The McCollumn - 8/26: "I liked that mailbox, too"

There is a small part of me that somewhat feels the need to apologize for what some may view as an inappropriate outburst in last week’s McCollumn.

In the latter half of the column, I admit to being a bit free-wheeling with my emotions and, more importantly, my use of rather ... ahem ... “taboo” language.

Some of you made your displeasure known to me; some I heard about second-hand.

I perhaps should have thought better about the words I used in this weekly space I’m graciously allotted.

I should have remembered that I could have thought up replacement words, words parents of small children have relied upon for ages.

I also should have remembered who my readership is.

Yes, I should have remembered all of those things, but I didn’t.

I was having a vivid emotional reaction to having a piece of my property set on fire while I was at home and awake, and I actually thought it necessary to put out that reaction.

I reached my Howard Beale moment. I was “mad as hell” and I just couldn’t take it any more.

Writing has always been an escape for me, a way to process emotions and thoughts I can’t seem to work out by just kicking them around my head.

If I see them in front of me, in print, I can judge their validity, finding out what’s worth worrying about and what’s worth ignoring.

For a great deal of time, this column, this weekly visit with all of you, was a purer expression of that sort of thinking.

I said what I thought about a number of things, from city political issues to random goings-on about town and my own life.

That changed with the City Reporter gig. I muzzled myself, and in doing so, created the shaken-up Coke bottle of misspent rage you saw last week.

A small part of me wants to apologize for you having to see that.

However, I also must admit that same misspent rage turned out to produce one of the most authentic pieces of writing I’ve written in months.

If this column is supposed to continue to be an interesting thing to read, it needs to remain authentic.

I can always tell when I’m faking it, and I know several of you can, too.

I’m caught in a problem I’ve often found myself in: balancing appropriateness with authenticity.

Maybe I need a private blog, some place to log other writing.

It seems to me, though, the things you, the readers, have most responded to is usually the pieces I’ve put that sort of raw emotion into as a catalyst.

Good writing, at least what I consider good writing for me, requires such start-ups.

I apologize if any of you were offended, and I certainly understand why you were.

As an English major, I simply felt the need to provide a small amount of context for you this week.

Context always matters. This I will always believe.

We’ll continue this journey, you and I, dear reader.

I can’t promise I won’t continue to make you angry or disappointed, but I’ll do my best to continue to be me. That’s the best I can do.

The new policy “Let Cliff be Cliff” doesn’t have to support going for the lowbrow laugh ... most of the time.

After all, I am still me, folks.

Opelika Observer Staff Editorial - 8/26: "Special people, special needs, special gifts"

In our schools section this week, we took the time to get to know the students in the jobs transition class at Opelika High School, a great group of kids with special needs who go around to area businesses during their school day to learn job and life skills.

Community Market director Elsie Lott had this to say about working with these remarkable kids: “What makes them ‘special’ is not any handicap, but that they are so willing to do anything you ask them to do, and they do it with a smile. That’s special!”

We couldn’t agree more, Ms. Elsie.

For too many years, parents and families with children with special needs took great lengths to hide those children from public view. Life-threatening and seldom successful quick-fix surgeries and stays --- even life sentences --- at (mostly) poorly-run state mental institutions were the norm.

Now, two things have happened: first, parents and families have come to realize they shouldn’t be ashamed of their special needs children and, second, they are able to seek help and support to help them with their kids. Through the public schools and organizations like the Achievement Center, people of all ages with special needs are taught job and life skills, ways for them to maintain a way of living as free and independent as they can be.

Programs like the job transition program at the Opelika High School send students with special needs into local businesses to learn cooperative business skills in real-life environments, helping those students see the opportunities for work that could be available to them.

We’ve come a long way in our treatment of the special needs community, but we still have work to do.

There’s still hate alive in this world, hate fueled by the fear of difference.

We saw evidence of this with the senseless defacing and damaging of the Miracle Field. It takes a particular kind of low-life creep to vandalize a ballpark designed and used for special needs children.

Someone who would do that to the Miracle Field and to those kids — all we can do is pray for you. And we must confess: we have great difficulty in putting much sincerity into that prayer.

People fear what they do not understand, and some find themselves reluctant to approach people to learn more.

