First Born

Tom was the oldest, born May 7th, 1953. Died six days short of his 17th birthday, May 1st, 1970.
If I am truthful, I have to admit, I don't remember Tom. His death occurred 3 days after my 6th birthday. He was in a car wreck, a single car accident. From what I understand he lost control on a curved road and veered off the road and down an embankment.

After the accident Tom was taken to Greenville Medical Center in Greenville, SC. Surgeries were performed, but to no avail.

As Tom lay in one hospital bed in South Carolina, mama lay in another in Georgia. Just a year earlier mama and ma-ma had been in an accident that left them both mangled and broken. Mama had several surgeries after that wreck and was recuperating from her most recent, when Tom had his accident.

Daddy was a hero during this time, he travelled back and forth between the two, but spent most of his time with Tom as mama was stable.

Throughout High School Tom played football, he was a running back. Daddy was his head coach. As Tom's condition worsened it wasn't apparent which of his faculties he still had control over. After consulting with Doctor's daddy found a way to communicate with Tom. He held both of Tom's hands and would call out football plays. It was Tom's responsibility to squeeze Daddy's hand on the side he should run.

Tom died soon after that final game between he and daddy.

In the days that followed, all of God's Country came to our sides to comfort my family. It isn't every day that a High School Senior with such promise dies. It isn't every day that a High School Senior and son to two respected teachers dies. Tom's death shook our small town to the core.

I don't have a lot of memories about the days leading up to Tom's death, but I do have memories that have lasted for almost 40 years of the days that followed.

I remember being sent to my neighbors house to play when Sam and I returned home from Church that Sunday morning.

I remember being called back to the house a short time later and daddy taking Sam and I into our bedroom to tell us Tom was dead. I don't remember what was said, I just remember my daddy holding Sam and I.

I remember mama being wheeled into the funeral home on a hospital stretcher. I remember seeing Tom and crying. I remember my Aunt Beck held me until I saw my kindergarten teacher and then she held me and let me cry.

The funeral was held in an overflowing Clayton Baptist Church. My only memory from that day was sitting beside Sam, at one point I looked up at him and a single tear was streaming down his face, that is a memory that has been ingrained with me forever.

A child's death could destroy many marriages and families. I won't say our was unharmed because that would be a lie, but our family stayed together. The Spring of 1970 was the most bitter of my life and it is one that I have the least memories of ever.

During the months that followed Tom's death we marked our first Christmas without him, we watched as his classmates went back to school and then graduated. We marked birthdays and holidays and every day in between. Mama and Daddy have marked those same dates on the second year, 5th year, 8th year, 12th, 16th, 20th, 25th, 28th, 30th and this May they will mark the 40th.

Mama and Daddy mark Tom's death with quite reverence and dignity, but I know they mark the date and all the other dates they wish he were here for.

For me, Tom became an oil painting that hung over our sofa. From time to time someone would mention his name and something he had done and we would all smile, but for the most part Tom wasn't discussed in our house for many years.

Several years ago, I felt like it was time for me to know about Tom. I had been told how much he loved his baby brother, how we doted on me, what a great athlete he was, how smart he was, but I never really knew him, so I decided it was time for me to meet my brother Tom.

Mama and Daddy were coming to Florida on a vacation and I told them before they came that I wanted to talk about Tom. One night during their stay, the three of us sat on the balcony of their condo overlooking the ocean. For hours we talked about Tom, we laughed and we cried, but after that night I knew my brother.

I will always remember that night as one of the most important in my life.

Tom's death broke us, be it didn't destroy us. Through it all we have persevered as a family....together.

I am grateful to mama and daddy, Sam, our grandparents, extended family and the family of God's Country for bringing us through.

I am sure Tom would be proud of all of us.

Notes from A Southern Kitchen, 10 Questions.... Hollis Gillespie

Hollis Gillespie is a hilarious southern writer, whose ability to weave a tale is reminiscent of the late-great Lewis Grizzard.


I first heard about Hollis Gillespie when she made an appearance several years ago on "The Tonight Show with Jay Leno." She cracked me up and the back and forth moments with Elijah Wood were some of the most genuine I have ever seen by guests on a talk show.


