Charles Farmer liked my dad.
Sure, many people (I think) love Doc Hall, but to like him can be something a bit more challenging. He can be any one (or combination) of the following: loud, goofy, obnoxious, stubborn and in the interest of any potential inheritance someday I’m going to stop listing them
(although to be fair, I’m really just naming things about myself since the apple and tree find themselves in close geographic proximity). Continue reading
This scrawny kid seemed to always be reading, and while I have been a reader for as long as I can possibly remember, his nose always seemed to be in stories far outside my usual realm of comfort. In sixth grade, I still found myself on a steady diet of The Three Investigators, but this guy feasted in a different world, one populated by monsters and demons, killers and ghosts.
Oh, sure, I knew about monsters – I was a huge fan of the classic Universal movies like Frankenstein, The Wolf Man and Creature from the Black Lagoon. His tastes, though, ran a bit bloodier.
So when I saw Aaron Saylor flipping through Fangoria, a magazine devoted to the scariest and, well, goriest, movies and entertainment of that era (the mid-1980s), I instantly knew two things: 1) This was one weird little dude; and 2) we needed to be friends.
Almost 30 years later, both are still true.
This is a blog that’s been a long time coming.
Pretty much all my life, actually. Or, at the very least, since I could write, and since that was at age 4, we’re looking at something almost 34 years in the making.
And now, thanks to the support and help from co-author Aaron Saylor, it’s here: Lost Change and Loose Cousins. Continue reading
I wish I could tell you I’m speaking from the heart, but really, I’m speaking from the belly.
That’s what happens when you learn that a place as meaningful as Sue’s Hot Dogs is selling its business. Sure, the new owners could possibly keep that Steamshovel Road tradition going, but it just won’t be the same, no matter what happens.
In going through some old newspaper clippings a couple of weeks ago, I found this old column I had published in The Clay City Times sometime in the fall of 1997. For those who aren’t familiar with Powell County history, this was an odd time in Stanton, as we had been receiving some statewide (and perhaps national) attention for a so-called “gang,” better known as 213, after the death of its chief tuff and a subsequent riot after the funeral.
Back then, I found the whole thing hard to believe, and now, 15 years later, I find it even more ridiculous to think the “hard” streets of Stanton were being patrolled by a gang of hoodlums and hooligans.
I’ll leave it to you decide, from your memories, from your imagination, and now, from this. Enjoy:
The following was an article I wrote for The Clay City Times after Brother Rule’s last sermon Dec. 28, 1997, as the minister at First Presbyterian Church. I share in memory of all the good this man did for Powell Countians throughout his life: