The McCollumn - 7/13: "Am I going to have to call a 'beer summit'?"

Author's note: Several of you have asked to see the Letter to the Editor that was the basis for this column. The link is here: http://opelikaobserver.com/opinions/letters-to-the-editor/649-6-29-mccollumn-had-a-few-errors .
Certainly not the worst piece of hate mail I've received. I dare say it won't be the last one either.




Enough of you have cautiously approached me over the course of this week to ask me a certain question that I feel the need to address it here, with all of you, to prevent any further confusion.

In last week’s issue of the Opelika Observer, Opelikan Haskel Patterson wrote a hard-hitting Letter to the Editor about a column I had written the week before.

Patterson was passionate in his letter, stating his beliefs with certainty and taking time to point out what he believed were my inconsistencies with great aplomb.

He obviously disagreed with a number of points, and stated so, boldly and vigorously.

He wrote from his heart and said exactly what he wanted and needed to say - embodying the Haskel Patterson I’ve known and respected for more than 20 years now.

You see, dear readers, Haskel and I are actually fairly well acquainted.

Haskel and his wonderful wife Lynn make up one-third of a group of close-knit families that includes Tim and Betsy Gore and my own parents, Homer and Liz McCollum.

Haskel taught me Sunday School in 11th grade, the last year I actually attended Sunday School on a regular basis. When he stopped teaching, I stopped going.

I know the man, I respect the man ... and, dare I say it? ... I may even love the irascible coot. 

I certainly think of him as an extended member of my own family, an extra uncle to keep me on my toes - the slightly libertarian one who isn’t afraid to lob political bombs at family gatherings.

What you saw in last week’s letter was, truthfully, a continuation of a political argument Haskel and I have been having since around 2004.

Almost every time we see one another, either he or I will start in on a recent political news event and then we’ll get down to arguing, debating, ruminating and ranting while the other assembled family members either duck for cover or wait for the one-liners sure to stream out.

He forces me to question my beliefs on major issues, and holds me to defend said positions, attacking with the ferocity of a prosecuting attorney.

The letter he wrote was comparatively tamer to what I’d get from Haskel were he yelling at me in the flesh.

What many of you may have interpreted as anger or rage is more likely a frustration similar to banging one’s head against the wall. Haskel’s been saying most of that stuff to me for almost a decade now, and it still hasn’t sunk into my “ivory tower intellectual skull.”

Over the years, I’ve come to appreciate Haskel’s candor and gumption.

Knowing there’s someone out there who’s always going to be willing to speak his mind and say his piece, come what may, has inspired me to be bolder in my own beliefs and actions.

We may not agree on most issues, but we still are able to sit down at the end of the day and share a mutual respect for one another.

Our differences of belief do not and should not ever keep us from being friends.

He may think of me as “a lily-livered, bleeding heart, liberal, eggheaded communist.”

I might sometimes style him “a gun-toting, redneck right-wing nutbar.”

But...

As long as there are Coen Brother flicks...

As long as there are Sopranos episodes...

As long as there are local “idiots” we can both agree to despise...

We should be just fine.

But, just in case - 

Haskel, if we need to have a “beer summit” to work this out, just give me a call.

I’ll gladly bring you a pack of whatever you think is best.

I’ll even tack on a pack of cider for myself.

If it takes sitting at a table all day and hammering out some sort of treatise, so be it, sir.

But, readers as my witness, there will be Peace in our time.

The McCollumn - 7/6: "Twenty-somethings and Winston Churchill"

As part of the requirements for participating in the city’s 20 Under 40 Program, I find myself having to prepare the first book report I’ve written since, I believe, Glenna Weaver’s 10th grade English class in 2001.

For my text, I’ve chosen a personal favorite, Sir Winston Churchill’s “My Early Life,” an autobiographical account that skims along the adolesence and young adulthood of the famed British prime minister.

During my daily readings, I happened across a passage that caught my eye, owing to the fact I had just reached the august age of 26 not a day before.

While I may have happened on this bit of wisdom too late, perhaps it may serve as a reminder to those among us who still have the prime of their days before them:

Twenty to twenty-five! These are the years!

(“Missed it by that much,” I said to myself in my best Don Adams impression).

Don’t be content with things as they are.

(Reject complacency.)

The earth is yours and the fulness thereof. Enter upon your inheritance, accept your responsiblities.

(Be prepared to take hold of what the world has in store for you, but realize the awesome responsibilities that come with those honors. Think a sense of Duty, capitalized for emphasis.)

Raise the glorious flags again, advance them upon the new enemies, who constantly gather upon the front of the human army, and have only to be assaulted to be overthrown.

(Do not shy away from a fight you know to be just and true; if you fight for justice you can never truly lose. Also, in most instances, those enemies and bullies will flee at the first signs of a dedicated resistance.)

Don’t take No for an answer.

