Dolly Rebecca Parton, beloved singer, songwriter, actress, philanthropist, and one of the most treasured figures in American music and culture, passed away on Tuesday, August 25, 2026, in Nashville, Tennessee, at the age of 80.

Born on January 19, 1946, in rural East Tennessee, Dolly was the fourth of twelve children and grew up in the foothills of the Great Smoky Mountains. From those humble beginnings came a voice, a talent, and a spirit that would eventually reach nearly every corner of the world.

Over a remarkable career spanning more than six decades, Dolly became one of country music’s most recognizable and influential artists. Her extraordinary gift for storytelling gave the world songs that became part of the American soundtrack, including Jolene, Coat of Many Colors, 9 to 5, and I Will Always Love You. Her unmistakable voice, quick wit, larger-than-life style, and genuine warmth allowed her to connect with generations of people far beyond the boundaries of country music.

Her talents extended well beyond the stage. Dolly became a celebrated actress, author, businesswoman, and entrepreneur while remaining deeply connected to the Tennessee mountains and the people who helped shape her. Yet among her greatest accomplishments was the generosity she showed to others.

Through the Dolly Parton Imagination Library, founded in honor of her father, millions of books have been placed into the hands of children around the world. Her philanthropy also supported education, disaster relief, healthcare, and countless communities and individuals throughout her lifetime.

For all the awards, records, rhinestones, and worldwide recognition, Dolly’s greatest legacy may be the way she made people feel. She encouraged people to dream bigger, laugh at themselves, remain true to who they were, and extend kindness wherever possible. She never seemed to forget where she came from—and because of that, people from every walk of life felt as though they knew a little piece of her.

Dolly was preceded in death by her beloved husband of nearly 60 years, Carl Thomas Dean, who passed away in March 2025. Their famously private and enduring marriage remained one of the most cherished parts of her life.

The little girl from the mountains of Tennessee grew up to become an American icon, but she never lost the heart that made the world fall in love with her in the first place. Her songs will continue to be sung, her stories will continue to be told, and the kindness she put into the world will continue through generations of lives she touched.

In lieu of flowers, those wishing to honor Dolly’s extraordinary legacy of generosity and her lifelong commitment to children and literacy are encouraged to make a memorial contribution to Dolly Parton’s Imagination Library. Through the program, books are provided each month at no cost to children from birth to age five, helping Dolly’s love of reading and learning continue to reach future generations.

Memorial donations may be made directly to Dolly Parton’s Imagination Library: Click here to Make a Donation in Memory of Dolly Parton

A message from the family of Dolly Parton: Click here to watch video

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By Brad Dison

Where are the flying cars that engineers began promising us as early as the 1940s?  In 1946, Popular Mechanics magazine predicted that flying cars would become commonplace soon.  Nearly 40 years later, Doctor Emmett Brown in the Hollywood film Back to the Future told Marty as they were preparing to hit 88 miles per hour, “Roads? Where we’re going, we don’t need roads.”  That was in 1985 and flying cars are still not commonplace.  What happened to the flying cars that we have been promised for generations?  

During World War II, Theodore “Ted” Hall proposed a flying car that could be used in commando-type raids but he was unable to convince the military of its practicality.  Following World War II, Ted worked with Consolidated Vultee Aircraft Corporation to build flying cars for the masses.  They began with the Convair Model 116, a two-seater crude car body with detachable wings and tail.  Test pilots completed more than 65 flights in the Model 116 before Ted began working on a more marketable model called the Model 118 (see photo above).

The Model 118 had a more refined plastic car body, a 26½ horsepower car engine, a more powerful Lycoming airplane engine, and could comfortably transport four people.  Convair planned to produce 160,000 of the Model 118s and expected to sell many of them to airports to use as rental vehicles.  

On November 15, 1947, test pilot Reuben Snodgrass flew the prototype Model 118 for the first time, and it performed splendidly.  Three days later, pilot Snodgrass and flight researcher Lawrence Phillips flew the flying car over San Diego, California, on what was supposed to be a one-hour flight to test the engine’s calibration.  A few minutes into the flight as they were enjoying what had been a flawless test, the engine sputtered and died.  All attempts to restart the engine failed.  Pilot Snodgrass was familiar with the area and glided the flying car toward the hard-caked mud flats near South Bay.  It was a textbook landing for the first 200 feet, but pilot Snodgrass did not see the four-foot-high embankment until it was too late.  In the crash, pilot Snodgrass suffered only minor bruises, but Phillips suffered a fractured shoulder.  The car portion was destroyed, but the wing and airplane engine were repaired and used on further test flights.  Although public interest in the flying car was initially high, it was not high enough.  The company cancelled the flying car.     

