Sweat's was a religious experience

It’s always a bit sad when you pass a place along the side of the road – once full of so many happy memories – and it’s no longer there.
It’s either gone out of business, something has taken its place or it has been torn down.

I got that feeling late Tuesday afternoon when I turned off I-16 onto Highway 29, about six miles north of Soperton.

In the tiny community of Ormond, not far from the interstate ramps, a gas station and the local Huddle House, I pulled into what used to be Sweat’s Barbecue.

My mouth started watering just sitting there in the parking lot.

I lost track of the number of times I went there over the years. We used to stop there regularly on our family beach vacations to St. Simons.

I can’t say Sweat’s was my all-time favorite barbecue place. That honor is reserved for Fincher’s in Macon.

But Sweat’s was legendary, and folks would travel great distances to eat there. The theory is time-tested. People will go a long way to get good barbecue.

Anyway, Sweat’s closed several years ago. I know it’s been at least 10.

I know at least one other restaurant tried to make a go of it in the old Sweat’s location. It was a seafood restaurant, I believe.

When I passed by in recent years, it looked closed.

But there were signs of life on Tuesday. In fact, a new addition was being added to the front. I don’t have any official word about the renovations, but judging from the façade, it looks to be another one of those metal-sided churches.

That won’t bother me too much.

Eating Sweat’s Barbecue was always somewhat of a religious experience.

Positively

I took this photo Saturday of the koi pond in the Japanese garden
at Massee Lane Gardens on the grounds of the American Camellia
Society headquarters between Fort Valley and Marshallville

I have a little book I keep within arm’s length. It’s a book of quotations called “Positive Thoughts.’’

I’m not sure how I got it or how long I’ve had it. It’s just one of those books that showed up in my life. And I’m glad it did.

Here are a few of the quotations I would like to share with you.

“Life is a great big canvas; throw all the paint on it you can.’’ – Danny Kaye

“Write it in your heart that every day is the best day in the year.’’ – Ralph Waldo Emerson

“It was on my fifth birthday that Papa put his hand on my shoulder and said: ‘Remember, my son, if you ever need a helping hand, you’ll find one at the end of your arm.’ ’’ – Sam Levenson

“Do what you can, with what you have, where you are.’’ – Teddy Roosevelt

“To be nobody but yourself – in a world which is doing its best, night and day, to make you everybody else – means to fight the hardest battle which any human being can fight, and never stop fighting.’’ – e.e. cummings

“Every good thought you think is contributing its share to the ultimate result of your life.’’ – Grenville Kleiser

“Neglect not the gift that is in thee.’’ – I Timothy 4:14

“My advice to you is not to inquire why or whither, but just enjoy your ice cream while it’s on your plate.’’ – Thornton Wilder

“Every man is the architect of his own fortune.’’ – English proverb

“You win some, you lose some, but you gotta suit up for them all.’’ – J. Askenberg

“Joy is the echo of God’s life within us.’’—Joseph Marmion

“Anyone can carry his burden, however hard, until nightfall. Anyone can do his work, however hard, for one day. Anyone can live sweetly, patiently, lovingly, purely, till the sun goes down. And this is all that life really means.’’ – Robert Louis Stevenson

“We are all here for a spell. Get all the good laughs you can.’’ – Will Rogers

“The most wasted day of all is that on which we have not laughed.’’ -- Sebastien Chamfort

“To be happy and contented, count your blessings, not your cash.’’ – Chinese Proverb

“Some people are always grumbling because roses have thorns. I am thankful that thorns have roses.’’ – Alphonse Karr

Your history lesson for today

Macon-born Charles Coburn waves to crowd during parade in
September 1949. On left is Macon Mayor Lewis Wilson. Seated
is Mayor Pro Tem Dan Tidwell.

In honor of last night’s Academy Awards, my trivia question today is: Which two Academy Award winning actors were born in Macon?

If you said Melvyn Douglas and Charles Coburn, give yourself a pat on the back.

I’ve written about Douglas several times over the years. His father was a Wesleyan professor and lived here only a short time after his birth. Douglas captured Oscars twice for best supporting actor in "Hud" (1964) and "Being There" (1980).

Lesser known is Coburn, who won an Oscar for best supporting actor for "The More the Merrier" in 1943. He also starred in "Gentlemen Prefer Blondes" and "Monkey Business" with Marilyn Monroe, and "King's Row" with Ronald Reagan. He also worked with Bing Crosby in "Mr. Music," Gregory Peck in "The Paradine Case" and Henry Fonda in "The Lady Eve."

