The McCollumn - 1/24: "#pman #communism"

Some of you might be surprised to learn that I am a rather staunch anti-Communist.

You won’t find me testifying before a Congressional committee on the matter, nor will I try to pull a Whittaker Chambers by trying to hide damning evidence in my pumpkin patch.

My fight against the Reds has been almost entirely accidental, the odd offshoot results of a wayward Twitter hashtag and a beautiful young woman.

Years ago, my friend Tess Hollis sent me a tweet about some random memory from our time working together at Auburn University’s student newspaper, “The Auburn Plainsman.” Hollis took advantage of Twitter’s commonly used hashtag system and used the phrase “#pman” to get her point across.

Any of our friends or any Auburn people who happened to see our tweets would likely be able to infer her meaning, bolstered by my return usage of the same “#pman” hashtag in my response to her.

However, a few hours later, I received notification that my Plainsman tweet had been retweeted and favorited by some Twitter user in the tiny nation of Moldova.

Using the powers of Google, I was able to surmise that what we thought of as a simple abbreviation for our newspaper was actually a rallying cry for cadres of young radicals in Moldova who were attempting to free their country from the yoke of Communist rule.

After the country held elections that were widely seen as unfair and rigged, the Communist party attempted to form a government, but the small nation’s liberal and progressive youth took to the streets in angry protests, tired of the same old Communistic status quo.

To them, “#PMAN” was an abbreviation of “Piata Marii Adunari Nationale,” the name for the biggest public square in Chisinau, the capital of Moldova – a public forum to express their extreme displeasure with falsified elections and corrupt elected officials, as well as a symbolic place where the tree of liberty can bloom.

Unfortunately, the Moldovan progressive protests of early 2009 were unsuccessful. The fraudulently-elected Communist leadership ran roughshod over the Moldovan people and their rights. Some protestors ultimately lost their lives.

In 2010 I was in Destin, Fla., with a group of friends, celebrating the upcoming wedding of one of the guys in the group. 

At some point in that evening, I came into contact with Yuliana – a gorgeous young lady who had an accent which vaguely sounded like she was trying to help Boris Badenov look for “moose and squirrel.”

I asked her where in Eastern Europe she was from, and she quickly replied “Moldova.”

My ears perked up, but I set myself to “Red Alert” status - what was the agenda of this lithe young creature before me?

Was she a freedom fighter who came to America to escape possible retribution and oppression for standing up for free and fair elections? Could she be a covert Communist plant, sent to our country as some sort of spy here to stir up trouble?

I made her say “shibboleth” by asking her directly about the Piata Marii Adunari Nationale, and, to my surprise, her eyes immediately sparked with recognition as she talked about her life and experiences in the still Communist country.

Yuliana hated the Commies, and she and her brother were both involved in protests against their corrupt late-2000s election.

One ill-fated protest almost cost Yuliana and her brother their lives, as the police sent to disperse the protestors used force and weapons – her brother was shot in the spine and lost the use of the lower half of his body. Yuliana’s parents thought it best she leave the country for fear the state police would try to find and punish her, so they moved her to Florida to stay with relatives.

To this day, I remain touched and somewhat haunted by her harrowing personal experiences.

What originally was, to us, a non-sensical abbreviation for an inside joke was a rallying cry for freedom and liberty to a group of young people roughly the same age as we are, trying diligently just to try to gain some basic rights we Americans take for granted.

I hope they keep fighting on – ever to conquer, never to yield.

A native Opelikan, Cliff McCollum is an amateur field herpetologist, news editor and chicken salad mogul.

The McCollumn - Throwback: "In defense of the Red Pen"