They’d rather mock and belittle what they don’t understand than get to know the person behind their scorn.

If they could get past their own ignorance, they will frequently discover special needs people develop special skills to compensate for their particular needs. Sometimes you wind up asking yourself just who has the special need.

“Our kids don’t ask for anything. Everybody is their friend,” Carolyn Vickerstaff, a special education teacher at Opelika High, said. “All they ask is for people to be their friends and love them.”

All they ask is for people to be their friends and love them.

Remember that the next time you may want to make fun of a handicapped individual.

Remember that the next time you find yourself afraid of a person with special needs.

And, for heaven’s sake, please remember that the next time you use the word “retard.” In fact, just don’t use that word. That word only brings hurt to people that the world is already too cruel to now.

They are the same as we are: people.

They may learn and process things differently from us, but, truth be told, we all learn and process in different ways. Don’t make them suffer for our ignorance and intolerance.

Some of them just might need a little extra help from time to time, and, as good neighbors and citizens, we should consider it, not a duty but a privilege to be of help.

Businesses, contact OHS and see if your business could be a host for some of these students, students who are hard workers who always have a smile on their face and ask only that people be their friends and love them.

City leaders, continue to sponsor and support organizations that help these individuals, including recreational opportunities like the Miracle Field. Every child deserves a place to play sports and participate in fun, wholesome activities.

And, for the rest of us, we must all continue to work toward understanding and acceptance of those around us.

Take time to get to know those who you may not know, or may be afraid of, and we promise you’ll make some lifelong friends who will never cease to amaze you. You may learn a lot about yourself along the way.

You might even get to be a better person.

The McCollumn - 8/19: 'Sir, were you aware your mailbox was on fire?'

Two quotes have dominated my thoughts for the last few days, making it nearly impossible to sleep, think or do anything of consequence since early Monday morning.

A knock at the front door woke me up around midnight, and standing there was a uniformed Opelika police officer there to ask me the headline-creating question:

“Sir, were you aware your mailbox was on fire?”

Even at midnight and awaking from a fairly solid sleep, I felt the need to tamper down the Cliffish answer of “Yes, I just stepped back inside to get the marshmallows,” and answered with a quick, frantic “No.”

The officer then walked me down to the end of the driveway, where members of the Opelika Fire department were standing around to make sure the post receptacle was no longer a fire threat.

Gone was the temporary home for letters from far away loved ones, bills and my much-beloved weekly copy of The New Yorker.

“Who would do this?” I thought as I saw the charred remains of my mailbox. “What could make someone hate me so much that they’d even begin to think of doing this?”

As I lost myself in a fantasy world of self-pity and shock at viewing the smoldering embers, the officer asked another question, the other quote that has been bothering me for days:

“Do you know of anyone who would hate you enough to do this?”

When presented with such a question in the cold lucidity of early morning, my brain responded in the affirmative.

That scared me.

While I’ve only been alive for 25 short years, I knew full well there were indeed individuals I had angered enough to warrant them destroying my property.

I’m not proud of that statement. No person should ever measure their self-worth by how many people they are able to piss off in their lives.

I didn’t mention names to the officer that night, as I thought further reflection might dredge up a name or two I might overlook in the immediacy of the event.

I took a few days, writing names on a “Suspected Mailbox Arsonist” list, but eventually crossing each name on the list off said list as evidence or my own rational thinking took over.

He couldn’t have done it. His drunk side is the only version of him to have the stones to do it, and Drunk Him makes a racket you would have heard.

No way it was her. Pretty sure it’s hard to get out of a state mental facility – even in California.

With no viable suspects of my own, I’m left to believe that my mailbox was torched not for some sinister purpose, some sort of vengeance for a previous evil I visited on someone, but because of a constant scourge on our great nation: those damn punk teenagers.

Punk teenagers, let me offer you a life lesson I learned at a young age from the Scooby-Doo Mysteries. This may be a lesson you are not aware of because your generation tends to watch Japanese monster cartoons that cause seizures or the iCarly (whatever the hell that is).

Teenagers are meant to ride around in a hippie van with a talking dog to help solve mysteries, not create them.

Spend your time checking out strange goings-on at dilapidated buildings; you’re bound to find a creepy old caretaker who is dressing up like a Frankenstein monster to scare away new tenants.