There is some dispute whether he was actually born in Macon. In fact, when I wrote that a few years ago, I had several letters telling me I had made an error. I was told Coburn was born in Savannah. Several web sites, including the grandest movie source of them all, the Internet Movie Data Base list his birthplace as Savannah.

But I’m looking an old release from a New York theatre company we had in our files at the Telegraph. It is dated Jan. 22, 1951 and lists Macon as Coburn’s place of birth. He moved with his family to Savannah when he was 9 months old, and grew up and was educated there. At age 14, he got his start in show business as an usher at the old Savannah Theatre. Three years later he was the youngest theater manager in the U.S., so that’s where the confusion may have started.

During a visit to Macon in 1949, where he was honored with a parade (see above photo), he said his father told him he was born under a rose bush in Macon. Coburn was such a prolific actor and busy man I doubt he would have taken time to participate in a parade in this city if he had no connections here.

The parade was held downtown to mark the opening of football season at Lanier High school. Coburn was showered with tributes during his visit. He was made a life-time member of the Macon Police Department and honored at a luncheon at the Sidney Lanier House.

That's your history lesson for today.

Where books are born again

I was browsing through my favorite section at the Friends of the Library Old Book Sale on Thursday.

You can usually find me at Georgiana/South books at Table No. 39.

I was nearing the end of row of books with everything from Faulkner to Grizzard to Pat Conroy when a man reached over and handed me a book.

It was “More Gris.’’

He was grinning.

A few minutes later, someone tugged at my sleeve with a copy of “Once Upon a Whoopee.”

“Ever read this?” he asked.

We both laughed. Why, of course, I have. I wrote it.

When I started writing books nine years ago – I’ve now written five of them – one of the fears I had to overcome was the fear of one day ending up on the bargain book table at the local bookstore.

That is the graveyard where all books go to die.

The same could be said for the annual Old Book Sale at Central City Park. You figure if folks really wanted your book, they wouldn’t donate it to the Friends of the Library.

It used to break my heart whenever I saw one of my books on the table. There was almost a feeling of rejection. My first inclination was to quickly grab the book and put it in my bag before anybody saw it. That would save any embarrassment on my part.

Or I wanted to see if I had personalized the book. That way I would know the culprit. But, in recent years, I’ve come to realize it’s not the same as the “bargain book table.’’ Those books in the bookstore have never been purchased. Their prices have been slashed. They are on the clearance table.

At least if you make the Old Book Sale in the Long Building at Central City Park, you can at least claim to have been recycled.

You were loved once, and now you can be loved again.

You’re not being rejected. You’re being shared.

Makes you feel a little better about it, anyway.

It's a germ field out there

I feel like I have spent the past six weeks walking through a mine field.

Don’t step there. Don’t touch that. Jump. Go around. Run for cover.

I’m talking about the flu, of course.

And the croup. And the stomach bug.

I cannot remember a winter in recent memory when so many people have been sick.

Coughing. Sneezing. Wheezing. Sniffling.

Feeling rotten. Can’t get out of bed.

Schools have been shut down.

I did have a 24-hour stomach virus the first week of January. Fortunately, it was the weekend, and I didn’t miss any work.

All three of my sons had it, then decided to share it with me. My wife is the only one who didn’t get sick. But she has been attacked twice by terrible colds. Sinus problems sidelined her for a whole week. Believe me, that was a long week for all of us.

I’m not very good at being sick. In fact, I hate to be sick. Who doesn’t?

I don't have time to be sick. I can usually play hurt, though. It’s rare when I take a sick day at work. Unless I’m contagious and running a fever, I’m usually there. I once went eight years without a taking a single sick day. Guess you can say I’ve been blessed, too.

This winter, I’ve been doing everything I can to stay out of sick bay. I try to obey all the safeguards.

I wash my hands frequently. I load up on Vitamin C. I avoid extremes in temperatures.

Part of it’s just plain luck, though. I’ll admit it. You never know where those land mines are hidden.

Give up giving up

On Fat Tuesday, my youngest son was worried about Ash Wednesday.

“I don’t know what to give up for Lent,’’ he said.

We were eating fajitas in a Mexican restaurant.

It’s not really necessary to give up anything for Lent, I told him. That’s not really something we emphasize in our denomination.

