Showing posts with label Middle GA. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Middle GA. Show all posts
Tuesday, June 12, 2012
Wednesday, June 6, 2012
Monday, June 4, 2012
Wednesday, May 12, 2010
Just Doodling
According to the History of Butts County, Georgia, William H. Jenkins married Mrs. Nancy H. Crumbly way back when and settled five miles northwest of Jackson where the Southern Railway was later situated. Thus born was Jenkinsburg.
Other folks joined the Jenkins family. Folks with names such as Bankston, Harris, Kimbell, Strickland, and Whitaker followed suit. I don’t expect they figured on so much commercial, retail and industrial development trickling in from the county line 144 years later. I can’t blame them. I couldn’t boast the foresight a mere five years ago.
I sat in on my first Jenkinsburg city council meeting in 2005. Several council members offered me a Coca-Cola while Eugene Wells offered me his comfortable high-backed chair. I happily gave up my uncomfortable low-backed wooden chair.
I heard about 30 minutes of the 45 minute meeting. Fifteen minutes was drowned out by trains. The council members were used to it; they continued to talk. And the mayor seemed nervous every time I put pen to paper during those 30 minutes. One time I showed him I was just doodling.
Look, I’m just doodling, I said. It didn’t ease his nervousness.
Come summer, the council had something to get really nervous about. Folks ended up leaving their garden hoses going overnight and then they showed up at the council meeting saying they didn’t know why their water bill was $350 more than it was last month. I think the council cut them a fair-handed deal most of the time. But I remember a few folks who quoted scripture and got red in the cheeks and neck and pointed a lot. That generally didn’t prompt the council into cutting a deal. Sugar, vinegar, etc. The rules of engagement are often learned when it’s too late to apply them.
Just glance at “Stroll Down Memory Lane” from time-to-time. You’ll see mention of a rock quarry or bypass or industry—along with a pleading for and an arguing against alike. Despite the laws of time and space, these things continue to confound and occupy the minds of Butts Countians. They’ve occupied my mind on occasion, too.
A city gazebo, painting the water tower, old assisted living home, and t city emblem are things that have occupied minds of Jenkinsburgians—at least in the past five years. But Jenkinsburg has painted its water tower, and created a city emblem. The gazebo and home remain in limbo—I believe—some wishing for one’s existence, and the demise of another.
Some things don’t change. Many things do. Lots of businesses have opened up in a little time. I keep telling Chief Riley BJ’s has the best hamburger in Butts County. And he continues to say Jenkinsburg is too far to drive for a hamburger despite me driving to Jenkinsburg over and over again for a hamburger. He’s missing out on their fried chicken gizzards, too. Word has it Jenkinsburg secret-weapon Wesley Keber willingly served as taste-tester for those jaw-exercising chunks of weird. I have yet to confirm that, though.
I can confirm my favorite county home is in Jenkinsburg. As luck would have it, the home sits directly across from BJ’s. It’s big, and white, and has a spectacular tiled tin roof. If you live in this big, white, spectacular tile tin roofed home, I’d like to tour it. Please invite me. Unquantifiable and great—that’s not only this home, but also many other people, places, and things in Jenkinsburg.
The place itself has and continues to provide the launching pad for some great human achievements. George Wilson “Toots” Caston lived in Jenkinsburg, but he spent most of his time at this place Butts Countians call the “barbecue stand.” A testament to the remarkable city soil, Caston also grew some reportedly fine tomatoes. Michael Brewer, Caston’s grandson, swears they were near perfect—tart and acidic. I never had them, but Joe Harris’s tomatoes fit that description. No summer breakfast is complete without them; ditto for dinner.
I wonder if the Jenkins family grew tomatoes. I wonder if they ate chicken gizzards. I’m sure they didn’t have $350 water bills, and no one could have offered them a Coca-Cola for another 25 years.
I’m glad the trains still roll, and the big, white, spectacularly tile roofed home sits across from the hamburger too good not to drive to. Keep changing, Jenkinsburg. And keep staying the same.
Other folks joined the Jenkins family. Folks with names such as Bankston, Harris, Kimbell, Strickland, and Whitaker followed suit. I don’t expect they figured on so much commercial, retail and industrial development trickling in from the county line 144 years later. I can’t blame them. I couldn’t boast the foresight a mere five years ago.
I sat in on my first Jenkinsburg city council meeting in 2005. Several council members offered me a Coca-Cola while Eugene Wells offered me his comfortable high-backed chair. I happily gave up my uncomfortable low-backed wooden chair.
I heard about 30 minutes of the 45 minute meeting. Fifteen minutes was drowned out by trains. The council members were used to it; they continued to talk. And the mayor seemed nervous every time I put pen to paper during those 30 minutes. One time I showed him I was just doodling.
Look, I’m just doodling, I said. It didn’t ease his nervousness.
Come summer, the council had something to get really nervous about. Folks ended up leaving their garden hoses going overnight and then they showed up at the council meeting saying they didn’t know why their water bill was $350 more than it was last month. I think the council cut them a fair-handed deal most of the time. But I remember a few folks who quoted scripture and got red in the cheeks and neck and pointed a lot. That generally didn’t prompt the council into cutting a deal. Sugar, vinegar, etc. The rules of engagement are often learned when it’s too late to apply them.
Just glance at “Stroll Down Memory Lane” from time-to-time. You’ll see mention of a rock quarry or bypass or industry—along with a pleading for and an arguing against alike. Despite the laws of time and space, these things continue to confound and occupy the minds of Butts Countians. They’ve occupied my mind on occasion, too.
A city gazebo, painting the water tower, old assisted living home, and t city emblem are things that have occupied minds of Jenkinsburgians—at least in the past five years. But Jenkinsburg has painted its water tower, and created a city emblem. The gazebo and home remain in limbo—I believe—some wishing for one’s existence, and the demise of another.
Some things don’t change. Many things do. Lots of businesses have opened up in a little time. I keep telling Chief Riley BJ’s has the best hamburger in Butts County. And he continues to say Jenkinsburg is too far to drive for a hamburger despite me driving to Jenkinsburg over and over again for a hamburger. He’s missing out on their fried chicken gizzards, too. Word has it Jenkinsburg secret-weapon Wesley Keber willingly served as taste-tester for those jaw-exercising chunks of weird. I have yet to confirm that, though.
I can confirm my favorite county home is in Jenkinsburg. As luck would have it, the home sits directly across from BJ’s. It’s big, and white, and has a spectacular tiled tin roof. If you live in this big, white, spectacular tile tin roofed home, I’d like to tour it. Please invite me. Unquantifiable and great—that’s not only this home, but also many other people, places, and things in Jenkinsburg.
The place itself has and continues to provide the launching pad for some great human achievements. George Wilson “Toots” Caston lived in Jenkinsburg, but he spent most of his time at this place Butts Countians call the “barbecue stand.” A testament to the remarkable city soil, Caston also grew some reportedly fine tomatoes. Michael Brewer, Caston’s grandson, swears they were near perfect—tart and acidic. I never had them, but Joe Harris’s tomatoes fit that description. No summer breakfast is complete without them; ditto for dinner.
I wonder if the Jenkins family grew tomatoes. I wonder if they ate chicken gizzards. I’m sure they didn’t have $350 water bills, and no one could have offered them a Coca-Cola for another 25 years.
I’m glad the trains still roll, and the big, white, spectacularly tile roofed home sits across from the hamburger too good not to drive to. Keep changing, Jenkinsburg. And keep staying the same.
IN BUTTS COUNTY...
In Butts County, Dr. Van Whaler is called “Dr. Van Whalen” by nearly every man, woman, and child.
In Butts County, Stewart becomes “Steve,” or “Steven,” or “Sterling,” or “Stone.”
In Butts County, local newspaper “subscriptions” are “prescriptions.”
In Butts County, “breakfast” is scrambled eggs, grits, and one – or all – of seven meat choices.
In Butts County, all council men and women, and board members are referred to as “good ol’ boys.”
In Butts County, if you’re not from Butts County, and you ask a Butts Countian for directions, they will tell you the place you’re trying to get to is “a little ways down from the old ______ house, right next to ______’s birth home, where the old ______ used to be.”
In Butts County, Butts Countians look at little boys and girls and declare them “a Cawthon, or a Kitchens, or a Cook, or a McKibben, or a Grier, or a Maddox, or a Patterson, or a Carmichael, etc.”
In Butts County, a “little piece of cake” is the biggest piece anywhere else in the world.
In Butts County, “saddle burrs” plague all council men and women, and board members (AKA “good ol’ boys).
In Butts County, everything in the local newspaper is an “ad.”
In Butts County, breathtakingly beautiful nature is nearly everywhere.
In Butts County, “Fresh Catch” is the “Mason Jar;” “Fresh Air Barbecue” is “the barbecue stand;” “Rio Vista” is “the Plantation;” “Mesquite” is “Bronco’s;” “Bill’s Smokin’ Que is “Smoky Bill’s.”
In Butts County, “Hello, Butts County” callers are constantly telling other Butts Countians to, “wake up.”
