Challenger images fresh even 25 years later

January 28, 1986.

Many of you don’t recall the significance of that day. I do. The images burned into my mind forever.

A scant 73 seconds after one of the most-watched launches in space shuttle history, Challenger exploded into that ‘Y’ image now a part of our space exploration legacy.

I was editor of The Dothan Progress at the time and was on my lunch break. A co-worker and I walked to a tiny restaurant/bar/pool hall close by to grab some of the best chilidogs anywhere.

Normal day. Sun was shining. Not particularly cold in Dothan.

Ordinary.

Two chilidogs, an order of crinkle fries and a tall glass of sweet iced tea.

We grabbed a table in the corner and situated ourselves so we could watch the shuttle launch on the TV high in the opposite corner of the room. The final countdown was on. Up to that point I never missed many launches if I had the chance to get in front of a television. My fascination with the space program went back to my youth.

Maybe a dozen other patrons watched. Most stopped eating for a moment. This was historic stuff. America was sending teacher Christa McAuliffe into space. Wow…wouldn’t she have some terrific stories to share with her students!

“3-2-1″ came the final count. The requisite close shot of the blast nozzles filled the screen as the rocket engines powered up. Ever so slowly Challenger rose off the platform.

I sipped my tea. Hadn’t taken a bite yet.

The seven-member crew gathered speed as the vehicle arced out over the Atlanta Ocean. All looked normal against the blue, cloudless sky.

Then there was that image. An obvious explosion. One smoke trail went north; one went south.

Every diner gasped. Then an uneasy murmur settled into the room. No one ate.

I’d never seen a shuttle launch with divided smoke trails. I hope I never see another.

I knew what had happened. So did NASA. So did everyone watching, whether they wanted to admit it or not.

Those chilidogs were as tasty as usual. I guess. I never took a bite.

Detroit vs. Atlanta: A Southerner’s northern take

The badmouthing of Detroit gets tiring. Day in and day out the home of the U.S. automobile industry takes a beating in the media and in blogs worldwide.

Detroit is dangerous.

Detroit is dead.

Detroit offers nothing.

No.

No.

And no.

Detroit is no more dangerous than any other big city. There are places I wouldn’t go at night in Detroit. I can say the same about New York City, Denver and Dallas.

Detroit is far from dead. The heart beats as strong as ever.

Those who announce that Detroit offers nothing haven’t been there.

Having just spent the better part of three weeks in and around the Motor City, it’s clear this once-proud industrial center has been through a rough patch lately. But it’s even clearer that Detroit’s revival and determined spirit of renewal grow with every sunrise.

And as a Southerner born and raised, I’m going out on a dangerous limb and attest that in my opinion Detroit is infinitely more interesting than, say, the holy – and I use that term not in a wholly religious sense – Southern cultural hub of Atlanta.

Go ahead my Dixie brothers and sisters. You may gasp now, declare my heritage revoked and heap Confederate voodoo upon me.

But I speak the truth. And if you’ve not visited and explored Detroit, you’ve no right to doubt nor question my analysis.

Now, none of this suggests Atlanta fails to intrigue. That simply would not be so.

But here are some ways I personally believe Detroit rises above the ATL (that’s what the Uppities like to call Atlanta):