After her appearance, I picked up a copy of "Bleachy Haired Honky Bitch" and read it cover to cover, laughing all the way through. Since her first novel, she has written "Confessions of a Recovering Slut: and Other Love Stories" and my favorite "Trailer Trashed: My Dubious Efforts Towards Upward Mobility." Trust me, not only are the titles enticing, but the books are as well!


Ms. Gillespie was named the "Breakout Author of the Year" by Writer's Digest in 2004. Today, she is a featured speaker, columnist and novelist. Additionally, she shares her wisdom in the fields of publishing, book pitches and becoming a paid author through seminars she teaches.


Hollis Gillespie may not have been born a Southerner, but she has adapted well. This week, it is my pleasure to present...


10 Questions with Hollis Gillespie:





1) Where were you born?

Burbank, CA, but I never went back until my appearance on The Tonight Show and notice the hospital where I was born is located across the street.

2) Who is the greatest influence in your life and why?

My mother. She built bombs for a living and supported four kids plus an alcoholic husband with low self esteem. It took guts for her to get a job at IBM in the 50's straight out of college and pregnant with my big brother. Plus, she was a klepto and huge gambler. She could count cards even from a 6-deck shoe. I used to stand at her elbow in Vegas (back when they let kids in the casinos) and she would impart all kinds of wisdom, like, "Kid, you gotta put your chips on the table.:"

3) What is the one thing that you cannot do without in your Southern Kitchen?

Cake mix, chocolate chips and dough of all form.

4) What is your favorite holiday food?


Birthday cake.


5) What makes you a Southerner?


I've lived in Atlanta for 20 years and I've perfected the accent.


6) Biscuits or Cornbread?


Depends. If it's the cake-kinda cornbread then it's that. If it's the cake-kinda biscuits then it's that. The best would be a corn-biscuit cake with honey-butter cream frosting.



7) What is your favorite memory?

Selling my first book to HarperCollins and watching the offer with my advance come through on the fax machine.


8) Who taught you to cook?


My mother, if by "cook" you mean add water to a cup of chemicals.


9) Banana Sandwich or Tomato Sandwich?


Banana with peanut butter and honey on whole grain with, like, chocolate gelato . . . made into a cake.


10) What would you serve, or have served to you, for your FAVORITE Southern meal?


I don't eat meat, so I serve mac-n-cheese, collards with balsamic syrup, sweet potatoes with cinnamon and marshmallows, mushroom stuffing, cheese grits and cake.

Thank you Hollis Gillespie for your participation. For additional information on her books, her columns or her seminars, you may visit her website at http://www.hollisgillespie.com/

Y-Camp

Mama and daddy felt it was important that we develop an independence growing up. Part of that independence was going away to overnight camp during the summer.

Athens Y-Camp was less than 20 miles from our house. It had a reputation for being one of the best boys camps in the south-east. A tradition began in our family, when Tom was young, that each of us would go.

The first year of camp was 2 weeks, second year 2 weeks. Two years of overnight camp were mandatory, after that you had the option of going away for four weeks and on up until a summer job at Y-Camp could be yours.

Tom and Sam both loved Y-Camp. Me, not so much!

Tom went away every summer, first as a camper, then Counselor in Training and finally a full-fledged Counselor.

Sam, same thing. They both loved the Camp experience and the opportunities it gave them to meet boys from all over the country and develop leadership traits that would help them in life.

As the summer of 1972 approached, I knew it was now time. Eight years old and time for overnight summer camp. I wasn't excited, no matter how hard Sam or mama or daddy tried to convince me that it would be fun, I wasn't buying it.

Mama needed me at home, who would she watch Days of Our Lives with? I couldn't go away to camp, mama and daddy wouldn't have anyone to talk to. A million things went through my mind, tons of excuses, but the tradition would not be broken by me, I was going to Athens Y-Camp, two weeks, end of story!

Sunday morning, first day of camp arrived and I loaded into the car with mama and daddy for our journey to camp. Just a short drive from home, but for me an agonizing trip to a land of mystery, with people I didn't know, activities I couldn't imagine and no mama or daddy anywhere in-sight, the next two weeks were going to be the worst this little 8 year old had ever experienced!