“Just give up giving up something,’’ I said.

At least I got a smile out of him.

I know it’s a discipline, but I’ve always considered giving up something for Lent a lot like making New Year’s resolutions. How many people keep them and for how long?

OK, so maybe it wouldn’t be that difficult to give up something for Lent.

Mmmmm. Let’s see, I’m giving up. …

1. C. Jack Ellis
2. Peter Pan Peanut Butter.
3. Cold weather.
4. CNN.
5. High-rise window washing.
6. Potholes.
7. Alarm clocks.
8. Fruitcake.
9. Shopping with the wife.
10.Begging.

See, now that was easy.

Old Faithful at the pumps

Charles Hicks has been pumping gas in Macon for 58 years

One of my favorite people had a birthday on Monday.

Charles Hicks was 75 years old.

If you know Charles, you won’t be surprised to learn he worked on his birthday.

At a time when full-service gas has practically gone the way of the dinosaur, Charles is “old faithful” at the pumps.

He has been a fixture at the corner of Riverside Drive and King Alfred drives since 1975. And he has been pumping gas, checking oil and wiping windshields in Macon since 1949.

His first job was at the Standard Oil on the corner of Broadway and Mulberry. That was back when gas was 10 cents a gallon. You could fill up for what a gallon of unleaded costs these days.

When my family lived in Riverside Park, I used to drive by that Exxon station early every morning. He was usually the first one there – sometimes an hour before the station opened – and he would just sit there listening to the radio in his blue 1975 Chevrolet Monte Carlo.

I asked him once why he arrived so early. He said he just liked to watch the people. He loved watching the city wake up every morning.

On Monday, Kenny Desai, who leases the station, brought a birthday cake for Charles. He invited each of Charles’ loyal customers to come in and have a slice. By mid-day, Desai had to order another cake.

"He’s an institution on Riverside Drive,’’ Desai said. “People ask for Mr. Charles. They won’t let anybody else pump their gas.’’

Desai is a native of India and has visited 55 countries.

“I’ve never met anyone with a work ethic like Charles,’’ he said.

By the way, Charles told me he doesn’t plan on retiring until he is 80.

The Presidents and our town

In honor of President’s Day, I came up with a few questions about U.S. Presidents and their ties to Macon.
QUESTIONS
1. Who was the first U.S. President to visit Macon?
2. What major road in Macon is named after a U.S, president and why?
3. When President-elect Bill Clinton visited Macon in November 1992, what did he do that prompted photographs in national and international newspapers the next day?
4. What did Presidents William Howard Taft and George H.W. Bush have in common in their connection with Macon?
5. Who was the first U.S. President to visit Macon while in office?
6. What piece of presidential trivia is associated with the Dempsey Hotel in downtown Macon?
7. What was Woodrow Wilson’s connection with Macon?
8. Which U.S. President is credited with originating the famous advertising slogan for Maxwell House Coffee?
9. Which U.S. President evoked the “long, excellent tradition” of Georgia football on a campaign stop in Macon?
10. . What was the shortest visit by a U.S. President?

ANSWERS
1. It was Gen. Andrew Jackson, although he hadn’t been elected quite yet. Jackson came to Fort Hawkins in 1817 before the city had been created. Jackson was elected in 1828 and held office until 1836. (Macon became a city in 1823.)
2. Former Macon Mayor Ronnie "Machine Gun" Thompson named Eisenhower Parkway after Dwight Eisenhower. The two were friends, and Ike once endorsed Thompson for mayor.
3. He played the saxophone with the Central High School band in front of City Hall. The saxophone was never played again. You can see it today in the Georgia Music Hall of Fame.
4. Three years after Taft visited Macon in 1909, his wife, Helen Taft, had the first Yoshino cherry trees planted in Washington, D.C. Soon afterward, the nation's capital began holding a cherry blossom festival every year. In 1984, then-Vice-President George H.W. Bush visited Macon prior to the Cherry Blossom Festival and planted a ceremonial cherry tree near the intersection of Third and Cherry streets.
5. William McKinley, who won the Presidency over William Jennings Bryan in 1896, visited the city on Dec. 19, 1898. He was also the first Republican President to come here. He was re-elected in 1900 but was assassinated on Sept. 6, 1901.
6. At the time President Franklin Delano Roosevelt fell ill at Warm Springs on April 12, 1945, he was being visited by Lucy Mercer, who was alleged to be his mistress. When first lady Eleanor Roosevelt was immediately summoned to Warm Springs from Washington, Mercer and Madame Elizabeth Shoumatoff, the artist commissioned to paint a portrait of FDR, were rushed to a waiting car and hurried to Macon. They learned of Roosevelt's death when they checked into the Dempsey.
7. His uncle, after whom he had been named, had taught Macon’s most famous writer, poet Sidney Lanier, at Oglethorpe College. When Wilson campaigned in Macon in April 1912, he and his wife stayed at the Lanier House.
8. Teddy Roosevelt, who visited Macon in 1912, was an avid coffee drinker. While visiting the Maxwell House Hotel in Nashville, Tenn., he commented that the house blend coffee was “good to the last drop.’’
9. President Ronald Reagan, running for re-election in 1984, scored a touchdown in the eyes of the Bulldawg Nation when he made reference to the team in his speech on the steps of City Hall.
10. In 1921, Present-elect Warren G. Harding, on his way to St. Augustine, Fla., for a fishing trip, stopped through Macon on a train. He stayed for 10 minutes.