• Detroit possesses a real sense of history and place. You feel it. You see it. For me, Atlanta rises as not much more than a big city without much more to be said about it than that. Yes, I know the whole Sherman-Atlanta story. And a great story it is. But it hardly holds a wrench to the long, storied industrial history of Detroit. That history defines the city – for better and for worse – in a way few American cities can be defined.
• Taste is a matter of, well, taste. For me, Detroit beats Atlanta hands down on the taste (i.e., food) front. Having spent far more hours in Atlanta than Detroit and having dined at far more restaurants in Atlanta, I can honestly say that just one – Buckhead Diner – comes to mind immediately. In Detroit and its metro area, my mouth waters when I think of the ribs at Slow’s Bar-B-Q, the ambiance and perfect meals at Michel Symon’s Roast, the calamari at Giovanni’s Ristorante, the goulash at Hungarian Rhapsody, the coney hamburger at National Coney Island or the wild salmon BLT at Cass Café. And that barely begins to scrape the surface of great eats in Detroit. Roll into Mexican Town, Greek Town and other ethnic areas for authentic dishes sure to make you wonder why you’ve never tackled this feed festival before.
• One could argue that Atlanta’s antebellum homes give that city an unapproachable edge in architecture. One would be wrong. Outside those homes, Atlanta’s architecture leaves the senses dulled and unexcited. Detroit’s architecture, on the other hand, represents broad styles and eras often mixed in housing, commercial and even industrial settings. Sadly, some of the city’s best works stand in disrepair and empty while defying time, man and the elements – I’m thinking of the Michigan Central Station in particular. Others, such as the Masonic Temple, remain viable, vibrant testaments to a city’s proud history.
• The Detroit Red Wings. That franchise has arguably one of the most colorful, successful histories in all of sports. You simply can’t talk about any Atlanta sports franchise in the same terms.
• It’s no secret that flying in much of the U.S. means, by some awful mandate of the travel gods, a stop at Hartsfield-Jackson Atlanta International Airport (ATL). God help us all. What a drab, lifeless piece of hell on earth. And prayers up for anyone suffering from claustrophobia doomed to walk those terminals. Detroit Metropolitan Wayne County Airport (DTW), conversely, is light, open, and easy to navigate and for reasons I cannot explain, the TSA agents at DTW seem almost friendly. Imagine! Now granted ATL is the world’s busiest airport, thus hosting exponentially more people daily than does DTW. But must every ATL expansion continue the old course of poor lighting, low ceilings and narrow corridors?
• As far as I can tell, Detroit demonstrated enough imagination over its history to not repeat street names. That alleviates much confusion for locals, visitors and GPS navigational systems. Atlanta – perhaps a reflection of its laidback Southern roots? – geographically displays just 71 streets with some variation of the name ‘Peachtree’. Need I explain the looks one gets when asking directions to a location on Peachtree?
• North American International Auto Show (NAIAS) in Detroit. It’s the first of its kind each year. It’s the biggest of its kind. And I could kick my own butt for not staying an extra day to attend. Shame on me.

Look, there are plenty of things I like about Atlanta, just like there are plenty of things I like about Chicago and Denver and Dallas.

But there’s an indomitable spirit permeating the foundation of Detroit that you have to experience to understand. The city may be down, but there’s something amazing brewing in Motown. And plenty of folks quietly ease into the city every day to take a sip of the tomorrow’s sweetness.

(Visit my other blogs: Journalism, Because it Matters and Hire This Journalist)

Tuscaloosa tornader memories still fresh

A Twitter friend reminded me that 10 years ago today a tornado ripped through Tuscaloosa causing widespread damage to homes and property.

I was driving through T-Town that day and listening to the radio as the tragedy unfolded. Thinking the storm had cleared the area, I pulled into the Cracker Barrel just off I-65 to grab a quick bite.

With a glass of sweet tea, no food yet on the table and sitting next to a front window, I gazed outside at nothing in particular…until…

Something caught my eye. To this day I don’t know what it was, but it was flying. Could have been shingles or some other building material.

I leaned closer to the window to get a better view. What I first saw disappeared, but other flying materials quickly appeared.

The lady at the next table saw me looking. Must have been the look on my face that troubled her. She turned to look, too. Then she looked back at me.

“Is that a tornado?” she calmly asked.

“Yes ma’am, I do believe…”

My answer was cut short by the manager asking everyone to immediately move out of the dining area and into the kitchen. I guess he finished my answer.

I stood at the entrance to the kitchen and watched the powerful, but ill-formed tornado roar past. Debris swirled through the air about 100 yards away, but the restaurant and its patrons were spared any damage.

Just as the low roar dissipated, the power went out. Seconds later the dark skies turned clear and a bright sunshine illuminated the nastiness nature can cause.

Clearly there would be no food for a while. I offered to pay for my tea so I could leave. The manager thanked me for the offer, but wouldn’t take payment so I jumped in the car and headed toward Birmingham.

