Featured Post
'Katrina Girl' Found: Pararescueman finally locates girl he saved after Hurricane Katrina
HH-60 Pave Hawk Photo // Staff Sgt. Jason Robertson Destruction and heartbreak surrounded the pararescueman, along with the rest of N...
Showing posts with label Alabama. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Alabama. Show all posts
Monday, June 9, 2014
Area Professor and Writer Falls in Love With His Characters
So you want to write that best-seller, believing that all a novelist needs is a word processor, a thesaurus - and "that little book inside" yourself that everyone supposedly has.
Dr. Russell Ramsey will quickly set you straight. It isn't that easy.
"Writing is similar to boxing," said the silver-haired but still fighting trim national security affairs professor at Air Command and Staff College at Maxwell Air Force Base. "Both are tough professions with very few at the top of the fight game or the literary world. Less than 100 make much money. Most people who box or write get their brains knocked out and earn practically nothing. The reality is that most boxers and writers need to have another source of income."
Ramsey's weekends are spent in his Albany, Ga., home with his wife Roberta, who works as an assistant to the vice president for academic affairs at Albany State College. During the week, a trailer outside Maxwell's Day Street serves as Ramsey's home and fortress of concentration for three hours of nightly head banging and writing.
But cry no tears for this writer. His passion for the written word has continued to grow since he peddled his first work to families of World War II troops as a 9-year-old boy in Sandusky, Ohio. After graduating from the U.S. Military Academy at West Point in 1957 with a bachelor's in science and engineering, Ramsey wrote books on military subjects. In 1969, after a paratrooping accident and a tour of duty in Vietnam, Ramsey retired from the Army and has since found literary success with his sports articles and in the fickle arena of the paperback novel.
Though far from approaching the best-seller lists, Ramsey's story of a female Olympic swimmer fared well enough to justify two sequels.
"I developed a special love for this character," he said. "I don't think you can create a fictional figure, work with her for any length of time and not fall in love. My character, Angela Weber, became a daughter figure to me when she won the gold medal at the 1936 Olympics in Berlin in the first book, A Lady, A Champion. In A Lady, A Healer, Angela - now a middle-aged lady - became the counterpart to my wife, and transformed into both a world leader and a queenly figure in A Lady, A Peacemaker."
He didn't develop his character through mere daydreaming or divine inspiration. Ramsey did a complete character from the women swimmers he interviewed for articles published in Swimming World. One of these athletes, Marjorie Gestring, who won the diving medal at the 1936 Olympics, went further in telling her story than the writer dared to hope.
"This American swimmer became the youngest Olympic champion every at age 13, but failed to qualify for the 1948 games," Ramsey said. "Reporters slammed microphones in her face, asking how it felt to be around young girls who weren't even around when she won her first gold in 1936. She simply answered, 'They beat me.' Forty years later, when I interviewed her, she told me what really happened. She'd broken her back falling from a 48-foot wooden tower while entertaining soldiers."
This wasn't the only time when Ramsey's careful prodding uncovered a story within a story. After seeing "Chariots of Fire" in 1983, he became fascinated with Eric Liddell, the Scottish runner who refused to compete on Sundays for religious reasons in the 1924 Olympics in Paris.
But before he could begin, Ramsey had to recover from neck surgery that resulted from his paratrooping accident. Then, he was ready to dig.
"My vocal cords were damaged after the surgery, but I miraculously got my voice back three months later. I began asking myself lots of questions.
"Then I found this incredible man who was an Olympic champion but refused to compromise his beliefs. He gave it all up to become a missionary in China. When the war began, he could have left the country, but he sent his wife and children home and entered a prisoner-of-war camp where he died of a brain tumor. Everyone I talked to in his homeland, Scotland, told me there was more to his story than the movie told."
The result was God's Joyful Runner, one of many sports pieces Ramsey has published. His latest, Circles and Wings, is featured in the May issue of Airman magazine. Circles and Wings is a detailed history of military members in the Olympics.
Teamwork between the writer and a heavyweight boxing champion resulted in The Gentle Giant, a story about George Foreman that appeared in Amateur Boxer. Ramsey met the still active fighter while working with the Job Corps in Oregon.
"Foreman was a tough, street-wise kid who was hauled into juvenile court and forced to go to jail or the Job Corps," Ramsey said. "A boxing trainer saw that he was super fast and a terrific slugger and added him to his team. Foreman practically knocked every opponent out of the ring and went on to win the gold medal in the 1968 Olympics in Mexico City. But what impressed me the most was what he did after receiving his medal. While two other black athletes raised their fists in protest, Foreman paraded around the ring with an American flag."
Ramsey's interest in sports writing is no accident. He's an avid runner and swimmer, ranked nationally in his age group. He's recently been named the Air University nominee for the National Fitness Award and teaches an elective fitness elective at ACSC.
The setting for Ramsey's next project is slated to be behind the Iron Curtain. The story deals with Olympic stars in the Soviet Union. The Russian Embassy has arranged for Ramsey to co-write the book with a leading Soviet journalist who covered all the Olympic games since 1952.
"What I really like about this venture is that I'll be in a position to verify that they're telling the truth," Ramsey said. "I'll see the training centers and the athletes and can cross-check with the European and South African press who have covered the events these athletes have competed in.
"I believe the United States and Soviet Union have to find qualities they can respect in each other. I also believe the Russians are closer to the Greek ideal of athletics than we are. When a gymnast, swimmer or boxer succeeds in the Soviet Union, he's made into a role model for the entire country."
Ramsey tries to make his subjects come alive in his work, from the George Foremans to the Eric Liddelels.
"Practically everything I write is centered around a major character, someone who has done something. I try to focus on what makes that person special."
Thursday, May 29, 2014
Overcoming Adversity: MS Victim Realizes Dream of Coaching Baseball
Houston County High School’s baseball team hasn’t hit a lucky streak in Bill Lovrich’s first season at the school. But the coach tells himself wins will come.
He also knows the mere fact that he’s back on the baseball field is a victory itself.
The 34-year-old Lovrich has multiple sclerosis.
“Every morning, I wake up and check to see if my eyes open and if my hands work,” he said. “If they work, I say, ‘Thank goodness. The day’s going to be good.’
“Every day is an adventure.”
But the days are also often long. His wife Annette said Lovrich usually gets out of bed at 5:10 a.m., leaves their home near Wicksburg at 6:20 for work in Columbia, and there are nights he doesn’t get in until after 11:30 p.m. He also must give himself injections of Betaseron every other day.
Lovrich played baseball at Jacksonville State University and comes from a family of baseball coaches. His father Frank, a former vice president of Troy State University at Dothan, was also head coach at JSU. His brother Marty is an assistant at Auburn University at Montgomery.
About one-third of Americans, including comedian Richard Pryor, have been diagnosed with MS. Multiple sclerosis is a chronic, often disabling disease of the central nervous system, according to the Multiple Sclerosis Society Alabama Chapter in Birmingham.
Symptoms may be mild, such as numbness in the limbs, or severe, causing paralysis or loss of vision. Most people are diagnosed between the ages of 20 and 40.
The diagnosis was tough for Lovrich’s family, especially his brother and his wife. But it as Annette Lovrich who helped bring her husband out and take a positive attitude toward his disease.
“I was driving my family crazy,” he said. “She was the one who helped bring me out of my depression.”
“He went through almost a three-year period of really being negative,” Annette said. “Basically, I just told him I wasn’t going to let it control my life, and he needed to take a different outlook.
“He had to have adequate time to go through all those emotions to deal with it. But there also comes a time when enough is enough. After all of the changes in our lives from the time he began teaching and coaching, he’s gotten back to being more of the person I originally got to know.”
Lovrich’s problems began in October 1995 when he felt numbness in his left arm while working on the Cubmobile Derby for the recreation department. By the next morning, the sensation had spread across his chest and back, and he thought he might be suffering a heart attack or stroke.
Doctors first thought it might be a pinched nerve, then maybe carpal tunnel syndrome, but the symptoms worsened as the couple was on the way to spend Christmas with Annette’s family in Boone, N.C.
Neurologist Dr. Alan Prince was the first to mention MS, and the diagnosis was confirmed by Dr. John Whitaker at the University of Alabama at Birmingham’s Kirklin Clinic.
“I didn’t know what my future was,” Lovrich said. “I thought I might be in a wheelchair. I certainly never thought I’d be coaching again.”
Although Lovrich feels fortunate to have the relapse remitting form of the disease (meaning the symptoms go from active to dormant), his diagnosis eight years ago forced him into a career change. He had to give up his job in the recreation department, which demanded he spend much of the day in the heat, and decided he wanted to teach.
So Lovrich went to Montgomery and shared an apartment with his brother while he worked as an AUM baseball assistant coach and earned his master’s degree in 1996.
“That was when he became like a big brother to me,” Lovrich said.
He first landed substitute teaching jobs in Headland and Enterprise before he took a teacher-coach position at New Brockton. There, he led the Gamecocks to its first winning season in its baseball history. He moved on to Columbia last year.
Lovrich describes himself as an intense coach. In his first year at Houston County, the team defeated Ashford for the first time in several years, although the season has gone somewhat sour since.
But Lovrich is learning to keep the game in perspective. The past couple of years have taught him that.
“I like to let the team know it’s not life or death,” he said. “There was a time when I was playing when I thought the game was life or death and had to learn it’s just fun.
“When you’re young and an athlete, you think your body’s going to last forever. Now I listen when my body tells me it’s time to slow down. Even though I’m pretty healthy, I know something can go wrong at any time. It’s like a time bomb – you just don’t know when it will happen.
“So I want to be positive, upbeat and be the best teacher, coach and husband I can be.”
He also knows the mere fact that he’s back on the baseball field is a victory itself.
The 34-year-old Lovrich has multiple sclerosis.
“Every morning, I wake up and check to see if my eyes open and if my hands work,” he said. “If they work, I say, ‘Thank goodness. The day’s going to be good.’
“Every day is an adventure.”
But the days are also often long. His wife Annette said Lovrich usually gets out of bed at 5:10 a.m., leaves their home near Wicksburg at 6:20 for work in Columbia, and there are nights he doesn’t get in until after 11:30 p.m. He also must give himself injections of Betaseron every other day.
Lovrich played baseball at Jacksonville State University and comes from a family of baseball coaches. His father Frank, a former vice president of Troy State University at Dothan, was also head coach at JSU. His brother Marty is an assistant at Auburn University at Montgomery.
About one-third of Americans, including comedian Richard Pryor, have been diagnosed with MS. Multiple sclerosis is a chronic, often disabling disease of the central nervous system, according to the Multiple Sclerosis Society Alabama Chapter in Birmingham.
Symptoms may be mild, such as numbness in the limbs, or severe, causing paralysis or loss of vision. Most people are diagnosed between the ages of 20 and 40.
The diagnosis was tough for Lovrich’s family, especially his brother and his wife. But it as Annette Lovrich who helped bring her husband out and take a positive attitude toward his disease.
“I was driving my family crazy,” he said. “She was the one who helped bring me out of my depression.”
“He went through almost a three-year period of really being negative,” Annette said. “Basically, I just told him I wasn’t going to let it control my life, and he needed to take a different outlook.
“He had to have adequate time to go through all those emotions to deal with it. But there also comes a time when enough is enough. After all of the changes in our lives from the time he began teaching and coaching, he’s gotten back to being more of the person I originally got to know.”
Lovrich’s problems began in October 1995 when he felt numbness in his left arm while working on the Cubmobile Derby for the recreation department. By the next morning, the sensation had spread across his chest and back, and he thought he might be suffering a heart attack or stroke.
Doctors first thought it might be a pinched nerve, then maybe carpal tunnel syndrome, but the symptoms worsened as the couple was on the way to spend Christmas with Annette’s family in Boone, N.C.
Neurologist Dr. Alan Prince was the first to mention MS, and the diagnosis was confirmed by Dr. John Whitaker at the University of Alabama at Birmingham’s Kirklin Clinic.
“I didn’t know what my future was,” Lovrich said. “I thought I might be in a wheelchair. I certainly never thought I’d be coaching again.”
Although Lovrich feels fortunate to have the relapse remitting form of the disease (meaning the symptoms go from active to dormant), his diagnosis eight years ago forced him into a career change. He had to give up his job in the recreation department, which demanded he spend much of the day in the heat, and decided he wanted to teach.
So Lovrich went to Montgomery and shared an apartment with his brother while he worked as an AUM baseball assistant coach and earned his master’s degree in 1996.
“That was when he became like a big brother to me,” Lovrich said.
He first landed substitute teaching jobs in Headland and Enterprise before he took a teacher-coach position at New Brockton. There, he led the Gamecocks to its first winning season in its baseball history. He moved on to Columbia last year.
Lovrich describes himself as an intense coach. In his first year at Houston County, the team defeated Ashford for the first time in several years, although the season has gone somewhat sour since.
But Lovrich is learning to keep the game in perspective. The past couple of years have taught him that.
“I like to let the team know it’s not life or death,” he said. “There was a time when I was playing when I thought the game was life or death and had to learn it’s just fun.
“When you’re young and an athlete, you think your body’s going to last forever. Now I listen when my body tells me it’s time to slow down. Even though I’m pretty healthy, I know something can go wrong at any time. It’s like a time bomb – you just don’t know when it will happen.
“So I want to be positive, upbeat and be the best teacher, coach and husband I can be.”
Thursday, May 22, 2014
Gander Wall Memorializes 248 Soldiers Killed in Crash
Somewhere above, Walter and Ann Wright believe their son Ricky may be proudly smiling at what they've done for him at their home in Daleville, Alabama.