A tree grows in Macon

Fort Hawkins has been around longer than just about anything else in this town. It was built in 1806 along the Fall Line and is most often known as the “Birthplace of Macon." From its perch on the hill, it overlooks the city.

It now holds an extra special place for me.

A cherry tree will be planted there in memory of my father.

The Keep Macon-Bibb Beautiful Commission held its annual Arbor Day Celebration on Thursday. A large crowd gathered. The mayor and other dignitaries were there. Students from Burdell-Hunt Elementary School participated in the program.

My father, Dr. Jennings M. Grisamore, was one of 42 names that were read.

This is the 21st year memorial trees have been planted as part of Arbor Day. An oak tree was planted on Thursday. The Yoshino cherry trees will soon be planted.

When my parents moved to Macon in 2002, they went to Central City Park for the free cherry tree giveaway. There, they met Connie Thuente, of the Cherry Blossom Festival.

Connie is the one responsible for the tree being given in memory of Dad, who died in November at age 82. I’m sure this is true of the others, too, but I cannot think of anything more fitting.

Dad and I planted many trees together. When I was growing up, we planted and transplanted so many trees in our yard I was convinced he would never be content until he had moved every tree from the front yard to the back yard and then again to the front.

Just last spring, he and I planted a cherry tree in my front yard.

Now, I will always think of him when I look up on that hill at Fort Hawkins.

And the weiner is ...

A friend came down from Atlanta on Wednesday and we went to the Nu-Way on Cotton Avenue for lunch.

He grew up in Payne City, and when he comes home to Macon he has to get his “Nu Way” fix.

He always goes to the Nu Way downtown. It’s a little hole-in-the-wall with a lot of character. It’s the same Nu-Way of his youth, which he remembers as being “a lot bigger.’’

It’s the same size, of course. We are the ones that have gotten bigger. Life is like that.

I love the tiny booths and the seats at the counter. Every time I eat there, I see people from all walks of life – attorneys and businessmen wearing Brooks Brothers suits eating slaw dogs and guys in construction outfits who have been out digging ditches all morning taking on mega-burgers.

Of course, my favorite Nu Way story is the sign out in front of the restaurant at 430 Cotton Ave. That sign is celebrating its 70th anniversary this year.

Look closely at it. Do you notice anything wrong?

That’s right. There’s a typographical error up there. And it’s one that has become a downtown landmark.

“Best Weiner In Town … Nu Way Weiner Stand.’’

If you’ve got a spell check, you know that’s not the way to spell wiener. (Remember your English teacher tell you “i” before “e” except after “c.”)

Here’s your history lesson for today.

When James Mallis immigrated to Macon from Greece (not Grease), he opened the city’s first fast-food restaurant in 1916.

He wanted a snappy name, and called it “Nu Way.”

“Wiener” was spelled correctly for the first 21 years. Then the restaurant was passed through the family to brothers George and Hayy Andros, who purchased a neon sign in 1937. They wanted a conversation piece, something to draw people to the restaurant.

So their calling card was intentionally misspelling “wiener.’’

And now you know, in case you’ve never noticed.

There's No Way that Nu Way is ever going to change.

Valentine's Day: Let me translate

At approximately 3:38 p.m. Saturday afternoon, my wife Delinda, came home and announced I did not have to get her anything for Valentine’s Day.

