The McCollumn - 12/31: "Actions, not resolutions"

Actions, not resolutions or "Put down the cheeseburger and pick up the celery"

New Year’s is the time of year we step back and reflect on the year that has passed us by.
What do we want to change about ourselves?
What brought us sadness?
What brought us joy?
What can we do to achieve inner peace, lose that extra weight or find that perfect someone we know is waiting out there for us.
In order to answer this myriad of questions, we make resolutions for this year, plans for how we’re going to change, improve and grow as people.
These resolutions end up working about as well as the radiation safety measures at Chernobyl: designed with good intent but horrible in application.
Don’t make resolutions, dear readers. Take action.
Resolutions are vague, shadowy ideals; actions are swift, decisive solutions.
It’s all well and good to say you’ll do something in the new year, but you have to take the plan and bring it forward with action.
If you want to lose weight, join the Sportsplex and literally work that butt off.
If you want inner peace, join a church and commune and grow with fellow believers.
If you want an end to being alone, sitting around on the couch, moping and eating ice cream while watching romantic comedies isn’t going to get the job done. Go out there and meet people.
Don’t be afraid of failure. Not every action will have a positive result, but there is joy to be found even in defeat.
You pick yourself back up, brush off the dirt and keep right on trying, remembering the lessons that led to your fall.
Put down the cheeseburger and pick up the celery.
Put down the bottle and pick up the Bible.
And for God’s sake, take a chance and tell him or her how you feel about them. You never know; they just might feel the same way, too.
We aren’t guaranteed tomorrow. The deaths of dear friends Zona Johnson and John Vance taught me that this year.
“Hold each moment fast, and live and love as hard as you know how. Make each moment last because the best of times is now.”
Go out and live this year, Opelika.
I know I will.

Staff Editorial: What is a community newspaper?

This editorial ran in this week's Observer and was the product of our five person Editorial Board.

We’re blessed in this area to be able to have multiple news sources at our disposal.
We live within the coverage radius of three local TV stations with news programs, so Lee County issues can and do get covered.
We also enjoy an area filled with many news publications, some weeklies like us and even a daily paper that bills itself as one of the most award-winning community newspapers in the state.
While we don’t wish to criticize or cavel with that paper’s claim to their well-deserved awards, we do take issue with one mantle they seem to claim: community newspaper.
By simply declaring yourself to be a community newspaper because of your location within a particular locale, you somewhat miss some of the tenets that make up a true community newspaper.
When you are more likely to find national news stories than local ones on the front page, perhaps the paper is not a community newspaper.
If your readership has to fight and clamor to get the paper to take notice of their story or issue, that paper might not be a true community newspaper.
If you are more likely to see photos of folks from halfway across the country instead of right here in the Opelika area, you aren’t dealing with a community newspaper.
If local news is buried deep within the paper to make room for wire service stories and advertorials, that paper might not be able to claim the title of community newspaper.
The Opelika Observer, this paper, is your community newspaper.
Within our pages, you’ll find predominantly local coverage and issues written by local writers that know and love this place.
We’re your hometown paper, owned by hometown people who want to see this community thrive and grow in the best way it can.
We’re committed to providing the best local coverage we can to you, our readers, so that you can be fully aware of what’s going on in our area.
Our paper was established because a group of Opelika citizens were concerned that local news was not being published. So that’s our reason for being. (We have, however, observed that the “other paper” has carried more community articles since we began publication.)
The only way the President of the Unites States will be on the front page of the Observer is if he comes to visit us here in Opelika. We will only focus on and cover local news and issues.
We realize we don’t have the resources and money that a paper owned by a national media conglomerate does, but we assure you that every chance we get, we will strive to provide the best coverage we can with the resources we have available.
In our paper, we’ll run pictures of your kids’ school projects and interesting activities.
In our paper, we highlight the actions and deeds of great Opelikians, people we should all admire and emulate.
In other words, Opelika, we renew our commitment with you to be your local paper, the paper that truly cares and focuses on the issues and stories about our town and area.
If you have a story idea, e-mail it in, call us, or even come by our office.
If you have a complaint, please let us know. It’s the only way we’ll know what we can do better to serve you, our readers.
Get involved and let us know what we can do to make this paper a better paper for you and the rest of our community.
The Opelika Observer enters this new year with an even firmer commitment to being the best community newspaper we can be for you.
We’re going to do everything we can, everything within our limited powers that we can do.
We just ask your help in doing it.

The McCollumn - 12/24

'Have Christmas' from Opelika's Scrooge

Truth be told, I’m not a huge fan of Christmas.