In Butts County, motorists constantly attempt to pass other motorists regardless of how fast other motorists are driving, or how dangerous the potential move to pass may be.
In Butts County, Butts Countians do not live in Butts County; they live in “Towaliga,” “Stark,” or “Worthville,” or “Iron Springs,” or “McKibben.”
In Butts County, you can stand a spoon in a glass of sweet tea.
In Butts County, residents of “Indian Springs” vehemently deny they live in the municipality, “Flovilla.”
In Butts County, welders can be “world famous.”
In Butts County, Butts Countians ask if Wednesday’s paper is available on Tuesday.
In Butts County, pricing gas is a competitive – if not contact – sport.
In Butts County, some people who break the law are fed soulful meat and three.
In Butts County, those who have done wrong will have to “answer to God” before they answer to anyone else.
In Butts County, more people go by nicknames than their real names.
In Butts County, rumors trump truth.
In Butts County, pharmacists can take a glance at you and prescribe – not subscribe – a host of different pharmaceuticals.
In Butts County, gas stations double as restaurants, or lounges, or clubs.
In Butts County, nearly all grocery stores sell hog jowls, hog maws, chitterlings, salt pork, souse, pig feet, and pig tails.
In Butts County, there are more “conspiracies,” and “scandals,” and “familial feuds” than any other county in the U.S.
In Butts County, more streets are named for people than people are named for streets.
In Butts County, the Butts County Administrative Facility is “the old Pig.”
In Butts County, all the world’s problems are solved around the “round table” during a.m. coffee at the “Mason Jar,” which is actually “Fresh Catch.”
In Butts County, sausage biscuits are eaten with jelly.
In Butts County, there are nearly as many churches as there are people.
In Butts County, extraordinary hunting and fishing holes do indeed exist. But you’ll have to be willing to give up your firstborn to hunt and fish said holes.
In Butts County, there are still people who want to change the name of the county they live in.
In Butts County, the words, “Landfill,” “Rock Quarry,” “Bypass,” and “RoseHill” inspire fear and indignation.
In Butts County, everyone assumes everyone else is a Dawg fan.
In Butts County, no one wants to be another “Henry County.”
In Butts County, Stewart becomes “Steve,” or “Steven,” or “Sterling,” or “Stone.”
In Butts County, local newspaper “subscriptions” are “prescriptions.”
In Butts County, “breakfast” is scrambled eggs, grits, and one – or all – of seven meat choices.
In Butts County, all council men and women, and board members are referred to as “good ol’ boys.”
In Butts County, if you’re not from Butts County, and you ask a Butts Countian for directions, they will tell you the place you’re trying to get to is “a little ways down from the old ______ house, right next to ______’s birth home, where the old ______ used to be.”
In Butts County, Butts Countians look at little boys and girls and declare them “a Cawthon, or a Kitchens, or a Cook, or a McKibben, or a Grier, or a Maddox, or a Patterson, or a Carmichael, etc.”
In Butts County, a “little piece of cake” is the biggest piece anywhere else in the world.
In Butts County, “saddle burrs” plague all council men and women, and board members (AKA “good ol’ boys).
In Butts County, everything in the local newspaper is an “ad.”
In Butts County, breathtakingly beautiful nature is nearly everywhere.
In Butts County, “Fresh Catch” is the “Mason Jar;” “Fresh Air Barbecue” is “the barbecue stand;” “Rio Vista” is “the Plantation;” “Mesquite” is “Bronco’s;” “Bill’s Smokin’ Que is “Smoky Bill’s.”
In Butts County, “Hello, Butts County” callers are constantly telling other Butts Countians to, “wake up.”
In Butts County, motorists constantly attempt to pass other motorists regardless of how fast other motorists are driving, or how dangerous the potential move to pass may be.
In Butts County, Butts Countians do not live in Butts County; they live in “Towaliga,” “Stark,” or “Worthville,” or “Iron Springs,” or “McKibben.”
In Butts County, you can stand a spoon in a glass of sweet tea.
In Butts County, residents of “Indian Springs” vehemently deny they live in the municipality, “Flovilla.”
In Butts County, welders can be “world famous.”
In Butts County, Butts Countians ask if Wednesday’s paper is available on Tuesday.
In Butts County, pricing gas is a competitive – if not contact – sport.
In Butts County, some people who break the law are fed soulful meat and three.
In Butts County, those who have done wrong will have to “answer to God” before they answer to anyone else.
In Butts County, more people go by nicknames than their real names.
In Butts County, rumors trump truth.
In Butts County, pharmacists can take a glance at you and prescribe – not subscribe – a host of different pharmaceuticals.
In Butts County, gas stations double as restaurants, or lounges, or clubs.
In Butts County, nearly all grocery stores sell hog jowls, hog maws, chitterlings, salt pork, souse, pig feet, and pig tails.
In Butts County, there are more “conspiracies,” and “scandals,” and “familial feuds” than any other county in the U.S.
In Butts County, more streets are named for people than people are named for streets.
In Butts County, the Butts County Administrative Facility is “the old Pig.”
In Butts County, all the world’s problems are solved around the “round table” during a.m. coffee at the “Mason Jar,” which is actually “Fresh Catch.”
In Butts County, sausage biscuits are eaten with jelly.
In Butts County, there are nearly as many churches as there are people.
In Butts County, extraordinary hunting and fishing holes do indeed exist. But you’ll have to be willing to give up your firstborn to hunt and fish said holes.
In Butts County, there are still people who want to change the name of the county they live in.
In Butts County, the words, “Landfill,” “Rock Quarry,” “Bypass,” and “RoseHill” inspire fear and indignation.
In Butts County, everyone assumes everyone else is a Dawg fan.
In Butts County, no one wants to be another “Henry County.”
A GOOD TIME
Awoke far before dawn and drove, coffee-fueled and anxious, towards North Carolina’s state line to fish its Nantahala river, where I met a young man named Otho.
Otho stood outside dilapidated bait shop and greeted me as I walked from car to shop door. He looked towards me but down and I saw his eyes were dulled milky white from blindness. In his stubby hands he tied rooster tails. Large marabou feathers, black and red and green.
Went into the shop, bought a cup of coffee and asked man behind the counter how the river was fishing. He asked me if Otho was botherin’ me. I told him he wasn’t and he said river ain't fishing too well last few weeks, but I’d do well to take some hand-made rooster tails off Otho.
The two were in the bed of a dubious business deal. I figured it couldn’t hurt, though.
Otho’s hand-made lures were $2 a piece or four for $5. I bought four. He asked me where I was from. I asked him how he knew I wasn’t local.
You come in ‘n’ ask pop how to fish the Nant, he said. Locals know how to fish her. You ain’t local.
No I ain’t, I said. I drove here from Atlanta to fish the river. I know a good time when I see one.
Otho asked me what “’lanta” was like. I told him it was big and spread out and seemed to change quite a bit. He didn’t like my answer. He asked me what I saw, what I heard, what I smelled.
I’ve been thinking about Otho lately. Been thinking about his idea of what made a place. And I’ve been thinking about what makes this county.
Seen wide, green fields and hay rolled into coarse, brown wheels. I’ve seen jakes and hens strut across East Ball and Jackson Lake Inn roads. Seen jon boats broken and abandoned in the dirt and gravel of Watkins Park & Pool. Seen black snakes hanging from High Falls trees, and armadillos broken as melons on highways 16, 42, 36.
Seen Red Devils celebrating region championships. Seen Lady Devils play soccer on a mud-slickened Hill in freezing temperatures. Seen a little girl named Peaches do big things on a basketball court.
Seen sunsets that hurt as much as my first heartbreak, and I’ve seen sunrises strangely serene after a pre-dawn hunt full of gunfire and roaring in the blood. Seen hawks hold watch upon telephone pole tops, and I’ve seen turkey vultures covering up a dead spike buck in a blanket of ink black feathers.
Seen wisteria turn trees pink and purple, and I’ve seen the Indian Spring Hotel’s trees burned yellows and reds by autumn’s fire.
Heard sirens and screeching wheels, church bells and chorus wailing and fervent: O’ victory in Jesus / My Savior, forever. I’ve heard suits and ties telling locals about great things they’re going to do for the county, and I’ve heard locals telling commissions they don’t want great things; they just want Wal-Mart, or Waffle House (I’ll take the latter, please).
Heard owls whoin’, bucks gruntin’, ducks quackin’, and bass splashin’. I’ve heard turkey’s gobblin’, crows crowin’, cows lowin’, and coyotes howlin’. (I’ve yet to hear the so-called “Stark panther,” though.) I’ve heard rounds chambered, and shots fired, and unprintable cussin’ after missin’.
Heard hundreds of people ask the paper to print the salaries of all county employees, all city employees, all teachers, and bus drivers, and custodians, doctors, lawyers, Indian chiefs.
Heard hundreds of people talk about what Butts is, where it should go, where it is now, and what it once was way back when. I’ve heard the past resembles the present. I’ve heard the future will resemble the past. And I’ve heard growth is comin’, growth won’t ever come, and growth is here.
