The McCollumn - 6/29: 'Love thy neighbor?' What's his party affiliation?

Republican.

Democrat.

Libertarian.

Green.

Reform. 

Even Independent, I suppose.

It seems these days, now more so than any time I can remember, we are more likely to identify ourselves by party affiliation almost immediately.

We mention our favorite politicians to help clue in where we fall on the vast political spectrum.

A Marco Rubio/Jim DeMint enthusiast should be believed to toe the “Tea Party” line; likewise, a Bernie Sanders/Dennis Kucinich fanatic might be considered so far to the left that “Socialist” might actually be an apt description.

We rattle off statistics about our pet issues, railing against such favorite targets as the National Endowment for the Arts and ‘Obamacare’ or tax cuts for the “One Percent.”

We stand, as a nation, largely divided, with the country divided into wide swaths of Democratic blue and Republican red, with splotches of undecided purple popping up here and there.

Even basic facts are up for partisan debate.

One can take a news event and, by searching for the appropriate media filter, find a report of that event that will align with your own political views.

Need a right-wing slant on the days events? Try Fox News or visit the Drudge Report.

Jonesing for some liberal spin? MSNBC and the Huffington Post are there waiting for you.

(And anyone still left dead center could, I suppose, watch CNN, but that network’s ratings suggest either no one is left in the political center or that everyone misses Larry King’s suspenders.)

While I suppose it’s nice to get a version of the world so narrowly-tailored to our political views, shouldn’t it be worrisome that facts and data are open to this much interpretation and molding?

When numbers and reports can be spun to fit any group’s whims or beliefs, “fact” loses its mantle of absolute truth, and we all suffer.

When “fact” is open to debate, all sorts of evils can slip into the world, as a willful exclusion of reality turns ignorance into an allegedly valid point-of view.

(i.e., anyone who believes anything about “Muslim Sharia diet law” taking over our pantries and our country.)

While it’s admirable to be politically conscious and try to take a stance on the issues of our day, we all might do best to take a step back and breathe for a moment.

Set aside the political name tags, and let’s all remember, at the end of the day, we’re all Americans.

We all love freedom.

We all love liberty.

We all love the flag, babies, apple pie and Evel Knievel.

Let’s not let the things we disagree on continue to pull us apart at the seams, folks.

Let’s sit down at the table, have a nice slice of pie and discuss things like the grown, rational individuals we are.

Then, and only then, can we begin to fix what I worry may be a gathering storm that will destroy this American dream so many have worked so long to build.

The McCollumn - 6/22: "The Publishing Room's Pencil Sharpener"

Perhaps its more than a bit silly to become sentimental over something so trivial as a pencil sharpener, but allow me an eccentricity this week.

Wednesday afternoon, Observer photographer Billy Jackson stopped by with what he deemed a “birthday present” for me from his recent trip out to Opelika high school - a high school stripped and ready to go for its soon-to-commence dismantling.

Jackson handed me a worn-looking pencil sharpener, saying he thought I might like to have it.

As I looked it over he added -

“It’s from the Publishing Room.”

Ah. Well, that certainly matters.

For those of us lucky enough to be selected for Dr. Hannah’s two-year Desktop Publishing class at Opelika High School, the Publishing Room was a great deal more than just a computer lab nestled deep in the bowels of the 6th Hall.

It introduced us to the worlds of Quark and Photoshop, letting us manipulate photos and build documents, with the eventual goal being design skills that would allow us to later be self-reliant when designing the high school’s student-created literary magazine and newspaper.

Two ancient printers, Bernice and Neil Diamond, would occasionally wheeze out the requested documents, with only the rarest of complete scream-inducing meltdowns.

It was the home of the magical radio and CD player, where you were exposed to the musical interests of your fellow classmates (unless they wanted showtunes before 9 a.m.; there are some things Dr. Hannah won’t stand for, apparently).

You slowly got used to the strange and august figure that is Dr. Charlie Hannah, the feared Senior English Teacher and Keeper of the Hannah Paper - and realize he’s really just Dr. Hannah, the sort of guy who’d sooner sit on the floor than in a chair, in case someone else wanted it.

For so many of us, that room was the start for careers we never knew we would pursue.

Without Publishing, I never would have taken a shot at The Auburn Plainsman, and, therefore, never would have made it here. (So, if you hate this rubbish column, yes, you can blame Charles Hannah).

I’m delighted to get to hold on to this small piece of what was one of the best parts of the Opelika High School I knew and loved.

While so many things about our beloved alma mater may soon begin to change, I hope we will never lose the attentive, dedicated and life-changing teachers like Dr. Hannah, who make these classrooms not just a place for imparting state-sanctioned knowledge, but for making lasting memories and creating exceptional experiences.

The McCollumn - 6/15: "Pat Hamby, the Queen of Chicken Salad"

You’d be surprised what hard work making chicken salad is.

I realize that seems to be an odd non-sequitur, but follow me, folks.

For more than 12 years, my family has been one of four owners of the Cottage Cafe, the downtown sandwich eatery open only for lunch and known for its crowd-pleasing chicken salad.

And, for eight of those years, the chicken salad so many of you have come to love has been made by one woman - Ms. Patricia Hamby.

She got up almost every morning, came to work and ground down the chicken, added the mayo and mixed in the grapes and almonds -all by hand, all by herself.

And not just small batches, mind you - pounds upon pounds upon pounds, day after day. She got to where she could tell if a batch was right not by looks, but by the way it felt when as she mixed it with her glove-clad hands.

She came to us the summer of 2004, straight from the bakery at Winn Dixie, where we knew her as the kind, helpful bakery lady who made our croissants and kaiser rolls.

She hit the ground running and was a quick learner, mainly because she soon discovered that doing the opposite of whatever I said would be the best way to go.

She arrived early, stayed late and even came in on weekends, just to make sure the job was done both right and up to her standard - which are two separate and unequal things.

She was the force that kept the restaurant going, making sure spoons and knives were stocked, checking and rechecking bank deposits and doing only God knows what else to make sure everything was present and accounted for at all times.

And, dear readers, she had to do all of this while putting up with me. No easy task, indeed.

Ms. Pat, thank you for everything you’ve done for the “Cottage Walk family.”

I’m sure we annoyed you at times (me especially), but I hope you know how much love and respect each and every one of us have for you.

I grew up working with you in that tiny cafe, learning how to mix and mingle with customers, learning the proper portions for the chicken salad plate, and, most importantly, learning that the most important things in life are faith and family - two things that I know Pat Hamby will always hold dear.

I’ll treasure the memories I have with you forever, and I hope you continue to be a frequent visitor and guest whenever you choose to venture this way.

Enjoy your retirement, though I know you’ll probably be busier now than you ever were here in downtown.

There’s grandbabies to take care of, remodeling to be done, and Mr. Van will undoubtedly need supervision - he’s been tinkering away by himself all day for far too long, and that’s never good.

We love you, Ms. Pat. Be well.

I salute and thank you, Ms. Pat - nay, Patricia, Queen of Chicken Salad.

She’s a sight better than your average “chicken salad chick,” and she always will be.

God bless and keep you, madame.

Though your reign has ended, your legend never will.