Call me a Grinch, Scrooge, or whatever Christmasesque villain you like, but it’s still not my favorite holiday.

Christmas, more so than most other holidays, is one that often reminds me of who isn’t there rather than who is.

My grandmother loved Christmas. It was probably her favorite holiday, and every Christmas Eve, we’d all gather together at McCollum Cottage and celebrate together.

We’d eat a huge meal, play the occasional game of Bingo and then exchange gifts, all heading home to wait for Santa by 10 p.m. at the latest.

Since she passed away in 2007, those traditions have fallen by the wayside a bit, as they naturally do.

It’s no one’s fault and it isn’t, I suppose, a bad thing.

It isn’t good or bad. It’s just different.

This year’s Christmas morning proves to be an interesting experience as well.

Normally, McCollum family Christmas is wrapped up quickly enough to give way to our annual Christmas brunch.

Normally, we’d know to expect a visitor shortly before eating: dear and recently deceased family friend John Vance.

John won’t be coming this year. There’ll be no Tiger Transit stories or funny jokes.

He won’t be coming ever again.

Even Uncle Tank and Aunt Sherri will be out of the mix this year, as they jet off to Honduras to help bring Christmas to the children of the orphanage they visit frequently.

I should be able to pull myself out of this depressing mood.

Know that it’s not my desire to be this way.

I’m just not a person who shakes off bad moods easily.

But, I think there may be a glimmer of hope for me and any of the rest of you that might be down and out this holiday, courtesy of some words from Robbi Beauchamp.

Start a new tradition, one that reminds you of the joys of the past without reminding you greatly of the sadness caused by loss.

Make a favorite dish or dessert that your lost loved one enjoyed and use it as a part of your holiday spread.

Find some piece of clothing or item that reminds you of them and wear it, keeping a little bit of them with you at all times.

If you feel up to it, include a small remembrance of them in with your festivities, as a clear reminder of what their life and friendship meant to you.

Christmas should be and generally is a time of joy.

Even in the face of sorrow and loss, we have to find ways to cope and deal in order to survive and move forward.

We’ll miss the folks we’ve lost along the way, but if we do our best to remember them, even in the smallest of ways, they are never truly gone.

Be merry.

Be happy and healthy.

Be well.

But, most of all, be willing to remember, even if it may cause you some pain and sorrow.

I close by simply saying “Have Christmas.”

No adjectives there, dear readers.

Make of the holiday what you will. Adjectivize as you see fit.

The McCollumn - 12/17

A salute to Dr. Hannah

I was blessed throughout my time in the Opelika school system to have a number of great teachers.
Thankfully, most of them are still teaching, bringing their infectious knowledge and wisdom to a new generation of students.
Many of these educators stand out in my mind, but, truthfully, only one of them got me started on the career path I find myself slouching toward today: Dr. Charlie Hannah.
Dr. Hannah, the august senior honors English teacher at OHS, is certainly an Opelika legend at this point.
The “Hannah Paper” has become a rite of passage for Opelika seniors. Students who had him decades ago cannot only tell you their word, but what sources they used and how they attempted to tie their argument together.
Don’t believe me? Ask any former student.
Each year, the incoming seniors wait nervously for their first “Hannah” class, the class that will prepare them for college.
He’s one of the most unassuming and egoless people you’ll meet.
In a room filled with chairs, Charlie Hannah will always sit on the floor, just to make sure everyone has a seat.
He’s a peacemaker, trying to find a pragmatic way to get people to come together and work through their differences without backstabbing and in-fighting. He’s like Henry Kissenger without the frog voice and the war atrocities.
I go to him for life and career advice constantly, and he’s never turned me away.
He might have occasionally said things like “Cliff, I’m grading things. Go away,” but I seldom listen, so he lets me keep talking.
He tells me the truth, especially when I need to hear it, and his voice is usually the voice of reason that keeps me from making stupid and impetuous decisions.
He’s the sort of teacher that inspires his students to want to become teachers.
I’m in English Education largely because I want to be Charlie Hannah.
He knows this, and it’s apparently a Hannah family inside joke that I’m going to kill him to make this dream happen.
Crazy though I may be, I don’t think I could ever turn against the man who’s been my mentor and friend for almost 10 years now, even if it meant taking his job.
Cliché tells us that behind every great man is a great woman. I can state without fear of contradiction that Barbara Hannah, or Mrs. Dr. Hannah (as I like to call her), is no cliché. She’s the one who makes the trains run on time and she also makes a magical Kahlua Chocolate Pie.
When I take stock of a year that hasn’t lived up to the expectations I had for it, I take solace and comfort in knowing that good people like the Hannahs are a part of my life.
As surely as there will always be an England, Charlie Hannah will be a person I continue to seek advice and counsel from, whether he likes it or not.
Dr. Hannah, thank you for your continued help and support.
If I end up being half the teacher and person you are, I’ll consider my life one that was well-spent.
Thank you for your tutelage in the classroom and in life.
I don’t know what I’d do without you, sir.