I’ve smelled Thanksgiving and Christmas hams smoking, and I’ve smelled steaks grilling from one end of the square to the other. I’ve smelled catfish and onions and potatoes and wings and livers frying. I’ve smelled tea and coffee brewing and Coca-Cola spilled sticky on the sidewalk in the humid midst of ten-hells-hot Jackson July.
I’ve smelled wild onions sprouting and grass growing. I’ve smelled nose-singing sulfur in Paul Maddox marshes, and the earthiness of wet pine woods around Easter. I’ve smelled deer rutting and cattle in rigor. And I’ve smelled every scat imaginable, chicken, fox, ‘coon, boar, deer, coyote.
I’ve smelled funnel cakes frying, and hamburgers and hotdogs grilling. I’ve smelled Cook’s Lunchroom from deep within the throes of an agonizing deadline day hunger. And I’ve smelled pork chops, red hots and sausage, bacon and streak-o-lean frying at Hunter’s Family Restaurant before most people even roll over in the morning.
That’s what Butts is like. At least for me. No, I ain’t local. But I know a good time when I see one.
Otho stood outside dilapidated bait shop and greeted me as I walked from car to shop door. He looked towards me but down and I saw his eyes were dulled milky white from blindness. In his stubby hands he tied rooster tails. Large marabou feathers, black and red and green.
Went into the shop, bought a cup of coffee and asked man behind the counter how the river was fishing. He asked me if Otho was botherin’ me. I told him he wasn’t and he said river ain't fishing too well last few weeks, but I’d do well to take some hand-made rooster tails off Otho.
The two were in the bed of a dubious business deal. I figured it couldn’t hurt, though.
Otho’s hand-made lures were $2 a piece or four for $5. I bought four. He asked me where I was from. I asked him how he knew I wasn’t local.
You come in ‘n’ ask pop how to fish the Nant, he said. Locals know how to fish her. You ain’t local.
No I ain’t, I said. I drove here from Atlanta to fish the river. I know a good time when I see one.
Otho asked me what “’lanta” was like. I told him it was big and spread out and seemed to change quite a bit. He didn’t like my answer. He asked me what I saw, what I heard, what I smelled.
I’ve been thinking about Otho lately. Been thinking about his idea of what made a place. And I’ve been thinking about what makes this county.
Seen wide, green fields and hay rolled into coarse, brown wheels. I’ve seen jakes and hens strut across East Ball and Jackson Lake Inn roads. Seen jon boats broken and abandoned in the dirt and gravel of Watkins Park & Pool. Seen black snakes hanging from High Falls trees, and armadillos broken as melons on highways 16, 42, 36.
Seen Red Devils celebrating region championships. Seen Lady Devils play soccer on a mud-slickened Hill in freezing temperatures. Seen a little girl named Peaches do big things on a basketball court.
Seen sunsets that hurt as much as my first heartbreak, and I’ve seen sunrises strangely serene after a pre-dawn hunt full of gunfire and roaring in the blood. Seen hawks hold watch upon telephone pole tops, and I’ve seen turkey vultures covering up a dead spike buck in a blanket of ink black feathers.
Seen wisteria turn trees pink and purple, and I’ve seen the Indian Spring Hotel’s trees burned yellows and reds by autumn’s fire.
Heard sirens and screeching wheels, church bells and chorus wailing and fervent: O’ victory in Jesus / My Savior, forever. I’ve heard suits and ties telling locals about great things they’re going to do for the county, and I’ve heard locals telling commissions they don’t want great things; they just want Wal-Mart, or Waffle House (I’ll take the latter, please).
Heard owls whoin’, bucks gruntin’, ducks quackin’, and bass splashin’. I’ve heard turkey’s gobblin’, crows crowin’, cows lowin’, and coyotes howlin’. (I’ve yet to hear the so-called “Stark panther,” though.) I’ve heard rounds chambered, and shots fired, and unprintable cussin’ after missin’.
Heard hundreds of people ask the paper to print the salaries of all county employees, all city employees, all teachers, and bus drivers, and custodians, doctors, lawyers, Indian chiefs.
Heard hundreds of people talk about what Butts is, where it should go, where it is now, and what it once was way back when. I’ve heard the past resembles the present. I’ve heard the future will resemble the past. And I’ve heard growth is comin’, growth won’t ever come, and growth is here.
I’ve smelled Thanksgiving and Christmas hams smoking, and I’ve smelled steaks grilling from one end of the square to the other. I’ve smelled catfish and onions and potatoes and wings and livers frying. I’ve smelled tea and coffee brewing and Coca-Cola spilled sticky on the sidewalk in the humid midst of ten-hells-hot Jackson July.
I’ve smelled wild onions sprouting and grass growing. I’ve smelled nose-singing sulfur in Paul Maddox marshes, and the earthiness of wet pine woods around Easter. I’ve smelled deer rutting and cattle in rigor. And I’ve smelled every scat imaginable, chicken, fox, ‘coon, boar, deer, coyote.
I’ve smelled funnel cakes frying, and hamburgers and hotdogs grilling. I’ve smelled Cook’s Lunchroom from deep within the throes of an agonizing deadline day hunger. And I’ve smelled pork chops, red hots and sausage, bacon and streak-o-lean frying at Hunter’s Family Restaurant before most people even roll over in the morning.
That’s what Butts is like. At least for me. No, I ain’t local. But I know a good time when I see one.
Tuesday, May 11, 2010
NOISE POLLUTION
“This is Southern Rebellious Attitude. It’s been awhile since I’ve been in Hello, Butts County. I want to respond to the ad in last week’s paper about houses over $500 for rent. Me and my parents have been wanting to move, and we live in a house that was built in the ‘40s and it’s practically falling apart. And every house that we go to look at is over what we can afford and houses that are for rent aren’t advertised. So if you have a house for rent for under $500 a month, we’d appreciate it if you’d put it in the paper and let everybody know about it. Single parents can’t rent houses that are $600 a month.”
“Hello, Butts County. This is for the person who calls in every week whining about somebody having a yard sale in their yard without a license. Please get a life or get a hobby. I am sick of hearing you whine about it. Get over it. It’s not your property; it’s theirs. If it bothers you that bad, you really need some help.”
“Yes, that is a dead coyote on the bridge crossing the South River on Highway 36. No wonder people keep missing cats.”
“Hello, Elvis. I just want to wish you a happy New Year. You really looked good Friday night. To the rest of you out there in Butts County: happy happy happy New Year, cause I’m going to have the best one of my life.”
“Hello. I’d like to leave a message for Butts County. I’m asking for your help, Butts County. I lost my top plate teeth somewhere in town. If somebody has seen them or finds them, please call me. I would really appreciate it. They are very expensive, and I am unable to get some more.”
“Don’t even think about naming your children tsunami.”
“Hello, Butts County. This is about the people that have the little half-grown girls that don’t show senior citizens no respect. If you call and ask for their mother: ‘is she around?’ ‘No! No! No! No!’ They don’t give you a chance to tell her to call you before they slam the phone down. Someone needs to talk to these little girls. Thank you, and have a blessed day.”
“We used to read Hello, Butts first, ‘cause it was always good for a chuckle. What happened? All the full-wits leave town and left us with the half-wits?”
“Hello, Butts County. I’m walking home because my car either ran out of gas or is messed up big time, and as I was walking through the neighborhood I thought of you ‘cause I knew you’d be up. That tsunami knocked the earth off its axis a little bit. It made it wobble. Think about that for a while, that’s crazy. You wobble too much, and things get out of whack.”
“In case you haven’t noticed, we’re not in Mayberry times anymore. And, yes, a small town likes to think that, but sometimes you have to get over your ignorance and old timey worries and realize this is the twenty-first century and situations do arise which call for you to be a single parent. If you are do down on single parents, can you honestly say that you are secure in your parenting ways as a married parent?”
"Hello, Butts County. Two, four, six, eight, who do we appreciate? Yo mama, yo mama, your greasy, greasy granny got holes in head like Frankenstein going beep beep beep down Sesame Street.”
“Hello, Butts County. Coldest day of the year, inch of ice in Butts County, no salt on all the roads and bridges, no electricity at three o’clock in the afternoon, and you got your dumps open. The old retired people need to be at home where they have heat, electricity, whatever, but you don’t need to have your dumps open on a day like today. It’s Saturday, ice in trees, you don’t want anybody on the roads, but you got your dumps open.”
“What happens in Flovilla, stays in Flovilla.”
“Hello, Butts County. I was just calling to wonder and ask why electrocute people? It’s just like doing the bad like they did bad, and it really doesn’t make any difference. It’s like on judgment day, you’re going to go down for doing that too. It can’t bring whatever they did back and make it good. I was just wondering, so if you could give me an answer in your paper I would really appreciate it.”
“Hello, Butts County. I just wanted to give you an update. I’m wearing my dress pants, my canvas shirt, my Liz Claibourne blazer, my Spanish loafers, Mardi Gras beads, on the hardwood floor, looking at the ceiling fan, listening to Neil Young, and calling Hello, Butts County.”
