SHADES AND HUES OF SPRING 2007

A SPECIAL COMMENTARY -- Rough Draft

Original Posted on April 2 and April 3, 2007. This revised version, not designed to make any real sense or have real continuity, was posted April 4, 2007.   SPRING DAYS OF DIFFERENT SHADES   By Toney Atkins       I sat on the pity-pot, toilet tissue in hand to wipe away the tears that would have been falling into my beer if I'd had one to drink. The TV was set to surf between two country music video channels, and the words and pictures of every song and seemed to tell a chapter of my miserable, meaningless life. I could relate to every ode to loving, leaving, cheating, having good old times with good ole boys and girls, living a lusty life and facing death. Trying to be macho, I refused to break down into a gut-wrenching cry, perhaps masochistically relishing the painful mood into which I had allowed myself to crawl.        I also rejoiced in Sunday's dark clouds and their own tears that cleansed the air of dust, dirt and pollen that helped pollut my vision of reality. Easter was a week away, but I saw no were no burning bushes, no crosses superimposed in brilliance and surrounded by angelic choirs anywhere in the dark sky, no blatant reminders of what happened 2,000 years ago. But the grass was green, its thirst quenched by the rains that had fallen; the trees gloriously showed off their new wardrobes of blossoms and leaves; the mountain to my west stood darkly but majestically as it had for heaven knows how many years. All was well in God's world. I could somehow see Him, although not too clearly, as I wallowed in the muck, wondering why personal weights were torturing me so much, so unexpectedly.       That was the weekend. Today (a Monday) started pretty much the same, and it remained hard to see the forest for the trees. Again, I questioned my sanity. The sun was shining and all was bright. Neighbors who had their own real problems were going about their everyday chores, some with smiles and others with grim resignation. Although I hadn't really drunk an alcoholic beverage in more than a year and more than two years before that, I felt like the quivering addict that I had once been (and probably still am), shaking and craving release from the inner pain that no liquid could remove. I couldn't figure out why.       Then spring sprung to life, brought unexpectedly and unselfishly by a young man, a subject of interviews  for website entries, my upcoming book and for other potential commentaries, and with whom I have talked casually over the past year or so since the day we initiated a conversation at his workplace about education, jobs, the armed forces and the general state of the world.        I had long ago grown cynical about the state of today's young men and women after dealing with so many arrogant, self-centered teens and young adults in the seaside resort where I had written for newspapers and entertained in nightclubs for more years than I sometimes care to remember.       Subsequent conversations with this young man changed that image somewhat and gave me greater insight into the dramatic changes that have made kids grow up way too fast in the years since I was 20, 30 -- or even 40 and beyond.        He has the classic Southern charm and personality of a man who is comfortable with where he is and where he's going, and like many others I've observed in north Georgia and southeast Tennessee, still shows a certain amount of courteous respect for his elders that goes beyond just saying "ma'm" or "sir." Like young folks everywhere, he has dealt with peer pressure, and he has been there and done that, but through his own nature has apparently achieved the ability to rise above it and to show a maturity beyond his years while totally enjoying life. He has a positive philosophy about dealing with the everyday, even when the everyday might not be being good to him.       He is in love with a beautiful lady, and it seems they're both fortunate to have each other. Being human, they've had their break-ups, make-ups and get-back-togethers, and all one has to do to admire the love they have for one another is to see the smile that widens whenever he mentions her. He was on his way to see her on this day when he briefly stopped by my place to say hello and to lend a much-needed helping hand. He graciously ignored the fact that I was an obvious mental wreck when he arrived, ignoring (at least for my benefit) the pity-pot.       