I would like to apologize up front to the majority of you who may not care about this issue. Perhaps this will give you enough information to become aware of the subject.
Dear readers, I’m worried terribly about words that are creeping into the vocabulary of schools of education and our nation’s classrooms - words and phrases like “Error-making is a sign of progression in the language,” “Put down the red pen,” and “Stop error-hunting.”
Namby-pambyism!
These horrible quotes are becoming standards, as a generation of new teachers is being told to put down the trusted red pen in favor of a kinder, gentler green or purple felt tip. You know, so students’ feelings won’t be hurt by the mean, old red pen.
Mollycoddlers!
Led by figures like Connie “Mushroom Head” Weaver, these zealots insist that our red pens are harming the fragile psyches of these young writers, preventing them from ever being able to express themselves creatively through writing.
Lunacy!
I will grant that in some of the initial stages in language development, embracing error-making can be seen as a sign of learning progression.
However, even in those early ages, I’ve found that children who attempt to experiment with larger vocabulary words would still like to be told the correct way to spell them.
I was one of those kids.
I saw the red ink not as something truly bad, but as an opportunity for learning.
Through the wonderful teachers I had who used the red pen, I learned the joys of the Oxford comma, apostrophes in plural possessives, MLA format and the wonder that is the proper plural version of cul-de-sac (its culs-de-sace, and it’s one of the best words in the English language).
The red pen provides guidance and wisdom.
It imparts knowledge whenever red ink and paper meet.
Green can’t cut it, and purple isn’t up to the challenge. You’d run the risk of having students’ papers look like Barney the Dinosaur exploded on them. (Now that would be dangerous to their psyches - these kids grew up on that singing purple nuisance, and they love him).
Green and purple are too passive. They say to me, “You could make these changes, perhaps, if you wanted to, but I respect you enough to let you be creative.”
It’s enough to make you heave.
Red says, “Stop. Take a look at this and reflect.” It’s directive and solid.
If you are an art teacher watching a child try to turn a lump of clay into a beautiful piece of pottery, don’t you help them shape it and guide them in a fairly precise manner?
Why should our written language be treated with less respect than clay?
I don’t know why, but it is.
As for the “It stifles creativity” argument, I think this group is simply underestimating the strength of mind and character some kids have. I think they are a group that is up for the challenge.
In the classrooms I’ve been privy to, I’ve seen a population of students that are crying out for guidance and aid. They want to know how to be better.
That’s a wonderful thing and we need the red pen to help guide them.
However, such sentiments are now in the minority.
My views are seen as old-fashioned and outdated, gone the way of the evening paper and the milkman.
Unless there’s some greater infusion of energy and hope into the Red Pen Resistance, our breed may soon die out.
This is intended to be a warning signal, to show what is becoming standard practice.
Is this honestly what you want? I would pray not.
They’ll never take my red pen, though.
That would force me to utter a phrase like “Not until you pry it from my cold, dead hands” and my Chuck Heston impression is not a good one.
It would, however, be an absolutely true statement.
I won’t give it up without a fight. Care to join me?

The McCollumn - 1/10: "A little bit more joyful, full of song"

Lee County lost a good man last week in Lee Benham, though some of you might not know him or his name.

According to his obituary, he was a railroad man for 11 years and a trucker for some 30 years after that. He loved his family and was active in his church, directing church orchestras and choirs.

Anyone who had been involved with the Opelika High School Spirit of the South Marching Band throughout the late 20th and early 21st centuries knew him, though.

He was “Mr. Benham,” the substitute teacher almost always assigned to the band classes and a constant volunteer and band booster for the music program.

Our generation of “bandos,” like the ones who came before us, would occasionally try to trick Benham when he subbed, swapping instruments with our neighbors and laughing at how clever we were.

The joke was on us – he’d make the out-of-place students try to play their newly acquired horn, and the jig would be up.

He’d help haul equipment with the loading crew, packing and unpacking the large amount of equipment you’d be surprised to learn travelled with the band.

He never complained, unless you weren’t pulling your fair share.

He hardly scolded, unless you were doing something clearly reckless or downright foolish.

He even helped us find our pitch before our pre-game warm-up circle; his internal tuning fork was always on the level, neither flat nor sharp.

Whenever something needed doing, he’d be there, willing to lend a hand or an ear because he believed in what the band, and music, meant in the lives of his students.

He knew it because he lived it, having fallen in love with band in his childhood, and he wanted all of us to have a similar, if not better, experience.

He knew that music education could bring joy, discipline and pride to kids who may not have had opportunities for growth otherwise.

While his health had flagged in the last few years, he never stopped being a strong supporter of the program and always loved to hear the Spirit of the South marching in to Bulldog Stadium.

You don’t recognize the impact folks like Lee Benham have on you while growing up.

You take for granted their time and efforts to help kids they don’t even know to have wonderful and lasting memories that they’ll carry with them forever.

It just takes a moment to make a lasting impression on a person’s life, and Lee Benham was such a person for many of us.

He gave what he had and did what he could, and tried to make our little part of the world just a little bit more joyful and full of song.

Rest in peace, Mr. Benham, and I hope Heaven’s Marching Band met you at the gate to play you in. You certainly earned it.

A native Opelikan, Cliff McCollum is an amateur field herpetologist, news editor and chicken salad mogul.