“Hello, Butts County. Butts County. I just wanted to say that you are the greatest county in all of America. You should be proud of being from Butts County. You should be proud of your heritage. There’s nothing better than being a Butts countian. Butts is where it’s at.”
“Hey, this is Slam Dunk again. Hate to make fun of our neighbors in Clayton County, but here goes anyway. They elect a sheriff – no experience. First thing he does is fire everyone that has experience. Hired a prosecutor – same thing, no experience. I can hear old Jesse James telling Frank, ‘guess where our next hold up will be?’ Slam Dunk.”
“Hello, Butts County. I see the local honey for sale sign is back up.”
“Peanut butter! Who said you could order peanut butter? Peanut butter! Peanut butter!”
“First of all, we don’t electrocute people anymore. They get lethal injections. That way, unlike their victims, they don’t feel any pain. Why should us taxpayers give them free room and board, free medical, free dental, free legal aid for the rest of their lives when they murdered, tortured and killed innocent people. People should pay for their crimes. If the death penalty was carried out more sooner and more often, maybe the world would wake up and realize that they’re going to pay for their sins here on Earth as well in Hell.”
“Hello, Butts County. I became nostalgic this week ‘cause the Brownlee Road property values conjured up thoughts of the 1848 gold rush. Go southeast, young man.”
“Hi. I’d just like to tell my wife how much I love her. And I plan to grow old with her. We’ve been married over 17 years now, and adopting one child and got two of our own, and one grandchild. And I love her.”
“Hello, Butts County. This is Turbo. The Black Widow made it to Alabama, but I tell you what people: she might have been mean, she might have been evil, but doggone if I don’t miss her and love her and wish she would come back to J-town to me no matter what.”
“This is in response to the person who was calling to ‘wonder’ and ‘ask’ about electrocuting people. First of all, wouldn’t you wonder and then call to ask why electrocute people? And as shocking as this may sound, we do lethal injection now. Oh yeah, and by the way: what happens in Flovilla, stays in Flovilla. We hope you all stay in Flovilla.”
“What about this house in Stark? Looks like we need to get somebody to build a bigger porch on it so it can hold more junk. Looks like it’s about full.”
“There was this moment when I was eight years old and I ended up under my bed in my Wonder Woman Underoos with all my Care Bears on top of the bed with my stepbrother. It was ugly. Let’s not talk about it. Afterwards, my Care Bears were thrilled as punch. We took pictures. Hello, Butts County.”
“Hello, Butts County. This is Nature Baby. I was wondering do blind people dream, and if so what do they ‘see’ when they dream? And do they see colors, or people or faces? Can anybody tell me?”
“Hello, Butts County. I’m calling about the heartless person who threw a litter of kittens out on the train tracks on Highway 36 at Stark Road. I have been missing five white kitten Persians in Butts County. I don’t know if they were stolen. Please respond.”
“Hi, this is the Jackson Idiot Barometer. I don’t mean to be ugly, but I have never seen so many ignorant people in one place before. Unless you have brain damage or severe learning disabilities, there’s no excuse for ignorance with all the technology we have today. So get off your lazy butts and get with the rest of the world, and don’t waste your God-given abilities.”
“The City of Jackson is rapidly becoming a metro slum complete with crime, drugs, litter and noise pollution. Our police and elected officials can do a much better job than that being done, but the citizens can also contribute by noting violators and calling our officials to report them.”
“Hello, Butts County, The strangest plant in Butts County – the agave – is the plant they make tequila out of.”
“Hello, Butts County. I know someone who keeps complaining to me that her boyfriend won’t kiss her. Would you please break it to her gently and tell her it’s the halitosis.”
“I think everybody should be entitled to breakfast. That is the most important meal of the day.”
“You know who this is. I’d like to thank you deep down in my soul for taking care of me for so long.”
“Hello, Butts County. I just want to say how animal control can be picking up all these dogs and stuff, and they ain’t picking up all these chickens around here at Jackson Lake Subdivision. There is a hundred dogs out here that they come and pick up, but they never pick up all these darn chickens out here. ‘Bye, Butts County.”
“Hello, Butts County. I just want to say hello to the Boogman and to my lovely wife, and I just want to tell both of them I love them. Peace out.”
“Hey, Butts County. They call me the Peanut Kid. I want to make two comments. To the single woman who’s parent making $12 an hour: I wish I made $12 an hour. I’m a 31-year-old single father living alone. And as far as the single women living in Butts County, well there’re a few around there but that’s a whole $11 an hour.”
“Hello, Jackson. We go to Biloxi on an almost monthly basis. There are more Georgia tags there than Alabama or Tennessee or any place else. So why can’t our government see that? Why don’t we have legalized gambling in Georgia? It would cut our taxes. It would bring in so much revenue for the State of Georgia. I just don’t understand why our politicians can’t understand that. We would love to stay home. But God bless Biloxi with Katrina coming in.”
“I would like to leave a message for the jerk and the low life that wants to go around telling lies on people about drugs. What’s up? What’s your problem? Get a life because what you give will come back to you.”
“The new number one rule is to take care of your workers or someone else will.”
“Hello, Butts County. This is for the person who calls in every week whining about somebody having a yard sale in their yard without a license. Please get a life or get a hobby. I am sick of hearing you whine about it. Get over it. It’s not your property; it’s theirs. If it bothers you that bad, you really need some help.”
“Yes, that is a dead coyote on the bridge crossing the South River on Highway 36. No wonder people keep missing cats.”
“Hello, Elvis. I just want to wish you a happy New Year. You really looked good Friday night. To the rest of you out there in Butts County: happy happy happy New Year, cause I’m going to have the best one of my life.”
“Hello. I’d like to leave a message for Butts County. I’m asking for your help, Butts County. I lost my top plate teeth somewhere in town. If somebody has seen them or finds them, please call me. I would really appreciate it. They are very expensive, and I am unable to get some more.”
“Don’t even think about naming your children tsunami.”
“Hello, Butts County. This is about the people that have the little half-grown girls that don’t show senior citizens no respect. If you call and ask for their mother: ‘is she around?’ ‘No! No! No! No!’ They don’t give you a chance to tell her to call you before they slam the phone down. Someone needs to talk to these little girls. Thank you, and have a blessed day.”
“We used to read Hello, Butts first, ‘cause it was always good for a chuckle. What happened? All the full-wits leave town and left us with the half-wits?”
“Hello, Butts County. I’m walking home because my car either ran out of gas or is messed up big time, and as I was walking through the neighborhood I thought of you ‘cause I knew you’d be up. That tsunami knocked the earth off its axis a little bit. It made it wobble. Think about that for a while, that’s crazy. You wobble too much, and things get out of whack.”
“In case you haven’t noticed, we’re not in Mayberry times anymore. And, yes, a small town likes to think that, but sometimes you have to get over your ignorance and old timey worries and realize this is the twenty-first century and situations do arise which call for you to be a single parent. If you are do down on single parents, can you honestly say that you are secure in your parenting ways as a married parent?”
"Hello, Butts County. Two, four, six, eight, who do we appreciate? Yo mama, yo mama, your greasy, greasy granny got holes in head like Frankenstein going beep beep beep down Sesame Street.”
“Hello, Butts County. Coldest day of the year, inch of ice in Butts County, no salt on all the roads and bridges, no electricity at three o’clock in the afternoon, and you got your dumps open. The old retired people need to be at home where they have heat, electricity, whatever, but you don’t need to have your dumps open on a day like today. It’s Saturday, ice in trees, you don’t want anybody on the roads, but you got your dumps open.”
“What happens in Flovilla, stays in Flovilla.”
“Hello, Butts County. I was just calling to wonder and ask why electrocute people? It’s just like doing the bad like they did bad, and it really doesn’t make any difference. It’s like on judgment day, you’re going to go down for doing that too. It can’t bring whatever they did back and make it good. I was just wondering, so if you could give me an answer in your paper I would really appreciate it.”
“Hello, Butts County. I just wanted to give you an update. I’m wearing my dress pants, my canvas shirt, my Liz Claibourne blazer, my Spanish loafers, Mardi Gras beads, on the hardwood floor, looking at the ceiling fan, listening to Neil Young, and calling Hello, Butts County.”
“Hello, Butts County. Butts County. I just wanted to say that you are the greatest county in all of America. You should be proud of being from Butts County. You should be proud of your heritage. There’s nothing better than being a Butts countian. Butts is where it’s at.”
“Hey, this is Slam Dunk again. Hate to make fun of our neighbors in Clayton County, but here goes anyway. They elect a sheriff – no experience. First thing he does is fire everyone that has experience. Hired a prosecutor – same thing, no experience. I can hear old Jesse James telling Frank, ‘guess where our next hold up will be?’ Slam Dunk.”
“Hello, Butts County. I see the local honey for sale sign is back up.”
“Peanut butter! Who said you could order peanut butter? Peanut butter! Peanut butter!”
“First of all, we don’t electrocute people anymore. They get lethal injections. That way, unlike their victims, they don’t feel any pain. Why should us taxpayers give them free room and board, free medical, free dental, free legal aid for the rest of their lives when they murdered, tortured and killed innocent people. People should pay for their crimes. If the death penalty was carried out more sooner and more often, maybe the world would wake up and realize that they’re going to pay for their sins here on Earth as well in Hell.”