As his truck pulled away, my spirits surprisingly had lifted. I gathered what I needed to take care of some business, got into the car, turned on my favorite oldies station out of Rossville-Chattanooga and drove to my hometown of Chickamauga, to which I hadn't ventured since my father's funeral there nearly two years ago. Many great memories flooded back as I traveled over familiar roads that I had traveled many times in my youth and young adulthood. The few changes over the years still somehow complemented all that had not changed.       The day was indeed so bright I had to wear shades. I enjoyed being in the down-home, small town setting again. It felt natural to stop into a convenience store, formerly a Golden Gallon but now beaing a different name. I enjoyed the peaceful comfort of hearing the always ear-pleasing Southern accents of the shoppers and the lovely clerk. I had truly come home again.        However, for the first time in a long time, I bought a beer because the strange anxiety in my stomach wouldn't go away.       I started driving back on the road that passes the church building where I learned to love the Lord and was startled at how quickly the roadway that used once traversed the Civil War national park past the historic Wilder Tower now abruptly ended at a new (at least to me) multi-lane bypass highway.       I got my bit of business out of the way and decided to stop at Hardees in Rossville for a Thickburger, curly fries and a Coke. At the entrance, I held the door open for an elderly couple -- a man who was pushing his wife in a wheelchair -- and my soul felt joy in overhearing their conversation -- two aging people who were obviously still lovers and friends. Others came in, young to middle-aged, some wearing caps, biker attire and bearing tattoos or caps, blue jeans and t-shirts,  and there were familiar senior citizens who sat at their tables and talked to anyone who would listen and who apparently use the place as a hangout. The atmosphere was home-grown, Southern friendly.       After the aforementioned elderly couple finished their meal. I was impressed as one of the young ladies chatted with the disabled woman as a young man got up to open the door for the two. Yes, it's corny, like an old-time movie, but I thought it was something special as the elderly man carefully folded up the wheelchair after they were outside and gently helped his mate into their truck and drove away.       The mood of the day and those preceding it had definitely changed. I had a good correspondence with my favorite cousin, Linda, and later happened to see that one of my all-time favorite ladies, a best friend from our youths, was online, and we had a great catch-up instant-message chat. I smiled when she wrote that she and her husband would be celebrating their fourth wedding anniversary later in April. (Happy anniversary, AJA!) As always, she was full of encouragement and urged me to "think positive." I recalled sitting with her all those times in her front porch swing, talking about anything, everything and everybody.       Instead of turning on the TV for depressing news or anything else, I switched on my computer's i-Tunes to randomly play a mix of oldies, rock, country and dance music designed to put a giggle in your wiggle and a hitch in your gitalong. When James Brown shouted, "I feel good," I shouted, "Preach on, Brother!" (not caring what the neighbors might think). Indeed, I was feeling okay and happy about it. The computer was mixing the tunes far better than I ever did as a nightclub and party DJ. For the first time in a very long time, I almost guiltily popped the top off that cold beer, not to get drunk but to sip and enjoy the moment.       (I had written much of what you've read before my cell phone rang. What I write from this point  is after that point.)         The call was from the friend who had come to my aid earlier in the day. His news jolted me, even though it wasn't totally unexpected. As I turned off the music, he opened with the comment that it was ironic that I had asked him about his potential military situation earlier. Within those few hours since we had talked, he received the anticipated phone call that his National Guard unit definitely was being deployed, the dates were set and he would be reporting at the end of April. Within a few months, he will be in Iraq.        An already overly emotional weekend for me almost came crashing down in a mental implosion. I tried to keep the quiver from my voice as tears came to my eyes. I tried to joke and be encouraging, not really knowing the right words to say. Everything came out wrong.       