In the memory of Cpl. John Richard (Ricky) Wright, who died with 247 fellow soldiers in the crash of a DC-9 airliner in Gander, Newfoundland, Dec. 12, 1985, the Wrights dedicated their memorial, the Gander Wall, on the seventh anniversary of the tragedy.
"I think he would have been awfully proud if he could be looking down and know what's going on," Mrs. Wright said.
Corporal Wright was a member of the Screaming Eagles of the Task Force, 3rd Battalion, 502nd Infantry Regiment in the 101st Airborne Division (Air Assault) at Fort Campbell, Ky.
He graduated from Daleville High School in 1982 and was a member of the school's Junior Reserve Officers' Training Corps. He was 23.
The soldiers were on their way home for Christmas after completing a peacekeeping mission in the Sinai Peninsula.
The Camaro Corporal Wright left with his mother while stationed at Fort Campbell has been converted into a "rolling memorial."
the name of every crew member and soldier who died in the crash is listed on the Gander Wall, which cost the Wrights almost $6,000 to build.
A plaque that hangs at the entrance of the sidewalk leading to the wall reads: "Erected in the memory of Cpl. John R. (Ricky) Wright and 247 of his fellow service members plus a crew of eight. 'The day the Eagles cried,' Dec. 12, 1985."
A fountain sits directly in front of the wall. Behind it are various flags - American, Canadian, Alabama, Newfoundland, Gander - and the flag of the U.S. Army's 101st Airborne Division.
The parents of two other soldiers, including one from Pike County, were among those attending the Dec. 12 ceremony at the Wright home. The Wrights didn't know he was in the Pike County High School JROTC until they met Spec. Carl Simmons' mother, Mary Frances Simmons, of Banks, at the ceremony.
The memorial is open to the public. Guests should call Mrs. Wright at 598-3332 or knock on the carport door if they wish to see the Gander Wall.
Members of the Daleville JROTC color guard presented the colors at the ceremony and two songs were played for those in attendance - "Going Home for Christmas" by The Inspirations and "A Sad Day in Gander."
The latter song was written by a man named Eric Waterman. He talked with many of the soldiers in the airport before the fateful takeoff. He wrote the song and sent it to Mrs. Wright after the crash. He later wrote another song about the memorial to the soldiers in Gander.
Among the speakers at the ceremony were Lt. Col. Jimmy R. Duhaime, commander of the Daleville JROTC, and Frank Moore, superintendent of Daleville City Schools. The memorial was unveiled by Jason and Adam Barody, two of the Wrights' grandchildren, as The Inspirations' song played.
Although the dedication service naturally brought on some painful memories, it was part of the "healing process" for the Wrights.
Wright said he "felt emotional for a few minutes."
"Then, you feel better," his wife added, "because you know you're doing something. They're not just forgotten. We don't want them forgotten."
"I said I would build my own," Wright said. "It's within 20 to 30 feet of the first fort Ricky every built anyway. We have a picture of him and his brother Billy building the fort when they were 8 and 9 years old."
In the memory of Cpl. John Richard (Ricky) Wright, who died with 247 fellow soldiers in the crash of a DC-9 airliner in Gander, Newfoundland, Dec. 12, 1985, the Wrights dedicated their memorial, the Gander Wall, on the seventh anniversary of the tragedy.
"I think he would have been awfully proud if he could be looking down and know what's going on," Mrs. Wright said.
Corporal Wright was a member of the Screaming Eagles of the Task Force, 3rd Battalion, 502nd Infantry Regiment in the 101st Airborne Division (Air Assault) at Fort Campbell, Ky.
He graduated from Daleville High School in 1982 and was a member of the school's Junior Reserve Officers' Training Corps. He was 23.
The soldiers were on their way home for Christmas after completing a peacekeeping mission in the Sinai Peninsula.
The Camaro Corporal Wright left with his mother while stationed at Fort Campbell has been converted into a "rolling memorial."
the name of every crew member and soldier who died in the crash is listed on the Gander Wall, which cost the Wrights almost $6,000 to build.
A plaque that hangs at the entrance of the sidewalk leading to the wall reads: "Erected in the memory of Cpl. John R. (Ricky) Wright and 247 of his fellow service members plus a crew of eight. 'The day the Eagles cried,' Dec. 12, 1985."
A fountain sits directly in front of the wall. Behind it are various flags - American, Canadian, Alabama, Newfoundland, Gander - and the flag of the U.S. Army's 101st Airborne Division.
The parents of two other soldiers, including one from Pike County, were among those attending the Dec. 12 ceremony at the Wright home. The Wrights didn't know he was in the Pike County High School JROTC until they met Spec. Carl Simmons' mother, Mary Frances Simmons, of Banks, at the ceremony.
The memorial is open to the public. Guests should call Mrs. Wright at 598-3332 or knock on the carport door if they wish to see the Gander Wall.
Members of the Daleville JROTC color guard presented the colors at the ceremony and two songs were played for those in attendance - "Going Home for Christmas" by The Inspirations and "A Sad Day in Gander."
The latter song was written by a man named Eric Waterman. He talked with many of the soldiers in the airport before the fateful takeoff. He wrote the song and sent it to Mrs. Wright after the crash. He later wrote another song about the memorial to the soldiers in Gander.
Among the speakers at the ceremony were Lt. Col. Jimmy R. Duhaime, commander of the Daleville JROTC, and Frank Moore, superintendent of Daleville City Schools. The memorial was unveiled by Jason and Adam Barody, two of the Wrights' grandchildren, as The Inspirations' song played.
Although the dedication service naturally brought on some painful memories, it was part of the "healing process" for the Wrights.
Wright said he "felt emotional for a few minutes."
"Then, you feel better," his wife added, "because you know you're doing something. They're not just forgotten. We don't want them forgotten."
"I said I would build my own," Wright said. "It's within 20 to 30 feet of the first fort Ricky every built anyway. We have a picture of him and his brother Billy building the fort when they were 8 and 9 years old."
Two Northview Seniors Found Dead in Car Trunk
Tracie Hawlett called home at her curfew time, about 11:30 Saturday night, to tell her mother she and a friend were lost in Ozark on the way home from a party in Headland. The next word her parents heard was the tragic news that they had been found dead on an Ozark roadside.
Witnesses said Hawlett's late-model Mazda 929 was found about 30 yards from the Herring Street-James Street intersection in downtown Ozark, just five blocks from the Dale County Jail, Sunday afternoon.
Sources near the scene said both the bodies of Hawlett and her friend, fellow Northview High School senior J.B. Beasley, were found in the trunk of the car, but the Ozark Police Department was not releasing any information about the crime on Sunday.
Investigators from both the Ozark and Dothan Police Departments, the Alabama Bureau of Investigation and the Dale County Sheriff's Department were on the scene.
Both were 17-year-old students at Northview High School, where on Tuesday they would have begun their senior year at Northview. Instead, their classmates begin the year facing yet another tragedy.
The victims were the third and fourth Northview students to die tragically in the past year. Fifteen-year-old Anthony Bryan is charged with the Feb. 26 murder of his older brother, John David, and the non-fatal shooting of his mother, Paula Bryan. Both brothers were also Northview students.
Adam Gay, a tight end for the Northview Cougars football team, died from injuries sustained in an automobile accident earlier this summer.
When students report to school Tuesday, they will have counseling available if needed, said John Michael Hornsby, Dothan City Schools manager of grants and public information.
"If students need it, we'll provide it," Hornsby said. "You always wonder why something like this happens. All we can do at this point is offer our prayers and support for friends and family."
Darlene Dezso, a therapist with Brightleaf Counseling and Recovery, said the girls' friends and classmates will need time to talk about their feelings of grief and loss. There may even be some guilt and fear, she said.
"They're going to need trauma in-briefing, because they're going to have tremendous shock on top of the impact of the trauma," Dezso said. "They need to keep talking about it with someone who can help de-brief them and separate them from what's happened, how they feel, what they're thinking and how to externalize that.
"It's so much different than your normal grief, although they have to deal with that, too."
Dezso said parents and teachers should look for signs of depression, anxiety, sadness, not being able to function normally, not being able to concentrate, isolation, fear of what's going to happen to them and even survivor guilt.
Within 20 minutes after hearing the latest distressing news Sunday night, Northview band director Tim Gilley was still trying to make sense of the tragedy. Hawlett was a second-year majorette at Northview.
"Of course, your first thoughts go out to the family and what they're going through, their feelings about the tragedy and the loss," Gilley said.
"When you think about tragedies we've suffered at the school in the past, you think it will definitely hit home with our students."
Gilley did not know Beasley, but remembers Hawlett as an "extremely pleasant girl.
"She always had a smile. She had a great sense of humor and was very fun to be around. I think all the students really liked her because of that. I never knew her to be in a bad mood.
"She always seemed happy to see you."
Witnesses said Hawlett's late-model Mazda 929 was found about 30 yards from the Herring Street-James Street intersection in downtown Ozark, just five blocks from the Dale County Jail, Sunday afternoon.
Sources near the scene said both the bodies of Hawlett and her friend, fellow Northview High School senior J.B. Beasley, were found in the trunk of the car, but the Ozark Police Department was not releasing any information about the crime on Sunday.
Investigators from both the Ozark and Dothan Police Departments, the Alabama Bureau of Investigation and the Dale County Sheriff's Department were on the scene.
Both were 17-year-old students at Northview High School, where on Tuesday they would have begun their senior year at Northview. Instead, their classmates begin the year facing yet another tragedy.
The victims were the third and fourth Northview students to die tragically in the past year. Fifteen-year-old Anthony Bryan is charged with the Feb. 26 murder of his older brother, John David, and the non-fatal shooting of his mother, Paula Bryan. Both brothers were also Northview students.
Adam Gay, a tight end for the Northview Cougars football team, died from injuries sustained in an automobile accident earlier this summer.
When students report to school Tuesday, they will have counseling available if needed, said John Michael Hornsby, Dothan City Schools manager of grants and public information.
"If students need it, we'll provide it," Hornsby said. "You always wonder why something like this happens. All we can do at this point is offer our prayers and support for friends and family."
Darlene Dezso, a therapist with Brightleaf Counseling and Recovery, said the girls' friends and classmates will need time to talk about their feelings of grief and loss. There may even be some guilt and fear, she said.
"They're going to need trauma in-briefing, because they're going to have tremendous shock on top of the impact of the trauma," Dezso said. "They need to keep talking about it with someone who can help de-brief them and separate them from what's happened, how they feel, what they're thinking and how to externalize that.
"It's so much different than your normal grief, although they have to deal with that, too."
Dezso said parents and teachers should look for signs of depression, anxiety, sadness, not being able to function normally, not being able to concentrate, isolation, fear of what's going to happen to them and even survivor guilt.
Within 20 minutes after hearing the latest distressing news Sunday night, Northview band director Tim Gilley was still trying to make sense of the tragedy. Hawlett was a second-year majorette at Northview.
"Of course, your first thoughts go out to the family and what they're going through, their feelings about the tragedy and the loss," Gilley said.
"When you think about tragedies we've suffered at the school in the past, you think it will definitely hit home with our students."
Gilley did not know Beasley, but remembers Hawlett as an "extremely pleasant girl.
"She always had a smile. She had a great sense of humor and was very fun to be around. I think all the students really liked her because of that. I never knew her to be in a bad mood.
"She always seemed happy to see you."
Is There Any Peace in the Valley?
Sam Jackson is dreaming again. Sometimes the dreams are comforting. He sees his mother, the late Ruthie Mae Jackson, as all six children like to remember her - cooking a big holiday dinner, hugging her grandchildren or taking a needy stranger into her home.
Other times, the dreams aren't as soothing. He's at his mother's funeral or, as in one instance, she appears to him in the dream, revealing the identity of the person who murdered her in her Dothan home on Easter Sunday in 1996.
The dreams, along with the grief and anger, seem to intensify for the Jackson family during the holidays. Their mother's killer, who remains at large more than a year after the slaying, cast an overwhelmingly dark cloud on at least three holidays for the Jackson family - Easter, Mother's Day and Ruthie Mae Jackson's birthday, Christmas Day.
"Christmas is my mother's birthday and it is a sad time," Jackson said. "Because someone took her life, Christmas just doesn't seem like Christmas. We can't tell Mom happy birthday. We can't tell her we love her. We can't give her a present.
"When we got sick, she was there to nurse us. Christmas, Thanksgiving and Easter are sad times because someone took her life."
Mrs. Jackson, 73, was preparing her Easter Sunday meal in her 1403 E. Adams St., home on April 7, 1996 and had planned to join her daughter Shirley for worship services. Shirley Jackson was waiting on her mother to call her that day, but says "My mama hasn't called me yet."
The Jacksons - Bobby, Early, James (and wife Patricia), Sam Selma and Shirley - live together in a cluster of houses in the Helen community where they were reared by Mrs. Jackson and her former husband Sam. But holidays have not been the same since the murder.
This past Thanksgiving was the first holiday they celebrated together without the family's matriarch. Although the brothers and sisters have drawn strength from each other through the whole ordeal, there were some painfully difficult moments.
"Thanksgiving really got to be bad," Early Jackson said. "Especially when Shirley said, 'Somebody's got to get cooking good like Mama.'"
"I haven't had good food since my mother's been gone," Shirley Jackson said. "We try not to talk about Mama as much and just maintain each other's comfort, even though we know each other's mind is on her."
