James E. Foy - A Reflection on the Life of a true Auburn Man

James E. Foy, a man synonymous with the spirit of Auburn, is dead.

For previous generations of Auburn students, he was a beloved dean of students, known for his approachability, kindness, and overwhelming love of all things Auburn.

For my generation and the current crop of Auburn students, Foy is a building, one we don't use as much as we used to any more. The Student Center is the "new Foy."

Foy's also a phone number we call when we don't know the answer to weird questions or need driving directions or phone numbers.

We know the name, but we never got to know the man. That's a great pity.

I had the fortune to tag along with Amy Jones when she interviewed him once for The Plainsman. We met him at his home, and he welcomed us in with a big smile and an even bigger "War Eagle."

Amy and I were in love with him from that moment. We were in awe of his command of Auburn lore and history. The man could recite the amount of blood donated in the first campus blood drive he took part in, to the very pint.

He refused to answer Amy's questions directly; each answer was a winding path through Auburn as he knew and loved it. Names we knew from Auburn's history were his friends and colleagues; stories and memories we thought of as defining moments in Auburn's history were just recollections to him, as if they were any other day on the Plains.

Eventually, he had an interesting request: we were asked to sing the fight song with him.

As he sang, you could tell there was a joy and love in heart as he went through the words. It was infectious - infectious love of Auburn. To this date, there's still no known cure.

He treated us like family because we were family - his Auburn family.

That's how Auburn is supposed to be - that's what he wanted us to be.

For him, the Auburn creed was a true creed - a system of beliefs by which he led his life.

He truly believed in the men and women of Auburn, and loved them.

Through his death, we've suffered a great loss, and we should mourn his passing.

We've lost one of the greatest among us, a true Auburn man.

However, I don't think I'd be remiss in saying that he probably wouldn't want us to be sad.

If anything, I think James Foy, the barnstorming, airplane-flying nonagenarian, would want the occasion of his passing to be a celebration of the university and people he loved for most of his life.

Get your hands up for a 'Bodda Getta.'

Sing the fight song.

Recite the creed.

Go outside and shout "War Eagle" at the top of your lungs.

Celebrate Auburn, Auburn family.

Celebrate Auburn and celebrate James E. Foy - the man who was Auburn.

The McCollumn - 10/8

Trouble is brewing

Well, we’ve got trouble, my friends, trouble right here in Opelika.

Certain words are creeping into the vocabulary of downtown merchants and residents, words like “sanitation” and “cleanliness.”

Voices that once pleaded patience now clamor for action and turn to bouts of seething rage.

The situation seems poised to explode and repeated attempts to address the problem at hand seem to fall upon deaf ears both at City Hall and in the private sector.

The problem: the city of Opelika-provided dumpsters located in the parking lot behind the South Railroad buildings.

For weeks, visitors to these dumpsters (myself included, lugging bags of trash from Cottage Café) have been privy to a scene of varying degrees of horror.

The already ill-placed dumpsters, one of which occupies a much-needed parking space, now overflow with boxes and restaurant garbage on an almost daily basis.

Trash is even left sitting in front of the dumpsters quite often, and stays there even more often because the waste management group in charge of picking up those receptacles won’t pick up garbage not within the receptacle. Company policy, I’ve been told.

Blame in this situation is halved, I think, between the city and we, the downtown business community.

The city can and must move the dumpster out of that parking space. There’s room for it to be placed on the grassy interlude where the other one sits.

Parking’s already scarce enough; every space wasted is potential business lost. The city also needs to increase the frequency with which these bins are emptied. Clearly, that could and probably will lead to an increase in the cost of said bins.

That’s where the business owners must come in.

First, I’ll take a page from old Mrs. Goodson’s book, God rest her soul.

Those of us who’ve been downtown a few years know of the tyrannical control that sainted woman had over those dumpsters.

If you didn’t break down your boxes, you’d have an accusatory finger and her hat brim lodged squarely in front of your face.

We broke down our boxes, we acted responsibly, if only to avoid an inquisition.

We’ve lost our courtesy to one another.