The McCollumn - 12/10

Don't 'single' us out

The Year of Weddings.
That will always be one of the major facets of 2010.
Foggy though my mind may be at times, I shall always remember the year of the plethora of friends’ weddings.
I’ve been an usher, a reader, a groomsman and also an attendee at just the ceremony or just the reception.
I had to miss one. I regret that.
You, dear readers, were subjected to a series of wedding columns, me using my little space here as a bully pulpit.
You are kind to tolerate such things. I’m honestly amazed there weren’t letters.
Overall, the weddings themselves were a positive experience.
However, I would be remiss in not mentioning just one tiny thing to you all, a word of advice from a wedding pro such as myself.
Please don’t ask the single people at the wedding when they are going to get married.
I’m going to state that again for emphasis and drop the niceties: do not ask the single people at the wedding when they are going to get married.
I’m sure your interest in this topic is genuine and of the kindest of intents.
I do not dare question your motives, but your method is flawed.
I’ll answer your question with a smile and a dismissive joke or phrase. I have several to choose from. I’ve had ample time to come up with responses to such a question.
Know, however, that while I was giving one of these canned responses, I was trying to stop from saying what I actually wanted to say: What kind of question is this to ask someone?
It’s the de facto equivalent of saying “Aww. Look at how happy they are together. You’re alone. Why are you alone? Don’t you want to be with someone?”
Unless you’re me, you don’t get to ask those questions.
Not everyone who is single is single because they choose to be.
Some of us repeatedly get the crap kicked out of us in this department, trying in vain to scratch out the same happinesses we see in our married friends’ lives.
Maybe she’s out there. Maybe she’s not.
I don’t know.
What I do know is that being forced to think about all of this while watching the intense joy and happiness in coupledom that goes along with weddings is unkind.
So, if you would, refrain from asking the question you want to ask, even if it’s meant as a laugh or a non sequitur.
You could be doing more harm than good. In fact, I’ll say you are doing harm.
To the single readers out there, I say don’t tolerate this line of questioning any more.
Just get up and walk away.
I know I’m not the only one who feels this way on this one. I’ve talked with you and to you, and I know my cause is your cause.
Until we meet that person who will eventually lead to our own happy wedding day, we remain hopeful and vigilant.
I salute you, my single brethren and sistren.
It’s been a hell of a wedding season, and I salute your bravery.
Keep fighting through, dear friends. It gets better.

The McCollumn - 12/3/10

End the madness

I had intended this week to write about my trip to the Iron Bowl and the hilarity and fun that ensued.
Perhaps I shall next week, dated though it may be.
No, as I sat to write this column this week, it was Wednesday morning and I was checking Twitter, as I habitually do multiple times daily.
World Aids Day was Wednesday. It was amongst the sites worldwide trending topics, as thousands upon thousands of Twitter users from across the globe incorporated that phrase into their tweets.
You read through the tweets and you got statistics that give pause and break one’s heart.
430,000 children were born with HIV last year. Born with HIV. Could not help but contract the disease.
Most of these children are in Africa, and at least half of them will die before the age of two without medical intervention.
33.3 million people around the world are estimated to be living with HIV.
An estimated 2.6 million became newly infected last year.
If we are the America we are supposed to be, the great moral leader in this world, why aren’t we at the forefront on this issue?
Preventable deaths are happening every single day.
We can and we must do more.
Of course, we don’t do enough at home to help fight this disease either.
AIDS is one of the last great stigma diseases.
Have any other disease and your loved ones will flock to you to show their support.
Contract this disease and you generally become shunned and thought of as less than human.
We’ve all been inundated with safe sex rhetoric and have been taught through school to know enough not to share needles when we do our heroin.
Surely anyone who contracts the disease these days deserves it for engaging in risky behavior.
Wrong.
Dead wrong.
How they got the disease may have been a monumental mistake in their lives. I dare say it would probably rank as their life’s greatest regret.
But, having that disease does not make them less than human.
They deserve the same love and compassion we should show anyone who is facing a life- threatening disease.
We do not know each victim’s story.
We don’t know what paths took them to the place they are.
All we should know and all we should see is a person before us in need of comfort and care.
If we are the people we claim to be, we should all step up and do what’s right here.
Spend some time and volunteer with AIDS Outreach.
Write a check; their funding is always dependent upon such help.
Take some time and learn more about the disease. Awareness is a step to prevention; understanding is a step to compassion.
Write letters and e-mails to your political leaders and ask them what they’re doing to help solve this crisis.
Just do something.