The reason the Model 118 flying automobile was never made available to the public was not because of a design flaw, not because of something the pilot did, but something he did not do.  On that cool November day, the Convair flying car crashed because… it ran out of gas.  Pilot Snodgrass was a careful pilot who always used a preflight checklist to avoid accidents such as this.  After the crash, Pilot Snodgrass went over the checklist more carefully one item at a time.  He remembered vividly checking the fuel gauge which showed to be full.  Then, he realized his mistake.  It was a simple mistake that anyone could make.  Pilot Snodgrass had checked the fuel gauge, the car’s fuel gauge.  He had not checked the airplane’s fuel gauge. 

Sources:

1.     The Fresno Bee, November 12, 1947, p.1.

2.     The Los Angeles Times, November 19, 1947, p.14.

3.     Holdenville Daily News, November 20, 1947, p.4.

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I’ve always felt that I grew up in the perfect era. It was the early ‘70s and the Vietnam War was coming to an end. My generation never had to worry about being drafted by the armed forces. If you wanted to join the military, it was strictly voluntary. 

While a few of my classmates chose to go in that direction, my attention was trying to get an athletic scholarship to play either football or baseball on the Division 1 level.

Let’s go back to my early years of growing up in the small East Texas town of Mt. Pleasant. As a child during this time frame, we had a lot of freedom. If you had a bike, it was this form of transportation that was basically unlimited. If you could ride your bike on it, there was no limit to where you could go. 

We woke up at daylight and were on our bikes by 8 o’clock every summer morning and only came home for lunch, or right at dark. My kids still have a hard time understanding that the only rule we had — be home when the streetlights came on. 

Parents didn’t always check on their kids. They pretty much knew where they supposed to be. My mother always knew where I was and who I was with most of the time. There was also a certain amount of trust between parents and their kids, until that trust was broken and we got into trouble. 

We lived about three miles out of town and several days out of the week, I would ride my bike for miles. I was either playing ball somewhere at a local ballpark or somebody’s back yard. We rode our bikes looking for coke bottles on the side of the road that we could trade for candy at the local country store.

We played in creeks and ditches, especially after a big rain. As friends we were always together every day and spent a lot of time playing baseball or going to the local pool. 

Occasionally, you could find me fishing at one of the stock ponds, or tanks as they call them in Texas.  If I wasn’t at one of the ponds on our ranch, our neighbor Mr. Rayford Jones, who lived across the road from our house, owned a cattle farm and allowed my brother and me along with his grandson to fish his two ponds (tanks) that were full of bass and catfish. 

Growing up in the country meant you probably had a garden to tend to. Every other day, I had to spend a couple of hours raking grass out of the garden, which was absolute torture for me. But the produce that came out of the garden was incredible, especially after dad had a load of chicken manure brought in! 

We also had about two acres around our house that had to be mowed once every two weeks. Not with a riding mower, but with a push mower! That’s right, a 14-inch cut push mower, which required at least two days to complete the job. 

I had a brother, seven years younger, who was supposed to take over the lawn cutting duties after I left home for college. Guess what showed up two days before I left home: that’s right, a Sears riding mower! 

To say I voiced my displeasure to my parents about this purchase would be an understatement. For five years I push-mowed two acres and now my little brother would get to use a riding mower! 

That being said, there were several chores demanded of me that my brother never took on. So, I guess you could say being the youngest had its privileges.

Looking back, I had an awesome childhood with more freedom than kids have today. They say it’s a different world than what my generation grew up in. I’m not sure that’s totally right. 

There’s just so much more media exposure with up to the minute news and social media sites that are always shedding light on topics most really don’t want to hear about. 

There’s always been bad people in the world who are looking to prey upon the weak. Today’s kids are growing up in a bubble of overprotection. Parents are less likely today to allow their kids to roam free like we did. 

