When Reporter editor Andy Hobbs and I first discussed this column three years ago, we talked about making it an outlet for off-the-beaten-path stories recounting events in the lives of the people of this area, past and present.
The idea was to give readers a colorful composite of the local scene with recountings of memorable holidays, haunted houses, prescient pets, you name it. Even, if it came to it, about some’s guy’s weird uncle, Clarence, who habitually wore his underwear outside of his pants.
(OK, I made the last one up, but wouldn’t “Ol’ Fruit o’ the Loom” have made an interesting read?)
Things haven’t always gone as originally intended. Not that all that other stuff was bad.
Over time I’ve written about home, family and the old neighborhood where I grew what people call “up.” I’ve written about people still living and others, in Charles Dickens’ phrase, who “have since hidden their lustre in the grave.”
I’ve written about features in the landscape, like a kid’s hideaway in a patch of giant blackberry bushes, about Lake Surprise, about once green fields now covered by apartments and houses, stuff like Lyden’s grocery store and Ol’ Lady Grant’s spooky barn that now lives only in the memory.
I’ve written about language and languages.
When writing about politics, I’ve tried hard to keep things as middle-of-the-road as possible, out of a deeply-held belief that in this life, the conservative and progressive moods have their times and places, and the corollary that it is dangerous to be too one-sided in either.
I am sure that at times, I have failed in that.
One of the many letters I have gotten — almost all positive and warm — came from some dude in far-off Georgia who’d worked himself into a lather about my biases. He spent a lot of time anatomizing the errors of my ways.
Well, this is an opinion column. And yes, like everyone else, I have biases. All guys like me can do is recognize that fact and work hard to be aware and edit ruthlessly when the tone turns unfair and obnoxious. But I don’t mind the criticism as it, too, can teach me something. And I am all about learning, as Dr. Samuel Johnson informed James Boswell: “Sir, I am obliged to anyone who can teach me something.”
The upshot is that while extraneous stuff turned my attention away from the original idea, I have not forgotten it.
Why am I talking like this?
Well, I’ve gotten kind of tired talking about myself, my afflictions, my philosophy. I want to hear about you. To make that happen, I need your help. I want to get as many of you involved in this process as possible.
Write me about your adventures, your philosophy, your eccentricities, your neighborhood. I know only of mine.
Let me end by thanking all the well wishers over the years — your kindness overwhelms me.
Robert Whale can be reached at robert.whale@auburn-reporter.com.