Upon our arrival, I was greeted by my counselor. (No, not the kind that would put me in a padded room with a white coat, but the guy who would be my mentor for the next two weeks.) We were led to my home away from home. A wooden cabin, with wooden floors, wooden walls, tin roof and NO BATHROOM! The cabin was filled with bunk beds, separated into two rooms, 12 boys all my age and a counselor would now occupy this cabin for the next two weeks. It was immediately obvious, there would be no turn down service or mints on the pillow at this place, we were roughing it.

Once I was settled into my new accommodations, the first big test of camp was at hand. Put on your bathing suit and head to the lake for a swimming test. The lake manifested every fear I had about overnight camp. For years I had heard my brothers talk about how cold it was, how high the diving board was, how the Vandiver Man used it to put bodies in....over and over again, that lake! Now, I was about to dive into that lake, headfirst and prove my manhood. An eight year old proving that I could swim from one dock to the next, approximately 25 yards, all for the right to be anywhere other than the beginners swim class.

I walked out onto that white dock and stood, looking at the other end, I knew I could make it but every ounce of doubt I could muster filled me up! The water is cold, the diving board is too high, and there are dead bodies in this lake! There was nothing I wanted more than to be in the intermediate swim group, but as much as I didn't want to be classified a beginner, I certainly didn't want to go in that lake.

After some minutes of nudging me closer and closer to the water, my counselor finally got me to jump in. For the next five minutes or so, I kicked and paddled myself from one end to the other, just like a beginning swimmer would do. It was obvious, I would be in the beginning swim class, no intermediate for me. I let my fears get the best of me, something I should have done and could have done easily was overshadowed by fear of the unknown.

Now after the swim test, it was time to say good-bye to mama and daddy. For two long weeks they would have to be without me, no one to talk to, I know they didn't want me to stay at camp, but the left me and made their way home anticipating the day they could come and retrieve their baby boy.

During those two weeks at Y-Camp, I learned a lot. I had never shared a room with 12 other boys before, it was interesting.

Each morning we would wake up to the sound of a bell that spread throughout the whole camp. 7AM, wake up, in your pajamas, underwear or whatever you sleep in, run to the top of the hill and meet the camp directors for morning exercises. I would have much preferred morning cartoons, but I adjusted.

At Y-Camp, I learned to clean my plate, it was a requirement. Sometimes not knowing what you are eating is a good thing, a special breakfast called DVOT taught me that lesson. A life-lesson I still carry with me today.

Camp was filled with activities, I took part in archery, arts and crafts, canoe, soccer and every day I went to swimming lessons.

At night, the entire camp would gather in the Lodge after dinner. The lodge was an old wooden building, with tin roof and wrap around porch, anchored by a large rock fireplace on the north wall. Sitting on long hard benches in the lodge we would sing hymns, camp songs and listen to stories of men who made a difference in the lives of others.

Surrounding us in that Lodge were hundreds and hundreds of handmade signs nailed to the walls and ceiling. Each sign had the name, hometown and camp years painted on them. These signs represent the history of Athens Y-Camp and the men who made a difference in the lives of others in big and small ways.

Every day I got more and more comfortable jumping into that cold lake filled with dead bodies that the Vandiver man placed there. Every day I got stronger and stronger, I wasn't a beginner swimmer and I knew it, I was an intermediate and I was going to prove it to everyone!

More than anything else, my favorite part of Camp was the trips we got to take. There were three trips. A day trip to "Frontierland" in Cherokee, NC. A small amusement park with rides and shows and candy!

The second trip was also a day trip, this one I was a bit more concerned about. It was a hike into the bottom of the Tallulah Gorge for an afternoon of skinny dipping at slipper rock. Now, the hike really didn't concern me, but I don't think it takes a rocket scientist to know, sliding down a rock, bare-assed and into a pool of water may not be the best idea. Once again, my fears were unfounded and I had a great time sliding down slippery rock with my fellow campers, free as the wind and naked as a Jay-bird!

The big trip all campers took was the most anticipated of all. A hike into the woods and overnight camp-out. We would cook hot dogs and eat potato chips and be allowed to drink Coke, but before any of that we would have to hike into those mysterious woods that surrounded Athens Y-Camp.

