I Have A Dream

By Ron Munden – 2/18/2021

2021 has proved one thing – Texas is unprepared for cold weather.  I am one of the lucky ones. I have power currently.  I do not have the internet, so I have lots of time to write about the past.

I don’t dream often.  At least I do not remember my dreams very much.  When I do dream it is often the same dream.

In the dream – I am always carrying a football going for a touchdown.  I take a hit and go down just inches short of the goal line.  The outcome of the dream never changes.

My football career started on a Saturday afternoon in June 1954.  That was the day for Little League tryouts in Marshall Texas.  I have been practicing baseball with my friend Charles McIntire for weeks prior to this day.  At noon Charles’ dad drove us to sign-up for the tryouts.  He dropped us off and drove home.  All was going well until I found out that it cost $2 to register.  I had no money.  I panicked, put my baseball glove under my arm and ran home from the Little League park to 902 East Burleson.

By the time I arrived home my dad had come home from work.  He ask me why I was home.  I explained.  He seemed concerned but not mad at me.  He just said, “Get in the car.”

I assumed he was driving me back to the Little League park, but I was wrong.  Instead, he drove to Logan and Whaley Sporting Goods Store and bought a football.  The rest of the afternoon he and I passed the football in the backyard.

During one of our breaks my dad told me what my future was going to look like.  He said that he did not have the money to send me to college, but I was going to college on a football scholarship and I was going to be an engineer.  He then said that if I did not do this, I was going you spend the rest of my life working in the body shop.  Since I have been working summers in the body shop since I was 9-years old, I knew exactly what that meant, and I also knew I did not want that life.

While it might be blind luck, what dad told me happened just like he said.  However we lived in a railroad town, I had never met an engineer and I really did not know what an engineer was, I spent the next couple of years thinking I was going to spend my life driving trains.

My father telling me that I was going to play football came as a surprise.  I had never thought about playing football but that fall my dad took me to sign up for midget football.

My first year of football could not be rated as a big success.  Football is a contact sport and I hated hitting and being hit. I have always been blessed with speed, but I used that speed to run away from action, not toward it.  So that first year I played bench warmer.  I hated playing football but I hated thought of telling my father I was quitting much more.

I continued holding the well-deserved position of bench warmer through the 7th and 8th grade.  But something happened in the 8th grade.  I changed from hating contact and hitting to loving it. The high point of my 8th grade year was overhearing a 9th grade player let his friend I really hit hard.

I was an undiagnosed dyslectic throughout grade school thru graduate school.  I only found out later in life.  Now I understand why school was so difficult for me during my early years.

Though grade school and the first two years of junior high I hated school.  I dreaded going to school every day.  I was at the bottom of my class and my twin sister Carol was at the top.

Finally, in the 9th grade I found something I was good at – algebra. I had always understood all of the concepts and processes of arithmetic, but I often got the answer wrong because of transposing numbers.  In algebra it is hard to transpose an “x” or “y”. 

In football, after three years of bench warming, I made the starting lineup.

My high school football years were good but not great.  I played a lot and I did make all-district my senior year. I got to play because I was fast not because I was big.  I ended my high school senior at 6 foot 1 inch and 142 pounds. 

I never thought about where I would go to college.  I knew the school would choose me by offering me a scholarship or I would not go to college.  I quickly found that very few schools wanted to offer a football scholarship to a 142-pound halfback.  Because of my speed I did get track scholarship offers from some major schools but at that time track scholarships were only half-scholarships and that was not an option.  I also knew my father wanted me to play football.

That left the junior colleges, Kilgore and Tyler JCs were talking to me.

Fortunately, Bob Mason, a Marshall coach, took me under his wing.  No one in my family had been to college so I knew nothing about college and even how to apply.

Coach Mason was coaching at Marshall but had announced that he was leaving to take a coaching position at Austin College in Sherman.  He asks me if I would like to see Austin College.  Of course, I said yes.  He and his wife took me to AC for a weekend.  At the end of the weekend, he asked me if I would like to go to school there.  The rest is history.  He helped me complete all the paperwork and I was off to Austin College in the fall of 1961.

I arrive at Austin College in August to start two-a-day workouts.  I was probably in the best shape of my life.  I spent most of the summer building fence but quit two weeks before leaving for college.  I sent 8 to 10 hours each day working out at the old Mav stratum with other guys that were also headed off to college.

