk up service. It was there that we would order wheel burgers with the fixings and French fries and head home.
            We’d all sit around the table and eat supper while watching the  Dukes of Hazard and Dallas on a small television.
            It was also in the kitchen and living room that I got my backside spanked if I misbehaved. If I got in trouble in school, I was guaranteed a spanking when I got home. I admit, it hurt, but I’m thankful for every spanking I got as it kept me out of trouble.
            We also had a nice size dining room table with two extra leaves and chairs. We enjoyed many holiday meals at that table and it was also a gathering place for when company came over for lunch of Kentucky Fried Chicken after church on Sunday.
            We wrapped presents on that table and celebrated birthdays and I also did homework there. And in the winter months, we hung our coats on the chairs to dry.
            We had a nice size concrete front porch, but I don’t recall using it much as a youngster. However, we did have large concrete deck out back. My dad would fire up the Hasty-Bake charcoal grill and cook a chicken on the rotisserie or grill some hamburgers.
        We often had family stop and we’d all gather outside to visit and eat. And sometimes we’d have homemade ice cream.
            When we’d go fishing, we often brought our catch home and cleaned them on the back patio. My mom would cook the fish in the iron skillet along with a batch of fried potatoes. It’s hard to beat fresh crappie, catfish or bass with a side of potatoes.
            I remember another time when my dad was mowing neighborhood yards. It was getting late and my mom decided to fry a chicken. It must have been midnight before we ate, but what great memories I have.
             At our Iowa home, we don’t have a front porch, outside of a small concrete pad by the walkout garage door. We do have a nice deck in the back, but it faces west, northwest and gets too hot to sit outside on a summer evening.
            I’ve often dreamed of having a roof of some sort put over the deck.
Last year while going garage sale hunting in Mount Pleasant during the Midwest Old Threshers, we bought two new in-the-box white rocking chairs like they have at the Cracker Barrel Restaurant, only these were from Wal-Mart.
            I still haven’t put them together, but once I do, it will be a nice addition to our deck. I’m going to have to spend mornings on the deck instead of afternoons.
            Life can get busy these days as there is always something that needs to be done. I encourage you to find time to spend with family and friends on the porch or at the kitchen table. It’s time well spent!
            Remember that Good Things are Happening, every day and always.

          I experienced the Montezuma Let Freedom Ring Parade from a different vantage point this year – a lawn chair.
         I typically enjoy walking among the floats as they roll along Main Street while taking photos of the crowd, capturing the kids gathering candy and other fun activities.
            Having had back surgery and using a walker outdoors, I was a bit limited this year and found solace at the southwest corner of Main and Third streets.
            I had to deal with the sun and crowds that quickly gathered in front of me, making it nearly impossible to see the floats and take photos.
           I understand, kids and families all get excited about filling their bags with candy and are not always aware of those around them.
              It’s a lesson we can all learn from.
               I still was able to take a few good photos and enjoyed taking in the sunny weather.
         I met a family that was visiting our fine city that recognized Debbie and me as the authors and publishers of our “Family Reunion: Midwest Old Threshers” book.
              The lady talking with me said I took a photo of her son.
              “You took his photo and it’s in the book,” she said. “He was 7 then.”
            That would have been in 2007, so that makes him around 26 or so. He said this year his family will have camped at the Old Threshers for 27 years.
              This year will mark our 18th year to camp at the Midwest Old Threshers Reunion. It would have been year 19 had Covid not halted the reunion in 2020.
            Anyway, there was nice crowd and a variety of floats during Saturday’s parade. It was a nice move on the Montezuma Community Development to honor our local veterans as the parade grand marshals. It was also good to see my dear friend, Ron Hensel, aka Ron the Barber, in the parade. He was seated in his wife, Bea’s, Ford Mustang as they rolled along the parade route.
            Ron had a stroke in March last year and his health had declined rapidly. And most recently, he was diagnosed with ALS. It led to him retiring in early June after 60 years as a barber in Indianola, Des Moines and Montezuma.
            He opened Ron’s Barber Shop on the Montezuma Square in September 2008 and cut my hair more times than I can count. I’ve probably lost a lot more hair than I got haircuts.
            I always enjoyed stopping at the barbershop and chatting with Ron and meeting some of the many savory locals who stopped to shoot the bull, talk politics and gossip a bit.
            Ron, the former commander of the legion who led the charge to build a new legion hall, has always been a defender of all veterans. For years, he’s hosted Memorial Day services and was Johnny on the spot in bringing the Freedom Rock to Montezuma 10 years ago.
            And Bea has been the leader of the American Legion Auxiliary. 
           What a blessing he has been to the Montezuma Community. Thank you Ron and Bea for your service to the United States and to Montezuma.
           This year’s celebration included pie eating and greased pig contests. SUDS foam spray was on hand as a sprinkler was set up for the kids to enjoy.
            There was a dunk tank, bouncy houses, lots of good food, including the annual Lions Club Chicken BBQ feast, and much more.
Moving on
            I always looked forward to the Fourth of July as a kid.
            My dad would stop at OK Fireworks in west Tulsa near where he worked at a factory and pick up one of the advertised special fireworks box filled with Roman candles, firecrackers, bottle rockets, sparklers and more.
           It didn’t take me long to go through the box of firework goodies. My favorites were Black Cats and bottle rockets.
          A box of firework explosives cost around $12 or so in the 1970s. That’s a far cry from what it costs today. 
       I was a bit onery as a youngster and enjoyed blowing up ant hills and also catching and tying grasshoppers to bottle rockets and shooting them off.
          My friends and I would find a pop bottle and shoot so many bottle rockets that it turned the bottle black.
         I don’t shoot off fireworks these days. One of these years I’m going to try and photograph people shooting off fireworks. I’ve never done that.
          A few year ago I ventured down on the Lake Ponderosa Causeway to take photos of the pyrotechnicians getting ready for the evening show.
            That was kind of scary as the fireworks, which looked like bowling balls on a rope, were placed by hand in PVC pipes housed in a wooden frame.
            The wicks were then secured to electronic cables to allow the pyrotechnician to fire them off from a computer relay located nearby on the causeway.
              It’s an interesting process to watch a fireworks show unfold.
            Some years ago, I attended a Civil War re-enactment at the Poweshiek County Fairgrounds. The event was run by one of the local Civil War groups in the county and area and was designed to teach students in fifth grade hands-on history, including patching up a wounded soldier from the battlefield.
              These fellows, who are all re-enactors, would bring a real cannon and fire that thing off for the kids.
          I did have some luck photographing the blasting of the cannon. The key in getting a good photo is timing and keeping your ears plugged.
            Now that I’m getting older, I find myself plugging my ears during the Fourth of July parade from all the fire trucks, police vehicles and ambulances blowing their sirens.
            With several sirens going off at the same time, it can be deafening. 
            I hope you had a great Fourth of July and were able to cookout and spend time with family and friends.
          The best part of it all is the opportunity to thank God for his many blessings as we celebrate this nation’s 250th birthday.
            Remember that Good Things are Happening, every day and always.