The McCollumn - 11/26/10

'Where everybody knows your name'

Thanks to my Bar Food Night crew and the good folks and patrons at Grown Folks Blues and More, I can cross an item off of my “Bucket List”: sing the theme song from “Cheers” in a bar and have the bar sing along with me.
In many ways, Grown Folks that night was a place where everybody knew my name, if only because the owner, the indomitable Ms. Nancy, introduced me to everyone as “the nice young man who wrote that newspaper article about us.”
Well, Ms. Nancy, here’s another one.
Admittedly, I had been in a bad funk as of late.
The usual “sturm und drang” of college-age life has been beating me down.
The real world and my exodus from graduate school rapidly approaches.
Real life is coming, and I’m still not sure I’m quite ready for the transition.
The battle between teaching and journalism has been going on for some time, and neither side seems to be willing to give in to the other. My subconscious looks like the Battle of the Somme at this point.
Enter my friends Adam, Jordan and Stephanie: staples of the Bar Food Night crew.
“Ms. Nancy’s tonight around 7:30 if you can make it,” Adam’s text said.
“Of course,” I replied. “Wouldn’t miss it.”
As I walked into the familiar and oddly lime green building, I could feel the stress actually leaving my body.
I was greeted with hugs and well-wishes from Ms. Nancy and the rest of the gang, and we were quickly informed that Wednesday was Karaoke Night as the bar.
“Heaven help us all,” I said.
We quickly poured over the songbooks, each picking songs suited to our various personalities and quirks.
Adam favored country, save a lovely duet of “I’ve Got You Babe” with his girlfriend Stephanie.
Stephanie threw some soul into the mix, giving Gladys Knight’s “Midnight Train to Georgia” a go with yours truly as her backup Pip, helping me practice for another eventual McCollum lifetime goal: becoming the first white Pip.
Jordan brought the house down with his rendition of Weird Al’s parody song “White and Nerdy.”
And me?
Well, bolstered by the courage of one of Ms. Nancy’s famous Pink Flamingos, I struggled my way through a Sinatra staple or two, a Sheryl Crow/Kid Rock duet with Ms. Burnett (a homecare worker who can throw down vocally), the aforementioned “Cheers” theme, and, yes, even Biz Markee’s 1989 classic hip-hop comedy song “Just a Friend.”
Yes, dear readers, I can rap … if it’s slow, comic rap from the late 80’s.
Ms. Nancy’s rendition of Tina Turner’s “What’s Love Got to Do With It?” was a favorite of the night, and as she sang it, it dawned on me why her place was so special to us.
There, we can let our hair down and just be.
We can sing our little tune, even if it’s horribly out of key (me, ninety percent of the time).
We all need a place where we can see that our troubles are, indeed, all the same.
We all occasionally need to go where everybody knows our name.
This week, I’m thankful for family and friends, but, most of all, I’m thankful for these little worlds within our world where we can just be.
Let’s all take some life advice from the great Ms. Nancy: “You’re too blessed to be stressed, baby. Just pray on it and it’ll all be OK.”
Amen.

On Christmas Music: Another Plainsman Throwback Column

Am I gravely mistaken or is it not still the month of November? I realize I'm slightly cuckoo, but I can figure out dates and times.

Why, why, why in the name of all that is holy am I being inundated with Christmas music on my radio on not one, but at least three stations.

Last year, while still at The Plainsman as Opinions Editor, I wrote a little piece on how I feel about Christmas music.

Carol of the Hells: Thoughts on Christmas Music

I realize I'm in the minority on this one, but I'm just not a fan. Never have been, never will be.

Maybe one of you Christmas music loving folks can turn me around on this one, but I don't see it happening. My stubbornness is legendary.

The McCollumn - 11/19/10

End of entitlement

“You can be whatever you want to be. You can do whatever you want to do. The world is yours for the taking”

Those phrases could be what I think is the downfall of my generation, the grouping of Gen Y Americans that now stand poised to enter the workforce and begin the careers and dreams we’ve always been promised by our forebears.

Well, guess what?