I was up to 152 pounds when I arrived at AC.  Even though I was small, I was the fastest player on the team and that earned me a starting position as defensive safety my freshman year.

Being a college athlete was a completely new experience for me.  I got to eat on the training table.  I got all the food I could eat and things that I had not eaten before. I don’t recall eating a baked potato before getting to AC but I had one every night after that first night. Between classes I would go to the gym and get high-cal chocolate drinks, I returned home to Marshall at Christmas weighing 195 pounds.  I was longer one of the small guys.

Coach Mason once told my father that he thought the more I played the better I played.  In track he registered me for the maximum number of events allowed in a track meet.  He must have passed that on to the head football coach, Coach Gass.

My sophomore year at AC, I continued to play defensive safety but also played running back on the offensive about half of the time.  I loved being on the field that much.  I reached 200 pounds that year which made me a more effective ball carrier.  Unfortunately, my ability to receive a pass did not improve.

My junior year at AC was my dream year.  It started with a bang – a bang I was not expecting.  Coach Gass always called the plays from the sideline and a player took the play to the huddle. The first game of the year, AC received the kickoff, and then I carried the ball the first 5 or 6 plays in a row, including a 45-yard run that was called back for clipping.  After the last play in the series, I was laying on the ground in the end zone and thinking “do I have enough energy left to walk off the field.”

After being on the sideline for a series or two, I was back in the game, but I never carried the ball two plays in a row for the rest of the game.  At half-time I remember sitting against the wall in the locker room sipping on coke from a cup.  The coach was discussing the game plan for the second half.  At one point he looked at me and said, “Horse can you keep running?”  When though I was so tired it felt like my arms were asleep, I said, “yes sir.”  I must not be very convincing.  I only got to carry the ball a few times the second half but still went over 100-yard rushing for the game.

Things continued going well for the season and I racked up more 100-yard plus games.  The last game of the season I did pull a groin muscle, but I just slowed me down for that one game.  All-in-all it was a good season.  I was lucky enough to be named to the Dallas Morning News All-Texas Football Team and even started getting letters from some of the pro team.  At this point I only remember the San Francisco 49s and the Pittsburgh Steelers.

Even though I had increased my weight to about 210, I had a successful track season recording a series of 9.7-hundred-yard dashes.

I was honored to be selected as the athlete of the year at Austin College.

It was a very good year.

Austin College is a well-respected liberal arts school, but I went there because I could get my education paid for not because I want a liberal art degree.  Remember, I was going to be an engineer.  My plans called for me to transfer to University of Texas, Austin at the end of the year three to work on my engineering degree.  I considered my athletic career over.

In the late spring of that year, I was contacted by the Head Football Coach and he suggested I consider coming back to AC for one more semester.  He outlined some of the benefits.  Almost immediately after that my father called and said he had been talking to the Coach.  He said that he really wanted me to go back to AC for a semester and if I decided to go back, he could afford to buy me a new car.  At this point all of my cars had been cars that had been totaled in a wrench and repaired by us at the body shop.

So just like that my plans changed, and I was going back to AC for a semester and I would be driving a new car.

Maybe if I had been honest with people, they would not have pushed me to come back to AC.  I never told my coaches or my father that my groin injury had not fully gone away.  I could sprint because you don’t use the groin muscle but when I moved to the side, I could still feel it.  I just thought if I gave it enough time it would heal.

The 1st of July was when I started training for football each year.  1964 was no different but the day after my first workout was quite different.  After running several sets of sharp cuts, it was clear that the groin injury was still there.  I knew I had a problem.  I called the coaches at AC.  They said to come up to Sherman immediately and they would send me to an athletic doctor.

After the doctor did his exam and a series of x-rays, he said that part of the groin muscle had pulled loose from the bone taking a piece of bone with it. He said it could be repaired with surgery, but I would not be ready by the start of the football season.  Surgery was out. So, they started treatment with shots and physical theory.

My senior season was not a good season.  I played every game, but my numbers did not match by junior year.  I could run but not without pain.  My senior year the routine became to play the game on Saturday and run like nothing was wrong.  By Sunday morning the groin was very sore and hurt with each step.  At 1pm each Sunday I met the trainer at the field house, and we began therapy. Therapy was mainly hot water, ultrasound and an occasion shot. This continued through the week.  My workout was limited to mainly running in straight lines.  By Friday I felt fairly good.  Saturday, we started the routine over.