I think kids and young teenagers today are not near as mature as earlier generations. This is due to parents being overprotective, afraid to let their kids make mistakes they can learn from. With my generation, we all had summer and part-time jobs that helped us to mature and understand responsibility at an early age. 

Our parents did a great job of preparing us for the real world. That gave us something I think is lacking with so many of today’s youth –maturity and accepting responsibility. We can only hope and pray that the generation of today will find its own path to success sooner rather than later. 

Our country is at a crossroads in so many ways today. Far left extremists continues to gain ground in small areas of the country. But I don’t think when it comes down to a national election, they will have enough support to win.

I think common sense once again will prevail with the American people,like it did back in the good ole days. If it wasn’t for today’s social media, these small pockets of far-left activists would never even be heard. In God we trust! Stay strong America!

 Contact Steve at sgraf26@yahoo.com

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A bomb discovered at a Nevada casino on Aug. 26, 1980, was supposed to be carefully dismantled by the FBI. Instead, the attempt to disarm it triggered an explosion that caused millions of dollars in damage.

The bomb had been planted at Harvey’s Resort Hotel in Stateline, Nevada, by extortionist John Birges. He demanded $3 million from the casino and built the device inside a large metal box.

When authorities discovered the bomb, FBI bomb technicians were brought in to dismantle it. During the operation, however, a mistake caused the device to detonate. The explosion tore through part of the hotel and caused an estimated $18 million in damage. 

Despite the enormous blast, no one was killed.

The bizarre incident became one of the more unusual chapters in the history of casino crime and bomb disposal. Birges was eventually arrested and convicted for the bombing.

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Human beings are amazing creatures. We can build skyscrapers, transplant hearts, send people into space, and teach a telephone to recognize our face. But ask us to do something difficult—even something we have dreamed about doing—and suddenly we become extraordinarily creative theologians.

“I would, Lord, but…”

That sentence may be humanity’s oldest hymn.

Moses certainly knew the tune. In Exodus 3, God appears to him in a burning bush and essentially says, “Moses, remember that thing you have cared about most of your life? Remember your people suffering in Egypt? Remember how you once tried to do something about it? Well, I’m sending you.”

You would expect Moses to shout, “Finally!”

Instead, Moses begins producing excuses like a Louisiana mosquito produces relatives.

“Who am I?”

“What if they don’t believe me?”

“What if I don’t know what to say?”

“I’m not a good speaker.”

And finally, when the theological arguments run out: “Lord, please send somebody else.”

That last one is refreshingly honest.

We do exactly the same thing.

“I’ve always wanted to write a book.”

Wonderful. Start writing.

“Well, I really need the right desk.”

So we buy the desk.

“Now I need the right chair.”

We buy the chair.

“Of course, proper lighting is important.”

Six months later we have a magnificent home office, three notebooks, seventeen pens, a new computer—and not one sentence.

Or maybe we have always wanted to get in shape. Monday morning arrives with all the promise of a new creation. Unfortunately, Monday is inconvenient. Tuesday looks better, except there may be rain. Wednesday is Bible study. Thursday feels too close to Friday, and everybody knows you should never begin anything major that close to a weekend.

Next Monday it is.

Church people are particularly gifted at sanctifying excuses.

“Someone ought to visit that person.”

Someone ought to.

“We really need somebody to work with the children.”

Absolutely.

“Somebody should invite that new family to lunch.”

Amen!

Apparently, “Somebody” is the busiest member of every congregation in America.

The funny thing is that we sometimes make excuses about doing the very things we have asked God to let us do.

We pray for an opportunity, and when God provides one, we say, “Not quite what I had in mind.”

We pray, “Lord, use me.”

God says, “All right.”

And suddenly we begin renegotiating the contract.

“Lord, when I said ‘use me,’ I was thinking perhaps in an advisory capacity.”

Moses discovered something important at the burning bush. God never really answered Moses’ question, “Who am I?”

Instead, God answered the question that mattered: “I will be with you.”

That is the hope for all of us excuse makers.

God does not wait for us to become fearless, eloquent, organized, perfectly prepared, ten pounds lighter, completely confident, or free next Tuesday.

God simply calls.