Note the selfishness on my part. Basically, I'm expressing my pain, my anger, my undertainties. What must be going through his mind, despite his being physically and psychologically prepared? In the limited way that I know him, I can only assume that he is probably a lot stronger than I would be in the same situation. Having noted his gutsiness, I can guess that he probably is looking forward to the experience of serving his country, of going to another part of the world in defense of our nation -- not to be a hero, but to do his part and experience a new phase of life. He may be having mixed feelings about leaving family and friends. I can only imagine ... .       When we disconnected so that he could call friends, I felt like smashing the phone through the storm door glass. I came close to turning over furniture, and that's pretty radical for me.       The beer suddenly became "excusable" and gulpable ammunition for the anger that I felt about this deceitful and unnecessary war that was robbing this nation and its families of their brave young sons and daughters and friends who might have to be out of country for a year or more, never knowing how their lives might be changed.       But no matter how I feel -- and he knows how I feel about the Iraq War while fully supporting and feeling compassion for the courageous troops who are doing the jobs to which they have been assigned -- I have to remember to be supportive and encouraging if and when we get to talk again before he goes. Any negative feelings I might have about the mission he will be undertaking will have to be left unsaid.       He joined the National Guard after graduation from high school to serve his country and to further his education, aiming to be a coach and a teacher. He had known this day would eventually come. Based on what I've seen in him, he will be a good, courageous soldier. He will do the job and do it well. He is patriotic and brave and will give all for his country. He already has and will have the support and prayers of many friends.       I do not apologize for my appreciation of and concern for the future of this young man. My first major career was as a teacher, and by the end of each school year, I always loved my classroom kids as if they were my own, and I still think about many of them and wonder what and how they're doing today.  I admire this young man. He is an individual, his own person, and the call he has received brings close to home a representation of the calls that many have gotten and answered.       I don't understand -- nor do I care -- why or how this young Guardsman and I connected, other than the fact that I saw a positive role for him in my book, and I am determined to be a friend if and when he ever needs one. We have talked a lot in a short time. I have learned much from our discussions, as I always have learned from the younger generation. I was the educator, but I have always been the one to be educated.        I see him as the kind of person whom I would have liked to have had as a friend when I was 20 who might have inspired me with his attitude and philosophy to aspire to greater goals than those I've achieved. At the same time, such a friend would have been someone with whom I could have laughed and with whom I could have been a rowdy guy, relishing my youthful immortality.        I see him as a young man who is the kind of son I would have liked to have had and a son of whom I would have been very proud. I guess I am crazy, because I sometimes think maybe, just maybe, even at my advanced age, I can still grow up to be like him.       What a weekend; what a day! Life does have its twists and turns, doesn't it? I'm grateful that my life is basically good, no matter how bad things often seem and even on those rare occasions when I'm tempted to grab the self-pity-pot and the toilet tissue, paper towels or Kleenex. You know, for one of those secret "man cries."       A second beer has been sipped as a toast to my young friend in gratitude to God for letting me know him and find renewed inspiration. Maybe years from now,  I'm destined to write the biography of a man who will be a hero in both war and peace. In his old age, with wife, kids and grandkids at his side, perhaps he will say something like, "You know that crazy old dude who wrote the book about me -- he sure was reclusive and eccentric and kind of strange -- but he did a pretty good job of writing -- and made us a lot of money and famous to boot."       It's something to think about as this crazy old world continues to turn toward a future of uncertain possibilities.      (By the way, a re-learned footnote: Beer doesn't help the world move any smoother or look any better. But it sometimes sure tastes good.)       P.S. Most of the people written about here have previously requested anonymity in my creations, either out of modesty or because they don't want anyone to know they know me. God bless them!   (c) Copyright 2007 by Toney Atkins