Be a force of good in your community, not some damn hooligans who burn down federal property for your kicks.

And, yes, if they do catch you, I am going to report the crime, as it is a federal offense.

I hear federal prison can be fun.

Just don’t drop the soap, kids.

Sportscasting 'more than stats' for Troy's Barry McKnight

By Cliff McCollum

City Reporter

Twelve to 13 football games, 30 to 34 basketball games, 50 baseball games. 24 coaches’ shows, and a call-in sports radio show.

It may sound like the ultimate sports fan’s dream, but it’s a year in the life of Barry McKnight, broadcasting director and ‘voice’ of the Troy Trojans.

Football is heavy on McKnight’s agenda for now, as the Trojan’s season kicks off on Sept. 3 against Clemson, but he has to wait until spring for his favorite sport – baseball.

“If you’re in the business, you have to do football, especially in the South,” McKnight said, “but I’ve always loved baseball. There’s more time to build on a theme, to tell a story. Baseball makes it easier for me to craft a narrative.”

McKnight said while many sportscasters are leaning on statistics to add to their broadcast, he tries to find ways to better enliven his coverage.

“People have come to rely so much on stats that it can become a crutch,” McKnight said. “I try to stay away from that as much as I can because people want to listen to a story, not numbers and figures.”

McKnight began his broadcast career in 1986, starting in Fort Walton, Fla.

“I’d never worked in radio before, had never taken a broadcasting class in my life,” McKnight said

McKnight then came to Auburn, working twice for WAUD in Auburn.

“I did just about everything you could do at those jobs. I covered city council, did obituaries,” McKnight said. “I may be the only guy to have done play-by-play for Opelika High, Auburn High and Lee Scott.”

McKnight said he’s been privileged to see a number of Opelika athletes over the years, both here and at Troy.

“Maurice Stringer about 20 years ago was a great player, great runningback at Opelika. He was injured at Troy, but a great athlete.”

McKnight also mentioned recent OHS grad Jonathan Chandler, who played wide receiver and quarterback for the Trojans, as a standout, saying he was a versatile player.

McKnight lives in Auburn, but travels to Troy enough to average almost 27,000 miles a year.

“It’s not that I dislike travel, but when you live 90 miles away, it’s almost like every game is an away game,” McKnight said.

The overlap between sports seasons can be difficult for McKnight, too. Those parts of the year where football and basketball, and subsequently, basketball and baseball, have conflicting schedules, McKnight’s wife Deborah said she can tell it’s hard for her husband.

“Sometimes, he doesn’t sleep at all. No matter whether he comes in at 3 or 4 in the morning, there’s still the show the next day,” Deborah said. “I’m still not sure how he does it, other than he’s doing something he loves.”

McKnight said he enjoys sportscasting, but his favorite moments of the job are mentoring and working with students.

“I always tell them that instead of learning the tricks of the trade, learn the trade,” McKnight said. “It’s good that you love sports, but you have to love the language. Instead of taking time to do fantasy leagues and memorize stats, they need to read the language, learn how to talk the talk.”

To McKnight, creativity is the most important facet of his job, as he decides what to highlight and how to highlight it, molding the story using nothing but his vocabulary and a few sports facts and figures at his disposal.

“You have to care about the flow of a broadcast, the feel of the narrative,” McKnight said. “You have to give people something they’d want to listen to, and you have to sometimes do it quickly, as events happen.”

McKnight’s sports radio show, with co-host John Longshore, airs on WMSP AM 740 in Montgomery from 7 a.m. until 10 a.m. Listeners can also tune in at sportsradio740.com

Opelika Observer Staff Editorial - 8/5: Band members should be worthy of 'athlete' status, too

When discussing the front page of our sports section this week, our editorial staff kicked around a number of stories we could possibly feature.

Football previews.

Dixie Youth wrap-ups.

A look at some upcoming Rec League sports.

“Why not the marching band?” someone asked.

Why not, indeed?

With daily practices and band camps in the same heat that their football-playing fellow students suffer through, the almost 200 members of the Spirit of the South Marching Band show the same sort of drive and determination that we expect and cultivate in Opelika’s more traditional athletes.

