I sat down for exactly 5 minutes and tried to list everything that's changed in Loudon since I moved away. I was surprised how much I listed. But, I guess 40 years is a long time so it could have been more. Can you remember any more?
Cole’s Drive In is gone.
The IGA is gone; actually 2 if you count the one out in Davis. Not sure about the one in Philadelphia.
The old cinderblock building that at one time was a bowling alley and later sold stone yard ornaments that sat across the highway from the IGA is gone.
The house the Best family lived in for years (that nobody else seemed to want) is now a historical building and sits where the jail used to.
The bridge has been replaced.
The jail.is gone.
The Chair Factory is gone.
Every store in downtown Loudon except Greer’s, although there is still a barber shop where Gene Dill’s place used to be, and the funeral home is still there but under another name.
Mrs. White’s store is gone.
Lewis McCollister’s store is gone, or at least isn't what it was
Carl Gile’s store is gone.
The hospital is now an assisted living place, I think.
Simpson’s store is gone.
Jackson school is gone.
The old high school is something else now.
Mr. Lawson’s store gone.
The grammar school is partially gone and what's left is a church.
Every store in west end Loudon is not either something else or empty.
The A&W is gone and now even the Sonic that replaced it is gone too.
The landfill, or dump as we called it, has been covered over and now is on Matlock Bend.
The old Junior High school is now the County offices.
What have I missed?
Friday, April 27, 2012
Thursday, April 19, 2012
After All These Years
A couple of posts ago I commented on what I called my old man ADD. I certainly was not trying to make light out of anyone’s health issues, or what they have to deal with; I was trying to poke fun at myself.
I have friends who deal with what are literally life threatening issues; cancer, high blood pressure, respiratory issues -- and the list goes on. So far, I’ve dodged most of that stuff, although I do have to watch my sugar and cholesterol. A friend of mine says those two ailments come from growing up in the south. Maybe he’s right.
Obviously, some things are harder to deal with than others, but every one of those people has my respect and admiration for how they handle situations that would probably drive me to my knees. And sometimes you run into things that didn’t have to develop into what they did, but did anyway.
I knew a guy in the Air Force that suffered from Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, or PTSD. It wasn’t from being shot at, or from shooting at someone else, in fact, he was never in harm’s way; but it was PTSD just the same. What made it doubly tough was the guilt he felt from dealing with something he said he didn’t “earn”.
Out of respect for him, I won’t go into the details of what kicked it off, but believe me when I say it was fairly common. A lot of military men and women go through it, but maybe he was spread just a little too thin and the consequences were too hard for him to deal with so the results of it all pushed him over some edge.
Then, to make matters worse, there was no support for him. No doctor or nurse or psychologist ever said, “Hey, he is showing signs somewhat similar to soldiers after combat, so maybe he is suffering from something like that.” Nope, he said instead when he sought help they accused him of “goldbricking”, lying about his symptoms as a way to get out of work. So, as Pink Floyd would say, it became just another brick in the wall. Why go see a doctor when all you got was ridicule?
So things piled up. He told me little things became a chore. Things like driving, grocery shopping, even getting a haircut would cause him to panic, so he started avoiding things, walling himself up in his room. He developed agoraphobia, among other things, or just another brick in the wall.
Over time, anxiety disorders and depression set in, and the guy who was once never at a loss of something to say became a shell of the man he used to be. There was a time when he was the life of the party, joking and laughing, but eventually became of ghost of sorts.
He told me recently that he is still dealing with it. He goes through periods of feeling great and other periods of feeling like hell, and it’s been nearly 30 years since it all started. Sometimes the pills help and sometimes they don’t.
That’s got to be hard, dragging something like that around with you for years and years, knowing that the only real end of it all is when you breathe your last.
I’ll settle for watching my sugar and cholesterol.
I have friends who deal with what are literally life threatening issues; cancer, high blood pressure, respiratory issues -- and the list goes on. So far, I’ve dodged most of that stuff, although I do have to watch my sugar and cholesterol. A friend of mine says those two ailments come from growing up in the south. Maybe he’s right.
Obviously, some things are harder to deal with than others, but every one of those people has my respect and admiration for how they handle situations that would probably drive me to my knees. And sometimes you run into things that didn’t have to develop into what they did, but did anyway.