The woods, the very same woods that were the home to the Vandiver man, the very same Vandiver man who had put all those dead bodies in the lake.

Throughout my time at camp, I had seen group after group go off into the woods and come back unscathed, but the thought of having to do it for myself wasn't something I was looking forward to. When the time came our little group of 8 year olds made our way into those dark woods, led by our counselor, who by this time we had come to trust. We walked and walked until we came upon our official campsite.

After we had set up camp, it was time for hot dogs and fun by the camp fire. We ate, we sang songs and we laughed, then it happened. One of the camp workers who had accompanied our group to the campsite began to tell a story.

He told a story of a man who used to live nearby, who was disfigured and made fun of. A man who grew bitter and mean, a man they called the Vandiver man.

The worker told us this story and it grew more and more gruesome. Our tiny band of eight year olds clung to each word, scared to move, scared to breathe and even more scared that we wouldn't hear the entire story.

As the story of the Vandiver man was reaching its climactic high point, out of the deep dark woods surrounding Athens Y-Camp came a voice, a horrific voice....."I AM THE VANDIVER MAN!"

With that, our tiny band of eight year olds collapsed into a screaming, laughing, horrified mess; because instantaneously we knew, we knew there was no Vandiver man, there weren't bodies in the lake, it was all a story, a ghost-story passed down from generation to generation. A myth that taught its young listeners about respecting differences in others, overcoming fears and tradition.

Finally, as my two week adventure at Athens Y-Camp was coming to an end, it was time to showcase what I had learned to my counselors. I presented my works in arts and crafts, archery, trampoline and all the other various skill classes I had participated in.

Now, on the final day, it was time to prove to myself and everyone else that I had overcome my fears. My fear of a mythological figure who put dead bodies in a cold lake that had prevented me from being my best in swimming. It was time to overcome the fear that had held me back from a summer of learning to jump from the high dive into a cold lake, fear that kept me from being my best.

On that day, I walked out on that white dock and peered across the 25 yards to my destination. I was going to swim to that far dock, turn around, come back to my starting point and prove that I had overcome my fears of the lake. Without hesitation, I dove in and I swam, I swam to the far end and came back. I conquered my fears and I swam.

As I went home that year, overcoming my fear of a cold lake, with a too high diving board, filled with dead bodies placed there by a mythological ghost story character didn't seem like that big of a deal. But looking back on it, I realize that lake symbolized much more than swimming, it symbolized a belief that fear is an emotion like any other, it can paralyze you or it can make you stronger, during the summer of 1972, fear made me stronger.

I went back to Athens Y-Camp the next year, this time, no longer part of the baby group, but a 9 year old expert. I didn't just conquer the lake that summer, I passed up intermediate swimming and moved straight to advanced. I jumped from the high dive and hit bulls-eyes on the archery field. I may have started out slowly, but in year two, overnight camp was my thing!

At the end of my two weeks mama and daddy came to pick me up, Sam came with them. When they arrived, I was given a handmade sign, with my name on it. Together we made our way into the Lodge and found the perfect spot for my sign to hang, close to Tom and Sam's.

I haven't ever been back to that old Lodge since that day, but I am confident my sign still hangs there.

If you ever find yourself on the Campus of Athens Y-Camp, do me a favor and go in that lodge, look on the western wall, about 3/4 the way up. If you see a sign that says "Ken Rumsey, Clayton, Georgia, 1972 & 1973." Know that sign represents something, it represents a young boy who overcame fears, who learned something about himself and a man who was made better by his two summers at Athens Y-Camp.

Notes from A Southern Kitchen, 10 Questions.... Barbara Dooley

When I began the "Notes from a Southern Kitchen" blog, in addition to telling stories about my life, one of the things I wanted to do was interview famous Southerners.

I think everyone has a story to tell and hearing from people that we know and respect often gives us insight into our own lives.

I came up with a format to interview these famous Southerners..... "10 Questions."

The "10 Questions" interview concept if quite simple, I ask the same questions to everyone and post their responses.

I have sent out the questionnaire to a variety of celebrities, athletes, politicians and the like and have been surprised by some of the responses I have gotten back.