Dothan Police Department investigators believe Mrs. Jackson's killer was someone she knew and that someone in the neighborhood knows something about the homicide, but have not been able to get anyone to talk. However, Lt. David Kirkland said new information has surfaced that is being investigated.
"We have followed up on every lead that anybody has brought to our attention," Kirkland said. "We're off in another direction right now. We've got what we consider to be some good information. We don't know that it will turn out, but we are pursuing it vigorously.
"This homicide case is like all of our other unsolved homicide cases. They always remain open and assigned to someone. These cases are always on our minds."
Shirley's sister, Selma Jackson, says knowing there are other families who have experienced a similar loss has been one source of comfort. More than 50 people are murdered nationwide each day, which means someone is slain every half hour, according to the Alabama Crime Victims Compensation Commission.
Survivors of homicide victims typically experience a range of emotions, such as shock, anger, sleeping and eating problems, depression and suicidal thoughts, flashbacks and nightmares, guilt and shame, and fantasies of revenge.
One might expect families to pull together when a member is murdered, but that isn't always the case. Families of homicide victims often separate physically and emotionally to avoid talking about their loss.
The Jacksons' Christmas plans are uncertain, but one thing they know is their mother would want her family to remain close, so they're sticking together.
And when they're together, they may not always say the words, but they're all thinking of the person Ruthie Mae Jackson was.
They remember the mother who beamed any time any of her children gave her a gift on Christmas, which also doubled as a birthday. She was especially proud of the stove given to her about five years ago, the same stove that held the last meal she cooked on that fateful Easter Sunday morning.
They remember the phone calls to wish her Happy Birthday and Merry Christmas and the sharing of recipes with her daughters. But mostly they remember Ruthie Mae Jackson as the consummate good Samaritan. Ruthie Mae Jackson saw people much like she looked at her flowers - "She loved them all," Shirley Jackson said.
And her family can't help but think the last person she tried to help just might have seen her killer.
"She would take in anybody who needed a place to stay," Selma Jackson said.
"On Christmas Day, she feeds everybody. Strangers would come in and she didn't ask no questions, just fixes them a plate and feeds them. The one that killed her was probably one that she fed or let in that night."
Holidays only intensify the family's sense of loss. There is no closure. There's not even a sense of safety because they don't know if they may be associating with the murderer.
"I stay here alone," Selma Jackson said. "At night, I used to walk outside, but that person could be watching me now. I used to like to have my curtains open. Now I close them. Maybe he's watching me.
"When I go out driving by myself, I want to be home before dark. You can't trust a stranger because the one you're talking to might be the one who killed her."
Other times, the dreams aren't as soothing. He's at his mother's funeral or, as in one instance, she appears to him in the dream, revealing the identity of the person who murdered her in her Dothan home on Easter Sunday in 1996.
The dreams, along with the grief and anger, seem to intensify for the Jackson family during the holidays. Their mother's killer, who remains at large more than a year after the slaying, cast an overwhelmingly dark cloud on at least three holidays for the Jackson family - Easter, Mother's Day and Ruthie Mae Jackson's birthday, Christmas Day.
"Christmas is my mother's birthday and it is a sad time," Jackson said. "Because someone took her life, Christmas just doesn't seem like Christmas. We can't tell Mom happy birthday. We can't tell her we love her. We can't give her a present.
"When we got sick, she was there to nurse us. Christmas, Thanksgiving and Easter are sad times because someone took her life."
Mrs. Jackson, 73, was preparing her Easter Sunday meal in her 1403 E. Adams St., home on April 7, 1996 and had planned to join her daughter Shirley for worship services. Shirley Jackson was waiting on her mother to call her that day, but says "My mama hasn't called me yet."
The Jacksons - Bobby, Early, James (and wife Patricia), Sam Selma and Shirley - live together in a cluster of houses in the Helen community where they were reared by Mrs. Jackson and her former husband Sam. But holidays have not been the same since the murder.
This past Thanksgiving was the first holiday they celebrated together without the family's matriarch. Although the brothers and sisters have drawn strength from each other through the whole ordeal, there were some painfully difficult moments.
"Thanksgiving really got to be bad," Early Jackson said. "Especially when Shirley said, 'Somebody's got to get cooking good like Mama.'"
"I haven't had good food since my mother's been gone," Shirley Jackson said. "We try not to talk about Mama as much and just maintain each other's comfort, even though we know each other's mind is on her."
Dothan Police Department investigators believe Mrs. Jackson's killer was someone she knew and that someone in the neighborhood knows something about the homicide, but have not been able to get anyone to talk. However, Lt. David Kirkland said new information has surfaced that is being investigated.
"We have followed up on every lead that anybody has brought to our attention," Kirkland said. "We're off in another direction right now. We've got what we consider to be some good information. We don't know that it will turn out, but we are pursuing it vigorously.
"This homicide case is like all of our other unsolved homicide cases. They always remain open and assigned to someone. These cases are always on our minds."
Shirley's sister, Selma Jackson, says knowing there are other families who have experienced a similar loss has been one source of comfort. More than 50 people are murdered nationwide each day, which means someone is slain every half hour, according to the Alabama Crime Victims Compensation Commission.
Survivors of homicide victims typically experience a range of emotions, such as shock, anger, sleeping and eating problems, depression and suicidal thoughts, flashbacks and nightmares, guilt and shame, and fantasies of revenge.
One might expect families to pull together when a member is murdered, but that isn't always the case. Families of homicide victims often separate physically and emotionally to avoid talking about their loss.
The Jacksons' Christmas plans are uncertain, but one thing they know is their mother would want her family to remain close, so they're sticking together.
And when they're together, they may not always say the words, but they're all thinking of the person Ruthie Mae Jackson was.
They remember the mother who beamed any time any of her children gave her a gift on Christmas, which also doubled as a birthday. She was especially proud of the stove given to her about five years ago, the same stove that held the last meal she cooked on that fateful Easter Sunday morning.
They remember the phone calls to wish her Happy Birthday and Merry Christmas and the sharing of recipes with her daughters. But mostly they remember Ruthie Mae Jackson as the consummate good Samaritan. Ruthie Mae Jackson saw people much like she looked at her flowers - "She loved them all," Shirley Jackson said.
And her family can't help but think the last person she tried to help just might have seen her killer.
"She would take in anybody who needed a place to stay," Selma Jackson said.
"On Christmas Day, she feeds everybody. Strangers would come in and she didn't ask no questions, just fixes them a plate and feeds them. The one that killed her was probably one that she fed or let in that night."
Holidays only intensify the family's sense of loss. There is no closure. There's not even a sense of safety because they don't know if they may be associating with the murderer.
"I stay here alone," Selma Jackson said. "At night, I used to walk outside, but that person could be watching me now. I used to like to have my curtains open. Now I close them. Maybe he's watching me.
"When I go out driving by myself, I want to be home before dark. You can't trust a stranger because the one you're talking to might be the one who killed her."
Sunday, May 18, 2014
Nature's Day of Reckoning
When hurricane forecasters first named Hurricane Opal, it was basically a formality in the second-most active hurricane season in history. Opal seemed like just another weak, underdeveloped late-season storm.
But on the night of Oct. 4, 1995, Hurricane Opal cut a wide swath of destruction in the Wiregrass, pounding the area for more than five hours with winds in excess of 80 mph, before heading north and causing more than $200 million of damage in Alabama alone.
The more than $2 billion of damage Hurricane Opal left in Alabama and Florida made it the third most costly hurricane in history, behind Andrew in 1992 and Hugo in 1989.
Today, The Dothan Eagle remembers the impact the hurricane made on the Wiregrass during the first week of October 1995.
The first week of October 1995 began like any other autumn week in the Wiregrass.
The announcement of the O.J. Simpson Trial verdict on Tuesday, Oct. 3 competed for some of the usual fall conversation with football, festivals, and school. But mostly, people were just busy with their own lives.
Jim Dennis and his wife were anticipating the birth of their first child and Lenard Windham was trying to help organize Ozark's first rodeo scheduled for the weekend.
A Dothan country radio station was gearing up for Wednesday night's Country Music Association Awards. Jeffrey and Paige Dulac had just remodeled their kitchen.
No one gave much thought to the storm making its way through the Gulf of Mexico and quietly mustering unprecedented strength.
By Tuesday afternoon, Hurricane Opal had taken precedence over everything, rudely changing thoughts, schedules and plans a day before its 80-plus mph winds, altered area buildings and landscape, turning the week upside down for Mrs. Dulac and everyone else.
"I was hearing reports the storm was going to hit, and I felt kind of silly because I had never experienced anything like this," Mrs. Dulac said.
"I told our cleaning lady I had to run to the store because I needed more ice and things like that, and I came back and really felt foolish."
Literally overnight, the hurricane had picked up its forward speed in the Gulf of Mexico and dramatically dropped its barometric pressure.
The drama began Tuesday as the storm continued its path toward the Florida Panhandle.
Wiregrass American Red Cross chapter director Mary Turner calls her volunteers.
At Flowers Hospital, Randy Taylor checks the parking lot to remove any loose objects that could become flying debris, while Dennis does the same at Extendicare Health Center.
The Extendicare assistant administrator has other concerns: his wife is eight months, three weeks pregnant and her doctor tells the couple that the drop in barometric pressure that accompanies a hurricane can sometimes cause premature labor. Kaitlyn Dennis is born nine days after the hurricane on Oct. 13, a day after her parents attended Bob Dylan's hurricane relief concert in the Dothan Civic Center.
Meanwhile, Windham makes storm preparations on his 2,500-acre Skipperville farm. He feeds the cattle early in the day, so they will be on safer ground among the trees during the storm. He also puts all loose objects in the barns and nails down the roofs of his chicken houses.
The real fun begins in Wednesday's early morning hours when a 1:45 a.m. telephone call interrupts Mrs. Turner's sleep, summoning her, disaster services director Irene Hearn and other officials to a meeting at Dothan-Houston County Emergency Management Agency at 2 a.m.
At 8, the first shelter in the area opens at Westgate Recreation Center and the first evacuees begin arriving at 11.
At 9, Hot Country 96.9, which one day earlier had been planning a major promotional contest in conjunction with Wednesday night's Country Music Awards, begins broadcasting hurricane updates every 15 minutes.
By early afternoon, store shelves begin to empty as residents were snatching all the fresh water, batteries and other supplies needed to ride out the storm. Lines of cars are on the highways, especially U.S. 231 South, and at gas pumps.
Emergency rooms are busy during the day, treating accident victims trying to get as far north as possible ahead of the storm. Hospital activity decreases as the hurricane draws closer, said Janie Powell, Marilyn McKissack and Jennifer Johnson, patient care services director, emergency room manager and manager of labor and delivery, respectively.
Meanwhile, the weather had deteriorated. A tornado touches down in Cottonwood and another funnel cloud is spotted near Daleville at Cairns Army Airfield.
At 3 p.m., 96.9 plays its last record and begins wall-to-wall hurricane coverage.
A second shelter opens at 4 p.m. at the Dothan Civic Center. The city's two main shelters - the civic center and Westgate - sheltered more than 700 people that night.
The eye of Hurricane Opal hits Hurlburt Field, near Eglin Air Force Base, Fla., at 5 p.m., packing wind gusts of up to 144 mph. The storm still has much of that punch when it hits the Wiregrass.
By 7 p.m., Opal knocks out electrical power in the area and begins a five-hour assault on the Wiregrass with winds in excess of 80 mph.
In downtown Dothan, as power is interrupted across the Wiregrass, The Dothan Eagle's presses start printing Thursday morning's edition - some five hours earlier than normal in an effort to beat the possible power outage. As the winds and rain pound the area, the newspaper is able to successfully complete its entire press run and newspapers are delivered with few delays across the area as residents survey the damage at sunrise.
Not long after the heaviest winds hit the area, the Dulacs lose one of their two trees at their Girard Avenue home in Dothan. Later that night, they find an oak tree had crashed on top of their carport.
In Headland, a tornado dropped a pecan tree on Dennis Daughtry's mobile home while he's sleeping in the back bedroom about 8:30 p.m. He rushed outside to disconnect his electricity, gas and water and rode out the rest of the storm at a neighbor's home. For months after the hurricane, Daughtry would live in a tent while awaiting FEMA assistance.
During the worst of the storm, the only connection to the outside world is the radio and only two stations were able to continue broadcasting throughout the night. WDJR uses the services of Tom Nebel (then at WTVY and now the station's general manager) and begins taking calls from residents throughout the Wiregrass reporting conditions and damage in their area.
"I'm in Dothan," one of the station's more than 500 callers that night tells WDJR's Jerry Broadway and Mitch English. "It's raining really hard. The wind is blowing. There are trees down. I can tell the power lines are down."
After WTVY was knocked off the air for what is believed to be the first time in the station's 40-year history, Nebel started doing full-time breaks with WDJR. After 7:30 p.m., he remained on the line for the next five hours.
Three or four times during the night, Broadway braves the winds to re-fuel WDJR's generator.
"You haven't lived until you've poured gas in a generator with the wind blowing 90 mph," Broadway said. "But it was scary enough just being in here listening to the wind howl and when our heavy, metal back door blew off between 10-11, it sounded like someone had fired a shotgun at the end of the hall. I thought the roof had caved in on us.
"It was the longest night I've ever spent with the exception of the night my first child was born. It was just a wild night. I'm glad I had the opportunity to do it and I hope I never have the opportunity again."
The next day, crews are busy on the streets with clean-up as residents do the same at their homes. There is little damage to Windham's and wife Bonn's home.