We can’t be whatever we want to be. We take what jobs we can to get by and make do.

We can’t do whatever we want to do. That sort of hedonistic claptrap has lead to the most overinflated sense of self-worth I’ve ever seen. My peers, and myself, are guilty of becoming accurately labeled the “Entitlement Generation.”

Our grandfathers fought bravely to preserve this country’s freedoms at home and abroad, storming beaches in Normandy and planting flags in Iwo Jima. They came home to dreams of college provided by the G.I. bill and raised solid, middle class families content with their lot.

Their children, our parents, were made to work for what they earned. A car was a privilege that was earned when you had taken the responsibility to get a job and earn the money to help buy it yourself, if not buy it outright.

That generation, a generation that lost too many of its ranks to the misfortune of Vietnam, worked hard, saved, and put away money for their children, to give them better than the generation who came before them.

Then, came us: Gen X and Gen Y.

A generation whose grandpa worked on an assembly line to provide a nice living for his family, whose dad took a job as a financial analyst and broker to help provide more to his children than the opportunities he was given.

Our generation – well, we expect. We demand. We feel entitled to request whatever we want because you’ve told us we can have it.

Every generation wants to give the generation that comes after it a better and easier life than what they had.

My generation seldom earned their cars – they were a 16^th birthday rite of passage. If one wasn’t produced, all hell broke loose.

There are now shows on MTV that dedicate hours of programming to such nonsense, showcasing brats and spoiled princesses demanding everything from purple limo arrivals, couture gowns and rap star appearances all for a simple birthday party for a child.

It sickens me. It worries me that things like this might be why the terrorists hate us. They live on a dollar a day; we spend $50,000 on a birthday and broadcast it on national television.

Parents, please do your children a favor.

Don’t inundate them with the idea that they are the greatest thing to happen to the world.

Don’t tell them that they have the ability and spunk to be and do whatever they want to do.

Encourage them to pursue their interests and skills they seem to naturally possess.

Not every child will be an astronaut or a senator, but a good living can be made as a welder or plumber.

Let your children find what they want to do and encourage them to do that.

You may want them to be a lawyer or an astronaut, but they might just really want to be a social worker and help people in need or a journalist who just wants to help pass along people’s stories.

Part of the problem here, too, comes from the fact that the parents’ expectations for what a child is capable of might be too high.

Your child’s contentment and happiness should be your first concern.

If they want to be an artist, encourage them to be the best artist they can be.

If they want to cook, send them to cooking school, spurring them along the way.

Be their biggest booster and supporter when they choose their career, even if it isn’t what you may have dreamed for them.

Don’t force them to do what you think they should do. It can only lead to resentment and bitterness.

That, dear friends, is what your kids really need.

Let them choose their lives and destinies. Offer advice and consent, but know that it may not always be taken the way you’d want it to.

Just “Let it be.” I promise, it can and usually does work itself out within time.

The McCollumn - 11/12/10

A final call to action

I’ve never claimed the mantle of “journalist.” Truth be told, it wasn’t something I ever thought I was meant for, then or now.

I’m an Opinions man, through and through; I create commentary, the one part of a newspaper where you’re allowed to have a stance or to share your personal view of the world.

However, I must begin to claim that mantle now with my new promotion to be this paper’s city reporter.

Do not for a moment think that I take this title lightly or accept it with bad faith.

In my search for stories to tell, I promise you that any sort of personal agenda or bias will be checked at the door.

My role is to observe and report, not comment and speculate.

That is a new role for me.

Know that me not giving my opinion on something is a bit like me not breathing.

I am not easily separated from my opinions and biases. None of us are.

If you think you are, you either lack firm convictions or you’re just ill informed and blissfully unaware.

Nevertheless, the tenets of journalism, that noble profession which I now aspire to enter again, demands I write without bias or slant.

To the best of my meager abilities, I will do this.

Part of remaining unbiased and spin-free will be limiting what I write about here in my personal column.

Virulent rants about garbage dumpsters, downtown issues and city council decisions will no longer be a part of my repertoire.

Any story I cover, unless deemed appropriate for commentary by my editor, will be off limits as well.

I’m serious about what I have to do here, even if it means ending the spirit of no-holds barred opinions writing that I’ve been allowed to practice here these last few years.

If I can ask of you dear readers only one thing as I start this new phase of my life: share your opinions and views with us.

So many of you have come to me over the years with issues and opinions to write about, and I’ve gladly taken them and used them.

Write them yourself.

Give your thoughts and ideas life by putting them to paper and letting your community hear them.