There are complex and varying marching sets to be learned, as young section leaders try to maneuver younger band members to their exact spot, a spot that must be hit time and time again perfectly – not unlike receivers running their plays repeatedly.

Tackles and pileups may not happen much in the band world, but Opelika’s band members do their fair share of heavy-duty exercise.

Go and strap a tuba on for a few hours in this hot August heat, marching around and playing some of the songs.

Even lighter instruments like flutes and clarinets have to hold their arms and instruments at perfect angles, requiring good arm strength to extend their arms for indefinite lengths of time.

You won’t doubt the athleticism of these young people after walking a mile in their clean, white Bando shoes.

Auxilliary members, the girls in the majorette line, flag corps and kickline, learn complicated dance routines and tricks, not unlike similar work done by Opelika’s cheerleaders.

And, lest we forget, all of this marching, twirling, and kicking is done while playing music kept in perfect time, music these kids work hard to memorize over the course of their summer and school year.

We generally come to Bulldog Stadium each Friday to see the football game, overlooking the contributions and hard work these kids make in order to find our way to the concession stand or bathroom for a much-needed break.

We should show more respect for these young people than that.

We should take pride our town boasts one of the most successful high school bands in the state of Alabama, a band that has twice represented us in the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade in New York City, as well as a host of other honors.

Director Jason Smith and all of his assistants continue to hold dear the standards and qualities of excellence that have come to make the Spirit of the South a name to be reckoned with in Alabama.

Students, keep up the excellent work you seem to be doing and continue to make us proud.

Community, let’s be sure to give these kids the support and encouragement they need.

Rather than leave during halftime this fall, take time to listen, watch and appreciate our band’s halftime show.

And, when the kicker note comes in the show’s closer, follow the lead of band parents and former band students around you and give those students the standing ovation you’d give a touchdown pass or a great interception.

They are athletes, too, and that moment, brief though it may be, is their time to shine.

The McCollumn - 8/5: Current Congressional crankiness calm compared to historical hellraisers

As I sat watching the debt ceiling debate roll back and forth on the various cable news channels last week, I was struck by the number of commentators who mentioned the seemingly unheard of amounts of vitriol and rancor that were making their way through our nation’s capital.

While I agree that inflamed rhetoric and snarky soundbites are much in vogue, I feel the need to quibble with this sudden misgotten belief that this Congress is amongst the worst offenders of being rude and crude.

Compared to some of their predecessors, the current crop of elected officials seem downright tame by comparison.

Roger Griswold, a congressman from Connecticut, attacked Vermont Representative Matthew Lyon with his cane on the House floor in 1798, after Lyon had spit at him during a previous meeting in which Griswold had attacked Lyon’s military service.

Lyon attempted to defend himself with a fire poker – two grown men fighting on the House floor like children in a play sword fight.

Dick Cheney was only the second sitting vice president to shoot a person, as Thomas Jefferson’s first vice president Aaron Burr earns the ignoble distinction of being the first sitting vice president to not only shoot someone, but kill them (Alexander Hamilton, in a duel).

Congressman Preston Brooks of South Carolina strode onto the Senate floor May 22, 1856, as Republican Senator Charles Sumner of Massachusetts sat at his desk, writing.

Brooks proceeded to savagely beat Sumner with his cane, claiming Sumner’s latest anti-slavery speech insulted a family member.

Sumner’s injuries kept him from returning to the Senate for three years, and he continued to suffer from post-traumatic disorders.

Many of Brooks’ constituents from across the South made sure to send the firebrand Congressman canes inscribed with the motto “Hit him again” on them.

New York Representative Daniel Sickles shot and killed his wife’s lover in front of Lafayette Park and the White House, and was returned to Congress by his district’s voters after he was acquitted of his charges. That makes sense – they’ve seen what he does when he gets angry.

The Opelika Order of Geezers were quick to remind me that even Alabama’s state politicians aren’t immune to a civility deficit: one need only remember state senator Charles Bishop’s right hook to Democratic state senator Lowell Barron’s face back in 2007 on the senate floor.

So, dear readers, the word volleys may be flying back and forth on Capital Hill and feelings may be getting bruised, but there is something in which we can take heart.

At least they aren’t savagely beating and killing one another – yet.