His farm is another story. When he inspects the damage at 4 a.m., following the hurricane, Windham finds one of his 300 cows has been killed, along with almost 2,000 of his 9,000 chickens. There was damage to the roofs of all 10 of his chicken houses. Windham later found a hay barn had been blown into the highway.
"That night, sitting at the house listening to the wind, I had absolutely no idea it was that bad," Windham said. "We had hardly a limb fall out of our pecan trees there. But everywhere else, it was just devastating."
In the shelters, people no longer in fear for their lives now turn their anxieties toward their homes and loved ones.
It was now a matter of cleaning up the damage and trying to get life back to normal. High school football games were played that Friday night and Ozark held its jamboree and rodeo that weekend.
But on the night of Oct. 4, 1995, Hurricane Opal cut a wide swath of destruction in the Wiregrass, pounding the area for more than five hours with winds in excess of 80 mph, before heading north and causing more than $200 million of damage in Alabama alone.
The more than $2 billion of damage Hurricane Opal left in Alabama and Florida made it the third most costly hurricane in history, behind Andrew in 1992 and Hugo in 1989.
Today, The Dothan Eagle remembers the impact the hurricane made on the Wiregrass during the first week of October 1995.
The first week of October 1995 began like any other autumn week in the Wiregrass.
The announcement of the O.J. Simpson Trial verdict on Tuesday, Oct. 3 competed for some of the usual fall conversation with football, festivals, and school. But mostly, people were just busy with their own lives.
Jim Dennis and his wife were anticipating the birth of their first child and Lenard Windham was trying to help organize Ozark's first rodeo scheduled for the weekend.
A Dothan country radio station was gearing up for Wednesday night's Country Music Association Awards. Jeffrey and Paige Dulac had just remodeled their kitchen.
No one gave much thought to the storm making its way through the Gulf of Mexico and quietly mustering unprecedented strength.
By Tuesday afternoon, Hurricane Opal had taken precedence over everything, rudely changing thoughts, schedules and plans a day before its 80-plus mph winds, altered area buildings and landscape, turning the week upside down for Mrs. Dulac and everyone else.
"I was hearing reports the storm was going to hit, and I felt kind of silly because I had never experienced anything like this," Mrs. Dulac said.
"I told our cleaning lady I had to run to the store because I needed more ice and things like that, and I came back and really felt foolish."
Literally overnight, the hurricane had picked up its forward speed in the Gulf of Mexico and dramatically dropped its barometric pressure.
The drama began Tuesday as the storm continued its path toward the Florida Panhandle.
Wiregrass American Red Cross chapter director Mary Turner calls her volunteers.
At Flowers Hospital, Randy Taylor checks the parking lot to remove any loose objects that could become flying debris, while Dennis does the same at Extendicare Health Center.
The Extendicare assistant administrator has other concerns: his wife is eight months, three weeks pregnant and her doctor tells the couple that the drop in barometric pressure that accompanies a hurricane can sometimes cause premature labor. Kaitlyn Dennis is born nine days after the hurricane on Oct. 13, a day after her parents attended Bob Dylan's hurricane relief concert in the Dothan Civic Center.
Meanwhile, Windham makes storm preparations on his 2,500-acre Skipperville farm. He feeds the cattle early in the day, so they will be on safer ground among the trees during the storm. He also puts all loose objects in the barns and nails down the roofs of his chicken houses.
The real fun begins in Wednesday's early morning hours when a 1:45 a.m. telephone call interrupts Mrs. Turner's sleep, summoning her, disaster services director Irene Hearn and other officials to a meeting at Dothan-Houston County Emergency Management Agency at 2 a.m.
At 8, the first shelter in the area opens at Westgate Recreation Center and the first evacuees begin arriving at 11.
At 9, Hot Country 96.9, which one day earlier had been planning a major promotional contest in conjunction with Wednesday night's Country Music Awards, begins broadcasting hurricane updates every 15 minutes.
By early afternoon, store shelves begin to empty as residents were snatching all the fresh water, batteries and other supplies needed to ride out the storm. Lines of cars are on the highways, especially U.S. 231 South, and at gas pumps.
Emergency rooms are busy during the day, treating accident victims trying to get as far north as possible ahead of the storm. Hospital activity decreases as the hurricane draws closer, said Janie Powell, Marilyn McKissack and Jennifer Johnson, patient care services director, emergency room manager and manager of labor and delivery, respectively.
Meanwhile, the weather had deteriorated. A tornado touches down in Cottonwood and another funnel cloud is spotted near Daleville at Cairns Army Airfield.
At 3 p.m., 96.9 plays its last record and begins wall-to-wall hurricane coverage.
A second shelter opens at 4 p.m. at the Dothan Civic Center. The city's two main shelters - the civic center and Westgate - sheltered more than 700 people that night.
The eye of Hurricane Opal hits Hurlburt Field, near Eglin Air Force Base, Fla., at 5 p.m., packing wind gusts of up to 144 mph. The storm still has much of that punch when it hits the Wiregrass.
By 7 p.m., Opal knocks out electrical power in the area and begins a five-hour assault on the Wiregrass with winds in excess of 80 mph.
In downtown Dothan, as power is interrupted across the Wiregrass, The Dothan Eagle's presses start printing Thursday morning's edition - some five hours earlier than normal in an effort to beat the possible power outage. As the winds and rain pound the area, the newspaper is able to successfully complete its entire press run and newspapers are delivered with few delays across the area as residents survey the damage at sunrise.
Not long after the heaviest winds hit the area, the Dulacs lose one of their two trees at their Girard Avenue home in Dothan. Later that night, they find an oak tree had crashed on top of their carport.
In Headland, a tornado dropped a pecan tree on Dennis Daughtry's mobile home while he's sleeping in the back bedroom about 8:30 p.m. He rushed outside to disconnect his electricity, gas and water and rode out the rest of the storm at a neighbor's home. For months after the hurricane, Daughtry would live in a tent while awaiting FEMA assistance.
During the worst of the storm, the only connection to the outside world is the radio and only two stations were able to continue broadcasting throughout the night. WDJR uses the services of Tom Nebel (then at WTVY and now the station's general manager) and begins taking calls from residents throughout the Wiregrass reporting conditions and damage in their area.
"I'm in Dothan," one of the station's more than 500 callers that night tells WDJR's Jerry Broadway and Mitch English. "It's raining really hard. The wind is blowing. There are trees down. I can tell the power lines are down."
After WTVY was knocked off the air for what is believed to be the first time in the station's 40-year history, Nebel started doing full-time breaks with WDJR. After 7:30 p.m., he remained on the line for the next five hours.
Three or four times during the night, Broadway braves the winds to re-fuel WDJR's generator.
"You haven't lived until you've poured gas in a generator with the wind blowing 90 mph," Broadway said. "But it was scary enough just being in here listening to the wind howl and when our heavy, metal back door blew off between 10-11, it sounded like someone had fired a shotgun at the end of the hall. I thought the roof had caved in on us.
"It was the longest night I've ever spent with the exception of the night my first child was born. It was just a wild night. I'm glad I had the opportunity to do it and I hope I never have the opportunity again."
The next day, crews are busy on the streets with clean-up as residents do the same at their homes. There is little damage to Windham's and wife Bonn's home.
His farm is another story. When he inspects the damage at 4 a.m., following the hurricane, Windham finds one of his 300 cows has been killed, along with almost 2,000 of his 9,000 chickens. There was damage to the roofs of all 10 of his chicken houses. Windham later found a hay barn had been blown into the highway.
"That night, sitting at the house listening to the wind, I had absolutely no idea it was that bad," Windham said. "We had hardly a limb fall out of our pecan trees there. But everywhere else, it was just devastating."
In the shelters, people no longer in fear for their lives now turn their anxieties toward their homes and loved ones.
It was now a matter of cleaning up the damage and trying to get life back to normal. High school football games were played that Friday night and Ozark held its jamboree and rodeo that weekend.
Sunday on the Farm
Ernie Hanks' hands dug deep into the white pail and cast another handful of food to the swampy waters at his home.
It's morning at Swampy Acres in Lenox, Ala., the home of the former 908th Airlift Wing senior recruiter.
The catfish don't know Ernie as Grandpa, as many of his 908th pals called him. To the fish, he's merely the kind man who brings their morning meal.
But as the 64-year-old goes about his morning chores and looks around at the swamp where he built his home 25 years ago, he doesn't just see water with fish snapping up their breakfast, the dirt roads winding through the trees that surround the swamp or even the hawk nest he noticed today, atop his sweetgum tree.
From the blue sky to the darker shade of color on the water, Hanks sees the Air Force Reserve and recalls the trademark line from his days as a 908th recruiter.
"Every day in the Air Force Reserve is like Sun-n-n-day on the farm," Hanks said. "If you'd come by, I probably would've used it on you."
Many of the wing's biggest fish were brought into the 908th by Hanks, such as former senior enlisted advisors, Chief Master Sgt. Billy Grimes and Chief Mater Sgt. Leon Moore, the unit's first black member.
Some of his friends who are still in the 908th miss seeing his face.
"Ernie Hanks is what Johnny Veasey refers to as 'a rainy day friend,'" said Lt. Col. Ed Smith, 908th executive officer. "He's that very special person who'd walk 10 miles at night in the rain to help you out and never tell a soul about it.
"That's the way he served the 908th and that's the way he lives his private life. Being considered a friend of Ernie's is one of life's blessings," Smith said.
Hanks became one of the 908th's most colorful characters, particularly in his later years when he became known for his outgoing personality and lack of hair. His closest friends goodnaturedly called him "Baldy" and "Grandpa," but he never cared.
"I've always been picked on about my bald head since I lost my hair when I was 21," he said. "But what you do is use that for an asset and people will always remember you. I've been called Curly, Baldy, Grandpa, but they'll always remember the old, bald-headed man."
Hanks' military career began in 1950 and he spent almost four years in Bermuda, where he met his wife Angie during the Korean War.
For the better part of 25 years, he spent his Sundays in the 908th after joining the unit at Bates Field in Mobile in 1963.
He left the Reserve for a few years after the 908th moved to Brookley Air Force Base, but came back in after it moved to Maxwell in 1969.
Between the years of 1976 to 1982, Hanks' recruiting office met or exceeded its goal each quarter. In his recruiting, as with other aspects of his life, Hanks relied on a philosophy he learned during his stint as a salesman before returning to the Reserve in 1973.
"You never know how you look until you've had your picture took," he said. "It doesn't have anything to do with pictures. It's just like putting a kid in the Reserve. If he doesn't get in there and try, he'll never know.
"My idea was I didn't put anyone in the 908th who I didn't want to serve with," Hanks said. "There have been too many recruiters in the past who got into the numbers game. It ain't a numbers game. Everybody I put in is a whole person and you've got to treat him like a whole person. And I never had trouble with quotas."
Although Hanks retired as a master sergeant in 1988 to the quiet life at Swampy Acres, some people he brought into the Reserve occasionally call or visit to thank him years later. One even brought him two T-bone steaks to fulfill a promise made to him.
But Hanks also remembers the few who got off his hook.
"The re-enlistments, those are the hurters," Hanks said. "There are guys in my own neighborhood who did not stay and they are the ones who really needed it. I don't even mention it around them."
He has enough to talk about in Swampy Acres. Hanks is affectionately known as "Go-fer" by the local fire department because of his willingness to help out in any way he's needed. He proudly displays that name proudly on his pickup truck's front tag.
Grandpa Hanks would do it for anyone, his wife of 43 years will tell you.
"He just loves people," Angie Hanks said. "He loves to know all about them. And he never meets a stranger. They're all family to him.
"He's always liked being called 'Grandpa' and what it signifies. He would give his last dollar to someone. He's got a heart bigger than himself."
In 1969, Hanks built his house on an 80-acre tract of land in the middle of Brushy Creek Swamp near Lenox, a small town in Conecuh County between Brewton, Evergreen and Monroeville.
People basically laughed when they heard Hanks planned on building his home in the swamp, but they don't laugh now. Swampy Acres has not only his home and the houses of a couple of his children, but also Hanks' beloved "Doghouse," a sort of refugee on the bank of a waterfall.
"They said, 'He's lost his mind,'" Hanks said, laughing. "He's building a house on Brushy Creek Swamp. 'The creek will rise, the rattlesnakes will get you,' they said. 'It couldn't be done,' they said, but we did it."
The sun has now set on the swamp and Hanks is busy with chores he reserves for cooler times of the day. He might work in the yard, cut firewood in cold months or spend time in the garden, where he just planted potatoes and onions.
Wherever he goes on Swampy Acres, Hanks is reminded of his life before retirement. Each time he picks up that white pail for fish feeding, he thinks of the career that fed him the life he now enjoys.
"Everything you see here is because of the Air Force Reserve, so you can appreciate how I feel about the Air Force Reserve.
"The Air Force Reserve is like Sunday on the farm and I've proven that. 'Cause right now, for me every day is like Sunday on the farm. I never do anything I don't want to do. I always take my time and try to enjoy every day, every minute, just like it was my last one."
It's morning at Swampy Acres in Lenox, Ala., the home of the former 908th Airlift Wing senior recruiter.
The catfish don't know Ernie as Grandpa, as many of his 908th pals called him. To the fish, he's merely the kind man who brings their morning meal.
But as the 64-year-old goes about his morning chores and looks around at the swamp where he built his home 25 years ago, he doesn't just see water with fish snapping up their breakfast, the dirt roads winding through the trees that surround the swamp or even the hawk nest he noticed today, atop his sweetgum tree.