No one ever said anything, but I know I disappointed a lot of people that year.

After the season ended there was one more chapter.  In December.  I was called by the Head Coach.  He said a scout for the Pittsburgh Steelers wanted to talk to me.  They gave me the number.  I called him.  The scout was a nice gay, and we had a series of conversations.  I kept wondering why anyone in their right mind would offer a free agent contract to anyone that had such a disastrous season.  Finally, during a conversation, he said that they were looking for a running back that was over 200 pound and had sub 10 flat speed.  So, at 210 with 9.7 speed, I got in the door.

I had a conflict.  Although the money was good, there were a lot of negatives – I would have needed surgery, I would have left college without a degree, and statistically the chances of me making the team were not good.  

My coaches did not try to influence me but my dad wanted me to sign the contract.  Finally, I told dad that I was going to engineering school and my football days were behind me.

I spent 2 ½ year at UT and 3 year at UC Berkeley and never attended a football game. During the past 50 years, I may have watched 6 games on TV.  I loved playing football but watching is just not the same.

I wonder why I keep having my dream.


GIVE US YOUR FEEDBACK.  CLICK ON “COMMENT” TO TELL US WHAT YOU THINK or use one of the alternative methods for providing feedback.

Click here to submit feedback.  Let us know what you think.

click here to CLOSE THIS PAGE

What’s Obvious to Natives


You think Trump can lie his ass off?

RT is a Russian state owned and operated enterprise which conducts operations in the US and other Western countries. It produces and infuses a mix of propaganda, National Inquirer stories and rattlesnake venom into the Western media-stream for consumption by the credulous – of which there have been a growing number ever since we stopped teaching civics to junior high students.

Originally known as Russia Today, the operation was rebranded “RT” a couple of years before it became acceptable to traipse around Trump Tower wearing Chinese polypropylene gimme-caps stenciled with recycled Reagan campaign slogans. Putin’s internet house-organ has enjoyed an enormous surge in growth and popularity during the Trump era. (e.g.)

RT’s remit is perhaps no more sinister (but certainly no less) than its counterparts like the US Information Service and the State Department. Think of RT as MSNBC (or FOX) operating in the DRPK but with a constrained budget, limited access to talent, and a management composed of CIA operatives.

The following was submitted to RT’s website using the ‘share your comments’ button.

Me? I always have comments.


Gentlemen and Ladies:

I get the idea about how if you’re able to turn the US into as big of a dumpster fire as Russia that it will facilitate your efforts to continue holding up Mother Russia to your own MAGA class as The Best Dumpster Fire Over All The Rest of The Dumpster Fires. I’ll also admit that it’s not the worst strategy; but let’s face it, that sort of thing didn’t get you guys to the moon first, did it?

Unfortunately, you’re laboring under more than a few misapprehensions about the American character. I’m going to describe the most central one to you. Hacking our computer systems is child’s play when it comes to hacking a MAGA.

Look, the MAGAs are pretty stupid – we all know that – but if you think you’re going to Radio Free Europe them into doing predictably stupid shit you’re in for a rude surprise. Very rude. I’m talking Trotsky spotting that ice axe moments before it sunk into his head. 

You can’t trick people in rural Alabama into doing what you want them to do, every time.  They are as unpredictable as drunk Cossacks. More. To be sure, this time they were with you. But next time, who knows? Figuring these things can be subtle and subtlety is not exactly engrained in the Russian spirit, now is it? My friends, had the hillbillies in South Carolina still been drinking moonshine instead of speed balling oxy and meth – Trump may very well have died on the vine. Did you chess masters consider that when you were putting this whole thing together?

You certainly didn’t give it much thought after you won I imagine. But victory in America is fleeting, gold-precious, and though it occasionally goes to the lucky, usually it goes to the smart. And we have a saying here in the U.S.A. that goes like this:

You were lucky this time.

Fellas, the Manchurian Candidate was a movie script, OK? It’s not going to work more than once. There are too many variables. You boychiks are good at arithmetic, right? Model it out. 

What I’m doing here is warning you that if it feels like you’ve got Billy Bob and Martha Rae figured out, you don’t. If MAGAS could be figured out, we’d have already done it and started making them do what we wanted them to do.