“Hello, Butts County. I became nostalgic this week ‘cause the Brownlee Road property values conjured up thoughts of the 1848 gold rush. Go southeast, young man.”
“Hi. I’d just like to tell my wife how much I love her. And I plan to grow old with her. We’ve been married over 17 years now, and adopting one child and got two of our own, and one grandchild. And I love her.”
“Hello, Butts County. This is Turbo. The Black Widow made it to Alabama, but I tell you what people: she might have been mean, she might have been evil, but doggone if I don’t miss her and love her and wish she would come back to J-town to me no matter what.”
“This is in response to the person who was calling to ‘wonder’ and ‘ask’ about electrocuting people. First of all, wouldn’t you wonder and then call to ask why electrocute people? And as shocking as this may sound, we do lethal injection now. Oh yeah, and by the way: what happens in Flovilla, stays in Flovilla. We hope you all stay in Flovilla.”
“What about this house in Stark? Looks like we need to get somebody to build a bigger porch on it so it can hold more junk. Looks like it’s about full.”
“There was this moment when I was eight years old and I ended up under my bed in my Wonder Woman Underoos with all my Care Bears on top of the bed with my stepbrother. It was ugly. Let’s not talk about it. Afterwards, my Care Bears were thrilled as punch. We took pictures. Hello, Butts County.”
“Hello, Butts County. This is Nature Baby. I was wondering do blind people dream, and if so what do they ‘see’ when they dream? And do they see colors, or people or faces? Can anybody tell me?”
“Hello, Butts County. I’m calling about the heartless person who threw a litter of kittens out on the train tracks on Highway 36 at Stark Road. I have been missing five white kitten Persians in Butts County. I don’t know if they were stolen. Please respond.”
“Hi, this is the Jackson Idiot Barometer. I don’t mean to be ugly, but I have never seen so many ignorant people in one place before. Unless you have brain damage or severe learning disabilities, there’s no excuse for ignorance with all the technology we have today. So get off your lazy butts and get with the rest of the world, and don’t waste your God-given abilities.”
“The City of Jackson is rapidly becoming a metro slum complete with crime, drugs, litter and noise pollution. Our police and elected officials can do a much better job than that being done, but the citizens can also contribute by noting violators and calling our officials to report them.”
“Hello, Butts County, The strangest plant in Butts County – the agave – is the plant they make tequila out of.”
“Hello, Butts County. I know someone who keeps complaining to me that her boyfriend won’t kiss her. Would you please break it to her gently and tell her it’s the halitosis.”
“I think everybody should be entitled to breakfast. That is the most important meal of the day.”
“You know who this is. I’d like to thank you deep down in my soul for taking care of me for so long.”
“Hello, Butts County. I just want to say how animal control can be picking up all these dogs and stuff, and they ain’t picking up all these chickens around here at Jackson Lake Subdivision. There is a hundred dogs out here that they come and pick up, but they never pick up all these darn chickens out here. ‘Bye, Butts County.”
“Hello, Butts County. I just want to say hello to the Boogman and to my lovely wife, and I just want to tell both of them I love them. Peace out.”
“Hey, Butts County. They call me the Peanut Kid. I want to make two comments. To the single woman who’s parent making $12 an hour: I wish I made $12 an hour. I’m a 31-year-old single father living alone. And as far as the single women living in Butts County, well there’re a few around there but that’s a whole $11 an hour.”
“Hello, Jackson. We go to Biloxi on an almost monthly basis. There are more Georgia tags there than Alabama or Tennessee or any place else. So why can’t our government see that? Why don’t we have legalized gambling in Georgia? It would cut our taxes. It would bring in so much revenue for the State of Georgia. I just don’t understand why our politicians can’t understand that. We would love to stay home. But God bless Biloxi with Katrina coming in.”
“I would like to leave a message for the jerk and the low life that wants to go around telling lies on people about drugs. What’s up? What’s your problem? Get a life because what you give will come back to you.”
“The new number one rule is to take care of your workers or someone else will.”
MIDNIGHT ENTHUSIASTS
Jackson Lake is 4,750 acres with 135 miles of shoreline in Butts, Jasper and Newton counties. It was created in 1910 when the Ocmulgee River was dammed. Here is a partial accounting of people who have died in its waters since then.
On July 15, 1939, Bobby Lee Collins, a 16-year-old Butts County resident, was killed on the lake when a collision between a row boat and a motor boat looked imminent. He jumped out of the row boat into the path of the other craft and was terribly injured by the boat's propeller.
A 17-year-old student from Decatur named Lanier Bullard drowned in the lake on March 23, 1940 when his fishing boat overturned in deep water. It was believed that Bullard could nto swim and became entangled in trout lines he and a companion had been setting. His body was recovered three hours later.
On Sunday, June 16, 1940, Legare Burney, a 42-year-old boat house operator, and Thomas Lee Pound, a 30-year-old state department of welfare employee, drowned when their motorboat threw them overboard. A third man swam to shore. As they were returning to the Jasper County side of the lake from a steak dinner on the Butts County side, the boat took a sharp turn, throwing all three passengers into the water before bursting into flames. Burney's body was recovered nearly a month later near Hardy's Neck where the accident occurred, but Pound's body was not recovered until the middle of October.
Two Atlanta men, J. W. Plunkett and G. R. Dell, were killed on September 15, 1940 when their plane crashed into Jackson Lake near Barnetts Bridge. Both bodies were recovered soon after the accident. According to witnesses, the plane had been circling the lake at a low altitude for some time, before it nose dived into 35-feet of water.
On Saturday night, April 15, 1950, Tod Williams, age 33 of East Point, drowned about a mile-and-a-half from Jackson Lake Inn. It was believed that he toppled from a boat while trying to refuel the motor. His body was recovered two weeks later after hundreds of people joined the search for it.
Helen Payne Patillo, a 26-year-old resident of Smyrna, drowned when the boat she was riding in with friends lost its motor and threw her and her small son into 80 feet of water. The son was pulled back into the boat, but Patillo went down in the deep water near Jackson Lake Inn. Her body was recovered that night.
Jackson Lake claimed two victims on June 17, 1951 when W. Earl Wells and Mary Hopkins of Macon drowned. The homemade motorboat the pair were in capsized in deep water near Scout Island. Mrs. Hopkins' husband and son were pulled from the water, and the bodies of the other two were recovered a few hours after the incident.
On September 1, 1952, Jack William Tidwell, a 24-year-old from Macon, drowned on the lake when he fell from his surfboard. His body was recovered the next day.
On May 24, 1953, seven-year-old Gene Lyle of Chamblee drowned in the lake near Jackson Lake Inn. His mother and an Atlanta man were held in the Butts County Jail on charges of operating a motorboat under the influence of alcohol and negligence. It was reported that the boy either fell or jumped from the boat into 12 feet of water as the boat neared the shore. His body was recovered a few hours later. According to Sheriff J. D. Pope, Lyle's death brought the total number of people drowned on the lake to over 100 since Jackson Lake was created in 1909.
Ernest Elvin Plunkett, a resident of Covington, drowned on Jackson Lake on July 28, 1953 when he fell out of a boat he was attempting to crank. The incident occurred near Barnett's Bridge and the body was recovered soon after by his kinsmen.
An Atlanta woman, Eunice Bates Speights, 58, drowned on December 21, 1953 in a dramatic suicide leap from Barnett's Bridge into the 35-foot-deep water of Jackson Lake. While driving across the bridge, she expressed to her husband a desire to see the lake more closely. As he slowed the vehicle, she leaped from the car leaving her husband clutching her coat he grabbed in an effort to stop her. She leaped from the bridge into the cold water and her body surfaced 40 minutes later.
Marvin O. McCord, Jr. died on July 3, 1955 when he drowned in Jackson Lake near Scout Island. It is believed McCord went for an early morning swim and either suffered a heart attack or severe cramps soon after he dove in the lake from a boat dock. His body was recovered a few hours later.
A 25-year-old Marietta man, Richard G. Handley, drowned in Jackson Lake about 3:30 a.m. on April 22, 1956 when he fishing boat capsized near the Tussahaw Bridge. His body was recovered soon after daybreak. He left behind a wife and two small daughters.
The lake claimed two lives in separate accidents on July 29, 1956. John B. Robbins, a 33-year-old attorney from Macon, drowned in the early morning hours near Jackson Lake Inn when a boat he and friend were in overturned. His body was not recovered in water 35 to 50 feet deep until August 4 when the pilot of a place passing over the lake spotted it.
On the afternoon of July 29, 1956 near Waters bridge, 23-year-old Hiram Ellis of Covington drowned when the boat he and a friend were in overturned while cutting across the wake of a larger boat. His body was recovered several hours later.
On June 28, 1958, 27-year-old Raymond A. Pozza of Decatur fell from a boat in which he and two companions were riding at 2 p.m. in the South River area of the lake. His body was recovered the next morning, and his death ruled an accidental drowning.