From the blue sky to the darker shade of color on the water, Hanks sees the Air Force Reserve and recalls the trademark line from his days as a 908th recruiter.
"Every day in the Air Force Reserve is like Sun-n-n-day on the farm," Hanks said. "If you'd come by, I probably would've used it on you."
Many of the wing's biggest fish were brought into the 908th by Hanks, such as former senior enlisted advisors, Chief Master Sgt. Billy Grimes and Chief Mater Sgt. Leon Moore, the unit's first black member.
Some of his friends who are still in the 908th miss seeing his face.
"Ernie Hanks is what Johnny Veasey refers to as 'a rainy day friend,'" said Lt. Col. Ed Smith, 908th executive officer. "He's that very special person who'd walk 10 miles at night in the rain to help you out and never tell a soul about it.
"That's the way he served the 908th and that's the way he lives his private life. Being considered a friend of Ernie's is one of life's blessings," Smith said.
Hanks became one of the 908th's most colorful characters, particularly in his later years when he became known for his outgoing personality and lack of hair. His closest friends goodnaturedly called him "Baldy" and "Grandpa," but he never cared.
"I've always been picked on about my bald head since I lost my hair when I was 21," he said. "But what you do is use that for an asset and people will always remember you. I've been called Curly, Baldy, Grandpa, but they'll always remember the old, bald-headed man."
Hanks' military career began in 1950 and he spent almost four years in Bermuda, where he met his wife Angie during the Korean War.
For the better part of 25 years, he spent his Sundays in the 908th after joining the unit at Bates Field in Mobile in 1963.
He left the Reserve for a few years after the 908th moved to Brookley Air Force Base, but came back in after it moved to Maxwell in 1969.
Between the years of 1976 to 1982, Hanks' recruiting office met or exceeded its goal each quarter. In his recruiting, as with other aspects of his life, Hanks relied on a philosophy he learned during his stint as a salesman before returning to the Reserve in 1973.
"You never know how you look until you've had your picture took," he said. "It doesn't have anything to do with pictures. It's just like putting a kid in the Reserve. If he doesn't get in there and try, he'll never know.
"My idea was I didn't put anyone in the 908th who I didn't want to serve with," Hanks said. "There have been too many recruiters in the past who got into the numbers game. It ain't a numbers game. Everybody I put in is a whole person and you've got to treat him like a whole person. And I never had trouble with quotas."
Although Hanks retired as a master sergeant in 1988 to the quiet life at Swampy Acres, some people he brought into the Reserve occasionally call or visit to thank him years later. One even brought him two T-bone steaks to fulfill a promise made to him.
But Hanks also remembers the few who got off his hook.
"The re-enlistments, those are the hurters," Hanks said. "There are guys in my own neighborhood who did not stay and they are the ones who really needed it. I don't even mention it around them."
He has enough to talk about in Swampy Acres. Hanks is affectionately known as "Go-fer" by the local fire department because of his willingness to help out in any way he's needed. He proudly displays that name proudly on his pickup truck's front tag.
Grandpa Hanks would do it for anyone, his wife of 43 years will tell you.
"He just loves people," Angie Hanks said. "He loves to know all about them. And he never meets a stranger. They're all family to him.
"He's always liked being called 'Grandpa' and what it signifies. He would give his last dollar to someone. He's got a heart bigger than himself."
In 1969, Hanks built his house on an 80-acre tract of land in the middle of Brushy Creek Swamp near Lenox, a small town in Conecuh County between Brewton, Evergreen and Monroeville.
People basically laughed when they heard Hanks planned on building his home in the swamp, but they don't laugh now. Swampy Acres has not only his home and the houses of a couple of his children, but also Hanks' beloved "Doghouse," a sort of refugee on the bank of a waterfall.
"They said, 'He's lost his mind,'" Hanks said, laughing. "He's building a house on Brushy Creek Swamp. 'The creek will rise, the rattlesnakes will get you,' they said. 'It couldn't be done,' they said, but we did it."
The sun has now set on the swamp and Hanks is busy with chores he reserves for cooler times of the day. He might work in the yard, cut firewood in cold months or spend time in the garden, where he just planted potatoes and onions.
Wherever he goes on Swampy Acres, Hanks is reminded of his life before retirement. Each time he picks up that white pail for fish feeding, he thinks of the career that fed him the life he now enjoys.
"Everything you see here is because of the Air Force Reserve, so you can appreciate how I feel about the Air Force Reserve.
"The Air Force Reserve is like Sunday on the farm and I've proven that. 'Cause right now, for me every day is like Sunday on the farm. I never do anything I don't want to do. I always take my time and try to enjoy every day, every minute, just like it was my last one."
Two Northview Seniors Found Dead in Car Trunk
Tracie Hawlett called home at her curfew time, about 11:30 Saturday night, to tell her mother she and a friend were lost in Ozark on the way home from a party in Headland. The next word her parents heard was the tragic news that they had been found dead on an Ozark roadside.
Witnesses said Hawlett's late-model Mazda 929 was found about 30 yards from the Herring Street-James Street intersection in downtown Ozark, just five blocks from the Dale County Jail, Sunday afternoon.
Sources near the scene said both the bodies of Hawlett and her friend, fellow Northview High School senior J.B. Beasley, were found in the trunk of the car, but the Ozark Police Department was not releasing any information about the crime on Sunday.
Investigators from both the Ozark and Dothan Police Departments, the Alabama Bureau of Investigation and the Dale County Sheriff's Department were on the scene.
Both were 17-year-old students at Northview High School, where on Tuesday they would have begun their senior year at Northview. Instead, their classmates begin the year facing yet another tragedy.
The victims were the third and fourth Northview students to die tragically in the past year. Fifteen-year-old Anthony Bryan is charged with the Feb. 26 murder of his older brother, John David, and the non-fatal shooting of his mother, Paula Bryan. Both brothers were also Northview students.
Adam Gay, a tight end for the Northview Cougars football team, died from injuries sustained in an automobile accident earlier this summer.
When students report to school Tuesday, they will have counseling available if needed, said John Michael Hornsby, Dothan City Schools manager of grants and public information.
"If students need it, we'll provide it," Hornsby said. "You always wonder why something like this happens. All we can do at this point is offer our prayers and support for friends and family."
Darlene Dezso, a therapist with Brightleaf Counseling and Recovery, said the girls' friends and classmates will need time to talk about their feelings of grief and loss. There may even be some guilt and fear, she said.
"They're going to need trauma in-briefing, because they're going to have tremendous shock on top of the impact of the trauma," Dezso said. "They need to keep talking about it with someone who can help de-brief them and separate them from what's happened, how they feel, what they're thinking and how to externalize that.
"It's so much different than your normal grief, although they have to deal with that, too."
Dezso said parents and teachers should look for signs of depression, anxiety, sadness, not being able to function normally, not being able to concentrate, isolation, fear of what's going to happen to them and even survivor guilt.
Within 20 minutes after hearing the latest distressing news Sunday night, Northview band director Tim Gilley was still trying to make sense of the tragedy. Hawlett was a second-year majorette at Northview.
"Of course, your first thoughts go out to the family and what they're going through, their feelings about the tragedy and the loss," Gilley said.
"When you think about tragedies we've suffered at the school in the past, you think it will definitely hit home with our students."
Gilley did not know Beasley, but remembers Hawlett as an "extremely pleasant girl.
"She always had a smile. She had a great sense of humor and was very fun to be around. I think all the students really liked her because of that. I never knew her to be in a bad mood.
"She always seemed happy to see you."
Witnesses said Hawlett's late-model Mazda 929 was found about 30 yards from the Herring Street-James Street intersection in downtown Ozark, just five blocks from the Dale County Jail, Sunday afternoon.
Sources near the scene said both the bodies of Hawlett and her friend, fellow Northview High School senior J.B. Beasley, were found in the trunk of the car, but the Ozark Police Department was not releasing any information about the crime on Sunday.
Investigators from both the Ozark and Dothan Police Departments, the Alabama Bureau of Investigation and the Dale County Sheriff's Department were on the scene.
Both were 17-year-old students at Northview High School, where on Tuesday they would have begun their senior year at Northview. Instead, their classmates begin the year facing yet another tragedy.
The victims were the third and fourth Northview students to die tragically in the past year. Fifteen-year-old Anthony Bryan is charged with the Feb. 26 murder of his older brother, John David, and the non-fatal shooting of his mother, Paula Bryan. Both brothers were also Northview students.
Adam Gay, a tight end for the Northview Cougars football team, died from injuries sustained in an automobile accident earlier this summer.
When students report to school Tuesday, they will have counseling available if needed, said John Michael Hornsby, Dothan City Schools manager of grants and public information.
"If students need it, we'll provide it," Hornsby said. "You always wonder why something like this happens. All we can do at this point is offer our prayers and support for friends and family."
Darlene Dezso, a therapist with Brightleaf Counseling and Recovery, said the girls' friends and classmates will need time to talk about their feelings of grief and loss. There may even be some guilt and fear, she said.
"They're going to need trauma in-briefing, because they're going to have tremendous shock on top of the impact of the trauma," Dezso said. "They need to keep talking about it with someone who can help de-brief them and separate them from what's happened, how they feel, what they're thinking and how to externalize that.
"It's so much different than your normal grief, although they have to deal with that, too."
Dezso said parents and teachers should look for signs of depression, anxiety, sadness, not being able to function normally, not being able to concentrate, isolation, fear of what's going to happen to them and even survivor guilt.
Within 20 minutes after hearing the latest distressing news Sunday night, Northview band director Tim Gilley was still trying to make sense of the tragedy. Hawlett was a second-year majorette at Northview.
"Of course, your first thoughts go out to the family and what they're going through, their feelings about the tragedy and the loss," Gilley said.
"When you think about tragedies we've suffered at the school in the past, you think it will definitely hit home with our students."
Gilley did not know Beasley, but remembers Hawlett as an "extremely pleasant girl.
"She always had a smile. She had a great sense of humor and was very fun to be around. I think all the students really liked her because of that. I never knew her to be in a bad mood.
"She always seemed happy to see you."
Is There Any Peace in the Valley?
Sam Jackson is dreaming again. Sometimes the dreams are comforting. He sees his mother, the late Ruthie Mae Jackson, as all six children like to remember her - cooking a big holiday dinner, hugging her grandchildren or taking a needy stranger into her home.
Other times, the dreams aren't as soothing. He's at his mother's funeral or, as in one instance, she appears to him in the dream, revealing the identity of the person who murdered her in her Dothan home on Easter Sunday in 1996.
The dreams, along with the grief and anger, seem to intensify for the Jackson family during the holidays. Their mother's killer, who remains at large more than a year after the slaying, cast an overwhelmingly dark cloud on at least three holidays for the Jackson family - Easter, Mother's Day and Ruthie Mae Jackson's birthday, Christmas Day.
"Christmas is my mother's birthday and it is a sad time," Jackson said. "Because someone took her life, Christmas just doesn't seem like Christmas. We can't tell Mom happy birthday. We can't tell her we love her. We can't give her a present.
"When we got sick, she was there to nurse us. Christmas, Thanksgiving and Easter are sad times because someone took her life."
Mrs. Jackson, 73, was preparing her Easter Sunday meal in her 1403 E. Adams St., home on April 7, 1996 and had planned to join her daughter Shirley for worship services. Shirley Jackson was waiting on her mother to call her that day, but says "My mama hasn't called me yet."
The Jacksons - Bobby, Early, James (and wife Patricia), Sam Selma and Shirley - live together in a cluster of houses in the Helen community where they were reared by Mrs. Jackson and her former husband Sam. But holidays have not been the same since the murder.
This past Thanksgiving was the first holiday they celebrated together without the family's matriarch. Although the brothers and sisters have drawn strength from each other through the whole ordeal, there were some painfully difficult moments.
"Thanksgiving really got to be bad," Early Jackson said. "Especially when Shirley said, 'Somebody's got to get cooking good like Mama.'"
"I haven't had good food since my mother's been gone," Shirley Jackson said. "We try not to talk about Mama as much and just maintain each other's comfort, even though we know each other's mind is on her."
Dothan Police Department investigators believe Mrs. Jackson's killer was someone she knew and that someone in the neighborhood knows something about the homicide, but have not been able to get anyone to talk. However, Lt. David Kirkland said new information has surfaced that is being investigated.
"We have followed up on every lead that anybody has brought to our attention," Kirkland said. "We're off in another direction right now. We've got what we consider to be some good information. We don't know that it will turn out, but we are pursuing it vigorously.
"This homicide case is like all of our other unsolved homicide cases. They always remain open and assigned to someone. These cases are always on our minds."
Shirley's sister, Selma Jackson, says knowing there are other families who have experienced a similar loss has been one source of comfort. More than 50 people are murdered nationwide each day, which means someone is slain every half hour, according to the Alabama Crime Victims Compensation Commission.
Survivors of homicide victims typically experience a range of emotions, such as shock, anger, sleeping and eating problems, depression and suicidal thoughts, flashbacks and nightmares, guilt and shame, and fantasies of revenge.
One might expect families to pull together when a member is murdered, but that isn't always the case. Families of homicide victims often separate physically and emotionally to avoid talking about their loss.
The Jacksons' Christmas plans are uncertain, but one thing they know is their mother would want her family to remain close, so they're sticking together.
And when they're together, they may not always say the words, but they're all thinking of the person Ruthie Mae Jackson was.
They remember the mother who beamed any time any of her children gave her a gift on Christmas, which also doubled as a birthday. She was especially proud of the stove given to her about five years ago, the same stove that held the last meal she cooked on that fateful Easter Sunday morning.