If you’re embarrassed to have your opinions put in print, know that this paper has published far more embarrassing things about me that I myself wrote.

A year ago this week, I wrote a column about how I thought I might have mad cow disease. Anything the rest of you want to share now seems slightly less insane by comparison.

The only way that this newspaper can call itself a public forum and source of information in this community is for you, the community, to get involved.

Please send us story ideas.

Send us letters or e-mails about what you think about what’s going on in this town on any issue.

Give us feedback – if you don’t like something, let us know. Even if it’s me – actually, especially if it’s me – I thrive on negative feedback.

This paper can only continue to be a voice for the people if the people give it a voice.

My time on the soapbox is at an end, friends.

Who’s going to step up now?

The McCollumn - 10/29: The Last of the Wedding Columns

One last wedding column: To Meg

It seems fitting the last of my series of “wedding columns” this year would be Meg Gafford’s.

Her wedding ends what has been dubbed “The Year of Weddings” for me, and I can’t help but say I’m slightly thankful for it.

Six weddings of good friends, all in one year; that’s not fair to do to a single person.

The Gafford/Beard wedding, though, is the facet of the wedding crown, considering my long and storied friendship with the bride.

I’ve known Meg since preschool. I can cite evidence of this fact: when I was in the hospital having my tonsils removed, the kids in my class sent a book of drawings they did to, I suppose, help cheer me up.

While most of the drawings were rudimentary and simple (one looked vaguely like a bowel movement), a young Meg Gafford drew me what I still think is a very pretty rainbow.

That little girl grew up into a young woman who, like rainbows, tries to spread happiness and hope wherever she goes.

Like her wonderful parents, Doug and Cathy Gafford, Meg has always had a burden to try and help others, giving her time and efforts to try to make the world around her a better place.

She expects the best from the people around her; if you aren’t living up to what Meg expects you to be, she lets you know.

Some might say she has somewhat impossible standards that no one could hope to live up to; I say it gives us all a goal to shoot for, something to strive towards.

Maybe we’ll never completely measure up, but we better ourselves along the journey.

And, as we take that journey, Meg has always been there to help and encourage, spurring us along the path.

Tomorrow, she marries Tom Beard, a man I’ve grown to know and love over the last six years.

Like his bride, Tom is blessed with an extraordinary capacity for helpfulness and kindness, as his offer to help tutor Meg in an engineering class they took together eventually blossomed into the wonderful romance we are gathering together to celebrate.

Tom’s a great guy, and he treats Meg with the utmost respect and devotion – the way she should be treated.

I couldn’t have made a better choice for her myself – and those of you who know me know how much that irks me.

This is a couple I want to keep up with and be around.

“Reach out and touch somebody’s hand,” Diana Ross tells us, “and make this world a better place if you can.”

The Beards will be that couple that will reach out and touch.

They will try to make this world a better place if they can.

L’chaim, Meg and Tom.

May you be granted many years of happiness and love in your time together.

The McCollumn - 10/22

There's a bit of an overlay between this week's McCollumn, written for the Opelika Observer, and an earlier blog post I wrote about the passing of long-time McCollum family friend John Vance.

The blog post was meant to be more about my personal memories and feelings about John. That's what a blog is for.

The column is about what we can all learn from John's life. That's what a column is for.

So long, 'Big John'

This simple 500-word space can’t begin to sum up or summarize how I feel about the life and passing of John Vance.

John was one of my family’s oldest and dearest friends, the kind of friend that was family. Heck, he even had Christmas brunch with us every year.

Rather than fill this space with personal memories and reasons why I loved John, which I’ve already done at my blog, I use this column this week to give us all some lessons I’ve learned from the life and wisdom of John Vance.

I know he’s helped me throughout the years, so maybe it will help some of you, too.

Always take time to speak to people, even strangers and passers-by. Even a simple “Hello” or a smile can change a day for the better.

John was always talking to people, even folks he didn’t know.

He’d start with some benign comment or just simply say “Hi,” and before you knew it, they’d all be fast friends.

When he was a Transit driver at Auburn, he would always talk to his riders, asking how their classes were going or how their day was going.

He went out of his way to talk to the seemingly sad and lonely, asking them if they needed to talk or wanted some help.

If he had foreign exchange students on his bus, he’d learn where they were from and try to learn how to say common phrases like “Hello” and “How are you” to make them feel more welcome.

If he had athletes on his route, he’d always try to make their games, to sit out there and root for them, especially the ones whose families were too far away to come.

John was friendly like that; he genuinely cared about others.