When I made my list of people I wanted to interview, one of the names near the top of the list was Barbara Dooley.

For any good Southerner, especially a Georgian, Barbara Dooley is an icon! She is the wife of former University of Georgia Football Coach Vince Dooley, but she is MUCH more than a coaches wife.

Ms. Dooley is a humorist, author, motivational speaker, and business owner. She is revered by University of Georgia fans and others around the country. I am thrilled that Ms. Dooley responded to my "10 Questions" request and present her responses below.....



10 Questions with Barbara Dooley....

1) Where were you born?

I was born and lived in Birmingham Alabama all of my life.

2) Who is the greatest influence in your life and why?

The greatest influence in my life on home making skills was my Aunt Barbara. I was named after her, she was my mother’s sister who never married and she gave me the love of sewing and cooking. She was the most talented lady that I have ever been around and nothing was better than waking up to her fresh, home- made cinnamon rolls in the morning. She could sew without a pattern and she taught me at a very early age to enjoy the art of sewing.

3) What is the one thing that you cannot do without in your Southern Kitchen?

In my Southern kitchen the one thing that I don’t want to be without is garlic!

4) What is your favorite holiday food?

My favorite holiday food is an apricot casserole. I absolutely adore it and my daughter Deanna tend to eat the whole casserole when it’s on the table. I will have to say that corn pudding runs a close second.

5) What makes you a Southerner?

Everything about me is Southern………..I love the southern accent……….I love all southern foods, I love southern men, I love the strength and grace of the southern woman, there is nothing better than a southern author, and southerners have a great ability to weave a story and make it great and there is nothing better than southern humor! ……. I truly wouldn’t want to live anywhere else in the world.

6) Biscuits or Cornbread?

Cornbread

7) What is your favorite memory?

One of my favorite memories is my Dad bringing home bar be cue ribs every Saturday night. He owned a restaurant and behind his restaurant there was a black community and every Saturday they would cook ribs. My dad would always stop and buy a rack and bring them home to us. Every Saturday night we had the exact same menu for the twenty years that I lived at home……..Hamburgers, Hot Dogs with Kraut, French Fries and Ribs! I can still taste our Sat night suppers………….delicious.

8) Who taught you to cook?

My Aunt Barbara tried to teach me but I was too busy with other things to really learn. I learned by doing when I got married. Vince ate some awful meals until I figured the stove out……………..Now, I love it!

9) Banana Sandwich or Tomato Sandwich?

Tomato Sandwich with Dukes mayo and a Vidalia Onion is the BEST

10) what would you serve, or have served to you for your FAVORITE Southern meal?

I have served one of my favorite Southern Meals:

Pork Tenderloin
Cheese Grits
Collard Greens
Sweet Potato Casserole
Squash
Green Salad
Corn Bread
Peach Cobbler with Vanilla Ice Cream

What a thrill for me that Ms. Dooley participated in this questionnaire, I want to thank her for her time!

I look forward to presenting more "10 Questions" interviews with famous Southerners in the future!

Great Southern Kitchens.... The Varsity

When you think of great restaurants, fast food establishments don't always come to mind. That is unless you are a southerner.

In the south, we treasure our fast food, sometimes you just need some grease!

One of the greatest fast food restaurants in the world is The Varsity! A Georgia tradition, with six locations in the Atlanta metro area and Athens, The Varsity is unlike most any other restaurant you will visit.

Guests place their orders at a large stand up counter, spanning the length of the main atrium. Boisterous attendants take your order and shout the requests back to a kitchen in a lingo all their own. With terms like "naked dog" for a hot dog the attendants at the counter offer an entertainment all their own.

As a child, one of my favorite stops on College Football Saturdays would be a visit to The Varsity. We would pull up to the curb-side stand and place our orders. The food we ordered at The Varsity would then turn into our tailgate party once we arrived at the stadium.

The menu is quite simple, hot dogs, chili dogs, french fries, onion rings, pimento cheese sandwiches, chicken salad sandwiches and the like. In addition to the traditional fast food fare, you can also get some of the best fried pies and frosted orange drinks you could ever ask for.

The Varsity is such a tradition in the south, that any serious politician running for national office always makes a stop there. Celebrities, sports heroes and common folk mix and mingle within the confines of The Varsity.