They remember the phone calls to wish her Happy Birthday and Merry Christmas and the sharing of recipes with her daughters. But mostly they remember Ruthie Mae Jackson as the consummate good Samaritan. Ruthie Mae Jackson saw people much like she looked at her flowers - "She loved them all," Shirley Jackson said.
And her family can't help but think the last person she tried to help just might have seen her killer.
"She would take in anybody who needed a place to stay," Selma Jackson said.
"On Christmas Day, she feeds everybody. Strangers would come in and she didn't ask no questions, just fixes them a plate and feeds them. The one that killed her was probably one that she fed or let in that night."
Holidays only intensify the family's sense of loss. There is no closure. There's not even a sense of safety because they don't know if they may be associating with the murderer.
"I stay here alone," Selma Jackson said. "At night, I used to walk outside, but that person could be watching me now. I used to like to have my curtains open. Now I close them. Maybe he's watching me.
"When I go out driving by myself, I want to be home before dark. You can't trust a stranger because the one you're talking to might be the one who killed her."
Other times, the dreams aren't as soothing. He's at his mother's funeral or, as in one instance, she appears to him in the dream, revealing the identity of the person who murdered her in her Dothan home on Easter Sunday in 1996.
The dreams, along with the grief and anger, seem to intensify for the Jackson family during the holidays. Their mother's killer, who remains at large more than a year after the slaying, cast an overwhelmingly dark cloud on at least three holidays for the Jackson family - Easter, Mother's Day and Ruthie Mae Jackson's birthday, Christmas Day.
"Christmas is my mother's birthday and it is a sad time," Jackson said. "Because someone took her life, Christmas just doesn't seem like Christmas. We can't tell Mom happy birthday. We can't tell her we love her. We can't give her a present.
"When we got sick, she was there to nurse us. Christmas, Thanksgiving and Easter are sad times because someone took her life."
Mrs. Jackson, 73, was preparing her Easter Sunday meal in her 1403 E. Adams St., home on April 7, 1996 and had planned to join her daughter Shirley for worship services. Shirley Jackson was waiting on her mother to call her that day, but says "My mama hasn't called me yet."
The Jacksons - Bobby, Early, James (and wife Patricia), Sam Selma and Shirley - live together in a cluster of houses in the Helen community where they were reared by Mrs. Jackson and her former husband Sam. But holidays have not been the same since the murder.
This past Thanksgiving was the first holiday they celebrated together without the family's matriarch. Although the brothers and sisters have drawn strength from each other through the whole ordeal, there were some painfully difficult moments.
"Thanksgiving really got to be bad," Early Jackson said. "Especially when Shirley said, 'Somebody's got to get cooking good like Mama.'"
"I haven't had good food since my mother's been gone," Shirley Jackson said. "We try not to talk about Mama as much and just maintain each other's comfort, even though we know each other's mind is on her."
Dothan Police Department investigators believe Mrs. Jackson's killer was someone she knew and that someone in the neighborhood knows something about the homicide, but have not been able to get anyone to talk. However, Lt. David Kirkland said new information has surfaced that is being investigated.
"We have followed up on every lead that anybody has brought to our attention," Kirkland said. "We're off in another direction right now. We've got what we consider to be some good information. We don't know that it will turn out, but we are pursuing it vigorously.
"This homicide case is like all of our other unsolved homicide cases. They always remain open and assigned to someone. These cases are always on our minds."
Shirley's sister, Selma Jackson, says knowing there are other families who have experienced a similar loss has been one source of comfort. More than 50 people are murdered nationwide each day, which means someone is slain every half hour, according to the Alabama Crime Victims Compensation Commission.
Survivors of homicide victims typically experience a range of emotions, such as shock, anger, sleeping and eating problems, depression and suicidal thoughts, flashbacks and nightmares, guilt and shame, and fantasies of revenge.
One might expect families to pull together when a member is murdered, but that isn't always the case. Families of homicide victims often separate physically and emotionally to avoid talking about their loss.
The Jacksons' Christmas plans are uncertain, but one thing they know is their mother would want her family to remain close, so they're sticking together.
And when they're together, they may not always say the words, but they're all thinking of the person Ruthie Mae Jackson was.
They remember the mother who beamed any time any of her children gave her a gift on Christmas, which also doubled as a birthday. She was especially proud of the stove given to her about five years ago, the same stove that held the last meal she cooked on that fateful Easter Sunday morning.
They remember the phone calls to wish her Happy Birthday and Merry Christmas and the sharing of recipes with her daughters. But mostly they remember Ruthie Mae Jackson as the consummate good Samaritan. Ruthie Mae Jackson saw people much like she looked at her flowers - "She loved them all," Shirley Jackson said.
And her family can't help but think the last person she tried to help just might have seen her killer.
"She would take in anybody who needed a place to stay," Selma Jackson said.
"On Christmas Day, she feeds everybody. Strangers would come in and she didn't ask no questions, just fixes them a plate and feeds them. The one that killed her was probably one that she fed or let in that night."
Holidays only intensify the family's sense of loss. There is no closure. There's not even a sense of safety because they don't know if they may be associating with the murderer.
"I stay here alone," Selma Jackson said. "At night, I used to walk outside, but that person could be watching me now. I used to like to have my curtains open. Now I close them. Maybe he's watching me.
"When I go out driving by myself, I want to be home before dark. You can't trust a stranger because the one you're talking to might be the one who killed her."
Saturday, May 17, 2014
David Palmer: Jackson-Olin Two-Sport Star a Hot Property
Peggy Palmer almost ended her son’s football career before it even got started.
David Palmer joined the Jackson-Olin of Birmingham football team as a freshman, three years behind older brother Robert.
The newspapers couldn’t resist the temptation of pitting brother against brother from the standpoint of competition.
“I never thought we were competing against each other, but he thought we were competing,” Palmer said. “Robert said in the papers something about our competition, and our momma found out and was going to put us both off the team.
“So we just decided to go out there and play ball and stop competing with each other.”
His main competition now lies in which sport he wants to play. Palmer hopes to play both football and baseball on the collegiate level.
Palmer, a 5-foot-8, 170-pound speedster, says he models many of his baseball and football feats after Atlanta Falcons defensive back Deion Sanders, but tries to be unlike the flamboyant two-sport star in at least one characteristic.
“I like Deion a lot,” Palmer said. “He’s my idol. But I’m not a cocky person. I think Deion does what he does just to get some publicity.
“What I like about him is what he does on the field. I still haven’t dreamed of making it in pro baseball or football. I guess, if I make it, I make it.”
Then again, when Palmer first learned he was blessed with lightning speed (4.5 in the 40-yard-dash) and elusiveness, he never dreamed he would be in the position he’s in right now. Palmer is considered by many to be the top prospect in the state. He has already visited Pittsburgh and is still considering Alabama, Auburn, Florida State and Arkansas. He doesn’t plan on making any more visits because he’s currently playing on the Jackson-Olin basketball team. Palmer also doesn’t intend on committing to anyone before signing on Feb. 6.
Jackson-Olin’s other prospect, wide receiver Vincent Davis (6-2, 190), accompanied Palmer on the trip to Pittsburgh. Davis, who has 4.4 speed, is also reportedly considering Alabama, Auburn, Florida, Florida State, Arkansas and Nebraska.
Palmer’s numbers are definitely impressive. Jackson-Olin head coach Earl Cheatham used his speed demon in virtually every conceivable capacity. Palmer, playing quarterback, tailback, wide receiver and defensive back, rushed for 2,119 yards and 26 touchdowns, while passing for 1,600 yards and 16 touchdowns.
Palmer, who has carried the nickname “Poppa Cherry” since it was given to him by his grandmother in early childhood, says three factors will weigh heavily in his decision.
First, he wants to play wide receiver, not defensive back, which is where some recruiters have insisted on putting him because of his size.
“The coaching staff is really important to me,” Palmer said. “I want them to be nice, like all of my coaches so far have been.
“I also want to go somewhere where they throw a lot. Some schools want me at defensive back, but I want to play on the offensive side. I want to play receiver, return kicks, play running back, some mainly on toss sweeps, sort of like Notre Dame used the Rocket (Raghib Ismail).”
Secondly, Palmer is concerned about his education. He has a 2.9 grade point average and is waiting on his ACT score. He hopes to teach mathematics if his football or baseball career doesn’t work out professionally for him.
Finally, the school Palmer commits to must be willing to allow him to play both sports.
Palmer led Jackson-Olin to its best season ever in 1990, as the Mustangs reeled of seven straight wins in compiling a 9-2 record. The seven-game winning streak and nine victories are both school records.
Needless to say, Palmer’s total of 3,719 yards of offense was by far the most productive season for a Jackson-Olin player.
Those kinds of statistics can make life fairly harrowing for a teenager who just happens to have uncanny athletic ability. Peggy Palmer, who raised both of her sons by herself, says the pressure sometimes gets to be too much.
“It’s been getting kind of rough,” she said. “Everybody wants David to make his decision. They can’t make it for him. He’s got to do it on his own, in his own way.
“I feel all right about it. It’s awfully hard for him to decide, but I told him whatever school he picks is fine with me. I never thought he’d be like this. His uncle always told him he’d be a pro one day. It seems like he’s on his way.”
David Palmer joined the Jackson-Olin of Birmingham football team as a freshman, three years behind older brother Robert.
The newspapers couldn’t resist the temptation of pitting brother against brother from the standpoint of competition.
“I never thought we were competing against each other, but he thought we were competing,” Palmer said. “Robert said in the papers something about our competition, and our momma found out and was going to put us both off the team.
“So we just decided to go out there and play ball and stop competing with each other.”
His main competition now lies in which sport he wants to play. Palmer hopes to play both football and baseball on the collegiate level.
Palmer, a 5-foot-8, 170-pound speedster, says he models many of his baseball and football feats after Atlanta Falcons defensive back Deion Sanders, but tries to be unlike the flamboyant two-sport star in at least one characteristic.
“I like Deion a lot,” Palmer said. “He’s my idol. But I’m not a cocky person. I think Deion does what he does just to get some publicity.
“What I like about him is what he does on the field. I still haven’t dreamed of making it in pro baseball or football. I guess, if I make it, I make it.”
Then again, when Palmer first learned he was blessed with lightning speed (4.5 in the 40-yard-dash) and elusiveness, he never dreamed he would be in the position he’s in right now. Palmer is considered by many to be the top prospect in the state. He has already visited Pittsburgh and is still considering Alabama, Auburn, Florida State and Arkansas. He doesn’t plan on making any more visits because he’s currently playing on the Jackson-Olin basketball team. Palmer also doesn’t intend on committing to anyone before signing on Feb. 6.
Jackson-Olin’s other prospect, wide receiver Vincent Davis (6-2, 190), accompanied Palmer on the trip to Pittsburgh. Davis, who has 4.4 speed, is also reportedly considering Alabama, Auburn, Florida, Florida State, Arkansas and Nebraska.
Palmer’s numbers are definitely impressive. Jackson-Olin head coach Earl Cheatham used his speed demon in virtually every conceivable capacity. Palmer, playing quarterback, tailback, wide receiver and defensive back, rushed for 2,119 yards and 26 touchdowns, while passing for 1,600 yards and 16 touchdowns.
Palmer, who has carried the nickname “Poppa Cherry” since it was given to him by his grandmother in early childhood, says three factors will weigh heavily in his decision.
First, he wants to play wide receiver, not defensive back, which is where some recruiters have insisted on putting him because of his size.
“The coaching staff is really important to me,” Palmer said. “I want them to be nice, like all of my coaches so far have been.
“I also want to go somewhere where they throw a lot. Some schools want me at defensive back, but I want to play on the offensive side. I want to play receiver, return kicks, play running back, some mainly on toss sweeps, sort of like Notre Dame used the Rocket (Raghib Ismail).”
Secondly, Palmer is concerned about his education. He has a 2.9 grade point average and is waiting on his ACT score. He hopes to teach mathematics if his football or baseball career doesn’t work out professionally for him.
Finally, the school Palmer commits to must be willing to allow him to play both sports.
Palmer led Jackson-Olin to its best season ever in 1990, as the Mustangs reeled of seven straight wins in compiling a 9-2 record. The seven-game winning streak and nine victories are both school records.
Needless to say, Palmer’s total of 3,719 yards of offense was by far the most productive season for a Jackson-Olin player.
Those kinds of statistics can make life fairly harrowing for a teenager who just happens to have uncanny athletic ability. Peggy Palmer, who raised both of her sons by herself, says the pressure sometimes gets to be too much.
“It’s been getting kind of rough,” she said. “Everybody wants David to make his decision. They can’t make it for him. He’s got to do it on his own, in his own way.
“I feel all right about it. It’s awfully hard for him to decide, but I told him whatever school he picks is fine with me. I never thought he’d be like this. His uncle always told him he’d be a pro one day. It seems like he’s on his way.”
Outdoors Is Just Part of the Office for Park Ranger
In Vicky Zinner’s office in the outdoors, she will often see her share of birds, fish and even a few armadillos.
Every once in a while, an alligator or snake might cross her path. But they’re all part of the nature Ms. Zinner loves – and that beats the time spent in her indoor office any day.
But being the manager of Chattahoochee State Park requires spending time in both offices, as well as being able to perform a wide range of duties.
“I am the clerk, bookkeeper, receptionist, groundskeeper or whatever the need may be,” she said. “I do all the necessary work for the Montgomery office, as well as some outside work, although I do have some very good help (maintenance worker Trey Meyers) for the outside grounds keeping.