Face it, you lucked out. This is not chess, boys. And you can’t stake your political goals on a bunch of fucking idiots.

Ask Donald Trump.


GIVE US YOUR FEEDBACK.  CLICK ON “COMMENT” TO TELL US WHAT YOU THINK or use one of the alternative methods for providing feedback.

Click here to submit feedback.  Let us know what you think.

click here to CLOSE THIS PAGE

Roots Music Report chart of Best Acoustic Blues Albums of 2020!

Roots Music Report chart of Best Acoustic Blues Albums of 2020!

Congratulation Steve Howel, Dan Sumner, Jason Weinheimer, David Dodson 

From Steve Howell

Hey! Just got some great news! “Long Ago” #15 and “History Rhymes” #66 made the Roots Music Report chart of Best Acoustic Blues Albums of 2020! This is based on radio airplay reporting. Dan Sumner, Jason Weinheimer, David Dodson, and I are very grateful to all of the DJ’s who played our records this year. More to come once things turn around pandemic-wise.

Gasbag Flameout


Gasbag Flameout
how now orange cow . . .

There are a lot of reasons Donald John Trump slithered into the Oval Office forty-seven months ago. And a lot of reasons he’s headed for the door next month when Joseph Robinette Biden is sworn in. You didn’t know about the Robinette thing, did you? I’ll admit it doesn’t have the same mudslinging frisson as Hussein, but it’ll do.

         Anything’ll do, really. It is instructive to remember most MAGAs (You shall know them by their red-stained pates.) did not blink when told, “Remember, what you’re seeing… is not what’s happening.” That sort of phrase perfectly encapsulates Trump’s world view. Although no coherent view of the world is possible for a solipsist.  (Solipsism is like narcissism on acid. Not like hippie acid, like Alien blood acid.)

 Mr. Trump’s followers don’t tend to have (nor care to possess) a reasonable, objective, defensible view of reality; many believe the earth is less than ten thousand years old. Once you’ve swallowed something like that it’s not much of a leap to the notion that 50% of Guatemalan five-year-olds belong to a South American gang. A gang they had to commit first degree murder to join. As has been tirelessly pointed out by the fake news media (and even several earnest members of the organization) MS-13 started in Los Angeles.

And anyway, everyone knows it’s really the Salvadorans you want to watch out for.

         Trump will of course continue to operendi his modus; fleecing the faithful and avoiding the cross-bar motel. (A skill he taught to remarkably few of his lieutenants.) Defining those who voted for Trump as either idiots or deplorable is a mistake. What they actually are, is pissed. Perhaps a majority of them were born that way. That’s not going away when Trump carries Melania across the threshold at Cruella Castle in County Palm Beach.

         When the scarlet-tops get wound up – they’re worse than a bunch of ACLU pointy-heads railing on the death penalty. Greenpeace will keep you from cutting down a tree by putting a spike in its trunk. The Proud Girls will simply shoot you in the head.

         As Dick Nixon might have put it, “NOW, we’re getting somewhere!”

         Except that we’re not. The party might continue, but the guy with all the coke and whores has split, Jack. Ever since the premier episode of “Who Wants to be POTUS?!” when Trump and the soft-core First Lady descended from the skies on Big Otis, the MAGAS have sent the ratings through the roof.

But look guys, the Network didn’t pick up the series for a fifth season. What can I say? Write your Congressman.

But wait, what’s that slick new reality show on Facebook and YouTube? Something about 18,000 socialist poll workers toppling a government. The first episode was free but if you want to see the more please go to www.trump.com/one-born-every-minute.html/

Have a valid credit card ready. I’m told the new series will be renewed every season, as long as the MAGAs continue to finance the shooting costs and producer’s override.

Not that anyone cares, but those who’ve worked in a U.S. polling place knows ‘stolen’ votes are as common as virgin births. But these are the same idiots that believe in the safety of 5G and think chemtrails are made of condensed water.

         The lippy drunk at the end of the bar has finally gotten tossed out on his ass by an eighty million pound bouncer strapped with nuclear weapons. Will he get nabbed for P.I. as he stumbles out to the car, or maybe return with an AR to teach the bouncer a lesson he’ll never forget?

MAGAworld is certainly welcomed to keep buying tickets and staying tuned, but that big bouncer’s been working the door here for nearly 250 years and one’s kicked his ass yet.