(This should not require further explanation.)

Never submit to failure.

(Ditto.)

Do not be fobbed off with mere personal success or acceptance.

(Use what you have for the betterment of others, not just your own personal ends. We never succeed more than when we help others.)

You will make all kinds of mistakes; but as long as you are generous and true, and also fierce, you cannot hurt the world or even seriously distress her.

(You will mess up. It may even be disastrous within your own little bubble world. But, everyone else has screwed up just as badly and lived to tell the tale. Churchill had Gallipoli, where over 200,000 Allied troops died during WWI; whatever you had will pale by comparison, I promise.)

She (the world) was made to be wooed and won by youth. She has lived and thrived only by repeated subjugations.

(Get out there and make something of yourselves. You won’t do anything just sitting here resting on your laurels.)

--------

Well, there you have it, young people.

Go forth and do. Don’t fear failure, and know there are a host of us here standing with you at all times.

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.

The McCollumn - 6/1: Conecuh Snake Hunting Trip, Part Two: Electric Boogaloo

Two weeks ago, I had the joy of spending the weekend in the middle of the Conecuh National Forest hunting for snakes, frogs and other reptiles and amphibians with Drs. Cooner and Gentry on our second annual Snake Hunting Weekend.

Our time was spent hiking long-forgotten trails and lurking about God-forsaken watering holes and minor ponds searching for any forms of herpetological life.

Pickings were slim this year, as we only managed to find a few amphibians in addition to the three snakes we managed to come across.

The youngish copperhead was our first find.

Though a common species, we looked at it as a sign from the gods of snake hunting that they were looking down on us with favor, meaning sundry varieties of snakes to come.

(Sadly, this was not the case, and I’m beginning to doubt the validity of the claim that an Auburn DVM is also dually qualified in the Serpentine Priesthood.)

We did manage to find two life-listers for my doctor friends, so they didn’t count the trip as a complete waste.

A mud snake was procured from his afternoon resting place of a hollowed-out log, courtesy of the hunting tactics of Dr. Gentry. Mud snakes lack a powerful bite, so he spent most of his time coiling up his head into his body and trying to trick us into thinking his tail was his head.

(While he only visited with us a short time, his musk remained as a all-too potent reminder of our wonderful times together.)

Dr. Cooner’s scarlet kingsnake was an equally interesting find, as one minute, he was peeking behind the bark of a stump, and, within the next, had a red and black snake firmly affixed to his index finger with its small but effective fangs.

Bitey IV, hereditary King of the Stump, stayed latched to Dr. Cooner’s hand for a few good minutes, and I tried to get him to explain the level of pain to me so that I could attempt to explain it to you, dear readers.

His answer was something akin to jabbing your finger with a safety pin and having it get stuck in there. “Not bad, but you are aware of it,” he said.

(While I love you all dearly, I sure as hell wasn’t about to go anywhere near that thing’s mouth. Some experiences are best lived vicariously.)

We road-cruised the back roads of Covington and Escambia counties, even venturing forth into Florida’s untamed Blackwater state park.

(Perhaps a full expedition, complete with elephant guns and sherpas, will be warranted next year.)

All in all, it was a wonderful time spent with friends I probably won’t get to see much from now on, as Dr. Cooner has taken a job in small town Indiana (although, sadly, not Gary of “The Music Man” fame) and Dr. Gentry soon starts his multiple-year residency at Texas A&M.

While I may not be embarking to any state parks to “herp” by myself any time soon, I will continue to find areas around here that could prove a good habitat for herpetological expeditions, and I encourage all of you to get out and do so as well.

You all have an open invitation to help me track Eastern kingsnakes, ringneck snakes and other sundry species at McCollum Cottage any time.

Just call, and remember to bring your own snake hook.

The McCollumn - 5/18: "A 'Cliff Note'"

I suppose this is not so much a column, as it is an attempted explanation for the last few weeks’ lack of columns.

Contrary to popular belief, I wasn’t banned from these pages for saying or doing anything controversial, nor was it a phenomenal bout of writer’s block.

“Alien abduction,” “a sudden vacation to the Bermuda Triangle” and “a rehab visit for addiction to stamp adhesive” have also been ruled out as possible causes.

Instead, we made the decision to temporarily pull my column to run the excellent letters to the editor you’ve seen recently, a number of them pertaining to the county’s upcoming fire fee vote.

The issues those citizens wanted to discuss and highlight were important, much more so than my weekly talking at all of you.

I can assure you my column will always be the first one pulled to make room for letters from our community - to make sure this paper remains a voice for the people of this area.

And if I never write another column again because so many of you decide to start pouring in letters every week – so be it.

The opinions of the members of our community are important to us and need an outlet. We came into being, in large part, to serve as your outlet.

You’ve been kind enough to put up with me, but without all of you, we wouldn’t exist, so, please, keep writing. We need your voices, too.