The radio announcer said I was following the storm.

Great. I just might get my photo!

Passing the JVC plant, I could see some of the destruction. Two tall JVC signs, both on thin polls, stand near the interstate. One faces each direction. They’re probably 60-feet high and can’t be more than six feet apart.

The sign facing south still stood, though twisted and tangled within itself. The north-facing sign stood unmarred. Tornadoes do strange things.

A clear path through the trees along the highway confirmed the direction of the storm. An exit or so later, a car carrier lay on its side at a truck stop. Eight new Mercedes SUV’s just off the production line had fallen victim. The truck stop mere feet away appeared untouched.

Clearly I was not going to catch the tornado. And I was still hungry. Since I had just a couple hours of travel time left, I opted for a soda and a pack of crackers. Birmingham would be a good place to grab a snack and fill up with gas.

Approaching the metro area under blue, but humid, skies, I found an exit with a couple of quick marts/gas stations. Perfect.

I drove up to one, stopped the car, got out and proceeded to insert my credit card at the pump.

Nothing happened. I noticed a blank screen.

Maybe they, too, lost power?

I looked inside to see lights on inside the store. A quick check showed no life at any of the pumps.

Puzzled, I strode to the store, pushed the door to walk in, and almost smashed my face on the door. It was locked.

A dozen or so folks stood looking out of the store. It was all glass across the front…floor to ceiling, it was glass.

A clerk rushed to the door, unlocked it, grabbed me by the arm, and yanked me inside as she locked the door behind me.

I was stunned and caught completely off guard.

“What the….”

And before I could finish, she said (and I swear these are her exact words), “There’s a tornader out there, sir! It’s a headin right tord us. Way safer in here!”

I turned and looked at the other patrons. Their fright froze across their faces.

I looked back outside. Blue skies and sunshine.

“Ummm…the tornado passed five miles west of here about 15 minutes ago,” I told her and I tried my best to stifle a laugh at the entire situation. After all, when did standing in front of plate glass windows become a good place to be in a…tornader?

She looked at me with deep suspicion and one eyebrow cocked. “Man…are you sure?”

“I’m sure.”

And I wanted to add, “Here’s your sign.” But I refrained.

She turned to her willing captives and declared them free…if they believed me. Clearly she didn’t.

She unlocked the door long enough to free three of us, then closed and locked it again behind us.

I filled up with gas at the station next door.

Come to think of it, though, I didn’t get food until I got to my parents. Then again, I was probably laughing too hard to eat.

Sunday morning grits and bacon

A mish-mash of thoughts from events of recent days…

- Almost two days after the 2010 Iron Bowl and I’m still shaking my head in disbelief that Auburn was able to come back from a 24-point deficit to defeat in-state rival Alabama. Amazing two halves of football. Shout outs to Auburn’s Kodi Burns and T’Sharven Bell, both of whom made key plays in the comeback.

- Also still can’t believe Boise State’s kicker muffed two relatively short field goal attempts to give Nevada a shot at beating them. The Broncs watched their BCS hopes dashed with the Rebound in Reno.

- Now for a little armchair coaching (and we all know what that’s worth, right?): Urban Meyer must find a quarterback next year and stick with him. Some teams can pull off a two-QB system with success, but three? When none of the three knows his playing rotation nor playing situation, none can be prepared nor can they find a rhythm. Florida’s Saturday massacre at the hands of a hungry bunch of Seminoles may have happened no matter what, but the Gators proved ill prepared to even compete. And the quarterback position looked worst of all.

- I wrote a post for my other blog yesterday morning about the front page design of 11 of Alabama’s biggest newspapers. The blog focused on the Huntsville Times A1 and why I thought it stood head and shoulders above the other 10 papers in its handling of its Iron Bowl front-page coverage.

Last night a series of scathing comments were posted on that blog. Because of their nature and the language, the comments have since been deleted. But suffice it to say that the guy took me to task for having an opinion about something related to journalism. A gentle reminder that opinions — including his — are like, well, you know, and he went off like a bottle of Diet Coke with Mentos added. Would have been funny if he hadn’t been so hateful.