If you don’t count Ho Chi Min.

Like any rapidly aging drunk with too much money, Trump’s next move is as unpredictable as it will be excruciating to witness. My best guess is that he’ll end up hawking stale launch codes and shooting scripts of the Zapruder film. That means either a long reservation at the Julian Assange suite in the Kremlin… or ending up as a door prize for some lucky MS-13 member at Leavenworth.

Whatever happens, there’s no way they’re ever letting him back into that bar.

One more thing …

Trump: ‘What You’re Seeing and What You’re Reading Is Not What’s Happening’

Click here to see the video


GIVE US YOUR FEEDBACK.  CLICK ON “COMMENT” TO TELL US WHAT YOU THINK or use one of the alternative methods for providing feedback.

Click here to submit feedback.  Let us know what you think.

click here to CLOSE THIS PAGE



What the Would YOU do with Thirty Billion Dollars in Your Checking Account?
MarkyMark & Prissy Zuckerberg plot the torture and dismemberment of California governor Gavin Newsom while appearing to listen to him on a Zoom call.

By Mark Lee
Mark Lee is a CPA and business consultant who writes about politics, economics and culture. He lives in Maui but makes frequent trips back home to Texas. He once portrayed Jeff Lebowski in a corporate video. You can reach him at mark@maui.tax

To be honest I never liked this little pricksicle. 

Hating on Zuck – a nickname which misses the word “suck” by a single letter –  has entertained millions for over a decade. If you think it’s because we’re envious of his dough, well look at the big brain on you. The difference between me and The Other White Mark is that I am jealous of his money – but he is not jealous of my possession of a soul.

I’d also like to take a moment to make clear that I’m not jealous of everything the boy has.  

Like his hair. 

Or Wuhan Bridezilla up there. Wowzers.  A quarter trill sitting in the office safe… and you end with this chick?

Must have a hell of a personality.

Before you start in on me… I don’t believe in leaving innocent spouses out of things like this.  And if you think calling a defenseless, innocent, thirty-five year old Asian multi-billionaire Wuhan Bridezilla is some fucked up, MAGA, racist bullshit – – you’d be right.  But I cut and pasted it from Zuck’s website – http://www.facebook.comnot mine.  So I’m just quoting when I say Wuhan Bridezilla- and nobody can culture cancel you for that.  Can they? 


Sociology teaching moment: Innocent spouses are rare.  More rare than Facebook posts by Nazis about killing Jews in any event. Less rare than US election news and analysis  from the Internet Research Agency in your FB “news” feeds. Zuckerberg to world:  “I got your feed right here…”


(It’s not a trick question)


I’m not going to apologize for what follows, because it comes from a genuine place. I’m speaking from the heart when I offer “feedback” to the worker bees at Facebook. It may be a black heart, but it’s my heart. Look, in all fairness to me the little bastards asked for my “feedback”. Should you ever decide to offer “feedback” to Squad Zuck, please exercise extreme caution. Feeding(back) the spawn of a chimpanzee and a wraith is extremely risky. It can bite your fucking arm off at the elbow and use what’s left as a bloody straw to suck your soul (viz. your ‘personal information’) out of you. Hey, speaking of soul sucking billionaires…

How many hours did you spend on social media last month? Have you ever considered that you could’ve spent all that time lying in a warm bath staring at the open straight razor sitting in the soap dish thinking about other cool stuff you might do instead? I’m only saying that life offers a cornucopia of possibilities other than spending fourteen hours a week as an unpaid research subject. Your breathtaking generosity with your time and your humanity has put enough money in the pockets of that guy up there who looks like he’s seconds away from going full Ted Bundy…  that he can afford to move to Mars. Which is probably a much more suitable place for him. He could frolic around up there in the low gravity and CO2 breeze with South African CRISPR experiment Elon Musk.

It’s hardly a coincidence that a lot of billionaires are headed for outer space – and you should be rooting for them. These guys aren’t planning on letting people like you come with to Mars and that’s actually the good news. These delusional little demi-gods may believe they’re running from the disaster of planet earth but what they’re really doing is running to a different place where they can create yet another disaster. 