She said she had already bought herself something at Sam’s. She opened the refrigerator door to reveal a Godiva double chocolate cheesecake.

Now this was no ordinary cheesecake, even if it did come from a discount warehouse store called Sam’s.

For one, it costs $15, which amounts to more than $1 a slice.

And listen to the ingredients.

Rich Godiva cheesecake baked with chunks of milk chocolate, topped with chocolate mousse, chocolate ganache and chocolate whipped cream.

Did I mention it has chocolate in it?

You won’t find the word “diet” or “light” anywhere on the box. There are an estimated 460 calories per slice.

I told her she did not have to get me anything for Valentine’s Day. I’ve always considered it one of those “girl” holidays, anyway.

Perhaps trying to justify all the chocolate, she said I didn’t need to get her anything else. She was just going to dive into that cheesecake.

Now, I have been married for 24 years, six months and 21 days, so I know these things by now.
Let me translate what she means when she says I don’t have to get her anything else.

It’s Valentine’s Day, so it would be in my best interest to also have her something shiny or something that smells good.

So I do.

More "Centerville" than "Centerville"

I made a tourist stop in Marion on Monday.

Not that there’s much to see in Marion – a tiny little bump in the road near I-16 along the Jeffersonville-Bullard Road.

It's about 17.5 miles southeast of Macon. And it's more "Centerville" than nearby Centerville.

There in the parking lot of the Old Marion Baptist Church is a marker designating the geographic center of the state of Georgia.

Several years ago, some graduate students from the North Avenue Trade School got out their calculators and compasses. They used geometic calculations to determine the exact center of of the largest state east of the Mississippi River is located at the confluence of two creeks in Twiggs County.

To be precise, it’s at 32 degrees latitude, 38.46 minutes and 83 degrees longitude, 25.54 minutes.

Hope that helps.

There is no longer a town of Marion. It died off following the Civil War, after residents opposed construction of a railroad.

When the county seat moved up the road to Jeffersonville, it was the beginning of the end for Marion. A century later, a swath of concrete called Interstate 16 claimed some of the remains of the once-thriving community in its indirect path along Exit 7.

The town was named after Francis "Swamp Fox" Marion, a hero of the Revolutionary War. And in 1948, the U.S. Coast and Geodetic Survey officially established a swampy clump of land nearby as the "exact" center of Georgia.

At the request of former state Rep. Kenneth Birdsong, the Department of Natural Resources placed a marker on Bullard Road, indicating Georgia's bull's-eye was about 1.1 miles to the southeast -- at the junction of Turvin and Savage Creeks.

It’s not exactly a tourist stop, but I suggest you go check it out sometime. At least you can say you’ve been there.

Wish you were here

OK, I was not in Los Angeles last night for the Grammys.

They did not call my name. I did not get to go up on stage and thank my family, friends and neighbors in front of millions of people. My wife did not get to buy a new dress and get to see the Dixie Chicks. (She doesn't care for them much anyway.)

But, I was there in spirit.

As many of you know, I did come with an earshot. My audiobook “Gris & That” was nominated for a Grammy in the “Spoken Word” category. I made the cut from the initial round, with more than 1,000 submissions, to the round of 103. Although I did not make the final five, I was tickled to make it as far as I did.

Former President Jimmy Carter shared the award in that category Sunday night with Ossie Davis and Ruby Dee.

Doesn't seem quite fair, does it? Carter has already won the Nobel Peace Prize. What does he need with a Grammy?

Oh, well. Here is a photo of what might have been.

A guy is allowed to dream a little, isn’t he?

Flowers, hearts and special ladies

It’s still another five days before Valentine’s Day, but I’ve already spent a special evening with some very special ladies.

One of my favorite events of the year is the annual Sweethearts Banquet at First Baptist Church of Christ, where I am a member.

It has been a tradition at our church since 1990. The senior women (65 and older) of the church who are either widowed, divorced or single are the guests of honor at the banquet, which was held in the church’s fellowship hall Thursday night.

Their “dates” for the night are the men of the church, and the escorts ranged from 13-year-old middle schoolers to retired Navy men in their 70s.

The men go through the ritual of calling the ladies, asking them to the banquet, picking them up at 5:30 p.m. and treating them like the special ladies they are.

Thursday night was my eighth Sweethearts Banquet. I love going and seeing all the ladies, dressed to the hilt, having the time of their lives.

