Opinion

Commercialism has turned Christmas into an indicator. The strength of our economy is judged by the amount of money spent in stores and online from Black Friday through the end of the season.

From what I have seen and heard, there should be records set this year as the economy is in much better shape than it has been in many, many moons both locally and nationally.

Christmas is the season of giving and one must buy gifts in order to give so the economic impact of Christmas is a desirable byproduct of the shopping season. In my estimation, a few people love Christmas shopping while a lesser number absolutely abhor it. The vast majority endure it because it is expected of them.
[Full Story »] 

By Mike Ruffin

Most of my childhood Christmas memories are excellent. Two aren’t

The first involves my acting debut—unless you count my dynamic recitation of Robert Louis Stevenson’s poem The Swing at the graduation ceremony for Miss Sylvia’s Kindergarten Class of 1964 (“Riveting—almost like you were at that park across the street from the swimming pool” was how the review in the Barnesville Gazette put it)—in a Christmas play at Midway Baptist Church.

[Full Story »] 

When John Votaw died Oct. 28 after a long battle with leukemia, I lost a mentor. John basically taught me how to sing. He most assuredly taught me how to sing tenor.

Years and years ago, the choir at First United Methodist Church came down to sit in the congregation at some special service. John, his wife Marsha and Joyce Hutchinson sat on the pew in front of us.

The closing hymn was one I knew from childhood and I apparently sang it well enough. When the service was over, John and Joyce turned and asked me if I would join the choir. I am sure Marsha pushed them. I was flattered but did not think I was good enough.
[Full Story »] 

When this newspaper published its first edition in 1867 the Civil War had ended but its worst battles and consequences were still fresh on local minds.

Though the Union Army prevailed, there were really no winners. Just about every American family, regardless of geography or loyalty, could claim a killed or wounded soldier. Some claimed several. Some lost generations.
[Full Story »] 

By Laura Geiger

A we celebrate Barnesville’s newspaper’s 150th anniversary, all of us here at the paper look back at the events which we and our predecessors have reported as accurately and as fairly as we could.
[Full Story »] 

By Mike Ruffin

When a mass shooting occurs in the United States—and it happens all too often, doesn’t it?—lots of politicians will say, “Our thoughts and prayers are with the victims and their families,” or something like that.

This practice has become controversial in some quarters, which raises the question, “What’s wrong with thinking about and praying for victims, communities, and families in the wake of a massacre?” And the answer is, “Nothing.” Anybody with half a heart is going to think about the people affected by such a tragedy. Anybody with a smidgen of faith is going to pray for them.
[Full Story »] 

By Walter Geiger

I laughed out loud when I learned Bobby Burnette was to be buried with his phone. He also took along in his casket a moon pie, some emu oil which he drank twice daily and, in a nod to his diabetes, a diet Dr. Pepper.

He wanted a flashlight but the family decided against that.

“If you get a call from him, you might want to think twice about answering it,” Judge Kathy Martin quipped in telling us her brother took his phone with him to the grave.
[Full Story »] 

By Mike Ruffin

Once upon a time, Vacation Bible School (VBS) lasted a week, took place in the morning, and featured a highly structured opening assembly. During the assembly, the pianist would play a “stand up chord” (a major lift) and a “sit down chord” (a minor fall) to signal us when we were to—well, to stand up or sit down. [Full Story »] 

By Walter Geiger

I’m sure it will come as no surprise to you that the political correctness storm troopers have taken aim at Halloween and decreed that there are certain costumes you just cannot wear.

Many college campuses have taken this to the extreme. Students and faculty are to avoid letting their imaginations run wild.

Columbia University has strongly suggested costumes be cleared with its Office of Equality and Inclusion. No, I did not make that up. [Full Story »] 

By Mike Ruffin

In the early 1980s, while I was studying at the Southern Baptist Theological Seminary in Louisville, Kentucky, I was also the weekend pastor of the Beech Grove Baptist Church in Owen County, Kentucky, which was about seventy miles north of Louisville. Southern Baptist churches participate in regional groupings known as “associations,” and those associations usually have at least one meeting a year. If they only have one, it’s usually in the fall. If they have two, one is in the spring and the other during autumn.

Most of the churches in the Owen County Association were small. Many of them used seminary students as pastors, so the association held its annual meeting during the summer to avoid giving its pastors something else to deal with on top of their heavy academic responsibilities.
[Full Story »] 

Growing up in Savannah’s Fairway Oaks in the 50s and 60s, I could walk out my door and down the street and get into any one of three or four pickup football games going on in some kid’s yard. The same was true for pickup baseball and basketball games during those seasons.

When was the last time you saw a bunch of the neighborhood kids playing a pickup football game? It doesn’t happen. Video games have put a halt to them. That’s just one aspect of what I call the wussification of the American male. [Full Story »] 

By Mike Ruffin

Now hear this: I turned 59 a few days ago. Math was never my strong suit, but I’m pretty sure that’s one less than 60. I’ll hit that milestone next year, Lord willing.

I’ve reached the point in life at which many folks start slowing down as they move toward retirement.

Not me. I’m just getting cranked up.
[Full Story »] 

By Walter Geiger

Once upon a time, I witnessed firsthand the violent collision of two vehicles just off I-75 in downtown Atlanta.

Leaving a downtown conference, I was driving the first truck in line to turn left onto the southbound lane of the interstate. Cars coming off the southbound lane and those turning onto it it from the other direction were whizzing through the intersection.

I could see the crash materializing before it happened. The cars were on a collision course. Neither driver was paying attention to the other. I and several other drivers blew our horns to no avail.
[Full Story »] 

By Mike Ruffin

It was about this time of year in 1977 that I returned to Mercer University for my senior year. A girl named Debra Johnson returned for her junior year. She came back to Macon wearing the engagement ring I’d given her the month before as we’d stood beside the Towaliga River below High Falls. [Full Story »]