We’ll all be doing much better down here without the Insane Clown Billionaire Posse sharing our ecosphere. I predict we’ll be amazed at how successfully we can all get back to the business of being actual human beings again. Instead of lab rats. The time when people like Jeff Bezos and Bill Gates are safely consigned to vacuum of space can’t come soon enough. How about we lock the door and turn off the radios when they split?

GIVE US YOUR FEEDBACK.  CLICK ON “COMMENT” TO TELL US WHAT YOU THINK or use one of the alternative methods for providing feedback.

click here to CLOSE THIS PAGE  





The Trump Family

By Unknown Genus 

(WASHINGTON DC) – There’s a saying in the Corona virus infested K Street watering holes frequented by the remaining West Wing Bunkerkommando.

“This must be what it feels like to be the grabbed p***y.”

Those still sucking oxygen from the puss-filled political corpse of Donald John Trump, outgoing forty-fifth President of the United States, are beginning to smell the rising water. Even the President’s children are said to be panicking.

Speaking of the demoralized lame-duck president, one anonymous source remarked, 

“He’s reduced to figuring out who’s giving him better advice: The guy talking to pigeons on the park bench, or the eighty-year-old man in the convenience store parking lot with a bible under his arm, screaming at an ice cream sandwich.”

Here’s a recap of what we know about the latest thinking from the President’s most trusted advisors – as well as his sons.

Uday: The acting CEO of the President’s businesses has suggested to his father that he is perfectly willing to kill himself in an act of protest.  The 36 year-old Trump has offered to dress in a saffron robe and MAGA hat outfit, then set himself on fire in the Rose Garden. 

Although sources say the president’s middle son is “ready to strike the match” the president is having second thoughts about the plan, reportedly telling advisors in a rare display of caution, “It sounds like a great idea in theory, but I’m scared it would, you know, backfire somehow. What does Stephen Miller think?”

The president’s chief concern appears to be that if the younger Trump somehow botches the job (which aides say is likely) the president would “[get] stuck having to appear concerned about a dying son – something he really doesn’t have time for at this point.”

Qusay:  Known as the president’s secret weapon in communicating with his base, the eunuch scion of the Trump dynasty has offered to become, according to a source, “an actual weapon.”  The source says the plan involves “his elephant gun, his first wife, and Kimberly Guilfoyle” in something code named Sloppy Seconds.  

Speaking on the record, Trump son-in-law Jared Kushner said, “It’s a fun plan, but as everyone knows, even Donald Trump is not a big enough moron to listen to his sons.”

As we filed this report there were unconfirmed reports the president’s eldest son has entered a rehab facility in Idaho for issues described as “stimulant abuse and anal insertion of army men.” It is unknown whether the army men the source referred to were the little green plastic ones, or actual members of the United States armed forces.

Jared: Known to command more respect from the president than his sons, has suggested the president order Treasury Secretary Mnuchin to authorize a one-time, COVID related grant to Kushner Companies for eight billion dollars. A source present at the meeting where the suggestion came up said the president responded to the Kushner Companies heir, “I like the idea, but what does it have to do with my plan to seize control of the military, mobilize a MAGA Army, and impose dictatorship on the United States?”  Kushner reportedly replied, “Not all that much really, but doesn’t it still sound like fun?”

The President is said to be considering his son-in-law’s plan closely.

Ivanka:  So far the president’s bean can fondling daughter, who officials frequently describe as a poster child for nepotism laws, seems to be in the driver’s seat. The Marlboro huffing, former fashion model is a feared presence not only in the Kushner household but in the West Wing as well. She has been largely dictating her father’s no-nonsense, Evita Peron inspired opera buffa response to his convincing electoral drubbing.

While some predicted Ivanka would be a moderating influence on the Trump White House, she is widely known inside the Administration as the sharp elbowed idealogue with came up with policies like family separation, DACA Taunting, and the idea some have said she is most proud of: Tormenting the widows of political enemies.

“Anyone who gets on the wrong side of that little lady can lose a gonad or two,” a highly placed Trump administration official said. “Just ask Jared.”

When contacted for a comment regarding the intrigue surrounding fraught circumstances surrounding the current presidential transition, a spokesman for Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff General Mark A. Milley responded this way, “So far we’ve never had to evict anyone from 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue… but you’ve seen the movie Zero Dark Thirty, right?”


GIVE US YOUR FEEDBACK.  CLICK ON “COMMENT” TO TELL US WHAT YOU THINK or use one of the alternative methods for providing feedback.