Some people just take themselves way too seriously. By the way, I Googled the guys name this morning. Judging by the first three pages of links, the guy is known far and wide as a jerk.

- A little-publicized, but note-worthy death occurred a couple of day ago. David Nolan, founder of the Libertarian Party, died at 66. Nolan’s impetus for the creation of a new political party in 1971 was an historical action by President Richard Nixon. Do you know what it was? (Hint: The answer’s in the obituary, linked above.)

- The NBA’s Miami Heat flounder with a 9-8 record today. Yes, that’s the Miami Heat of Chris Bosh and two other high-profile, highly-paid players, neither of whom have consistently pulled their wealthy weight thus far this season. After their loss yesterday, they held a players-only meeting to get some things off their collective chests.

Here’s a thought, gentlemen: How about listening to Coach Erik Spoelstra instead of playing playground hoops and swaggering around in your bling? (Bosh excluded…he’s played up to and beyond expectations.)

OK, that’s it. Grits are gone and so is the bacon.

And yes, comments ARE welcome! Just don’t be a jerk.

Bammers and Barners: Twin children of different colors

Tis the season when the heat builds prior to the commencement of the Iron Bowl.

Auburn and Alabama will face off the day after Thanksgiving in one of the most intense and colorful rivalries in all of college football. And the jawing amongst the fans is already climbing to a fever pitch.

Of course, the Cam Newton story (and as a journalist, I use the term ‘story’ loosely, but that’s fodder for another blog post) just throws napalm on the fire for some fans on both sides of the debate.

But this is the time of year when a particular sort of fan becomes most vocal. Some Alabama faithful prefer calling such Auburn fans ‘Barners,’ while some Auburn fans prefer calling such Alabama fans ‘Bammers.’ These are meant to be disparaging names, of course. And some – usually Barners or Bammers – prefer calling all fans of the opposing teams by these cute, but childish, names.

In the great history of this rivalry, the Bammers and Barners terms stand as relatively recent developments, although those who actually fit the terms have been around as long as the rivalry itself, I suspect.

Over the last two seasons I have watched and listened to with great interest the Bammers and Barners. Amazingly, with their limited social and intellectual skills, they have managed to figure out how to use Facebook. The more advanced of these pathetic little (in mind, rarely in body) simpletons have even managed to figure out the complexities of Twitter.

When you sit back and examine the Bammers and Barners, however, there are only two real differences: They wear different colors and they yell different yells. Otherwise, they come from the same stock.

Now, I can already hear both Bammers and Barners protesting with great boisterousness and fervor that they are nothing alike. That would be almost blasphemous, right? Of course they would be wrong.

So let’s examine some points. Here are two traits common to all Bammers and Barners:

(1)   They speak out of both their mouth and their anus, and both are interchangeable. (Don’t you like how I cleaned that up?)

(2)   Non-Bammer and non-Barner fans would prefer the Bammers and Barners not speak and not wear their team colors. It’s embarrassing.

Those two attributes remain constant, but there are others that often accompany those. While the following may not be applicable to all Bammers and Barners, you can bet at least a couple pertain.

(3)   The afflicted has never set foot on the campus of the University of Alabama or Auburn University.

(4)   They aren’t bright enough to work in the sanitation department of either school, much less pass an academic entrance exam.

(5)   They couldn’t find Tuscaloosa or Auburn on a map.

(6)   They shop for their college logo wear at Stuckey’s.

(7)   They believe the rest of the world is deaf. If you’ve listened to these yahoos call into a radio show, you understand.

(8)   They can’t spell the last name of their head coach. Bammers spell it Saben or Sayben. Barners spell it Chezik or Chizeek.

Oh, and lest I forget…Bammers and Barners rarely know they are Bammers or Barners. That truly makes observing them even more entertaining since they remain largely oblivious.

To be sure, the rest of us find the Bammers and Barners disgusting, disturbing and more than a little annoying.

But doggone, they are entertaining…in a backwoods, redneck, hillbilly sort of way.

