(Disclaimer: The opinions expressed in this column are those of the author and do not necessarily reflect those of The Augusta Press.)
Merry Christmas!
Politics took the day off, and the void was filled with Christmas memories from people you probably know and might love. Two near the end are by me and the last one is by my husband Ernie Rogers.
High in the Mountains
By Augusta Commissioner John Clarke, a former long-distance truck driver and band leader
Opinion
I was on a mountaintop in Pennsylvania two days before Christmas, and I was headed home. It was snowing, and the roads were icing, and I was trying to get off that mountain. It got so bad, they closed the roads. And I made it down to a truck stop where we all pulled in. And there were about 30 truck drivers, and we were all stranded in a truck stop. And that’s where we sat until the day after Christmas. But thank goodness they had plenty of food, and one of the truck drivers drove for Anheuser-Busch.
And so, believe me when I say there were 30 beery-eyed truck drivers rocking around the Christmas tree on Christmas Day.
A Sight They Couldn’t Bear to See
Another time, between Christmas and New Year, we were up in the mountains going toward Wheeling West Virginia, and we stopped at this market in Cobb, Kentucky. And they had a caged bear cub, and it was pacing back and forth. We checked into a nearby motel, and we started thinking about that bear, and we walked back and cut the lock and opened the cage and ran like hell. And that bear pushed open the cage, and the last thing we saw was that bear’s tail disappearing into the woody brush.
I think the statute of limitations is up.
Puppy Love
By Deke Copenhaver, Mayor of Augusta, 2005-2014
Just last month, Malisa and I lost our oldest Corgi, Sarah Bet, after a two-year battle with lymphoma. We had started a search for a new puppy months ago, and fortunately on December 21st, we were able to bring home our new baby girl Minnie to be our youngest Corgi Hoss’s new playmate.
Last Christmas, Sarah Bet and Hoss won a national competition for the Graduate Hotels for their favorite Christmas picture with the dogs posing with Graduate paraphernalia. So, our Corgis, old and new, have provided our family with an amazing amount of warm Christmas memories.
MORE: FAITH: The Christmas Gift
Life is Never the Same When You Find Out There’s No Such Thing as Santa Claus
By Garnett Johnson, Incoming Mayor of Augusta
My best Christmas was when I was 10 years old. I had spent the summer in Los Angeles, California with my grandmother and great grandmother. We’d taken a long bus trip to get there and ate fried chicken my grandmother had wrapped in tinfoil because there weren’t a lot of places to eat.
That Christmas I recall getting everything I asked for from Tonka trucks and a Hess truck like those at the toy Hess Truck Stops that lit up and a bunch of cap guns.
So, after experiencing a wonderful summer and following Christmas, the next year, I ran across a cache of toys and my Christmas has never been the same since finding out there was no Santa Claus. No more enjoying the excitement of waking up at night looking forward to Santa Claus and those toys.
The Greatest Gift of All
By Gwen Fulcher Young, wife of Former Augusta Mayor Bob Young
On Christmas Eve lots of years ago my newborn baby girl Andrea wrapped in a red flannel blanket was placed in my arms. I was simply overwhelmed with love and responsibility.
Christmas Eve has always been about this baby girl. For years now just the two of us celebrate with a mother and daughter day of shopping and lunch. On this trip she can have anything her heart desires!
A Pony Under the Tree that He Had to Wait to See
By Sammy McCorkle, McDuffie County Farm Bureau Chairman and neighbor
When I was in the fourth grade, I got sick about a week before Christmas. They suspected I had rheumatic fever, and they took me to University Hospital in Augusta. Christmas morning, Mama and Daddy came to the hospital and told me Santa Claus had brought me a Pinto pony.
A Memorable Scene
By Gayle McCorkle, wife of Sammy McCorkle
I remember one Christmas Eve when I was a child, we were coming home from our traditional Christmas Eve at my Grandmother’s, and the beautiful courthouse on the square in Washington was on fire.