Later that day on June 29, 1958, three-year-old John McConneghry Ware of Houston, Texas fell from his grandparents' dock. Relatives tried for two hours to resuscitate the child but their efforts proved fruitless.
On April 8, 1963, eight-year-old Ricky Childers fell off a fishing pier on the Newton County portion of the lake. His uncle, 36-year-old James Smith, jumped in the water in an effort to save the child. Witnesses report that Smith had the child in tow and was heading for the surface when both disappeared. The bodies were recovered within 20 minutes.
On May 1, 1963, an Atlanta woman, Mrs. Evielon Brownlee Corbin, 41, drowned in Jackson Lake when she fell from a fishing boat in the Newton County area of the lake. She was standing alone in the boat, according to witnesses.
In June 1963, Mrs. M. W. Reeves found the huge track of a snake, which measured 10.5 inches wide. Men familiar with snakes believe an unusually large highland moccasin made the track.
In May 1964, Eugene Talmadge Davis, Sr., 30 of Griffin, succumbed to injuries he sustained when he fell out of his boat on Jackson Lake while trying to repair the steering and was run over twice by his own boat.
Two midnight enthusiasts soared into the wild black void and over the Lloyd Shoals Dam early in the morning on June 21, 1964 narrowly escaping death. The victims were Joseph F. Wilkes of East Point and Felton G. Harvey of Covington. One of the men was skiing when the fiberglass boat powered by a 75-horsepower motor went over the dam in a straight line. Both men were badly hurt with numerous broken bones.
On March 12, 1966, 33-year-old Rowland Barnett Walker of Atlanta drowned when he attempted to swim across a cove in the Tussahaw Creek area of Jackson Lake. Friends had wagered he could not swim the 125-yard span, and report that he went below shortly after swimming away from the dock fully clothes except for his shoes.
A five-and-a-half-year-old boy from Decatur named Kenneth Franklin Meaders drowned the in the Tussahaw Creek area of Jackson Lake on June 12, 1966. He was last seen playing in the yard of his host, and his father found his body in three feet of water.
The body of a Social Circle man was found on October 14, 1966 floating in the part of Jackson Lake near the Yellow and South rivers. Jesse Marion Haralson, age 39, had been missing since October 4. His car was found in the lake near the body, and was believed to have been in the water for several days.
Thirty-three-year-old Robert Lee Smith of Riverdale became the first drowning victim on 1967 when he went swimming by himself in Jackson Lake on April 2. There were no eyewitnesses to the incident, and his body was found a few hours later in water estimated to be six feet deep.
Walter D. Bruce of Atlanta drowned on October 7, 1967 when the fishing boat he was in capsized just south of Barnett's Bridge across from Kersey's Marina. Bruce stood up to adjust the cushion he was sitting on, lost his balance and fell in the water, turning over the small boat in the process. Both men held on to the overturned boat for several minutes when Bruce announced he was going to swim to shore, some 40 yards away. He went under soon after leaving the boat and his body was found a few hours later in 15 feet of water.
Jackson Lake's first drowning victim of 1968 – somewhat later than usual – was recorded on May 18. John Iler, age 39 of College Park, was swimming under Barnetts Bridge from one bank to the other. His body was recovered in 35 feet of water several hours after the incident was reported.
A 20-year-old girl from Decatur, Jan Elizabeth Moody, lost a leg in a skiing accident on July 4, 1969. She was being pulled behind a ski boat when she fell and was struck by another boat, the propeller mangling her knee almost severing the leg. Her leg was later amputated.
Also over the July 4 holiday weekend of 1969, Alton Potts lost his right index finger when a ski rope became entangled and stripped the flesh from his finger. The digit was later amputated.
A year later, on July 4, 1970, J. B. Lazenby, age 16 of Eatonton, drowned while swimming across the South River just north of the Highway 36 bridge. Lazenby and several companions had reportedly swam the neck of the river several times, when he tried it one last time and went under. A friend tried to rescue him, but had to give up due to the force of Lazenby's struggle. His body was recovered a few hours later by divers.
At one o'clock in the morning of Sunday, August 9, 1970 William Joe Kelley, 35 of Austell, was fishing in a cove on Jackson Lake with a friend when he leaned over too far to check a trot line and fell in water believed to be 40 feet deep. His body was found nine hours later after an extensive search.
On July 25, 1971, a 10-year-old named Marty Leo McGruder drowned in the waters just below Lloyd Shoals Dam. Witnesses say he was wading and swimming with his sister in three to four feet of water when he lost his footing and his body was caught in underwater by the tremendous suction from a drain hole. Rescuers attempted for several hours to pull the boy's body free, but could not until the drain was clogged with rags and the suction pressure eased.
Two men from Riverdale were killed on April 16, 1972 when their semi-cabin cruiser went over the east side of the Lloyd Shoals Dam crashing on the huge boulders some 70 feet below. Jack R. Wambles, 29, was believed killed instantly, while Lloyd Chumley, 33, succumbed to his wounds soon after the incident. Wambles' watch stopped at 12:26 a.m., the time of the tragedy.
The body of 14-year-old Tommy Smith Bryant was discovered on June 8, 1972 under a dock where he had disappeared from his boat four days earlier. The boy was reportedly last seen in his boat alone. His empty boat was found with his socks and shoes still in it. He lived with his parents in a trailer not far from the dock.
The body of 13-year-old Robert Barton Bryant of Decatur was found on August 5, 1972 lodged beneath a rock in a deep pool on the Alcovy River sector of Jackson Lake. He had fallen out of an inner tube while riding the shoals nearby.
[1972-1974] A fishing outing by two Atlanta men on the storm-tossed waters of Jackson Lake turned tragic when Arthur M. Barber, 79, fell from his boat at Barnetts Bridge and is believed to have died from a heart attack. Witnesses believed the body, which was recovered a few minutes later, never went below the surface.
On the night of February 27, 1976, Max A. Dunn, a 42-year-old man from Morrow, died when a boat he was piloting drove head-on into a private dock near Barnetts Bridge. His body was recovered a few hours later, and his two companions escaped with minor injuries.
Twenty-eight-year-old Brenda Belvin of Statesboro died on June 26, 1976 was killed when the boat she was riding in was broadsided by another boat. The accident occurred in the Tussahaw Creek area of the lake, and she was pronounced dead at Sylvan Grove Hospital.
On the afternoon of April 10, 1977, George Callaway of Riverdale drowned near Kersey's Boat Dock. Apparently, he and a companion decided to go for a swim, although it was reported that Callaway could not swim. The body was recovered the next morning in water 40 feet deep.
Fifteen-year-old MacArthur Miles of Barnesville drowned in the lake on May 31, 1977. According to Sheriff Billy Leverette, the youth drowned in about five feet of water while out with friends.
Jeffrey English, a 22-year-old Butts County resident, became the seventh fatality of 1977 on Jackson Lake. Early in the morning on June 29, 1977 he was reported missing by friends who were not sure if he fell off a dock or dove in the water in the South River section of the lake. His body was recovered several hours later.
In addition to the three fatalities on the Butts County side of the lake in 1977, one person drowned on the Newton County side and two drowned on the Jasper County side of the lake, while another individual died in a boating accident on the Jasper County side.
Dorsey Eugene Wheeler of Griffin drowned on July 7, 1978 while swimming near Martin's Marina on the Jasper County side of the lake. The victim was said to have jumped from a boat for a swim, but never resurfaced. His body was recovered the next morning in water 50-feet-deep.
On April 5, 1979, Jerry Cornelius McDuffie, age 45 of McDonough, drowned after he saved his grandson from the same fate. McDuffie and his wife and grandson were fishing in a place called Conley's Ditch and were about to leave when his truck rolled into the lake with the grandson trapped in the cab. McDuffie and some passers-by broke open one of the truck's windows, removed the boy and passed him hand-to-hand back to shore. McDuffie, however, did not make it back to shore. His body was recovered later that night.
Two Marietta men were killed on June 7, 1980 when the mast of their sailboat struck an overhead power line and electrocuted both. Gregory Chastain and Jerry Cecil Foushe were sailing in the Alcovy River area of the lake when the accident occurred. Witnesses reported seeing "a ball of fire" travel down the mast of the boat. The resulting charge threw both men from the boat. The incident also knocked out power to 1,000 residences.
On February 20, 1982 24-year-old Larry Bremond Ellenburg of Morrow drowned after a small boat he was in capsized in water 15- to 20-feet-deep. Ellenburg was wearing several layers of clothing as well as steel-toed boots, which impeded his swimming ability. His body was pulled from the water later that night near Jackson Lake Inn.
On June 2, 1982, eight-year-old Betty Elizabeth Brown was playing in the Lloyd Shoals Dam public use area of the lake with several companions when she became missing. The body was recovered in water 2- to 3-feet deep. She was in town from Kentucky visiting relatives here.
Two-year-old Jeremy Kyle Pruett of Lithonia drowned on July 3, 1982 near the Scout Island cove. He was playing with his brother on a dock when he fell into the water. He was recovered from the lake and taken to Sylvan Grove Hospital where efforts to revive him failed.