Sunday morning ham and eggs

A mish-mash of…stuff…(All links safe for family viewing.)

• It’s Halloween Day. No really, it’s TODAY. For those who were forced to celebrate last night, I’m sorry. Here in South Walton our local elected officials saw fit — and good for them! — to keep their noses out of it and allow Halloween to fall on, well, Halloween!
• And speaking of Halloween: The number of trick-or-treaters on our street usually numbers as low as two and in 10 years we’ve had a high of nine. Not a terribly exciting night in these parts, but I do like seeing how the little critters are dressed. On the menu this year are Snickers Bars, Twix and Nestle Crunch. That’s the order in which they will be dispersed. And yes, that’s from my least to my most favorite. While that might seem a bit selfish, others seem to enjoy Snickers far more than I, so it actually works out for everyone.
• Still savoring Auburn’s 51-31 win over Ole Miss last night. Felt good to beat the original Les Miles.
• Watched the tweets for yesterday’s ‘Restore Sanity’ rally in Washington, D.C. Hosted by Jon Stewart and Stephen Colbert the rally’s purpose was… Oh wait, it appears no one could figure out the purpose. Apparently it lacked real humor. Serious politics (if there is such thing anymore) largely stayed away. Inspirational speeches were nowhere to be found. OK, maybe it was just a party with two famous hosts. The cool thing was that it completely confused the mainstream media.
• Back to Halloween (sort of) for a moment: Here’s a ghostly story for both ghost lovers and those of faith. Cool reading.
• For all of you prepping for your Mount Everest ascent, you’ll be happy to know you can now text and talk while you make this little trek. Good for emergencies, but bad for focus. Hope they put up “No Texting While Climbing” signs.
• I couldn’t/could care less. There’s been a 50-year debate about the phrase. Who knew? I say ‘couldn’t’ because it denotes I’ve reached the maximum depth of my personal don’t-give-a-hoot on a particular topic. ‘Could’ would mean I’ve got more don’t-give-a-hoot left to plunder.
• What the…?
• After all these years, the Pips still make me smile with their cool, smooth groove.
• Final thought: “Impartiality is a pompous name for indifference, which is an elegant name for ignorance.” — G.K. Chesterton

Halloween. Oct. 31. Period.

It seems some people just aren’t happy if they aren’t meddling in everyone’s affairs.

The latest case is a group of parent who supposedly brought pressure on the Okaloosa (Florida) County Sheriff’s Department to declare that Halloween would be celebrated in Okaloosa County on Oct. 30 this year.

According to an editorial in the Northwest Florida Daily News, Okaloosa County Sheriff’s Department spokesperson Michele Nicholson said it would be better to have trick or treating on Saturday instead of Sunday because Sunday is a school night.

Go ahead, snicker. No, just laugh out loud at the absurdity of that reasoning.

Does Ms. Nicholson not realize that five nights of the week are school nights? By this reasoning (and I use that term loosely) five of every seven years the good sheriff should step in and declare the traditional day of Oct. 31 not Halloween, then pick a suitable Friday or Saturday.

Leave the parents and their kids alone you meddling do-gooders. You too, sheriff.

If parents don’t want their kids out trick or treating on Sunday night, it should be their decision. If they do, then we have to trust they will have them back inside and in bed at a reasonable hour so they are rested for school on Monday.

Frankly, such decisions are none of anyone else’s business. Of course, these are probably the same nosey neighbors that want to tell everyone what color Christmas lights they should display, what times their trash cans should be retrieved from the curb, and what books the library should carry (or not).

I told you so!…in my head

Though I very rarely succumb to the temptation to blurt out “I told you so” to anyone (whether they deserve it or not), sometimes turning away from the bait can be a tough mental struggle.

On occasion the universe aligns so perfectly that the provocation for such proclamation seems, well, necessary. Demanded, even.

Yet I resist.

Sometimes karma just bubbles up with such a deep-seeded truth that I want to stand on a hilltop and shout, “I told you so!” Of course, the recipient of my smug decree would be shrinking into a sniveling, pitiful heap at the bottom of the hill.

Yet I resist.