Click here to submit feedback.  Let us know what you think.

click here to CLOSE THIS PAGE

Wonderland of Lights Outdoor Christmas Market

The Wonderland of Lights Outdoor Christmas Market vendor registration is open for both weekends of Dec. 5 and Dec. 12 from 10:00 am to 6:00 pm.

A booth space is $30 per space for approximately 10×10 for one day. Electricity is not available. Tables, chairs and canopies are the sole responsibility of the vendor. Merchandise should be limited to holiday decor, crafts/homemade goods, stocking stuffers, and gifts items. Only one consultant per brand.

There is no admission cost for shoppers.

*** COVID- 19 Safety Precautions ***

– We are committed to the safety of our merchants, citizens, and guests. We will continue to stay informed on the most recent regulations in place and will further adapt any events as needed.

– Vendor booths will be spaced a minimum 10 feet apart from one another.

– Social distancing will be observed by shoppers and vendors.

– A capacity limit on each block may be established.

– There will be no food product sampling.

– This event is subject to cancellation depending on the condition of COVID-19 in our community. In the event of cancellations, vendors will be fully refunded.

To register, please visit https://form.jotform.com/202546381487158

GIVE US YOUR FEEDBACK.  CLICK ON “COMMENT” TO TELL US WHAT YOU THINK or use one of the alternative methods for providing feedback.

click here to CLOSE THIS PAGE  

The Ginocchio Is Re-opening

The Ginocchio would like to introduce its General Manager, Brantley Price. Welcome aboard Brantley!

Brantley Price

Brantley brings years of food, beverage and management experience to the re-opening of The Ginocchio. There are a number of unique challenges in operating a restaurant like The Ginocchio in these very unusual times. We are confident that Brantley and Chef Reynaldo can lead the charge in overcoming these challenges and can guide The Ginocchio back to the highest levels of excellence in dining, cocktails and service.

Some have asked – why not reopen The Ginocchio, just as it was? While we are very proud of what Chef Reynaldo and The Ginocchio team were able to achieve in our first run, we also recognize that providing that special Ginocchio experience while also maintaining the highest standards of safety for our customers and our staff requires a great deal of fresh thinking. The times have changed, but our Mission has not. Brantley and The Ginocchio will find a way to adapt and evolve and achieve that Mission.

For those of you who were predicting our demise, sorry – The Ginocchio is reloading and relaunching with every intention of serving our loyal customers for years and decades to come. Positive things are happening in Marshall, and we are proud to be part of this historic community. Pandemic, social unrest, polarization – let’s work together to address these challenges, while respecting all members of our community, regardless of ethnicity, background, gender or religion. Our Mission requires no less.

The Ginocchio will be announce its reopening schedule very soon. Bear with us as we work to get things right for you. We look forward to serving you again soon!

The Ginocchio

GIVE US YOUR FEEDBACK.  CLICK ON “COMMENT” TO TELL US WHAT YOU THINK or use one of the alternative methods for providing feedback.

click here to CLOSE THIS PAGE  

Embrace Good Traditions

Editor’s note:
George Smith is a co-founder of Marshall’s Wonderland of Lights. He recently sent me this article. It’s something we should all think around.

Traditions, good traditions, the ones that make us smile, that give our kids and grandkids pleasure, that bring back fond memories should be cherished and protected and embraced, revered even.

Marshall has such a tradition, one that is more than 30 years old and has brought more people to this city and produced more smiling faces than any other event…ever.

The Wonderland of Lights is not another festival; it is an institution that must be preserved, changed to fit the times and cultivated with love and reverence.

When Wonderland of Lights was conceived, Marshall was in the midst of the worst economic period since the Great Depression. There were more empty storefronts downtown than were occupied buildings; 18 of the top 22 retail establishments had given up and locked their doors.

From Day 1, the Wonderland of Lights was never about “lights”; it was about the spirit in the hearts of the special people in a special place called Marshall. As co-chairman with J.C. Hughes, Jr. for first five years of the holiday lighting festival, I have a personal bias in making sure the festival not only stays viable…but grows as it glows annually.
A vast majority of the citizens embraced the concept of Wonderland from Day 1. And from the onset, the Chamber of Commerce, Tony Bridge at the radio station, and the News Messenger pushed the idea because it served as a beacon of light in a dark era of the city’s history.