On August 6, 1982, 23-year-old Bobby Taylor Dotson of Forest Park, was killed instantly when he fell from a boat and the boat's propeller struck him in the head. Sheriff Billy Leverette said Dotson was operating the boat, which was pulling a skier behind it, and it is believed he was thrown from the craft when he made a sharp turn. His body was recovered several hours after the accident.
Seven-year-old Christina Elaine Kelly drowned in 10- to 12-feet of water on August 7, 1982. Her family found her doll floating in the lake's surface near a dock and called the Butts County Sheriff's Office. Her body was recovered an hour later.
A boating accident on June 29, 1983, claimed the lives of two men on Jackson Lake. A bass boat struck a smaller boat – that had no lights affixed to it – sending both passengers in the smaller vessel into the water. Glenn David Williams, age 39 of Conyers, drowned. His body was recovered three days later in 75 feet of water approximately one half mile above the dam. The body of his fishing partner, Luther Albert Morris, age 45 of Conyers, was found on July 7, 1983.
A Florida man, Michael B. Fuller, escaped serious injury on August 15, 1983 when his single-engine plane crashed into Jackson Lake. The plane, equipped with a pontoon landing device, struck electrical and telephone lines causing it to flip over and land upside down in the water near Kersey's Marina.
On April 11, 1985 Edgar Pittman, 53, left his dock on Tussahaw Point in an outboard motorboat. His boat was found drifting about a half mile from his dock the next afternoon, but Pittman was not found. The Butts County Sheriff's Office dragged the lake for several days in search of his body, but did not find it until April 18. The cause of death was ruled accidental drowning.
On May 11, 1985, the body of Michael Thomas Brown, age 22 of Riverdale, was brought to the surface of Jackson Lake about 15 minutes after he fell into the water. Efforts to revive him were unsuccessful. Brown had been trying to insert a plug into a boat when he fell backwards into seven-foot-deep water off the Haley Road area of the lake.
Reon D.Andre Davis, age 20 of Jackson, drowned in the area known as "the circle" near the Georgia Power dam on July 25, 1985. Witnesses said he and friends had been playing with a beach ball when he went missing. His body was recovered in water four feet deep.
[compiled by Marshall Avett]
On July 15, 1939, Bobby Lee Collins, a 16-year-old Butts County resident, was killed on the lake when a collision between a row boat and a motor boat looked imminent. He jumped out of the row boat into the path of the other craft and was terribly injured by the boat's propeller.
A 17-year-old student from Decatur named Lanier Bullard drowned in the lake on March 23, 1940 when his fishing boat overturned in deep water. It was believed that Bullard could nto swim and became entangled in trout lines he and a companion had been setting. His body was recovered three hours later.
On Sunday, June 16, 1940, Legare Burney, a 42-year-old boat house operator, and Thomas Lee Pound, a 30-year-old state department of welfare employee, drowned when their motorboat threw them overboard. A third man swam to shore. As they were returning to the Jasper County side of the lake from a steak dinner on the Butts County side, the boat took a sharp turn, throwing all three passengers into the water before bursting into flames. Burney's body was recovered nearly a month later near Hardy's Neck where the accident occurred, but Pound's body was not recovered until the middle of October.
Two Atlanta men, J. W. Plunkett and G. R. Dell, were killed on September 15, 1940 when their plane crashed into Jackson Lake near Barnetts Bridge. Both bodies were recovered soon after the accident. According to witnesses, the plane had been circling the lake at a low altitude for some time, before it nose dived into 35-feet of water.
On Saturday night, April 15, 1950, Tod Williams, age 33 of East Point, drowned about a mile-and-a-half from Jackson Lake Inn. It was believed that he toppled from a boat while trying to refuel the motor. His body was recovered two weeks later after hundreds of people joined the search for it.
Helen Payne Patillo, a 26-year-old resident of Smyrna, drowned when the boat she was riding in with friends lost its motor and threw her and her small son into 80 feet of water. The son was pulled back into the boat, but Patillo went down in the deep water near Jackson Lake Inn. Her body was recovered that night.
Jackson Lake claimed two victims on June 17, 1951 when W. Earl Wells and Mary Hopkins of Macon drowned. The homemade motorboat the pair were in capsized in deep water near Scout Island. Mrs. Hopkins' husband and son were pulled from the water, and the bodies of the other two were recovered a few hours after the incident.
On September 1, 1952, Jack William Tidwell, a 24-year-old from Macon, drowned on the lake when he fell from his surfboard. His body was recovered the next day.
On May 24, 1953, seven-year-old Gene Lyle of Chamblee drowned in the lake near Jackson Lake Inn. His mother and an Atlanta man were held in the Butts County Jail on charges of operating a motorboat under the influence of alcohol and negligence. It was reported that the boy either fell or jumped from the boat into 12 feet of water as the boat neared the shore. His body was recovered a few hours later. According to Sheriff J. D. Pope, Lyle's death brought the total number of people drowned on the lake to over 100 since Jackson Lake was created in 1909.
Ernest Elvin Plunkett, a resident of Covington, drowned on Jackson Lake on July 28, 1953 when he fell out of a boat he was attempting to crank. The incident occurred near Barnett's Bridge and the body was recovered soon after by his kinsmen.
An Atlanta woman, Eunice Bates Speights, 58, drowned on December 21, 1953 in a dramatic suicide leap from Barnett's Bridge into the 35-foot-deep water of Jackson Lake. While driving across the bridge, she expressed to her husband a desire to see the lake more closely. As he slowed the vehicle, she leaped from the car leaving her husband clutching her coat he grabbed in an effort to stop her. She leaped from the bridge into the cold water and her body surfaced 40 minutes later.
Marvin O. McCord, Jr. died on July 3, 1955 when he drowned in Jackson Lake near Scout Island. It is believed McCord went for an early morning swim and either suffered a heart attack or severe cramps soon after he dove in the lake from a boat dock. His body was recovered a few hours later.
A 25-year-old Marietta man, Richard G. Handley, drowned in Jackson Lake about 3:30 a.m. on April 22, 1956 when he fishing boat capsized near the Tussahaw Bridge. His body was recovered soon after daybreak. He left behind a wife and two small daughters.
The lake claimed two lives in separate accidents on July 29, 1956. John B. Robbins, a 33-year-old attorney from Macon, drowned in the early morning hours near Jackson Lake Inn when a boat he and friend were in overturned. His body was not recovered in water 35 to 50 feet deep until August 4 when the pilot of a place passing over the lake spotted it.
On the afternoon of July 29, 1956 near Waters bridge, 23-year-old Hiram Ellis of Covington drowned when the boat he and a friend were in overturned while cutting across the wake of a larger boat. His body was recovered several hours later.
On June 28, 1958, 27-year-old Raymond A. Pozza of Decatur fell from a boat in which he and two companions were riding at 2 p.m. in the South River area of the lake. His body was recovered the next morning, and his death ruled an accidental drowning.
Later that day on June 29, 1958, three-year-old John McConneghry Ware of Houston, Texas fell from his grandparents' dock. Relatives tried for two hours to resuscitate the child but their efforts proved fruitless.
On April 8, 1963, eight-year-old Ricky Childers fell off a fishing pier on the Newton County portion of the lake. His uncle, 36-year-old James Smith, jumped in the water in an effort to save the child. Witnesses report that Smith had the child in tow and was heading for the surface when both disappeared. The bodies were recovered within 20 minutes.
On May 1, 1963, an Atlanta woman, Mrs. Evielon Brownlee Corbin, 41, drowned in Jackson Lake when she fell from a fishing boat in the Newton County area of the lake. She was standing alone in the boat, according to witnesses.
In June 1963, Mrs. M. W. Reeves found the huge track of a snake, which measured 10.5 inches wide. Men familiar with snakes believe an unusually large highland moccasin made the track.
In May 1964, Eugene Talmadge Davis, Sr., 30 of Griffin, succumbed to injuries he sustained when he fell out of his boat on Jackson Lake while trying to repair the steering and was run over twice by his own boat.
Two midnight enthusiasts soared into the wild black void and over the Lloyd Shoals Dam early in the morning on June 21, 1964 narrowly escaping death. The victims were Joseph F. Wilkes of East Point and Felton G. Harvey of Covington. One of the men was skiing when the fiberglass boat powered by a 75-horsepower motor went over the dam in a straight line. Both men were badly hurt with numerous broken bones.
On March 12, 1966, 33-year-old Rowland Barnett Walker of Atlanta drowned when he attempted to swim across a cove in the Tussahaw Creek area of Jackson Lake. Friends had wagered he could not swim the 125-yard span, and report that he went below shortly after swimming away from the dock fully clothes except for his shoes.
A five-and-a-half-year-old boy from Decatur named Kenneth Franklin Meaders drowned the in the Tussahaw Creek area of Jackson Lake on June 12, 1966. He was last seen playing in the yard of his host, and his father found his body in three feet of water.
The body of a Social Circle man was found on October 14, 1966 floating in the part of Jackson Lake near the Yellow and South rivers. Jesse Marion Haralson, age 39, had been missing since October 4. His car was found in the lake near the body, and was believed to have been in the water for several days.