Always have a few good stories to tell for social gatherings. If there’s a lull in the party or a problem, a good, funny story can save the day.

Anyone who knew John would tell you that man could tell a story.

He may tell two or three more along the way of finishing the first one, but the story would always be epic and memorable.

Most of them involved people I barely knew or never met, but each time he told those stories, I’d sit there riveted, watching the master storyteller at his craft.

John Vance knew how to hold the attention of a room.

He made us laugh, he made us cry – he could even recite entire episodes of “Andy Griffith.”

He had a presence that filled a room – that’s why we really called him “Big John.”

Naps are vital. Take one every day.

John was a threat to fall asleep every now and again.

I am, too.

They got it right in kindergarten – everyone should get a nap every day. Makes you feel better.

It’s the unimportant things in life that really matter the most. Small memories, random happenings – this is what life is really about.

Early morning trips to Thomas’ Donuts in Panama City.

Late night crab walks.

Errol Flynn movies.

Late night runs for Mrs. Story’s hot dogs and milkshakes.

John taught me never to miss an opportunity to do something random or unexpected.

If you have time to go and do something, go and do it. Don’t ever waste time sitting around when you can be living life.

Visit or call a friend.

Go for a walk and socialize with the neighbors.

Cruise around in your car and listen to some Motown.

Live life, because in taking those moments and doing something with them, you just might discover something important after all.

Each experience, each choice we make shapes us as a person, so why not do and try and question and reach out to our fellow man?

John Vance lived.

He cared for and tried to help others.

He told great stories.

He appreciated randomness and how important it was.

He made a difference in my life, and the lives of so many others.

Have fun up in Heaven, John.

Be sure and tell God some of your great stories.

I know He’ll like them as much as we did.

McCollum Classic - The " 'Preciate it. Have a day" column

Tonight's City Council Meeting and the Righteous Awesomeness that was Homer McCollum unleashed will be our subject for a later date ... it's a good story, but I'm not ready to write about it yet.

Instead, I give a bit of classic Cliff, or Old Cliff ... or just Cliff. I'm obstinate and seldom change.

I thought this little piece of writing would never see the light of day again; it was buried in The Plainsman archives like the Ark of the Covenant in that government warehouse - never to be seen again.

Well, thanks to current Plainsman editor and friend of the blog (and Friend of Cliff, of course) Rod Guajardo, it's now online on The Plainsman's Web site, properly backdated and amended. I don't know who took the time to find this and type it back up, so I thank you, good sir, and whomever else may have helped.

The link:

http://www.theplainsman.com/view/full_story/9974103/article-Wisdom--life-lessons-from-Burger-King-drive-thru-window

It was a filler piece, just something to fill a space left when another columnist dropped out, but I like it.

Hope you enjoy it, too, dear readers.

I'll Miss You, "Not It"

"John died," Mom said. I almost dropped the phone.

I knew he'd been declining for weeks. I knew when I heard he'd gone off of the dialysis that it was only going to be a matter of time.

I knew John Vance was going to die.

However, knowing something will happen and having it happen are and always will be two entirely different things.

John Vance, "Not It," "Big John," is dead.

I've been sitting in front of this screen for hours trying to find what to say here. You know something means a lot when my never-ending mouth stops talking.

John knew everyone in Opelika, and I do mean almost everyone.

He knew family trees; he could recall names and faces better than any politician I've ever met.

Someone could say their name, and he'd instantly respond with "Oh, you're old {Insert Name Here's} cousin" and proceed to barrage them with their own family's history.

He could remember details and insignificant events from almost 40 years ago and talk about them with me and make feel like I was there and had seen them, too.

John Vance was probably one of the greatest storytellers who ever lived. Half of Opelika's oral history may have died with him.

We could all sit there be listening to story he'd told us 30 times before, but we'd all sit there, listen, and legitimately laugh and cry and emote because he brought the world he was telling us about alive.

He never met a stranger. He was never afraid to stop and say "Hello" to anyone and strike up a conversation. He'd give them advice on where to go eat or something to tell do, or tell them a funny joke.

I think he most enjoyed being a Transit driver at Auburn University. He'd always have stories about his "kids" on the bus, his athletes and foreign exchange students and Yankees. He'd chat them up, learning their life story over a matter of a few simple five to ten minute bus rides. He'd go to their softball games and cheer them on. He took an interest. He genuinely and truly cared.

He loved being around people. He lived to love and encourage others. He wanted to make other people happy.

That was John.

John never had children.