“Unfortunately, we don’t have the pleasure here of having an employee for every job like the bigger parks. Here, we try to do it all and do the best we can with what we’ve got. So the duties vary drastically from law enforcement to being ready for anything.”
Ms. Zinner, who has been manager of the park in the southeast corner of Houston County since January, came to Chattahoochee State Park from Gulf State Park in Gulf Shores.
In 1989, she became the first woman to take on the position of park ranger.
Although part of the park ranger’s job is enforcing the law in the park, Ms. Zinner said her first priority is educating the lawbreaker. So far, that aspect of her job has been quiet at Houston County’s only state park, but she expects that to change during hunting season.
“Although here at Chattahoochee, I don’t use my law enforcement abilities as much because the need out there as with the bigger parks,” Ms. Zinner said. “I still have to be alert and ready at all times for lawbreakers, whether it is someone illegally hunting, fishing without a license, speeding, or not stopping to pay at the honor box ($1),” she said.
“Unlike law enforcement with the city and county, it’s not a cuff ‘em and stuff ‘em situation. A park ranger should first try to educate the public and let them know what they have done wrong and how it can hurt the environment.
“However, if this does not work, then you cuff ‘em and stuff ‘em, but only as a last resort. A park ranger should always try to be a good role model, as most of the time they are associated with Smokey the Bear and Ranger Rick.”
The park, located on the Florida state line 25 miles southeast of Dothan off Highway 84 East, was originally the site of a Civilian Conservation Corps Camp and is still called the CCC park by the area’s older residents.
Last year, almost 4,000 people visited the park’s 596 wooded acres and its 15-acre lake stocked with bass, bream, shell cracker and pike.
There are also a number of hiking trails, and deer sightings are common. There are also raccoons, opossums, squirrels, fox, coyotes, wild turkeys and turtles.
During her time at Gulf State Park, Ms. Zinner spent much more of her time handling DUIs and answering medical calls by saving swimmers who had ventured too far in the gulf.
Chattahoochee State Park is a smaller park, and the park manager likes it that way.
“I like being a ranger here at Chattahoochee State Park because it is a small park, and the people in the community have been wonderful,” she said.
“Most of the people who use the park are locals and come to relax and catch some fish. (At Gulf State Park), you were always living other people’s vacations. Here, people are more relaxed and just glad it’s their weekend.”
Every once in a while, an alligator or snake might cross her path. But they’re all part of the nature Ms. Zinner loves – and that beats the time spent in her indoor office any day.
But being the manager of Chattahoochee State Park requires spending time in both offices, as well as being able to perform a wide range of duties.
“I am the clerk, bookkeeper, receptionist, groundskeeper or whatever the need may be,” she said. “I do all the necessary work for the Montgomery office, as well as some outside work, although I do have some very good help (maintenance worker Trey Meyers) for the outside grounds keeping.
“Unfortunately, we don’t have the pleasure here of having an employee for every job like the bigger parks. Here, we try to do it all and do the best we can with what we’ve got. So the duties vary drastically from law enforcement to being ready for anything.”
Ms. Zinner, who has been manager of the park in the southeast corner of Houston County since January, came to Chattahoochee State Park from Gulf State Park in Gulf Shores.
In 1989, she became the first woman to take on the position of park ranger.
Although part of the park ranger’s job is enforcing the law in the park, Ms. Zinner said her first priority is educating the lawbreaker. So far, that aspect of her job has been quiet at Houston County’s only state park, but she expects that to change during hunting season.
“Although here at Chattahoochee, I don’t use my law enforcement abilities as much because the need out there as with the bigger parks,” Ms. Zinner said. “I still have to be alert and ready at all times for lawbreakers, whether it is someone illegally hunting, fishing without a license, speeding, or not stopping to pay at the honor box ($1),” she said.
“Unlike law enforcement with the city and county, it’s not a cuff ‘em and stuff ‘em situation. A park ranger should first try to educate the public and let them know what they have done wrong and how it can hurt the environment.
“However, if this does not work, then you cuff ‘em and stuff ‘em, but only as a last resort. A park ranger should always try to be a good role model, as most of the time they are associated with Smokey the Bear and Ranger Rick.”
The park, located on the Florida state line 25 miles southeast of Dothan off Highway 84 East, was originally the site of a Civilian Conservation Corps Camp and is still called the CCC park by the area’s older residents.
Last year, almost 4,000 people visited the park’s 596 wooded acres and its 15-acre lake stocked with bass, bream, shell cracker and pike.
There are also a number of hiking trails, and deer sightings are common. There are also raccoons, opossums, squirrels, fox, coyotes, wild turkeys and turtles.
During her time at Gulf State Park, Ms. Zinner spent much more of her time handling DUIs and answering medical calls by saving swimmers who had ventured too far in the gulf.
Chattahoochee State Park is a smaller park, and the park manager likes it that way.
“I like being a ranger here at Chattahoochee State Park because it is a small park, and the people in the community have been wonderful,” she said.
“Most of the people who use the park are locals and come to relax and catch some fish. (At Gulf State Park), you were always living other people’s vacations. Here, people are more relaxed and just glad it’s their weekend.”
Snake Hunters Bite the Bullet to Find Top-Notch Rattlers for Rodeo
They are not the typical hunter’s weapons, but Jimmy Jones has had his share of success with a piece of water hose, forked stick, duffel bag, gloves, three-pronged hook and a shard of broken glass.
This assorted equipment might not stop a bear, a deer or even a quail, but it has helped Jones catch hundreds of rattlesnakes in the past 34 years.
Jones, who retired from the conservation department in 1994, was still in high school when he caught his first rattlesnake. The noise the snake released from inside its gopher hole caught him by surprise, even though he’d been warned.
This particular noise was not the rattlesnake’s infamous rattle and hiss, but the blowing sound it makes from inside a hole. When the snake feels threatened, it will usually expand its body size to try to intimidate a potential predator. Often, the next warning would be the familiar rattlesnake rattle and hiss.
But Jones learned early it can make just as intimidating a noise from inside the gopher hole, where most rattlesnake hunters concentrate their efforts.
“They told me how they would sound in a gopher hole when they feel threatened,” Jones said while en route to one of the Dale County farms where he hunts for rattlers almost every February for Opp’s annual Rattlesnake Rodeo, scheduled this year for March 1-2 at Channell-Lee Stadium.
“They said the snake would blow 10 times louder than a gopher,” Jones said. “There’s no mistaking the sound, but in my mind I was wondering if I would be able to tell.
“When I heard it, I jumped away from the hole. If you prod him with the hose, he will usually blow up three or four times. About the second time, he will start rattling. He’s telling you, ‘You don’t understand. This is a rattlesnake you’re messing with.’”
Jones became interested in hunting rattlesnakes through his father, J.P. Jones, who started the Rattlesnake Rodeo in 1958. Now 76, his father still hunts snakes, and his son owns the rodeo record for the largest rattlesnake with the 13.8 pounder he caught in 1983.
This year, Jones and his rattler hunter partner, Brad Gavins, have not been able to hit farms in Dale, Geneva and Houston counties as they do most years in the month before the rodeo.
Jones owns Rattlers Taxidermy in Ozark and a deer meat processing business, in addition to his farm, so he has not been able to break away to hit the gopher holes as he’s done almost annually since high school.
They have caught as many as 40 to 50 snakes in one day of hunting, which begins before daybreak and doesn’t end until dark. But an average day nets 15 to 20 catches, he said. When the duo hunts throughout the month of February, they will usually supply the rodeo with 75 to 125 rattlesnakes. Generally, any rattlesnake less than 4 feet in length is released.
Rattler hunting in February can make for long, tough days, Jones said.
“It’s not easy,” he said. “You’re in thick brush and briar patches. I sometimes wonder how many miles we’ve walked in one day.”
Even while at Auburn University, where Jones was a scholarship place-kicker and was nicknamed “Rattler” Jones, he continued to find specimens for the Rattlesnake Rodeo. He even kept one alive in his Sewell Hall athletic dormitory room until the late Coach Ralph “Shug” Jordan made him take it home.
Rattlesnake round-ups, especially the wilder varieties in the Southwest, have drawn unwanted attention from some environmental groups.
Some say the hunters are depleting the supply of rattlesnakes, even though Opp’s Rattlesnake Rodeo began because too many hunting dogs were bitten in the late 1950s.
After 38 years of rattlesnake hunting in the area, Jones said the South’s most infamous reptile is in no danger of extinction.
“We’ve been hunting on mostly farms in the same area for 10 years, and we still catch just as many as we did then,” Jones said. “Some years, we’ll hit a farm, and they’ll produce eight to 10, the next year, we may not find any, five the next year, and 15 the next. Snakes move around sometimes.
“I’ve talked to several biologists, and they tell me only 10 percent of the rattlesnakes are in gopher holes, and we only go for gopher holes. So how are we going to deplete them?”
Jones himself likes to teach a healthy respect for the rattlesnake, but tries to dissuade irrational fears that have been passed through generations.
“When I used to give hunter safety classes in schools, I told them, ‘If your parents always told you not to go out without a cap because a mockingbird would hurt you, you’d grow up afraid of mockingbirds.’
“I told them don’t be afraid of rattlesnakes. Just respect them. There’s no rattlesnake alive that can strike from more than 10 feet away.”
This assorted equipment might not stop a bear, a deer or even a quail, but it has helped Jones catch hundreds of rattlesnakes in the past 34 years.
Jones, who retired from the conservation department in 1994, was still in high school when he caught his first rattlesnake. The noise the snake released from inside its gopher hole caught him by surprise, even though he’d been warned.
This particular noise was not the rattlesnake’s infamous rattle and hiss, but the blowing sound it makes from inside a hole. When the snake feels threatened, it will usually expand its body size to try to intimidate a potential predator. Often, the next warning would be the familiar rattlesnake rattle and hiss.
But Jones learned early it can make just as intimidating a noise from inside the gopher hole, where most rattlesnake hunters concentrate their efforts.
“They told me how they would sound in a gopher hole when they feel threatened,” Jones said while en route to one of the Dale County farms where he hunts for rattlers almost every February for Opp’s annual Rattlesnake Rodeo, scheduled this year for March 1-2 at Channell-Lee Stadium.
“They said the snake would blow 10 times louder than a gopher,” Jones said. “There’s no mistaking the sound, but in my mind I was wondering if I would be able to tell.
“When I heard it, I jumped away from the hole. If you prod him with the hose, he will usually blow up three or four times. About the second time, he will start rattling. He’s telling you, ‘You don’t understand. This is a rattlesnake you’re messing with.’”
Jones became interested in hunting rattlesnakes through his father, J.P. Jones, who started the Rattlesnake Rodeo in 1958. Now 76, his father still hunts snakes, and his son owns the rodeo record for the largest rattlesnake with the 13.8 pounder he caught in 1983.
This year, Jones and his rattler hunter partner, Brad Gavins, have not been able to hit farms in Dale, Geneva and Houston counties as they do most years in the month before the rodeo.
Jones owns Rattlers Taxidermy in Ozark and a deer meat processing business, in addition to his farm, so he has not been able to break away to hit the gopher holes as he’s done almost annually since high school.
They have caught as many as 40 to 50 snakes in one day of hunting, which begins before daybreak and doesn’t end until dark. But an average day nets 15 to 20 catches, he said. When the duo hunts throughout the month of February, they will usually supply the rodeo with 75 to 125 rattlesnakes. Generally, any rattlesnake less than 4 feet in length is released.
Rattler hunting in February can make for long, tough days, Jones said.
“It’s not easy,” he said. “You’re in thick brush and briar patches. I sometimes wonder how many miles we’ve walked in one day.”
Even while at Auburn University, where Jones was a scholarship place-kicker and was nicknamed “Rattler” Jones, he continued to find specimens for the Rattlesnake Rodeo. He even kept one alive in his Sewell Hall athletic dormitory room until the late Coach Ralph “Shug” Jordan made him take it home.
Rattlesnake round-ups, especially the wilder varieties in the Southwest, have drawn unwanted attention from some environmental groups.
Some say the hunters are depleting the supply of rattlesnakes, even though Opp’s Rattlesnake Rodeo began because too many hunting dogs were bitten in the late 1950s.
After 38 years of rattlesnake hunting in the area, Jones said the South’s most infamous reptile is in no danger of extinction.
“We’ve been hunting on mostly farms in the same area for 10 years, and we still catch just as many as we did then,” Jones said. “Some years, we’ll hit a farm, and they’ll produce eight to 10, the next year, we may not find any, five the next year, and 15 the next. Snakes move around sometimes.
“I’ve talked to several biologists, and they tell me only 10 percent of the rattlesnakes are in gopher holes, and we only go for gopher holes. So how are we going to deplete them?”
Jones himself likes to teach a healthy respect for the rattlesnake, but tries to dissuade irrational fears that have been passed through generations.
“When I used to give hunter safety classes in schools, I told them, ‘If your parents always told you not to go out without a cap because a mockingbird would hurt you, you’d grow up afraid of mockingbirds.’
“I told them don’t be afraid of rattlesnakes. Just respect them. There’s no rattlesnake alive that can strike from more than 10 feet away.”
Tide Quarterback Position up for Grabs
On the same field Peyton Manning was putting up unprecedented numbers against the Alabama defense, the Crimson Tide’s offense found itself searching for a quarterback.