Thirty-three-year-old Robert Lee Smith of Riverdale became the first drowning victim on 1967 when he went swimming by himself in Jackson Lake on April 2. There were no eyewitnesses to the incident, and his body was found a few hours later in water estimated to be six feet deep.
Walter D. Bruce of Atlanta drowned on October 7, 1967 when the fishing boat he was in capsized just south of Barnett's Bridge across from Kersey's Marina. Bruce stood up to adjust the cushion he was sitting on, lost his balance and fell in the water, turning over the small boat in the process. Both men held on to the overturned boat for several minutes when Bruce announced he was going to swim to shore, some 40 yards away. He went under soon after leaving the boat and his body was found a few hours later in 15 feet of water.
Jackson Lake's first drowning victim of 1968 – somewhat later than usual – was recorded on May 18. John Iler, age 39 of College Park, was swimming under Barnetts Bridge from one bank to the other. His body was recovered in 35 feet of water several hours after the incident was reported.
A 20-year-old girl from Decatur, Jan Elizabeth Moody, lost a leg in a skiing accident on July 4, 1969. She was being pulled behind a ski boat when she fell and was struck by another boat, the propeller mangling her knee almost severing the leg. Her leg was later amputated.
Also over the July 4 holiday weekend of 1969, Alton Potts lost his right index finger when a ski rope became entangled and stripped the flesh from his finger. The digit was later amputated.
A year later, on July 4, 1970, J. B. Lazenby, age 16 of Eatonton, drowned while swimming across the South River just north of the Highway 36 bridge. Lazenby and several companions had reportedly swam the neck of the river several times, when he tried it one last time and went under. A friend tried to rescue him, but had to give up due to the force of Lazenby's struggle. His body was recovered a few hours later by divers.
At one o'clock in the morning of Sunday, August 9, 1970 William Joe Kelley, 35 of Austell, was fishing in a cove on Jackson Lake with a friend when he leaned over too far to check a trot line and fell in water believed to be 40 feet deep. His body was found nine hours later after an extensive search.
On July 25, 1971, a 10-year-old named Marty Leo McGruder drowned in the waters just below Lloyd Shoals Dam. Witnesses say he was wading and swimming with his sister in three to four feet of water when he lost his footing and his body was caught in underwater by the tremendous suction from a drain hole. Rescuers attempted for several hours to pull the boy's body free, but could not until the drain was clogged with rags and the suction pressure eased.
Two men from Riverdale were killed on April 16, 1972 when their semi-cabin cruiser went over the east side of the Lloyd Shoals Dam crashing on the huge boulders some 70 feet below. Jack R. Wambles, 29, was believed killed instantly, while Lloyd Chumley, 33, succumbed to his wounds soon after the incident. Wambles' watch stopped at 12:26 a.m., the time of the tragedy.
The body of 14-year-old Tommy Smith Bryant was discovered on June 8, 1972 under a dock where he had disappeared from his boat four days earlier. The boy was reportedly last seen in his boat alone. His empty boat was found with his socks and shoes still in it. He lived with his parents in a trailer not far from the dock.
The body of 13-year-old Robert Barton Bryant of Decatur was found on August 5, 1972 lodged beneath a rock in a deep pool on the Alcovy River sector of Jackson Lake. He had fallen out of an inner tube while riding the shoals nearby.
[1972-1974] A fishing outing by two Atlanta men on the storm-tossed waters of Jackson Lake turned tragic when Arthur M. Barber, 79, fell from his boat at Barnetts Bridge and is believed to have died from a heart attack. Witnesses believed the body, which was recovered a few minutes later, never went below the surface.
On the night of February 27, 1976, Max A. Dunn, a 42-year-old man from Morrow, died when a boat he was piloting drove head-on into a private dock near Barnetts Bridge. His body was recovered a few hours later, and his two companions escaped with minor injuries.
Twenty-eight-year-old Brenda Belvin of Statesboro died on June 26, 1976 was killed when the boat she was riding in was broadsided by another boat. The accident occurred in the Tussahaw Creek area of the lake, and she was pronounced dead at Sylvan Grove Hospital.
On the afternoon of April 10, 1977, George Callaway of Riverdale drowned near Kersey's Boat Dock. Apparently, he and a companion decided to go for a swim, although it was reported that Callaway could not swim. The body was recovered the next morning in water 40 feet deep.
Fifteen-year-old MacArthur Miles of Barnesville drowned in the lake on May 31, 1977. According to Sheriff Billy Leverette, the youth drowned in about five feet of water while out with friends.
Jeffrey English, a 22-year-old Butts County resident, became the seventh fatality of 1977 on Jackson Lake. Early in the morning on June 29, 1977 he was reported missing by friends who were not sure if he fell off a dock or dove in the water in the South River section of the lake. His body was recovered several hours later.
In addition to the three fatalities on the Butts County side of the lake in 1977, one person drowned on the Newton County side and two drowned on the Jasper County side of the lake, while another individual died in a boating accident on the Jasper County side.
Dorsey Eugene Wheeler of Griffin drowned on July 7, 1978 while swimming near Martin's Marina on the Jasper County side of the lake. The victim was said to have jumped from a boat for a swim, but never resurfaced. His body was recovered the next morning in water 50-feet-deep.
On April 5, 1979, Jerry Cornelius McDuffie, age 45 of McDonough, drowned after he saved his grandson from the same fate. McDuffie and his wife and grandson were fishing in a place called Conley's Ditch and were about to leave when his truck rolled into the lake with the grandson trapped in the cab. McDuffie and some passers-by broke open one of the truck's windows, removed the boy and passed him hand-to-hand back to shore. McDuffie, however, did not make it back to shore. His body was recovered later that night.
Two Marietta men were killed on June 7, 1980 when the mast of their sailboat struck an overhead power line and electrocuted both. Gregory Chastain and Jerry Cecil Foushe were sailing in the Alcovy River area of the lake when the accident occurred. Witnesses reported seeing "a ball of fire" travel down the mast of the boat. The resulting charge threw both men from the boat. The incident also knocked out power to 1,000 residences.
On February 20, 1982 24-year-old Larry Bremond Ellenburg of Morrow drowned after a small boat he was in capsized in water 15- to 20-feet-deep. Ellenburg was wearing several layers of clothing as well as steel-toed boots, which impeded his swimming ability. His body was pulled from the water later that night near Jackson Lake Inn.
On June 2, 1982, eight-year-old Betty Elizabeth Brown was playing in the Lloyd Shoals Dam public use area of the lake with several companions when she became missing. The body was recovered in water 2- to 3-feet deep. She was in town from Kentucky visiting relatives here.
Two-year-old Jeremy Kyle Pruett of Lithonia drowned on July 3, 1982 near the Scout Island cove. He was playing with his brother on a dock when he fell into the water. He was recovered from the lake and taken to Sylvan Grove Hospital where efforts to revive him failed.
On August 6, 1982, 23-year-old Bobby Taylor Dotson of Forest Park, was killed instantly when he fell from a boat and the boat's propeller struck him in the head. Sheriff Billy Leverette said Dotson was operating the boat, which was pulling a skier behind it, and it is believed he was thrown from the craft when he made a sharp turn. His body was recovered several hours after the accident.
Seven-year-old Christina Elaine Kelly drowned in 10- to 12-feet of water on August 7, 1982. Her family found her doll floating in the lake's surface near a dock and called the Butts County Sheriff's Office. Her body was recovered an hour later.
A boating accident on June 29, 1983, claimed the lives of two men on Jackson Lake. A bass boat struck a smaller boat – that had no lights affixed to it – sending both passengers in the smaller vessel into the water. Glenn David Williams, age 39 of Conyers, drowned. His body was recovered three days later in 75 feet of water approximately one half mile above the dam. The body of his fishing partner, Luther Albert Morris, age 45 of Conyers, was found on July 7, 1983.
A Florida man, Michael B. Fuller, escaped serious injury on August 15, 1983 when his single-engine plane crashed into Jackson Lake. The plane, equipped with a pontoon landing device, struck electrical and telephone lines causing it to flip over and land upside down in the water near Kersey's Marina.
On April 11, 1985 Edgar Pittman, 53, left his dock on Tussahaw Point in an outboard motorboat. His boat was found drifting about a half mile from his dock the next afternoon, but Pittman was not found. The Butts County Sheriff's Office dragged the lake for several days in search of his body, but did not find it until April 18. The cause of death was ruled accidental drowning.
On May 11, 1985, the body of Michael Thomas Brown, age 22 of Riverdale, was brought to the surface of Jackson Lake about 15 minutes after he fell into the water. Efforts to revive him were unsuccessful. Brown had been trying to insert a plug into a boat when he fell backwards into seven-foot-deep water off the Haley Road area of the lake.
Reon D.Andre Davis, age 20 of Jackson, drowned in the area known as "the circle" near the Georgia Power dam on July 25, 1985. Witnesses said he and friends had been playing with a beach ball when he went missing. His body was recovered in water four feet deep.
[compiled by Marshall Avett]
Tuesday, May 4, 2010
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