My children are overly fond of pointing out to me that I am not in step with modern times. They are simply aghast that I do not have an iPhone, use proper punctuation even when texting and hand-write most letters, in cursive, no less. I, on the other hand, am fond of pointing out to them that I also do not eat Tide Pods, have never had anyone’s words send me scurrying for a “safe space” and earned a doctorate without the benefit of Google.
Mind you, I am not at all opposed to new things if those new things are actually good things. But sometimes, the old ways and old things just cannot be improved upon. I suppose that is why I am still such a big believer in newspapers. In a world of instant, online, shotgun-blast information that aims at everything and hits mostly nothing, the effort needed to tell a hometown what is going on across the pond in London on Page 1 and then tell them about local little-league, church events, city council meetings and weddings and obituaries in the next 12 pages is priceless. As a syndicated columnist for many years now, I can also tell you that newspapers are a great way to make new friends. In just about every place my column has appeared through the years, email from readers has led to some wonderful, enduring friendships for Dana and me.
But it is another really old-school thing that is on my heart at the moment, especially as I sit here looking at a letter from Hiawassee, Georgia. It is a note from a friend that his dear wife of 61 years passed away in early December.
It was July 8, 2019. Dana and I were driving home from a meeting in Hiawassee and stopped in the tiny town of Clayton, Georgia, for lunch. There was a little place called the Clayton Café that had been recommended to us. As we parked and then walked that way, I knew by the crowd standing around that we might be in for a bit of a wait. Nonetheless, we walked in and put our names on the list. As we did, though, the nice hostess said, “A regular table may be a while, but we do have some seats at the community table if you are interested.”
Somehow, community table was a new one on me, but it was also easy enough to figure out. We would be sitting with whoever else happened to be sitting there already. For some, that would be a definite no. And honestly, there are some days when it would be for me as well, days when, in the words of my daughter, “It’s just too peoply.” But on that day, the idea sounded amazing, and we were quickly whisked off to the community table. And joining us was Alberta, a sweet 86-year-old from Franklin, North Carolina, and Bill and Ann, a sweet married couple in their late 70s from Hiawassee.