Today, when I fly into Atlanta, my first stop is usually The Varsity. Without fail, when I begin to plan for a trip home, I always get a craving for the fare of my favorite fast food joint. Daddy used to ask if I wanted to stop, now, he doesn't even have to open the conversation for discussion he KNOWS I want to stop.

The restaurant is broken up into "TV rooms." Small dining areas with 10 -12 tables each. Inside each dining area, the TV is tuned to a different station, hence the name.

On our stops at The Varsity, I have run into family members, old friends I haven't seen in years and past acquaintances, it never fails, you will always see someone you know at The Varsity.

My choice of food at The Varsity is always the same. (Now if you are a calorie counter, you may want to skip this part!) I order a hamburger, chili dog, onion rings, french fries and large diet coke.... yeah, I know the diet coke part is kind of defeated with the other items!

Nothing at The Varsity is typical. The onion rings are made from authentic Vidalia onions, the french fries are individually cut from real potatoes and the chili is homemade....nothing frozen here, all made the day of for cooking.

The next time you travel through Atlanta or Athens, do yourself a favor, stop in at The Varsity, one Great Southern Kitchen!

Dream Big Dreams

Zack is my nephew. In addition to that he is one of my favorite people on the planet.

Zack is 16 and when he was born he was the first grandson after the first granddaughter in our family. Being the youngest is hard enough, imagine being the youngest to the first girl ever, double tough!

Of all my family members, I guess Zack and I are more alike than any of the others. I imagine if I had been blessed with a child he would be a lot like Zack.

He is, and always has been, the sensitive one. Wearing his heart on his sleeve, lover of the arts, a fashionista with big dreams for his life. Daddy even made the comment the other night to me that Zack reminds him a lot of me when I was his age. He reminds me a lot of myself as well.

He has a bond with mama (or as he calls her dada) that is beautiful to see. He dotes on mama and she dotes back. He worships the ground she walks on and that admiration is returned to him ten-fold. Mama loves all of her children and grandchildren, but Zack holds a special place in her heart. I love it that he takes care of her and makes sure that she is ok and stops by to see her almost everyday, they are both creating memories and a bond that they will have forever.

I kid Zack all the time by telling him that I will always be my mama's baby, but he is quick to let me know that since he came along HE is her baby. I guess we will both have that honor from now to eternity.

Zack and I have a close bond, he calls to check on me. We text each other. We are buds. We also argue like cats and dogs sometimes, but we always make up.

Like me, Zack loves the beach. He loves the hot weather and the feeling of the sand between his toes. A couple of years ago, Zack asked if he could come visit me during his Spring Break, he did and we had a great time.

This year, Zack asked if he could come down for a few days before he started back to school. Last week was that visit. We had a great time together. Miami, South Beach, Palm Beach, mansion cruising, shopping and general good times.

For me, the highlight of the trip was our morning Para sailing adventure.

Both of us have an aversion to heights and the thought of being 750 feet in the air being pulled by a boat while attached to a parachute was a bit scary. We laughed through our nervousness leading up to the flight. But once we were in the air, it was one of the most peaceful adventures I have ever been on. I can't think of anyone I would have rather shared it with than Zack.



Zack is the dreamer of our family. He has big dreams and plans for his life! While in South Beach he decided that this would one day be his home (or one of his many homes.) Zack plans on being rich and knowing Zack he will do just that.

Deep down he knows that the financial rich isn't what will make him happy, but as he puts it, being wealthy won't hurt.

Zack informed me that when he moves to South Beach he will take care of me. We will travel on his private jet to all the most glamorous places on earth and I can come and stay in his penthouse condo on the beach.

I encourage Zack to keep dreaming, dream big and dream often. Don't ever let anyone or anything stand in the way of those dreams. Age will shatter some of those dreams, but the most important thing is to keep dreaming, don't ever give up.

I look forward to shuttling around the world with Zack on his private jet, taking in the sites and being a part of his dream! But more than that, I look forward to watching him grow, mature and see that his greatest wealth is in the person he is and the person he will become.

Thanks for dreaming big Zack!

I love you,
Uncle Ken