Philadelphia Eagles Fan Then, Now and Forever
By Michael Meyers, Columnist, The Augusta Press
People wonder why I’m a Philadelphia Eagles fan when I live in Augusta. The reason is when I was growing up, I wanted one of those football helmets and some shoulder pads. But we were poor and didn’t have much money.
Well, for Christmas when I was about seven, my Grandpa gave me a helmet with Randall Cunningham’s number on it and some shoulder pads. He might have found some that were used somewhere or bought them new. I don’t know, but it had Randall Cunningham’s number on it. So ever since then, I’ve been a Philadelphia Eagles fan.
Like Father, Like Daughter
By Augusta Commissioner Catherine McKnight, daughter of former Augusta Commissioner Grady Smith, now deceased
My most memorable Christmas was in 1992 when my parents decided to spend Christmas in New York. My sister and I were in our first and second year in college, so we were looking forward to catching up and spending time together as a family. Let’s just say that the trip was like the movie “Vacation to Walley World” that the Clark W. Griswolds took.
We took the 6:30 a.m. flight out of Augusta to Atlanta and then to LaGuardia. We made it to Atlanta but were told that the flights to New York has been canceled due to weather. The look on our faces were like when the Griswolds got to Walley World and were told that the theme park was closed. The decision by my parents had been made to catch a flight back to Augusta, which we did. My sister and I were disappointed, and my parents were frustrated as we drove home.
After a few phone calls to the hotel in New York and the airlines, my parents were able to get a 6:30 a.m. flight out of Augusta the next morning. We started the previous day’s process all over again. Boarding the flight from Atlanta to LaGuardia, my Daddy and I sat together, and my mother and sister sat several rows behind us. Now, I must say that my Daddy was afraid of heights throughout his life, so flying was definitely something that made him nervous. I knew something was wrong when my Daddy was reading the newspaper upside down and had ordered a vodka and orange juice at 9:45 a.m.
Back in the day, Delta used to serve breakfast on flights. My Dad ate two breakfast plates. We had turbulence most of the trip, and matters were made worse when we heard this woman yelling out, “Land this damn plane!” and a few other words. That woman happened to be my mother. I remember vividly my Daddy saying, “Your mother needs to calm her ass down.” I said, “Well, Daddy, you have been reading the same page of the newspaper for about thirty minutes upside down.”
When we finally landed in New York, we were told the hotel we were staying at had only a king size bed. My daddy explained to the nice receptionist the last thirty-something hours that we had been through. Him having a way with words got us into a suite and an extra night’s stay.
How Family Traditions are Made
By Catherine McKnight
Christmas with my children has always been an adventure, especially Christmas 2003. The year we gave our girls two matching electric scooters. They weren’t on them five minutes before my daughter Clay rode herself and the scooter into the swimming pool. Following behind her was Gaines, our beloved English Setter. Seven months pregnant with my son and after falling through insulation in the attic the day before, I had just about had it. That’s when Waffle House became our Christmas dinner tradition go to spot.
Into Hot Water with the Flick of a Switch
By Fred Russell, former Augusta administrator
I remember one Christmas when my kids were young, we woke up early Christmas morning and didn’t have any hot water. There was snow on the ground, and the wind was blowing like a hurricane up in the mountains. For some reason, having a young child and not having any hot water seemed like the worst catastrophe you could imagine. And my wife suggested in no uncertain terms that I take whatever steps necessary to correct that issue.
So, after spending most of the morning on the phone trying to find a plumber who would even answer, I found one that answered his phone who spent the next 15 minutes explaining how much it was going to cost to get him to come out on a cold, snowy Christmas afternoon. The cost was inconsequential as compared with the chilly looks I was getting from my wife as she heated water on the stove to do the dishes.
When the plumber’s truck arrived about 4 p.m., I couldn’t have been more excited if it had been Santa Claus in his sleigh. I prepared myself for the cost of a new water heater or at least a major dent in our savings account, but I wasn’t prepared for the jolly old plumber to hit the reset button on the water heater and walk out the door with a very large check, saying “Ho! Ho! Ho!” to himself.