LARRY V: THE SONG WILL NEVER DIE...Posted Feb. 20, 2007

LARRY V.: THE SONG WILL NEVER DIE

By Toney Atkins

 

    Larry V. passed away doing what he loved most: Singing.

    When I received the e-mail from Marie F. notifying me of Larry V.'s passing in Daytona Beach, a sense of undefinable loss flowed through my mind, body and spirit.

    Marie told me that he was singing a duet at a karaoke show when he noticeably began perspiring profusely as the heart attack struck him, and he suddenly fell to the floor. His death was apparently instantaneous, and whatever pain he suffered was apparently -- and hopefully -- short-lived.

    Friends -- and he had many -- planned to stage a memorial for him at the Eagles Club in Holly Hill this Tuesday night.

    I had known Larry V. since I caught karaoke fever in the early 1990s. His demeanor was usually quiet, and the stage seemed to come alive whenever he took the microphone and sang his heart out with a smooth, yet powerful voice.

    I got to know him even better after I was asked to step in as DJ/karaoke host at what was then known as Bootleggers in Daytona Beach. That part-time job was to quickly become a full-time part-time job, and I loved it. Getting to know new people as well as those in the karaoke cliques that developed was a never-ending thrill for me. Larry V. became a regular, and I could always depend on him for a song, and for a good one at that.

    To those who might not be in the know, many die-hard karaoke singers established their own stage names. That's mainly how we knew each other inside and outside the clubs. On stage and in public, I usually called him Larry V., and even though he once told me his last name, to this day, I can't remember it. But I never forgot -- and never will forget -- Larry V.

    Our paths crossed many times over the next few years as I did shows at different venues in the Daytona Beach area. His favorite entertainment seemed to be karaoke, andyou could usually catch him at one of the numerous shows that began to pop up all over town. He could sing a Frank Sinatra or Tony Bennett song with the best of them, and he dabbled in other genres as well, even coming up with a great routine to sing with Donna Summer's recording of "Last Dance." He never failed to generate enthusiastic applause, and he was known to grumble, even into the mike, when he didn't think the audience was listening to him as he sang.

    It was almost like we'd known each other forever when I began my last -- and possibly favorite -- several year gig at the Key Largo Lounge in the Silver Beach Village complex in Daytona. He worked the front desk, and it was rare for him not to show up in the lounge when he turned the duties over to the security guard at 11 p.m. There were times that he and Marie F. entertained with mini-concerts when audience members had taken a break from singing.

    He had quite a following. Silver-haired ladies would come into the lounge and ask me if Larry V. was going to be singing. They literally waited impatiently until he finally made his appearance, and I would immediately call Larry V. to the stage to satisfy his "groupies," who naturally wanted more.

    To say Larry V. was a bit eccentric would be the understatement of the decade, but that merely added to his positive qualities. I've always said I march to the beat of a different drummer, but I could never quite determine which drummer Larry V. was marching to. He was definitely his own man -- gentle, yet capable of angry outbursts; very particular, especially when it came to his singing and the sound quality of the equipment; generous, often to a fault; and overall, a good, decent man.

    He and I carried on countless conversations, usually with a few drinks at the bar after a show. He had a habit of taking a tidbit from something I said and sending the conversation in a completely different direction. For the life of me, I can't remember the topic that started one night's discussion, but I recall that one of us brought up a subject that led to an around-the-world trip in the mind of Larry V., and I would urge him on. Remarks about nearly everything under the sun were made that night, but his closing comment nearly made me fall off the barstool withlaughter. After about an hour or so later, he answered the question that had started the conversation which, by then, I had almost forgotten.

    I haven't mentioned his age because he appeared to be ageless. He seemed to be the same in the entire time I knew him. He was at least in his 60s, I know, but his attitude, his smile and his talent seemed to defy any particular age group. He had a dry sense of humor, and it usually appeared unexpectedly, making whatever he said even funnier.

    Larry V. loved the ladies, and they loved him. He didn't talk much about the loves of his life, but he indeed was a lover at heart. That became glaringly factual when those who cleaned his home after his death reportedly found many, many condoms. All right, Larry V! That'll be one of those wonderful and funny legacies that will find everyone who knew you wondering who and how many. Obviously, you did more than sing well, and you left us with yet another unsolved mystery in your mysterious life. (And I have to admit it: I'm more than a little envious.)

    Larry V. died with a song in his heart. There's an empty space in the audiences and stages where you should be. But for you, any problems and heartaches in life that you might have are gone, and you are singing with the angels.

    God bless your spirit, Larry V. It was an honor an privilege to have known you. You will be missed.