What was so special about Wonderland of Lights?

One night in the first year, I was going around the square, replacing burned out bulbs and talking to visitors. Out of the corner of my eye I saw a woman and four children get out of a car. Something made me watch them. The kids, 10 to about four years of age, were running around under the lighted trees and staring gawk-eyed at the courthouse with its 100,000-plus lights.

The woman watched them and, suddenly, slumped to the ground. I ran over to check on her. “Are you okay?”

She looked up and big tears were coursing down her cheeks. “This is just so beautiful. This is just so incredibly beautiful.”

Her story tore through my heart.

Her husband had left, walked out of the marriage a few weeks before; she had no job, no money and four small children. And Christmas was less than a month away.

She looked up at the lights. “This is our Christmas! I bring the kids up every night and let them run and play and marvel at the beauty.

“It’s all they’ll have this year for Christmas.”

I turned away on the pretense of getting something  to write on which gave me time to wipe my tears away.

I got the lady’s contact information that night and the next day started a “telephone tree” to see if folks could help.

Within 48 hours, the spirit of Marshall rose up: The lady had a job, free day care for the kids, enough money to keep the rented house outside of town and utilities, groceries, and abundant Christmas presents and clothes for all the children. This newspaper gifted her with a Christmas tree, lights and ornaments and a shopping trip to local merchants.

The spirit of Christmas. The spirit of Marshall.

Fast forward a few years. There was an incredibly likable high school girl who volunteered to help string lights and work at the old city hall stage on the intricate task of making light panels in chicken wire.

She was happy, helpful, diligent and hard working. She always carried a smile on her face to share with others.

One night she didn’t show up to work; we learned she had been killed in a car wreck.

The day after her funeral someone put up a small decorated Christmas tree at the gravesite; one of her friend, knowing she loved teddy bears, put a small bear in a glass jar by her gravestone.

The tree and the bear were stolen.

Within a couple of days, there were five small, decorated Christmas trees and more than 10 teddy bears in jars surrounding her gravesite.

The spirit of Christmas. The spirit of Marshall.

Of course, there were detractors for the projects, aginners who didn’t like change, who didn’t like the Chamber or the newspaper and went out of their way to make their feelings known. One lived in a very nice neighborhood and when all his neighbors decorated their houses and landscaping…this resident held on to an intense curmudgeonry with a fierce determination.

About the first of December that year, the resident left on a family vacation and returned to find the house and landscaping ablaze with thousands of tiny white lights, courtesy of his neighbors, who even ran extension cords to their homes to provide power.

The spirit of Christmas. The spirit of Marshall.

Wonderland of Lights is not about Christmas lights; it never has been. Don’t let the special spirit diminish. Embrace and enhance this tradition that only Marshall possesses.

GIVE US YOUR FEEDBACK.  CLICK ON “COMMENT” TO TELL US WHAT YOU THINK or use one of the alternative methods for providing feedback.

click here to CLOSE THIS PAGE


By George Smith

This Father’s Day is different for me. Why? I am a year older but was true in that situation a year ago.

The last 24 hours has caused me to question everything I believe or think I know. The present global pandemic and ensuring isolation and cloying anxiety and fingerlings of depression (plus some inner-most personal, tumultuous thoughts) created a need to examine my “here” and take a mental inventory of my “now” and ask hard questions about my very existence and my overall worth to myself, my family, my world.

A personal humanity laundry list emerged from my musings, not just for me, but for others as well. Take it or leave it, it’s now out there and my sunshine today is ultra-bright. 

Happy Father’s Day to everyone.

We know first hand about the dilemma associated with race, this big story about how people go out of their way to be judgmental, mean-spirited even, to those who are different or who chose to be appear or act differently

Shame on those that see color before humanity, gender before value, sexual orientation before good deeds, religious affiliation (or atheism) before   reverence for the emotions of the human heart, or nationalism over the needs of fellow human beings.

We are all of one creation…of that we should all agree. even if we disagree on a distinctive singular path.

That is a start.

Be kind today and every day after. If you do that and I do do that…it is the start of a movement that can change our world for the better.

Be kind. Today. Every day.

GIVE US YOUR FEEDBACK.  CLICK ON “COMMENT” TO TELL US WHAT YOU THINK or use one of the alternative methods for providing feedback.

click here to CLOSE THIS PAGE