MORE: Column: What counts as a Christmas tradition?
Forever Young
I’ve told you before about my sister Pat who loves Elvis and Santa Claus in that order. When Mama and Daddy were alive, Daddy would take her to the Tifton Mall, and she and Santa would see each other and run to meet and hug in the middle of the mall to everybody’s delight but Mama’s. She said it was embarrassing for a grown woman to be running down the mall yelling “Santa Claus! Santa Claus!” but that didn’t dampen Pat’s enthusiasm one little bit.
Now that Mama and Daddy are gone, Pat lives in her own little house in the backyard of my youngest sister Jan and her husband Terry Dunn in Omega. Jan is Pat’s legal guardian and has taken good care of her for the past 27 years and deserves stars in her crown for doing all she has done and is doing for her.
I called Pat last week to tell her this year’s Elvis calendar was on back order and wouldn’t be there by Christmas Eve.
Christmas seemed to have slipped up on her this year because she said she didn’t realize that today would be Christmas Day.
I asked her whether she’d gone to see Santa Claus at the mall this year, and she said no.
“Do you think Ho! Ho! Ho! will bring me something anyway?” she asked several times.
“Yes, I’m sure he will,” I said.
“Thank you,” she said. “You made my day! You made my day!”
See how little it takes to make some people happy?
Christmas Cleanup
My first Christmas memory was of my older sister and brother trying to wash out the fireplace so Santa Claus wouldn’t get it soot on him when he came down the chimney to deliver our toys.
Our parents had gone to town on Christmas Eve afternoon, leaving us alone when 7-year-old June and 5-year-old Johnny decided to clean out the fireplace and chimney as far up as they could reach. So, they threw buckets of water into the fireplace and scrubbed it with a broom. The black sooty water ran all over the living room of the little house we were living in on our grandparents’ place in Chula, Ga. They lived about a quarter-mile up the road and were supposed to be keeping an eye on us but forgot to because the cleaning operation went on until Mama and Daddy got home. I was only three and can’t remember exactly what happened, but I know Mama almost died.
In after years, it was a family legend.
Remembering a Great Man
By Ernie Rogers
My father’s father was killed in a car accident late Christmas Eve afternoon on his way home from picking up presents he had stashed at his business. My father, just a young boy, faced a very uncertain future with his mother and sister between an unmovable rock of grief and the hardest place most people had ever been – the Great Depression.
His mother was a deeply Christian housewife with no skills to bring to a workplace. His sister was a little girl. My father was the man of the house when he wasn’t at elementary school, which he soon had to quit to find a way to support his family. He helped on an ice wagon delivering ice. He pedaled telegrams all over Waycross, Georgia for Western Union. He did anything that needed doing for whatever he could get. He and a friend hunted for the smallest of game and fished to help feed their families. The times just got worse and worse. He worked harder and harder, longer and longer, faster and faster while he grew older.
His sister was able to step into what workplace there was to earn what little money there was to help her mother. Like so many men, my father saw better future earnings anywhere else. So, he and a bear of a man, who would later marry my aunt, joined the men headed to any new place by hopping freight trains for a ride west. They worked at CCC camps and took dirty jobs wherever they jumped off the box cars. They fought railroad Dicks and hoboes. They made it back to Waycross thinner and tougher.
All this to say, despite the deep sorrow my father felt his entire life at Christmas time, he made sure mine and my sister’s Christmas mornings were filled with absolute joy he would quietly share in. I had cowboy outfits with double six shooters, electric trains, BB guns, bicycles, more toys than I could even imagine having. As I grew older and was told by my mother of his boyhood, I came to realize his pure joy at seeing our reveling was in knowing he had given us all he and his sister had missed for so much of his young life.
I love you, Daddy. Rest in Peace. Merry Christmas!!
Sylvia Cooper is a columnist with The Augusta Press. Reach her at sylvia.cooper@theaugustapress.com