And when our excuses begin piling up, God keeps saying what he said to Moses:

I will be with you.

So perhaps the next time God opens the door we have spent years asking him to open, instead of developing another excellent reason why we cannot walk through it, we might take one trembling step.

We excuse makers may discover that God has already gone ahead of us.

And apparently, he is not nearly as impressed with our excuses as we are.

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Strabo was a Greek geographer born in 64 BC in what is now Amasya, Turkey.  Strabo was from an affluent family which afforded him a good education.  When he was about 21 years old, Strabo continued his education in Rome where he studied grammar, writing, history, rhetoric, and philosophy.  At some point, Strabo began writing a geography based on his extensive travels throughout the known world.  He described the people, places, animals, and collected stories from the places he visited.  He published his first edition of Geographica in 7 BC which included the story of a hetaira called Doricha.  A hetaira was a highly educated female companion who often served a variety of roles including artist, entertainer, conversationalist, and some say, prostitute.  Strabo wrote that Doricha “was bathing, an eagle snatched one of her sandals from her maid and carried it to Memphis; and while the king was administering justice in the open air, the eagle, when it arrived above his head, flung the sandal into his lap; and the king, stirred both by the beautiful shape of the sandal and by the strangeness of the occurrence, sent men in all directions into the country in quest of the woman who wore the sandal; and when she was found in the city of Naucratis, she was brought up to Memphis, and became the wife of the king.”  In his story, Doricha became the queen of Egypt.  I must stress that there is no evidence that there ever was a queen of Egypt named Doricha.

Strabo’s tale has been told and retold through the centuries.  In 1634, Italian Giambattista Basile published a notable version called La Gatta Cenerentola in his book entitled Il Penatamerone.  Cenerentola derived from the Italian word “cenere” which meant ash or cinder because the clothes of servants at the time were usually soiled by ash or cinder because of their cleaning duties.  In his version, the first to be published in the Western world, Basile changed Doricha’s name to Zezolla.  In 1697, Frenchman Charles Perrault published an even more embellished version of the tale in his book which translates to Histoires ou contes du temps passé (Histories, or Tales of Past Time).  Perrault changed her name from Doricha to another name which was a reference to her clothes being dirty.  It is Perrault’s embellished version of Strabo’s 2,000-year-old tale that we all know because he added a magic pumpkin, a fairy godmother, and a glass slipper.  Perrault called her Cendrillon, but we all know Doricha as Cinderella.   

Sources:

1.     Strabo, The Geography of Strabo, trans., Boox XVII, P. 93, accessed August 16, 2026, https://penelope.uchicago.edu/Thayer/e/roman/texts/strabo/17a3*.html.

2.     Giambattista Basile, Il Penatamerone, trans., Chapter VI, Gutenberg Project, accessed August 16, 2026, https://www.gutenberg.org/files/2198/2198-h/2198-h.htm#chap06.

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City of Winnfield leadership met recently with the Water Department to address growing resident concerns regarding utility billing accuracy and the condition of local water meters.

Mayor Gerald Hamms, Utility Clerk Stacey Fields, City Clerk Katina Smith and the Water Department convened to review meter-reading protocols and transparency measures.

City officials sought to clarify the technology used to track consumption, noting that the system utilizes “SmartPoint” meters. These devices allow the Water Department to capture data electronically via handheld units, meaning that visible surface dirt or debris under a meter lid does not necessarily impede a device’s ability to transmit an accurate reading.

During the meeting, however, officials acknowledged that some units have reached the end of their functional lifespan.

“We recognize that mechanical issues within our system have, at times, caused frustration and may have caused some customers to lose confidence in our utility system,” the city said in a statement. “We hear you, and we are working to address these concerns.”

In response to these findings, Mayor Hamms directed the Water Department to begin the procurement process for new replacement meters immediately. The city confirmed that crews are currently engaged in ongoing updates, system upgrades and equipment repairs to restore service reliability.

City officials stated that these efforts are intended to improve the accuracy of utility billing and reinforce public confidence in municipal infrastructure. The city encouraged residents to remain patient as the department works through the phased equipment replacement schedule.