A professional photographer takes pictures and each lady is given a corsage. The tables are decorated with valentines drawn by 4-and 5-year-old children at our church. We have a delicious meal and a wonderful program and musical entertainment.

Of course, we try to have them all home by 8.

New WWII book has local tie

More books have been written about World War II than perhaps any event in history. I thought you might like to know that one of the newest additions to the WWII library has a distinct local connection.

Macon native Anthony Weller has a new book called “First Into Nagasaki.’’ It is actually the work of his father, the late George Weller, a legendary Pulitzer-Prize winning reporter who was the first American journalist to go into Nagasaki after the atomic bomb was dropped in August 1945.

My friend, Betty Sweet Simmons, has been telling me about this book since December. I finally have my own copy. She is friends with Anthony Weller, who edited the book and wrote an essay in it. The foreword is by Walter Cronkite.

At the end of the war, Gen. Douglas McArthur imposed a media “blackout” in the Japanese cities of Hiroshima and Nagasaki.

But George Weller defied the blackout and snuck into the country, posing as a U.S. colonel to the Japanese military. His eyewitness, which were censored, are the basis for this book. Weller died in 2002 at age 95. His son discovered his father’s unpublished account and made it happen.

Anthony Weller was born in Macon on Sept. 18, 1957. His mother was Gladys Lasky, a well-known ballet instructor who was the founder of the Nutcracker in Macon.

Weller attended Stratford Academy in Macon but graduated from Phillips Exeter Academy in New Hampshire in 1975. He attended Yale, graduating in 1980 with a degree in music. He is the author of three novels and is a noted jazz and classical guitarist. You can learn more about him at his website.

Hoops in heaven

It was 13 years ago this month that I met Herman Strickland in the backyard of his home in Bloomfield.

He picked up a basketball, bounced it a few times on the concrete patio and took aim.

Swish.

He dribbled again, lifted his hand and drew an imaginary line with his eyes, arching over the rim.

Swish.

Every day he would do this. He would go out in his backyard and shoot 100 free throws.

A few days before I got there, which happened to be Valentine’s Day, he made all 100.

A few months earlier, around Christmas, he told me he hit a cold spell. He only made 92.

If Herman Strickland had been 8 years old – or even 12 or 14 – it might not have been so amazing.

But he was 74 years young.

I wrote a column about Mr. Strickland. I called it “74 years of swishful thinking.’’

He was one of the most delightful gentlemen I have ever been around. I loved his spirit. He would log his totals every day on a calendar hanging from a nail in his utility room. It was rare when he didn’t make 90 or more.

He told me about his days in high school in Northport, Ala., -- just across the Black Warrior River from Tuscaloosa. His coach never understood the finer points of free-throw shooting. He made his player shoot under-handed, or granny-style.

Actually, Mr. Strickland’s first love wasn’t basketball. It was putt-putt. When he moved to Macon in 1953, he became involved in miniature golf. He finished second in the Putt-Putt nationals in Indianapolis in 1964 and third in the world championships in Fayetteville, N.C. in 1971.

When he moved to his home on Friar Court off Rocky Creek Road in 1982, he inherited a backyard basketball goal. His affection for free-throw shooting grew right along with the tomatoes in his garden.

I was sad to learn Mr. Strickland passed away this past Saturday. He was 87. And, when I went to visitation Tuesday night at Macon Memorial Park Funeral Home, his wife of 66 years, Girthie Lee, told me when they had moved several years ago from their Bloomfield home into some condominiums, he complained about not having a basketball goal.

God bless him. Heaven must have needed a free-throw shooter.

One more pot of gold

(BRUCE RADCLIFFE/The Telegraph)

I’m not finished writing about rainbows. In last Friday’s blog, I wrote about one of our readers, Eva Henderson, who snapped a picture with her camera phone of the end of the rainbow back in November on Highway 341 between Perry and Fort Valley.

This followed my column about Julie Wallace, a young woman from Macon who is battling cancer, and rainbow she recently saw as a sign of hope.

During all this rainbow writing I remembered a photograph one of my colleague’s had taken of the “end of the rainbow.’’ I asked photographer Bruce Radcliffe to dust off a spectacular picture he had taken 14 years ago.

Bruce was driving back from a conference in Nashville, Tenn., in 1993 and drove into a torrential thunderstorm.