Instead, he had family friends of his with children - children whom he treated like some sort of magical, amazing uncle.

I consider myself so incredibly blessed to be one of them.

We all had nicknames, we all got gifts and birthday presents, random phone calls for lunch and dinner invites.

When the McCollum and Gore clans would head with him to Panama City to the Vance Family Beach House (Coke Haven, Too --- due to his family's involvement with Coca-Cola Corp.), there'd always be a point when everyone else was at the beach where he and I would sneak away for a burger at Mike's Diner and a good, long chat about all the important things in life: friends, good TV shows, taking time to appreciate the small things, and, most importantly in a young man's life (as I was at the the time): women.

He taught me about how I needed to watch old movies - "They're better," he would say. "The writing, the acting - it was creative then." He's why I know about Humphrey Bogart, Errol Flynn, Katharine Hepburn ... he's the reason why I know classic films. We all know that's a big part of my identity now, and I owe to him.

I may not always have loved the beach, but I loved my side trips with John - "our time."

He still texted every game day or any day he knew I had something important happening to wish me luck and tell me to be safe.

He'd honk if he saw me while driving his transit around Auburn, stop and talk if he could.

I think I can say for all of "John's kids" that I know he'll always have a special place in our hearts.

He may not have been our flesh and blood family, but he sure felt like it to me.

Christmas morning, there'll be an empty spot at brunch for him - I know that. He'd been a happy part of our Christmas morning for as long as I can remember and still will be.

John, I love you, and I'm happy you're finally in a place where you're in no pain or sorrow. I know there was a big parade there waiting for you, with your beloved parents there at the head of the line waiting to see you. Y'all have got some good catching up to do.

Thank you for everything you've meant in my life, and I wait for the day when you and I get to share some stories again. Just save me a doughnut or a burger and have a good joke ready.

'Til we meet again, old friend.

The McCollumn - 10/15

McCracken for Congress

I’m worried about the elections this year.

It’s no secret I’m a liberal-leaning person, and the political tide is turning toward the right.

I accept that for what it is, and move on.

However, with our local Alabama 3^rd Congressional District Race, I actually am concerned with how you and I vote.

Neither candidate for office deserves our votes, readers.

Steve Segrest, the Democratic candidate, has run for several statewide offices and failed each time.

The only thing I really know about him is that he’s the Democratic candidate and that he vaguely looks like Sam Elliot’s character in “The Big Lebowski.”

In my mind, he’s not a serious candidate, so mentioning him any more than this gives him a credibility he doesn’t deserve.

His opponent, our current Congressman, the Hon. Mike Rogers is an interesting specimen … well, at least I think his wig is.

Ranked No. 403 in the Congressional Power Rankings by Congress.org, Rogers’ effectiveness as a man to bring home jobs and federal money is called into question.

Even if the Republicans retake the House after the elections, his own power ranking within his party puts him at No. 172, far from the positions of power we’d need him to be in to best bring us the help we need.

But, my biggest gripe with Rogers is truly aesthetic: I find what I believe to be his very bad wig offensive.

It makes our Congressional district look bad to have that wig on the head of our our representative.

For God’s sake, Congressman, pull an Estes Kefauver and wear a Davey Crockett hat.

Or, just go bald. We’d all respect you for telling us the truth.

So, in place of voting for neither of these two sub-par candidates, I submit to you the name of a man we can write-in that would restore honor and respect to the AL 3^rd: former Opelika High School Football Coach Spence McCracken.

He’s an educator who has molded and shaped the minds and talents of young men for generations as a coach at Decatur, Ga., Robert E. Lee in Montgomery and here in Opelika starting in 1995 until his retirement from head coach in 2009.

McCracken still continues to take an active role in the lives of students at Opelika, mentoring at-risk kids to try to help keep them from falling through the cracks.

I honestly don’t know a whit about the man’s politics.

I honestly don’t care, either.

I know Spence McCracken to be a man of fine, upstanding character, and I think we need good men in Washington to tell them about how the real America feels and thinks.

Spence McCracken is and always will be “real America” to me.

So, readers, if we want to send a message to the elite in Washington, let’s stop picking between the lesser of two evils and waiting for hope to bring goodness our way.

Let’s send a man we know can get the job done.

Let our slogan be the slogan he echoed at so many pep rallys, homecoming assemblies and moments throughout my years of knowing him: “God bless America and God bless the 'Dogs!”

I’m writing-in Spence for Congress.

I’m seriously considering having t-shirts made.

He’s the man we need.

Spence for Congress, readers.

McCracken: the real man we need for our real slice of America.