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As an angler who has fished it all: BFL’s, Toyota Series, ABA Solo 150’s, ABA Pro League, Bassmaster Opens, Fisher’s of Men, Media Bass, Angler’s Choice and too many others I just can’t remember, I can say that some of these were great tournament trails and some were just OK.   

Now don’t get me wrong, there’s never been a circuit that I didn’t enjoy, but there’s an issue I would like to address. Major League Fishing (MLF) is taking the BFL’s from a pro/am draw format and making it a team/solo trail, hoping they can get their numbers up. 

Do we really need another team trail? I think I speak for a lot of anglers who still like to fish solo/individual trails and the last thing anglers need is another team trail as we have too many already! Since the demise of ABA dropping the Solo 150 and the Pro Leagues, the only remaining individual trails are the Bassmaster Opens and the Toyota Series. 

Both of these are very expensive with the Toyota’s costing an angler on the pro side $1,700 per event while the B.A.S.S Opens will cost you $2,000. The BFL was considered an entry level circuit designed for the working man but will now cost you $500 per event as a team/solo entry. 

Years ago, the BFL’s would draw a full field of 200 boaters (which used to be the case) due to the low entry fee, but their payback was the worst of any circuit out there as they took part of BFL’s money to help support its upper-level circuits, therefore shorting the anglers supporting the BFL’s. 

Another issue has been that ever since the “Live Scope” controversy started, BLF participation has gone down dramatically as so many anglers refuse to participate in events where this technology is allowed. Boaters and co-anglers walked away faster than a hook set. 

So, after a few years of low turnouts for the BFL’s, Major League Fishing (MLF) will be taking this circuit in a totally different direction. I hope they thought this through as it has just eliminated the last remaining pro/am circuit for the lower level of tournament bass fishing. 

As an angler who loves fishing a solo/individual circuit, I really wish MLF would have put the same amount of guaranteed first place money of $10,000 and kept the original format of a pro/am circuit. Anglers would have flocked for this kind of guarantee! 

The next issue is the fact that there will be no limit on using forward-facing sonar (FFS) for 2027 when fishing the BFL Team Trail. This will bring out many of the younger anglers who have grown up using FFS. But one thing I wish MLF would adopt for 2027 is only allowing the use of FFS every other tournament like Bassmaster does with their schedule. 

This would help to level the playing field especially with the older generation of anglers particularly on lakes where local anglers tend to dominate. As far as what to do with forward-facing sonar in the long run, we may not have a choice as some states, starting with Florida, are looking to ban FFS altogether. 

If this happens, other state organizations will follow suit and implement the same rule. Then FFS will no longer be an issue for tournament organizations to deal with. 

I’m so tired of talking about it and yet no matter what decisions are made from ANY organization, everyone has their own opinion if this technology is good or bad, as the division continues nationwide on this topic. 

It appears this year’s three-hour FFS rule for the BFL’s and the Toyota Series has been the most popular and if that’s the direction they want to go, so be it … I DON’T CARE! Even if they choose to take it away completely… I DON’T CARE! Just make a decision, stick with it and move on! 

I know this article will draw some comments and I welcome everyone’s opinion. We have enough team trails nationwide and need more solo or individual circuits to help balance things outs and give anglers another option. 

Good luck, good fishing, stay cool and be safe out there if you’re going to brave the heat to wet a hook. 

Contact Steve at sgraf26@yahoo.com

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More than a century before commercial air travel became routine, Orville Wright was born Aug. 19, 1871, in Dayton, Ohio.

Orville Wright would go on to become one of aviation’s most important pioneers alongside his brother, Wilbur. The Wright brothers developed and flew the first successful powered airplane in 1903, changing transportation and opening a new chapter in human history.

Their achievement did not come easily. The brothers spent years studying flight, building gliders and conducting experiments before successfully controlling a powered aircraft.

Orville’s Aug. 19 birthday is also shared by another name associated with groundbreaking technology: Gene Roddenberry, creator of “Star Trek,” was born on the same date in 1921. Former President Bill Clinton was also born Aug. 19, 1946.

Aug. 19 has been the date of several other notable moments in history, including the 1812 battle in which the USS Constitution defeated the British ship HMS Guerrière and earned the nickname “Old Ironsides.” In 1960, the Soviet Union launched Sputnik 5, carrying two dogs that became the first animals to survive an orbital flight and return safely to Earth.

