Congratulations to Teresa Ross, who retired last week from Modine after 39½ years at the same company! She was excited about not having to set an alarm. We wish her many adventures and much relaxation in her retirement. There are a lot of great books in her future, I’m sure!
Congratulations also go to Velisha Adams Walls for receiving her Associate of Science as a Medical Administrative Assistant. Lisa and Michael are the very best folks!
Our sympathy to the family of Bobbie Griffin of Oakland. She worked for the telephone company, for Big Yank, as a kindergarten and elementary assistant teacher, and in medical billing. Survivors include her sons, Ron (Destiny) Griffin, Jr. and Robbie (Marie) Griffin; her daughter, Shana (Chris) Bauer; 14 grandchildren; 11 great-grandchildren (and one on the way!). She was preceded in death by her parents, Robert and Mary Poe; her husband, Ronald “Ronnie” Griffin, Sr.; a son, Chad Griffin; a grandson, Cody Haire; and a sister, Patsy Poe Elliott. She was a member of Oakland Baptist Church.
Holy Week services in the area were well attended with rotation among the following churches: Spring Hill Church of God, Spring Hill Baptist, Oakland Baptist, Oakland Methodist, and Tillatoba Baptist. Mother said the services were wonderful and that there was a lot of good visiting included as well.
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I read a column recently about the death last month of Larry Hentz, who was convicted in the 1982 death of James Williamson of Oakland. It was a big case at the time, but there was a very personal element for me involving one of the best dogs ever in my life.
I was a hot-shot newspaper reporter living in a small town outside of Clarksdale where I covered northwest Mississippi for The Commercial Appeal.
I got a call that a train had derailed between Tutwiler and Webb. I grabbed my trusty Pentax 35-millimeter camera, a reporter’s slim notebook, and jumped into my 1973 Chevrolet Laguna I had purchased new from Dynamite Kirk.
As I drove, an 18-wheeler went barreling by and from the corner of my eye I glimpsed a movement. In that split second when the brain processes the vision, I thought I had seen a little monkey trying to clamber out of the way. It was a tiny puppy. The train was already wrecked and not going anywhere anytime soon, so I pulled over, caught the pup, maybe 6 weeks old, with not one hair on its scrawny body and dropped it off at my vet’s office.
When I returned, they told me a sad story of mange (the really infectious kind), worms and more. I was making a grand total of $125 a week. After explaining the treatment including 8 weeks of boarding, they told me if I would pay for half of the medicine, they would comp the rest. I agreed and ended up with a dog named Monkey. Monkey Marie Aldy, to be exact.
When his hair returned, it was the color of a lion and he held his head as erect as if he were royalty. He could look at me sometimes with such gratitude and love in his eyes that his soul spoke. This was before I was appreciative of neutering and Monkey had run of the small town where we lived.
Later, we moved to Jackson, renting a house with a large backyard, completely fenced with a cyclone fence. However, there was no gate in the fence, so you had to go through the house to the backyard. Monkey decided that his theme song was “Don’t Fence Me In” and, just like a little monkey, he would put those paws into the openings of the chain link and climb over. Most days when I came in from work, he was not there. I would drive the 1978 Ford LTD (bought used from Dynamite Kirk) up and down the streets until I saw Monkey in the rearview mirror. He would detect the car’s engine and follow me home.
After about a month of this, I knew that Monkey was never going to be a city boy, so I called my Daddy (not my first dog to share with him) and he agreed that Monkey could come live at the Oakland farm.
He still loved to wander, so over the creek bed and through the woods he went and found James Williamson. James had a small country store and had been one of Daddy’s political opponents, but Monkey didn’t care because James fed him Alpo out of a can! No dried food for Monkey Marie now! James drove a Lincoln Town Car and Monkey rode on the front seat. Cliff Finch had appointed James to a state board that I worked with, so we often shared Monkey stories. I was happy that Monkey had landed in such luxury. Daddy and James began talking to each other as a result and mended some feelings from the past.
Unknown to James, the woman he married got involved with Larry Hentz and they plotted James’ death. According to the story, one day she took most of her clothing and jewelry to Batesville for cleaning. The next morning, she decided to go jogging in Batesville at 5 a.m. Shortly after she left to pursue this new hobby, her husband, Monkey’s friend James, was shot dead and the house burned down around him.
I have always been grateful that they let Monkey out of the house before setting it on fire. I don’t know why they spared him, but Monkey returned to my parents’ farm where he lived out his life.