Why do I resist 99.9999999654 percent of the time?

It’s rude. It’s gloating. It’s reprehensible.

But doggone, if it’s not tempting!

So I ask dear reader. Is there ever a time to boast in such a manner…either publicly or privately?

Leave your comments and share!

If I never again…it’ll be too soon

If I never see another photograph of a water drop…it’ll be too soon.

If I never again hear the song “Fireflies”…it’ll be too soon.

If I never see another BK commercial with the creepy Burger King character…it’ll be too soon.

If I never see another N.Y. Yankees Facebook page suggestion…it’ll be too soon.

If I never again taste brussel sprouts or smell them cooking…it’ll be too soon.

If I never again smell Polo cologne…it’ll be too soon.

If I never again have hickory trees in my yard…it’ll be too soon.

If I never again live in a place where the humidity percentages are consistently higher than the rain chances…it’ll be too soon.

If I never receive another email from Umbiqua Denarielieas, Esq. wanting to deposit “the U.S. sum of $14,000,000 dollars U.S.” in my banking account…it’ll be too soon.

If I never again experience the insane itch that comes with a mosquito bite…it’ll be too soon.

If I never again hear the name “Snookie”…it’ll be too soon.

If I never again sit through a PowerPoint presentation and have each slide read to me…it’ll be too soon.

If I never again see anyone texting while driving…it’ll be too soon!

What would you add to the list? Put those in the comments section.

Look like you belong at the beach, not in a bad-beach-fashion blog

This blog began as just beach fashion tips for the guys and gals. But as I began writing the fashion tips for the ladies, I realized that the likelihood of offending someone was quite high. I can handle the guys being hacked, but the scorn of a woman is never to be invited.

So I stuck with some basic rules just for us guys. Rules of conduct are at the end.

-          A bikini-bottom Speedo is never, ever a good idea. No matter what kind of shape you’re in, a bikini doesn’t work. It tells the world that (1) you’re a narcissist, (2) you don’t own a mirror, or (3) you’re blind.

-          The louder the print on your swim trunks, the younger you should be.

-          Board shorts are for guys with boards. Young guys. With surf boards.

-          A Gilligan hat doesn’t look good. On anybody. On any head.

-          Wearing your baseball-style cap backwards does not make you look cool. It makes you look like you’re trying to be cool…and it doesn’t work. Turn it around or take it off.

-          A bared chest sporting chains and chains of bling doesn’t make you look hip. It makes you look like a wannabe pimp or gangster. And a stupid one at that.

-          Cutoff t-shirts went out with tear-away jerseys.

-          If your boobs are bigger than those of any female on the beach, do everyone a favor and grab a shirt.

-          For heaven’s sake, if you must grab your wife/girlfriend/mother’s flip flops to wear, have the decency not to take the pink/silver/flowered ones. I shouldn’t have to explain why.

-          John Lennon-style tiny round sunglasses make you look misplaced. As in misplaced from the 60s. And besides, they do your eyes no good, no matter how dark.

-          Cut-off jeans went out with….ummmm…1973?

-          Keep your sunglasses up over your eyes, not down on the end of your nose or on top of your head. They disguise your roaming eyes. You’ll stay out of trouble as long as you just move your eyeballs and not your head. (See Corona commercials.)

-          If you insist on bringing your football, baseball, Frisbee or other throwing implements to the beach, have an arm and some skills. Otherwise, listen for the snickers.

-          Whistling at girls is way uncool, no matter how attractive they may be. Look if you must – and you must – and do so behind your sunglasses.

-          If you insist on taking your camera to the beach and trying to grab shots of the pretty ladies, be prepared for a middle-finger salute and be man enough to not get riled up about it. After all, you’re the perv.

-          If you’re heading to the water line with your wife/girlfriend/mother, carry the bulk of the load. Don’t grab your towel and beverage and leave the chairs and cooler for her. That’s just being an ass.

-          If red flags are flying, stay out of the water. As cool as you might be, dead is much colder and not near as macho.

Feel free to add more tips in the comments section. What have I missed in the 28 minutes it took to pen these?