But for aviation, Aug. 19 carries a particularly fitting connection: it marks the birth of the man who, with his brother, helped turn the dream of human flight into reality.

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“Do you hear what I hear?”

It is a little early for Christmas music, but that old Christmas song has been running through my mind this morning.

I am sitting in my new little 4-by-6-foot office, practicing my pastor emeritus skills. Apparently one of those skills is sitting still long enough to notice what is going on around you. After years of meetings, sermons, phone calls, hospital visits, committee reports, and somebody always needing to know where the extension cord is, sitting quietly feels almost suspicious.

But this morning, I am listening.

Right now, the church building is silent. That will change soon.

Today is the first day of school for our preschool children. We have 104 children enrolled, which means that in a little while this silence is going to disappear. I expect to hear laughter, crying, little feet running down hallways, teachers giving instructions, parents saying goodbye, and perhaps one child announcing loudly that he absolutely does not intend to participate in whatever has been planned for him.

In other words, I expect to hear life.

And I cannot wait.

While I sit here listening for those sounds, another question occurs to me:

What are we listening for? And who are we listening to?

Jesus talked a surprising amount about listening.

Again and again he said, “Let anyone with ears listen.” He told his disciples to pay attention to what they heard. And in John’s Gospel Jesus described his relationship with us this way: “My sheep hear my voice. I know them, and they follow me.”

Apparently discipleship involves more than talking.

That includes prayer.

We usually think of prayer as talking to God, and certainly it is. We bring God our worries, hopes, fears, families, decisions, illnesses, disappointments, and dreams. We pray because we believe God listens and responds because God loves us.

But here is the harder question:

After we finish talking, do we listen?

Sometimes my prayers resemble leaving a voicemail for God.

“Lord, here are the problems. Here is what I need. Here is what I think you ought to do. Thank you very much. Amen.”

Click.

And then I am off to the next thing.

Maybe prayer occasionally needs a little silence at the end.

“Speak, Lord. I’m listening.”

Perhaps God’s answer will come through Scripture. Perhaps through another person. Perhaps through an unexpected thought, a nudging of conscience, a door opening—or closing. And sometimes God may simply give us the quiet assurance that we are loved and that we do not walk alone.

Soon the hallway will be filled with 104 little reminders that silence does not last forever.

But for this moment, it is quiet.

So I am listening.

Listening for children.

Listening for life.

Listening for God.

There is great joy in discovering that amid all the noise of this world, the Shepherd is still speaking.

The question is not only, “Do you hear what I hear?”

The better question may be:

Are we listening?

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Rachel lived on the island of Saint Croix in the Caribbean.  She married Johann Lavien and they had a son named Peter, but Johann was such an abusive husband that Rachel left for her own safety.  In retaliation, Johann had her imprisoned for adultery.  Upon her release, Rachel sailed from Saint Croix to another island in the Caribbean called Saint Kitts.  There, she met a Scottish trader named James.  Shortly thereafter, Rachel’s father died and left her a seaside lot on the nearby island of Nevis.  She and James moved there together but could not marry because she was still technically married to Johann.  Rachel had two sons with James, James Jr. and Alex.  After a little over ten years together, James abandoned Rachel and his children.  Some historians argue that James left to protect Rachel and their illegitimate children from legal action brought on by Johann.  Whatever the reason, Rachel and her two sons sailed back to Saint Croix.  Three years after James left, Rachel and Alex contracted yellow fever.  Alex made a full recovery, but Rachel did not.  She died at the young age of 39.  

Things went from bad to worse.  James Jr. and Alex became orphans.  Because she was still married to Johann at the time of his death, he had control of her estate.  Johann sold all of Rachel, James Jr., and Alex’s possessions in an auction.  For a few months, James Jr. and Alex lived with their cousin, Peter Lytton, until he died by suicide.  James Jr. became an apprentice to a carpenter and Alex became a clerk at an import/export company on the island.  Alex was not yet a teenager.  