Freddie Kitchens’ opportunity came early Saturday night against Tennessee, and he helped the Tide offense make some noise in the first half. Unfortunately for Kitchens and Alabama, a 21-0 first quarter deficit and a Vols team tired of a nine-year drought against the Crimson Tide proved out of reach, especially for an offense that has struggled through its first seven games.
Kitchens said the Vols’ defense threw nothing at Alabama the Tide didn’t expect. It was a game that was full of big plays, the overwhelming majority by the visiting Vols.
“It was a lot of what we were doing,” Kitchens said. “They didn’t do one thing we shouldn’t have been able to handle.
“We came in the second half trying to get back into the thing, but we didn’t do it.”
Alabama coach Gene Stallings wasted little time making the quarterback change once Tennessee shocked the Tide, scoring on its first offensive play – an 80-yard pass and run from Manning to Alabama native Joey Kent. Two touchdowns later, Stallings inserted Kitchens for starter Brian Burgdorf, who had completed 4 of 5 passes for 24 yards, but failed to move the offense on its first two possessions. Kitchens finished with 20 completions in 43 attempts and one touchdown – a 20-yard pass to Chad Key in the second quarter.
Kitchens also threw three interceptions and was sacked six times.
Manning was 20 of 29 for 301 yards and three touchdowns. He also scored on a 1-yard sneak. The 41-14 win was Tennessee’s largest margin of victory over Alabama since the 1969 win by the same margin.
Stallings said right now, Alabama has no starting quarterback, as the Tide prepares for Ole Miss in Oxford this week.
“We are back at square one as far as the quarterback situation is concerned,” Stallings said. “We will re-evaluate at practice and go with the best player.”
Kitchens was able to spark the Tide offense, moving Alabama to the Tennessee 10 before a hit by Jesse Sanders forced his fumble. On the next possession, he led the Tide to its first score, a 20-yard touchdown pass to Key that temporarily cut the Vols’ lead to 21-7.
But a missed field goal late in the first half gave Manning another opportunity before halftime, and the Vols made it count. His 30-yard touchdown pass to Marcus Nash with 43 seconds remaining again made it a three-touchdown deficit. Alabama would get no closer than two touchdowns before the Vols pulled away in the second half.
“They had all the big plays,” said freshman running back Montoya Madden, who scored Alabama’s second touchdown on a 15-yard run late in the third quarter. “I mean it, all the big plays.
“When we would make a big play, they would match it. They kept coming at us, and it took the air out. The touchdown didn’t mean a thing.”
Tennessee right linebacker Scott Galyon said the Vols never assumed they had the game won until the end, especially after suffering through two of the Vols’ eight losses since 1985 against Alabama.
“To some extent, I was surprised at how we were able to put them away,” Galyon said. “But no one on this team took Alabama for granted. Even though their offense hadn’t put up a lot of points, we knew they were capable of doing it.
“Tonight, we were able to get some sacks, pressures and created turnovers. The last two years, we felt coming in, we had the better team, and this year we were finally able to get one.”
Freddie Kitchens’ opportunity came early Saturday night against Tennessee, and he helped the Tide offense make some noise in the first half. Unfortunately for Kitchens and Alabama, a 21-0 first quarter deficit and a Vols team tired of a nine-year drought against the Crimson Tide proved out of reach, especially for an offense that has struggled through its first seven games.
Kitchens said the Vols’ defense threw nothing at Alabama the Tide didn’t expect. It was a game that was full of big plays, the overwhelming majority by the visiting Vols.
“It was a lot of what we were doing,” Kitchens said. “They didn’t do one thing we shouldn’t have been able to handle.
“We came in the second half trying to get back into the thing, but we didn’t do it.”
Alabama coach Gene Stallings wasted little time making the quarterback change once Tennessee shocked the Tide, scoring on its first offensive play – an 80-yard pass and run from Manning to Alabama native Joey Kent. Two touchdowns later, Stallings inserted Kitchens for starter Brian Burgdorf, who had completed 4 of 5 passes for 24 yards, but failed to move the offense on its first two possessions. Kitchens finished with 20 completions in 43 attempts and one touchdown – a 20-yard pass to Chad Key in the second quarter.
Kitchens also threw three interceptions and was sacked six times.
Manning was 20 of 29 for 301 yards and three touchdowns. He also scored on a 1-yard sneak. The 41-14 win was Tennessee’s largest margin of victory over Alabama since the 1969 win by the same margin.
Stallings said right now, Alabama has no starting quarterback, as the Tide prepares for Ole Miss in Oxford this week.
“We are back at square one as far as the quarterback situation is concerned,” Stallings said. “We will re-evaluate at practice and go with the best player.”
Kitchens was able to spark the Tide offense, moving Alabama to the Tennessee 10 before a hit by Jesse Sanders forced his fumble. On the next possession, he led the Tide to its first score, a 20-yard touchdown pass to Key that temporarily cut the Vols’ lead to 21-7.
But a missed field goal late in the first half gave Manning another opportunity before halftime, and the Vols made it count. His 30-yard touchdown pass to Marcus Nash with 43 seconds remaining again made it a three-touchdown deficit. Alabama would get no closer than two touchdowns before the Vols pulled away in the second half.
“They had all the big plays,” said freshman running back Montoya Madden, who scored Alabama’s second touchdown on a 15-yard run late in the third quarter. “I mean it, all the big plays.
“When we would make a big play, they would match it. They kept coming at us, and it took the air out. The touchdown didn’t mean a thing.”
Tennessee right linebacker Scott Galyon said the Vols never assumed they had the game won until the end, especially after suffering through two of the Vols’ eight losses since 1985 against Alabama.
“To some extent, I was surprised at how we were able to put them away,” Galyon said. “But no one on this team took Alabama for granted. Even though their offense hadn’t put up a lot of points, we knew they were capable of doing it.
“Tonight, we were able to get some sacks, pressures and created turnovers. The last two years, we felt coming in, we had the better team, and this year we were finally able to get one.”
Overcoming Adversity MS Victim Realizes Dream of Coaching Baseball
Houston County High School’s baseball team hasn’t hit a lucky streak in Bill Lovrich’s first season at the school. But the coach tells himself wins will come.
He also knows the mere fact that he’s back on the baseball field is a victory itself.
The 34-year-old Lovrich has multiple sclerosis.
“Every morning, I wake up and check to see if my eyes open and if my hands work,” he said. “If they work, I say, ‘Thank goodness. The day’s going to be good.’
“Every day is an adventure.”
But the days are also often long. His wife Annette said Lovrich usually gets out of bed at 5:10 a.m., leaves their home near Wicksburg at 6:20 for work in Columbia, and there are nights he doesn’t get in until after 11:30 p.m. He also must give himself injections of Betaseron every other day.
Lovrich played baseball at Jacksonville State University and comes from a family of baseball coaches. His father Frank, a former vice president of Troy State University at Dothan, was also head coach at JSU. His brother Marty is an assistant at Auburn University at Montgomery.
About one-third of Americans, including comedian Richard Pryor, have been diagnosed with MS. Multiple sclerosis is a chronic, often disabling disease of the central nervous system, according to the Multiple Sclerosis Society Alabama Chapter in Birmingham.
Symptoms may be mild, such as numbness in the limbs, or severe, causing paralysis or loss of vision. Most people are diagnosed between the ages of 20 and 40.
The diagnosis was tough for Lovrich’s family, especially his brother and his wife. But it as Annette Lovrich who helped bring her husband out and take a positive attitude toward his disease.
“I was driving my family crazy,” he said. “She was the one who helped bring me out of my depression.”
“He went through almost a three-year period of really being negative,” Annette said. “Basically, I just told him I wasn’t going to let it control my life, and he needed to take a different outlook.
“He had to have adequate time to go through all those emotions to deal with it. But there also comes a time when enough is enough. After all of the changes in our lives from the time he began teaching and coaching, he’s gotten back to being more of the person I originally got to know.”
Lovrich’s problems began in October 1995 when he felt numbness in his left arm while working on the Cubmobile Derby for the recreation department. By the next morning, the sensation had spread across his chest and back, and he thought he might be suffering a heart attack or stroke.
Doctors first thought it might be a pinched nerve, then maybe carpal tunnel syndrome, but the symptoms worsened as the couple was on the way to spend Christmas with Annette’s family in Boone, N.C.
Neurologist Dr. Alan Prince was the first to mention MS, and the diagnosis was confirmed by Dr. John Whitaker at the University of Alabama at Birmingham’s Kirklin Clinic.
“I didn’t know what my future was,” Lovrich said. “I thought I might be in a wheelchair. I certainly never thought I’d be coaching again.”
Although Lovrich feels fortunate to have the relapse remitting form of the disease (meaning the symptoms go from active to dormant), his diagnosis eight years ago forced him into a career change. He had to give up his job in the recreation department, which demanded he spend much of the day in the heat, and decided he wanted to teach.
So Lovrich went to Montgomery and shared an apartment with his brother while he worked as an AUM baseball assistant coach and earned his master’s degree in 1996.
“That was when he became like a big brother to me,” Lovrich said.
He first landed substitute teaching jobs in Headland and Enterprise before he took a teacher-coach position at New Brockton. There, he led the Gamecocks to its first winning season in its baseball history. He moved on to Columbia last year.
Lovrich describes himself as an intense coach. In his first year at Houston County, the team defeated Ashford for the first time in several years, although the season has gone somewhat sour since.
But Lovrich is learning to keep the game in perspective. The past couple of years have taught him that.
“I like to let the team know it’s not life or death,” he said. “There was a time when I was playing when I thought the game was life or death and had to learn it’s just fun.
“When you’re young and an athlete, you think your body’s going to last forever. Now I listen when my body tells me it’s time to slow down. Even though I’m pretty healthy, I know something can go wrong at any time. It’s like a time bomb – you just don’t know when it will happen.
“So I want to be positive, upbeat and be the best teacher, coach and husband I can be.”
He also knows the mere fact that he’s back on the baseball field is a victory itself.
The 34-year-old Lovrich has multiple sclerosis.
“Every morning, I wake up and check to see if my eyes open and if my hands work,” he said. “If they work, I say, ‘Thank goodness. The day’s going to be good.’
“Every day is an adventure.”
But the days are also often long. His wife Annette said Lovrich usually gets out of bed at 5:10 a.m., leaves their home near Wicksburg at 6:20 for work in Columbia, and there are nights he doesn’t get in until after 11:30 p.m. He also must give himself injections of Betaseron every other day.
Lovrich played baseball at Jacksonville State University and comes from a family of baseball coaches. His father Frank, a former vice president of Troy State University at Dothan, was also head coach at JSU. His brother Marty is an assistant at Auburn University at Montgomery.
About one-third of Americans, including comedian Richard Pryor, have been diagnosed with MS. Multiple sclerosis is a chronic, often disabling disease of the central nervous system, according to the Multiple Sclerosis Society Alabama Chapter in Birmingham.
Symptoms may be mild, such as numbness in the limbs, or severe, causing paralysis or loss of vision. Most people are diagnosed between the ages of 20 and 40.
The diagnosis was tough for Lovrich’s family, especially his brother and his wife. But it as Annette Lovrich who helped bring her husband out and take a positive attitude toward his disease.
“I was driving my family crazy,” he said. “She was the one who helped bring me out of my depression.”
“He went through almost a three-year period of really being negative,” Annette said. “Basically, I just told him I wasn’t going to let it control my life, and he needed to take a different outlook.
“He had to have adequate time to go through all those emotions to deal with it. But there also comes a time when enough is enough. After all of the changes in our lives from the time he began teaching and coaching, he’s gotten back to being more of the person I originally got to know.”
Lovrich’s problems began in October 1995 when he felt numbness in his left arm while working on the Cubmobile Derby for the recreation department. By the next morning, the sensation had spread across his chest and back, and he thought he might be suffering a heart attack or stroke.
Doctors first thought it might be a pinched nerve, then maybe carpal tunnel syndrome, but the symptoms worsened as the couple was on the way to spend Christmas with Annette’s family in Boone, N.C.
Neurologist Dr. Alan Prince was the first to mention MS, and the diagnosis was confirmed by Dr. John Whitaker at the University of Alabama at Birmingham’s Kirklin Clinic.
“I didn’t know what my future was,” Lovrich said. “I thought I might be in a wheelchair. I certainly never thought I’d be coaching again.”
Although Lovrich feels fortunate to have the relapse remitting form of the disease (meaning the symptoms go from active to dormant), his diagnosis eight years ago forced him into a career change. He had to give up his job in the recreation department, which demanded he spend much of the day in the heat, and decided he wanted to teach.
So Lovrich went to Montgomery and shared an apartment with his brother while he worked as an AUM baseball assistant coach and earned his master’s degree in 1996.
“That was when he became like a big brother to me,” Lovrich said.
He first landed substitute teaching jobs in Headland and Enterprise before he took a teacher-coach position at New Brockton. There, he led the Gamecocks to its first winning season in its baseball history. He moved on to Columbia last year.
Lovrich describes himself as an intense coach. In his first year at Houston County, the team defeated Ashford for the first time in several years, although the season has gone somewhat sour since.
But Lovrich is learning to keep the game in perspective. The past couple of years have taught him that.
“I like to let the team know it’s not life or death,” he said. “There was a time when I was playing when I thought the game was life or death and had to learn it’s just fun.
“When you’re young and an athlete, you think your body’s going to last forever. Now I listen when my body tells me it’s time to slow down. Even though I’m pretty healthy, I know something can go wrong at any time. It’s like a time bomb – you just don’t know when it will happen.
“So I want to be positive, upbeat and be the best teacher, coach and husband I can be.”
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)