“After the rain began to let up, a rainbow began to appear off to the left behind a mountain,’’ he said. “As I continued, the rainbow moved from behind the mountain and I could see the end of the rainbow shining onto a pasture. To my amazement, as I turned a corner, the rainbow was shining directly onto the interstate in front of me as vehicles drove through it.’’

Bruce said the sight was so awesome people were pulling over to the side of the road.

“I noticed one couple kissing in their vehicle after they had stopped,’’ he said.

I guess there’s nothing more romantic than being at the end of a rainbow.

Five things I liked about the Super Bowl

(JOE RIMKUS/McClatchy-Tribune)
1. The Colts won. I’ve always been a Colts fan. They’re not my favorite team, but I’ve followed them since I was a kid and they were in Baltimore. When I was a child, and we lived for a few years in Virginia, they were the team I watched. They always had a big rivalry with the Green Bay Packers, and my best friend in the neighborhood was a huge Packer fan. I adored Johnny Unitas. Never mind the dull white uniforms with the horseshoe on the helmet.
2. Tony Dungy. He is one of the classiest head coaches in football. Very disciplined and a “player’s coach.’’ Never raises his voice. Never uses profanity. I felt so sorry for him last year when his son died during the playoffs. History could not have picked a better person to have the distinction of becoming the first African-American coach to win the Super Bowl.
3. Peyton Manning. I like him, even if he did play for Tennessee. His dad, Archie Manning, was one of my favorites. He’s paid his dues, worked hard and managed the deflect much of the undeserved criticism over the years. I love his commercials, too. He’s witty and a likeable guy.
4. It was an entertaining game – from the opening kickoff right down to the final minutes. So what if there were eight turnovers? You can't blame all of them on the weather. There was some fierce hitting going on. There have been so many blowouts over the years, the Super Bowl has often been called the Super Bore. This one had some drama.
5. Sure it was soggy, sloppy and even bloated. But the game was played in the elements, the way football was supposed to be played. No indoors and 72 degrees. It rained almost the entire game. Granted, rain in Miami in February isn’t as bad as rain somewhere else. But it was there, and it was a factor. The Colts weren’t afraid to get those white uniforms dirty and break the curse of teams playing in domed stadiums cannot win the Super Bowl.

End of the rainbow

I’m not going to write about groundhogs this morning. I’m not going to talk about rodents and shadows and six more weeks of winter.

I am going to talk about the weather, though.

I’m going to talk about rainbows.

For the past week, I’ve been hearing stories about rainbows from our readers.

My column about Julie Wallace, a young woman from Macon who is battling cancer, and the hope and promise she has received from rainbows turned out to be even more inspirational than I thought.

Seems like everybody has a rainbow story. They are universal.

One letter I received was from Eva Henderson.

“I wanted someone (who really appreciates rainbows) to know that I was fortunate enough and blessed enough to see the end of a rainbow touching the earth,’’ she said. “I was even more fortunate and blessed to have been able to take a picture of this phenomenon with my camera phone.’’

This wasn’t the same brilliant rainbow Julie, myself and others witnessed on Jan. 5. Eva took the photo on Nov. 7, 2006 on Highway 341 between Perry and Fort Valley. She won’t forget the date because it was Election Day.

“I was heading towards Perry when I spotted the end of the rainbow straight ahead but to the right of the intersection I was about to go through,’’ she said. “I pulled over immediately and took two pictures and then after about three minutes of just looking at this phenomenon, it disappeared. It was a beautiful day (voting day). When I saw this site it was at the end of the raining, the sun was coming out. I have never witnessed anything more beautiful than this sight!”

They're playing our ring

Call me old-fashioned, but I’m not into ringtones.

I have a cell phone. Hey, I’m hip. I even wear it on my hip.

However, when it comes to my phone ringing, I don’t need to hear anything on Top 40.

Just give me a simple generic

Rinnnnnggggggg.

Followed by another vanilla

Rinnnnnggggggg.

I don’t need to hear Akon singing “Smack That” when the wife is calling. I could care less about Beyonce or the theme from Charlie Brown or Super Mario Brothers when the boss is on the line.

OK, I know ringtones are artistic and creative diversions. I know they're a sign of individuality.

But some of the same people who extol the coolness of ringtones are the same folks who blush when Beethoven’s Fifth starts playing from their pocket book in the middle of a business meeting?

So just give me a ring. I’ll know it’s the phone. My phone.

If I want to dance, I’ll put a quarter in the jukebox.

Here’s a list of the current top ringtones, according to Billboard.