On one hot August day, a powerful hurricane devastated Saint Croix and changed the course of Alex’s life.  Well, not the hurricane itself, but a letter Alex wrote which described the hurricane.  Alex wrote the letter to his father.  Alex’s mentor, a minister and newspaper editor, was impressed with the letter and published in the local newspaper.  “Honoured Sir,” Alex Wrote, “I take up my pen just to give you an imperfect account of one of the most dreadful Hurricanes that memory or any records whatever can trace, which happened here on the 31^st ultimo at night.”  Ultimo was short for “in the previous month.”  As he neared the end of his letter, Alex wrote, “I am afraid, Sir, you will think this description more the effort of imagination, than a true picture of realities.  But I can affirm with the greatest truth, that there is not a single circumstance touched upon, which I have not absolutely been an eyewitness to.”  When the people of Saint Croix read the article, they were also impressed.  Those who knew Alex knew he was illegitimate and uneducated, but they knew how hard he worked.  They paid for Alex to come to North America for a proper education and to give him a chance at a better life.  Alex did not squander the opportunity.  While in college, war broke out and Alex joined the military.  Within a short time, he was promoted to lieutenant colonel because of leadership abilities and became the chief staff aid to the general in charge of the whole war.  After the war, Alex became a delegate to Congress, practiced law, and founded a bank.  When the general he served under became President of the United States, he chose Alex as his Secretary of the Treasury.  Because of this position, those of us who still carry cash can see him on our $10 bills.  Alex, that illegitimate orphan who achieved the American dream, who was a signer of the U.S. Constitution, was Alexander Hamilton.  And it all started because of a letter to his father. 

Sources:

1.     Susan B. Barnes, “Walk in the Footsteps of Alexander Hamilton on This Tiny Caribbean Island,” Smithsonian Magazine, August 23, 2017, https://www.smithsonianmag.com/travel/alexander-hamilton-nevis-caribbean-island-180964047/.

2.     “Alexander Hamilton to the Royal Danish American Gazette, 6 September 1772,” National Archives, https://founders.archives.gov/documents/Hamilton/01-01-02-0042.

3.     The Royal Danish American Gazette, October 3, 1772.

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A burn ban has been issued for Winn Parish effective at 8 a.m. Friday, Aug. 14, 2026, under Winn Parish Ordinance 003 of 2006.

The burn ban applies to all outside burning and will remain in effect until further notice.

The burn ban does not apply to prescribed burns conducted by the Louisiana Department of Agriculture and Forestry, those trained and certified by the department, or those conducting prescribed burning as a generally accepted agricultural practice as defined by the Louisiana Right to Farm Law (R.S. 3:3601 et seq.).

Violations of the burn ban may result in a $500 fine, up to six months in jail, or both.

The notice was issued by Winn Parish Fire District No. 3 Fire Chief Dustin Parker.

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We have reached the six-week mark after heart surgery and things are slowly getting back to normal, or close to what normal used to be. Once you’ve gone through open heart surgery, life is never the same. There are still many challenges I’m looking to conquer, and some will only be conquered with time. 

The physical challenges were tough, especially right after surgery, with all the tubes hanging out of my chest and just trying to find the right position to be comfortable. But once those tubes were taken out two days after surgery, I was a new man as it was such a stress relief to have those removed. 

One pleasant surprise has been the lack of pain. Every person I talked with who had been through open heart surgery said the leg where they take the vein out would be painful and hurt a lot. Well, not for me. I have not had the first ounce of pain from day one. While the chest has been sore, no pain there either! Just a lot of discomfort, especially when trying to lie down. 

Now don’t kid yourself, a slight cough or sneeze can send you to a place of pain that will remind you of some form of torture. The best relief for this is to squeeze the heart-shaped pillow they issue after surgery, as it truly becomes your best friend. 

But even more difficult for me have been the mental challenges that come with this type of surgery. My body has gone through a complete transformation with a weight loss of 30 pounds while trying to adapt itself to all the new changes and medicines. 

Anxiety was extremely high after returning home, not having nurses checking your vitals every hour of the day and night. When they say the mind is a very powerful thing, it’s true, as your mind tends to race and wonder 24/7. Emotions run high and rampant as one minute you’re crying and the next you’re so happy you’ve survived.

Trying to sleep at night has been my biggest challenge as I’ve truly been afraid I would stop breathing if I fell asleep. Taking a nap was a major challenge even though I knew and understood that my heart was as good as new. I had trouble trusting myself and the work I had done on me. 