It may take an extra second or two, but can we all at least try to break stuff down properly and dispose of garbage in a rational manner.

Don’t leave trash bags by the dumpster.

For that matter, let’s also all be careful of our patrons leaving glass bottles outside as well. I’ve encountered a recent increase in broken beer bottles on my way to work, and that’s never OK.

If simple courtesy does not decrease the necessity for more pickups, then we may need to be willing to find a way and come together to offset some of the cost, since I imagine that’s why the city has been rather lax in arranging more pickups.

It may feel a bit like a kickback, but it may well get the job done.

We’ll just leave the money on the table, then go home and pray for absolution.

I hope it doesn’t come to that, but you never know. We live in a world of infinite possibilities.

All-out war.

Courtesy and kindness.

Good, old-fashioned bribery.

These are our options, downtown.

Stop by and let me know which one you want to do. I’m down for whatever.

To Josh and Virginia

While I am a happy participant in the Shepherd/Golden wedding this weekend, a part of me is somewhat saddened.

I feel like I'm missing my brother's wedding by being there - because, in a way, I am.

Josh Lacy, friend and former roommate, was my first "bro."

I have not always had the easiest time getting along with normal dudes. My friends in high school trended nerdy intellectual and oddly effeminate, the downside to being a Scholar's Bowler and a musical theatre fan.

Truth be told, nerdy intellectual and oddly effeminate are also used to describe me.

I moved into Teague Hall my freshman year, and that night received a knock on the door and was greeted by a tall fellow with a shaved head (the man I now know to be the esteemable Palmer). He invited my roommate and I to come and play poker out in the lobby with the "Teague Hall Poker Group." He spoke with a degree of implied authority and I was bored, so I grabbed some cash and went along.

Attending that poker game ranks among the best decisions of my life.

Apart from meeting Palmer, I met my future roommates, Steven Ford (the slightly diabolical brains of the operation) and Taylor Wingo (the mop-topped young lad and heart of the group), and found them instantly hilarious and cool.

I met a young man by the name of Marlin Pugh - "Fish," he said. "Fish" it was and always will be. Fish is a legend.

There was, however, one member of that poker game who was an obnoxious jerk. Clad in a shirt from a movie I now know to be Dodgeball, he made rude, sarcastic comments, snarled, growled and said generally contentious things. Who was this foul-mouthed little troll?

Joshua Lacy.

Over the next few days, however, as I got to know the other guys, I realized Josh Lacy was actually hilarious. Through some strange twist of fate,I discovered that the more he makes fun you or derides you or pranks you or prances around in front of you nude, the more he likes you.

He's the strange bastard child of John Belushi and Chris Farley, with dashes of Jack Black thrown in, and I love him for it.

When we lived in the apartment, he'd burst in my room constantly, usually singing Tenacious D or Marvin Gaye. He always took requests whilst singing in the shower. Even "Freebird."

Within the group, Josh called the shots. He was Sinatra; we were the rest of the Rat Pack (I think I may have been Jerry Lewis ... sad, I know). Whenever I was them, I was with the In Crowd. I still feel that way.

Living in the apartment with me had to have been no easy task. I assure you all I'm terrible to live with.

Considering how many people in that group of friends count the first time they met me as me yelling at them collectively to stop playing Halo before I "break an umbrella over all of your heads/stab you repeatedly in the kidneys with an ice pick/insert Medieval torture device reference of choice." First impressions really do matter.

The two years I spent living with Josh taught me what normal guys do. We watched ESPN. I watched them play HALO. We had a projector beamed against the wall. We lived as college students do, kings among men.

He taught me I get along with normal guys. He taught me I was actually kind of normal, too.

I don't think I've ever properly thanked him for that.

Ah, but wait ... I'm forgetting someone, an ever-constant feature in our day-to-day lives: the bride, Virginia Dawson.

I met her long before Josh did, a week earlier in fact. She was the suitemate to long-term McCollum friends Jennifer Shepherd and Meg Gafford, the one who wasn't the inexplicable Sara Darby.