I knew a guy in the Air Force that suffered from Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, or PTSD. It wasn’t from being shot at, or from shooting at someone else, in fact, he was never in harm’s way; but it was PTSD just the same. What made it doubly tough was the guilt he felt from dealing with something he said he didn’t “earn”.
Out of respect for him, I won’t go into the details of what kicked it off, but believe me when I say it was fairly common. A lot of military men and women go through it, but maybe he was spread just a little too thin and the consequences were too hard for him to deal with so the results of it all pushed him over some edge.
Then, to make matters worse, there was no support for him. No doctor or nurse or psychologist ever said, “Hey, he is showing signs somewhat similar to soldiers after combat, so maybe he is suffering from something like that.” Nope, he said instead when he sought help they accused him of “goldbricking”, lying about his symptoms as a way to get out of work. So, as Pink Floyd would say, it became just another brick in the wall. Why go see a doctor when all you got was ridicule?
So things piled up. He told me little things became a chore. Things like driving, grocery shopping, even getting a haircut would cause him to panic, so he started avoiding things, walling himself up in his room. He developed agoraphobia, among other things, or just another brick in the wall.
Over time, anxiety disorders and depression set in, and the guy who was once never at a loss of something to say became a shell of the man he used to be. There was a time when he was the life of the party, joking and laughing, but eventually became of ghost of sorts.
He told me recently that he is still dealing with it. He goes through periods of feeling great and other periods of feeling like hell, and it’s been nearly 30 years since it all started. Sometimes the pills help and sometimes they don’t.
That’s got to be hard, dragging something like that around with you for years and years, knowing that the only real end of it all is when you breathe your last.
I’ll settle for watching my sugar and cholesterol.
Tuesday, April 10, 2012
Rosie
The best part about Facebook is being able to hook up with friends, past and present. Among my friends are those from several places I’ve lived, several jobs I’ve held, and go as far back as my military days.
Friends come in all shapes and sizes. There are those who left a lot of tracks and those that left only a few, but the one thing they have in common is that for a time they added something to my life.
One of my Facebook friends is from my very first duty assignment in the Air Force. It was a small shop, maybe 15 people. We handled survival equipment, life vests, life rafts and parachutes. We also did a little upholstery work. In that group, there was only 1 woman -- Rosie.
Military humor is unique. While high school humor was very guttural, military humor is even more so. And nothing is sacred; not your mother, your wife, your religion or political viewpoints and especially any insecurities you might have. So Rosie put up with more than a few crass remarks, but she didn’t seem to mind; in fact, she could zing you right back without hesitation.
Rosie was Chicano, the name used then for Mexican Americans. She, and a handful of others, introduced me to the Mexican culture and the people in general. They were friendly, hardworking and giving people. She would bring breakfast burritos made with eggs and chorizo. She could make them plain or spicy, and they were so good.
In her own way, Rosie “adopted” most of us guys. There was no moping around the barracks if you were homesick and you most definitely did not go hungry. She had me to her house for dinner with her family and she was even a witness at my first marriage.
My Facebook friend from back then told me that Rosie died a couple of years ago. The world has lost some of its brightness and absolutely a big chunk of its goodness.
Friends come in all shapes and sizes. There are those who left a lot of tracks and those that left only a few, but the one thing they have in common is that for a time they added something to my life.
One of my Facebook friends is from my very first duty assignment in the Air Force. It was a small shop, maybe 15 people. We handled survival equipment, life vests, life rafts and parachutes. We also did a little upholstery work. In that group, there was only 1 woman -- Rosie.
Military humor is unique. While high school humor was very guttural, military humor is even more so. And nothing is sacred; not your mother, your wife, your religion or political viewpoints and especially any insecurities you might have. So Rosie put up with more than a few crass remarks, but she didn’t seem to mind; in fact, she could zing you right back without hesitation.
Rosie was Chicano, the name used then for Mexican Americans. She, and a handful of others, introduced me to the Mexican culture and the people in general. They were friendly, hardworking and giving people. She would bring breakfast burritos made with eggs and chorizo. She could make them plain or spicy, and they were so good.
In her own way, Rosie “adopted” most of us guys. There was no moping around the barracks if you were homesick and you most definitely did not go hungry. She had me to her house for dinner with her family and she was even a witness at my first marriage.
My Facebook friend from back then told me that Rosie died a couple of years ago. The world has lost some of its brightness and absolutely a big chunk of its goodness.
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