Next is the adjustment to the medications … and I mean lots of medications. I think this also plays a huge role in your mental stability as it’s just another thing your body must adapt to. 

Now that we are at the six-week mark post-surgery, things are getting much better daily. The anxiety issues have slowly faded away especially since I have a low dosage of medication for that. 

But sleeping at night continues to be an issue as I tend to wake up every night at 3:00. Some nights, I’ll eventually go back to sleep and other times I’ll turn on the TV and just lay there hoping to fall back asleep.

This is very frustrating as I end up taking a long nap during the day just to regain energy. Food is still the enemy for me as nothing tastes like it’s supposed to. Soups seems to be the one thing I tend to like over anything else. 

Presently, I continue to try solid food, even the things I really enjoyed before the surgery. Slowly the appetite is returning, and things are starting to taste better even though I’m on a low sodium diet. 

One thing I have taken a liking to … chocolate protein drinks! These are really good and tend to make me feel full. Lately, I’ve been drinking one of these at some point during the day. Before I do my morning walk, I’ve learned that it helps to have some form of solid food for breakfast as it really helps my energy level. 

Again, while things are getting better and I continue to gain more strength, getting back into a routine has been very important in my metal state of mind. Hopefully this week my doctor will give me the OK to start driving again and regain some of my independence. My wife, Sherrie, has been an excellent chauffeur!  

Here’s some food for thought. Not too long ago, I wrote an article about how we all need a purpose in life. Well, it’s during times like this when having a purpose is more important than ever as it helps to occupy the mind. Hopefully soon, things will get back to what I used to call normal. 

 Contact Steve at sgraf26@yahoo.com

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This article is well used and true. I hope I express gratitude to those who teach, especially children like I was.

I was an underachieving little hellion.

In the Baptist church, they practically drew lots to see who’d be stuck with me in Sunday school. I was the kid teachers prayed would be absent — and when I was present, they prayed harder. A lesson on the Hebrews wandering in the wilderness could, under my creative influence, end with a John Wayne shootout at high noon with the Philistines. More than one Baptist teacher quit and joined the Methodists for the sake of their sanity.

Elementary school wasn’t much different. Recess was the only part that made sense: there was a ball, you kicked the ball, and then you ran. That was education at its finest. The only reason to go back inside was Cindy Stinson sitting on the second row. All the boys loved Cindy. On Valentine’s Day she received real cards and real candy — the kind that didn’t come from the drugstore clearance bin. Naturally, we all tried to impress her. Some boys used charm. I used classroom destruction. Standing in the corner meant standing closer to Cindy, and I became an expert at slapping chalkboard erasers together like a man auditioning for janitorial percussion.

My report cards were a cry for help. My teachers were frustrated. My mother was frustrated. The school janitor was probably frustrated. I was not inspired by the academic process — unless the academic process involved recess or Cindy Stinson.

Then came fourth grade.

My teacher was Mrs. Sarah Napps, a legend whose career stretched back to the 1930s. She had taught my uncle, my mother, and half the county. She was also my mother’s piano teacher, which meant she had already survived one generation of my family. For reasons I still can’t fully explain, I took a shine to her. Maybe it was her grandmotherly demeanor. Maybe it was the mythical tales of her teaching prowess. Maybe she simply had the courage of a woman who had seen everything and feared nothing.

One afternoon, during a parentteacher conference, she invited me into the room. She looked at me — not through me, not past me — and said, “You are a smart young man. I think you can do much better in school. I expect you to do much better. You’ve made progress, and I’m proud of you. But I want you to work harder, and I know your grades will improve.”

I don’t remember anything else from that meeting. All I heard was: She believes in me.

And that changed everything. Not overnight — I didn’t suddenly become a scholarly saint — but the ship began to turn. The boy who weaponized chalkboard erasers discovered the rudiments of selfcontrol. The child who terrorized Sunday school found a teacher who saw potential instead of problems.

School has begun again for many students. I’m praying for our teachers — especially the ones who must deal with “that child.” I pray they have patience, wisdom, and the courage to place high expectations on their students. Children rise to — or sink to — the expectations set by the significant people in their lives.

My life was changed by a teacher.

And maybe that’s why the stories I love best about Jesus begin with one simple word:

“Teacher”

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