She had opinions. She liked to debate. She was ... gasp ... a Libertarian.

A fast friendship was quickly born.

Virginia soon joined the poker group, and, as a dedicated people watcher, I couldn't help but notice she kept her focus largely and squarely upon Josh.

It doesn't take Chuck Woolery to know that a love connection would soon be made.

They became "The Couple," "Beauty and the Beast," "Tarzan and Jane" ... There were dozens more but time has faded my memory a bit.

He enlivened her. She civilized him. And we were all better for it.

She was always over at the apartment, game to sit and watch a classic flick with me or let me indulge in watching HBO series that shall remain nameless with her, Mags and some of her girls.

She has an inner light that brings joy to the people around her.

Josh, Virginia, know how much that it kills me I can't be there for the day you two become one.

I love you both dearly, and you better believe that

A) A nice present from Uncle Cliff will be waiting when you back from the honeymoon

B) I demand to see you the next time you're in Auburn so I can properly celebrate your wedding

L'chaim, kids. God bless.

The McCollumn - 10/1

A toast for Jenn

We were never supposed to remain friends.

I have several yearbooks from elementary and middle school that have phrases written in them telling me that she would miss me when she moved to Birmingham that summer.

For all those threats, though, Jennifer Shepherd never did move to Birmingham, and I’m eternally grateful she didn’t, as being friends with Jennifer Shepherd has and always will make my life better.

I could wax melodic about numerous inside jokes and life experiences, so much so that none of the rest of you dear readers would know what the blazes I was talking about.

You guys don’t know the significance of sing-a-longs to songs from Disney’s “Hercules.”

You weren’t at that hotel waffle bar in Colorado.

You don’t know about “I no have frecial sped.”

Trust me when I say you probably don’t really want to know.

However, these random memories and occurrences mean a great deal to me, as they remind me of the wonderful times I’ve shared with that thoughtful, caring young woman.

She gets married tomorrow to a great guy, Ken Golden.

I knew I’d have no problem with this pairing after she informed me that, “Oh, Ken likes ‘The West Wing,’ too. You guys should talk about that some time.”

Fact: Anyone who likes “The West Wing” has to be a good person. This is universally true.

He has many other redeeming qualities, of course, and he treats her like the princess we’ve (and she’s) always thought she was.

He’s the type of guy you want for one of your best friends.

But, I still say he’s getting the better end of the deal.

Inside of Jennifer lies one of the most loving hearts I’ve ever come into contact with.

She’s a person who genuinely enjoys helping others and giving back.

She possesses a strong moral compass that always points due north. Mine wobbles a bit, so it’s good to have hers to check mine by every now and again.

She’s logical and rational without being cold and mechanical. Trust me when I say this is a rarity.

More than all of this, though, she has always been a fiercely loyal person, doing whatever she can to help out a friend in need.

Whether it’s a supportive phone call, a drive-by visit or even the occasional all-night talk-a-thon, she genuinely cares and checks up on people when she feels her help is needed.

We should all be so lucky to have such a person in our lives.

Jenn, congratulations on your marriage and your new life you are beginning with Ken.

I have no doubt in mind that yours will be a marriage for the ages, one that I can point to and say “I want a love like what they have.”

Best of luck, kids, although I’m certain you won’t need it.

May all of the joys and blessings you’ve brought to my life be returned to you tenfold.

The McCollumn - 9/24

The oligarch of downtown Opelika

“Land monopoly is not only monopoly, but it is by far the greatest of monopolies; it is a perpetual monopoly, and it is the mother of all other forms of monopoly” – Sir Winston Leonard Spencer Churchill

Churchill has always been a favorite of mine, and he’s absolutely right in that quote: mass ownership of land (or property) by one individual or group in a particular area can be and usually is dangerous.

Unfortunately, downtown Opelika seems to be suffering from this particular ailment.

These days, more and more downtown buildings and businesses are coming under the influence and ownership of one particular person.

To their credit, the buildings they own and manage look lovely. The revitalization undertaken to restore and refurbish the buildings is admirable and has improved the aesthetic beauty of our historic downtown Opelika.

However, I feel leery in allowing one person, or the group they represent, to take hold of so much of one particular area.

It is the right of a property owner to raise rent on their tenants as they see fit; I won’t deny them that right.

But, when rents are raised so high that the businesses renting the space can’t afford to make ends meet, perhaps some injustice is being done.

Empty buildings and storefronts, pretty though the exteriors may be, do us no good.

If keeping downtown Opelika strong and viable is the main concern, folding businesses do not do much to advance that agenda.

What was once a vibrant, lovely coffee shop is now, sadly, an empty shell.

I’m also concerned with the leverage and influence such property owners can wield within this community, even on the boards and committees that oversee the renovations and building upgrades those property owners wish to undertake.

The Historical Preservation Commission, the body charged with maintaining the aesthetics and authenticity of our historical downtown, contains one of these owners.

At face value, this makes sense; someone who has interests downtown should have a voice on the body that governs such decisions.

I also want to make it clear that I know for a fact this member does not vote on any plan in which they have any interest, be it as an owner or as a developer. I give them credit for their forbearance.

However, as someone who derives their income from such restorations and redevelopments that are approved by the commission, I think their placement as a member is odd and perhaps a slight conflict of interest.

Sufficed to say, how the large, red neon strip that now adorns the top of the new Irish Bred Pub got past the commission is a mystery to me. There’s nothing historical or aesthetically appropriate about its brazen, sickly glow.

What’s to be done here?

I honestly don’t know.

Awareness, however, should be the first step.

This is happening, and it does need to be addressed.

Downtown’s future growth and preservation is at stake.

John Leland was a very wise man.

"Whatever my lot, thou hast taught me to say 'It is well, it is well with my soul.'"

The McCollumn- 9/10

Farewell, Tyler's

“Just saw the sign that said Tyler’s had closed for good. I’m crying,” the text message read.

After I saw it, I may not have cried, but I certainly felt a few odd pangs of sadness and regret.

For 42 years, Tyler’s Restaurant has been an Opelika institution, bringing good, affordable food to the citizenry.

Now, we have a darkened, empty building on Geneva Street, a hull of a place that was once teeming with life and energy.

It’s hard to place blame on any one factor for the death of this beloved icon.

It’s certain that the closure of plants like Ampex and Uniroyal dented their business.

It’s also true that when the growth and development of Opelika moved out toward Tigertown, some of us forgot about places like Tyler’s in lieu of a quick run for some Chicken Minis at Chick-fil-A.

There was many a Saturday that I fully intended to wake up early and run to Tyler’s for breakfast, grabbing a bag full of those heavenly biscuits for myself and the other Cottage Café folk.

However, intentions seldom led to action, as I usually just slept in until I was almost late for work.

While I mourn the death of Tyler’s, I can’t fully escape the guilt of that death.

If I loved the place so much, I should have been a better customer.

It’s all well and good to say you love something, but that love must be backed by action and example.

With small businesses, especially restaurants, the support and patronage of a returning clientele are essential.

Somewhere along the way, most of us just stopped being good customers and that shell on Geneva Street is a reminder of what can happen we just don’t make an effort.

The national economy is in shambles right now.

Unemployment climbs ever higher and we are all hurting right now.

However, if we don’t find the time and the way to try to support our local landmarks, we run the risk of losing them forever.

No business is immune. Tyler’s was here for 42 years and it went down.

We should all be worried.

Take time to rediscover and support your favorite Opelika businesses.

Stop, reminisce and remember why you fell in love with those places in the first place.

Bring others – make your support infectious.

Try new places – some of these new businesses may be the staples of the future.

We may never taste the crisp, flaky, buttery Tyler’s biscuits ever again, but if we act now, we can hopefully make sure that other businesses don’t meet that same fate.

Remember the biscuit.

Remember the well-grilled hamburgers and the perfectly salted shoestring fries.

Remember seeing the Geneva Street Think Tank as you picked up your order or sat down for the breakfast buffet.

Try to remember them because the memories are all we have now.