THE MAN

I had recently graduated from UGA School of Pharmacy and now as a newly licensed pharmacist in the state of Georgia, I went to work for the K Mart Corporation. K Mart had made the decision to put pharmacies in all of their stores and I was assigned to the store in Rome, Georgia. The year was 1975! Back in those days, drug reps called on pharmacies and one of the first reps I met was a man named Bruce Sloman. He came in and introduced himself and started talking about the Georgia Bulldogs! We became instant friends and he stopped by on a regular basis to check on his business as a pharmaceutical rep for Bristol Labs. Little did I realize that those initial conversations would be the basis for a deep and lasting friendship - a friendship I shall cherish for the rest of my days. He was THE MAN!

I worked in Rome for a few years and then, like most young men, I just had to move to Atlanta - to be where the action was - bright lights, big city! What an idiot I was!

I continued in my working life as a pharmacist for about 5 or 6 more years and then by some stroke of fate, I became a pharmaceutical representative! I remembered my friend Bruce Sloman and how much he loved his job. Knowing him was one reason I was excited about this change of careers. As luck would have it, I found myself assigned to call on the physicians in Rome, Georgia (among other towns). When I arrived in Rome with my detail bag, one of the first reps I ran into was none other than my ole' buddy - THE MAN! It took us about 5 seconds to get re-acquainted and then he took me under his wing and showed me the ropes. He did everything he could to get me into the offices of hard-to-see physicians and taught me what I needed to know to be successful (which was far different from the corporate propaganda)! My life-long best friend, brother from another mother, Dr. Jim Whatley, had moved to town and set up practice during the time since I had left. Bruce and Jim had also become friends and Jim had often told me of conversations he had with Bruce where Bruce would ask about me. This life was totally new to me and I often felt like I had won the lottery. I was no longer confined to the small space of a pharmacy answering the phone and listening to people complain. I had a new career and I was learning from the best.

Our friendship continued to grow and one day I found myself having to compete with Bruce in the oral antibiotic market. I sold Ceftin and he sold Duricef - a lot of Duricef! What was I to do? Well, the answer came to me one day in a conversation I had with Bruce. He told me that he was in a position where he could retire from his company but he was certainly not ready to really RETIRE. Not this man! My company had some exciting prospects for future products! We did not make "me too" drugs - we brought innovative, life-changing products to the marketplace! I had died and gone to heaven and I told Bruce this! I was "selling" THE MAN. This prospect of what we offered excited THE MAN. I made a few phone calls and with very little effort (because of THE MAN'S reputation) on my part, Bruce Sloman was soon retired from Bristol and newly employed by my company, Glaxo Wellcome! My plan had worked. I no longer had to compete with THE MAN because we were now partners. Duricef sales dropped like "lead bloomers" and Ceftin sales skyrocketed. ( I must insert my condolences here to the multitude of marketing "gurus" who are so confident in their abilities to move markets - your "Madison Avenue sh**" had nothing to do with this)! No, this was sales at its finest! The best way to beat great competition is to get them to come to work for your company. I was born at night but it wasn't last night.

Bruce often spoke about his family because he was extremely proud of them. His wife, Judy, was not one to be in the spotlight - she was the quiet rock of his life. When I called Bruce's home, Judy would always answer and I enjoyed my conversations with her. She would most certainly tell me that Bruce was either working in the garden or jogging. Bruce loved the Atlanta Braves and on numerous occasions he would invite me to go with him to the Braves Stadium where we would meet his two sons, Todd and Jay. I don't think he ever missed a UGA home game! Every year Bruce would look over the top high school football prospects and where they might attend college. He knew their speed in the 40 yard dash, their weights and all of the essential stats on each player. I often saw him with a hand-made list of these players that he would take into his physicians' offices and discuss these prospects and the upcoming season with the docs. They loved him.

He was THE MAN because of the way he dressed. I never saw him when he wasn't impeccably attired and groomed. He was a true professional and people noticed.

He was THE MAN because of his habits. He would set his alarm clock for 4:30 AM so he could wake up and phone in an order of doughnuts for his "standing" breakfast appointments at certain offices. He did this EVERY week. He was THE MAN even to the bakery employees. The doctors in these offices looked forward to the fresh bakery goods and great conversation with Bruce. He had usually seen more doctors by 9AM than most reps saw all week.

He was THE MAN because of his work ethic. He often spoke of his childhood and how hard he had to work just to get by. He told us that chopping cotton was the hardest job he ever had. No matter how tough things got, he promised us that "it was better than chopping cotton"! He even worked in college and made the football team.

He was THE MAN because of his integrity. He never over-promised and under-delivered. Just the opposite - he under-promised and over-delivered. His Christian convictions were the foundation of that integrity. And people noticed!

He was THE MAN because of his commitment to his friends. One was very fortunate to have Bruce Sloman as a friend.

Bruce began having some lower back pain and went in for a checkup. It was determined that he had a malignant kidney tumor and surgery was planned. He was THE MAN during this ordeal and handled it like he did everything else. He would have regular check-ups and things were going great until one fateful day. A chest x-ray that was clear just a few weeks before now looked "like I had been shot in the chest with a shotgun"! The cancer had returned and had spread. THE MAN began to fight! Those of us who wallow in mediocrity would have gone home to our little "pity parties", but not THE MAN. He continued to work as if nothing had happened. He told me that he didn't want to just sit at home - he would much rather be working and doing what he enjoyed so much. Long before he told me that if a man loves what he does for a living, he would never go to "work" a day in his life. I guess those were not just meaningless words to him!


The chemotherapy took a toll on THE MAN but few people realized it. He lost a little weight and the hair that was not "gray" fell out but he kept on living his life. I could not believe how riled up he could get about something at work while he faced the end of his life.

In the first part of June 2004, Bruce and I were scheduled to work the Georgia Academy of Family Practice Physicians mid-summer convention at Amelia Island Plantation on the coast of Florida. This is not a high pressure affair and is a great time to spend some time with physicians in a more relaxed environment. Bruce would tell me that his "indigestion" had gotten much worse and that he had doubled his medicine. A side effect of chemotherapy is neuropathy ( nerve pain) and Bruce would tell me that his arms and hands were burning like they were on fire. Just before this convention, the oncologist had changed his treatment and had explained that the side effects might be worse. His wife was with him and my wife was with me, so we went out to eat every night. I was amazed at his appetite! We had a chance to sit down in a quiet little coffee shop and he expressed to me how he had not gone places and had done without things and saved his money. For what, he asked? I got the point he was making!

We planned to head back to Atlanta on Sunday morning and I waited till about 9AM to call him because I was hoping he was resting. When I dialed his cell phone, he answered and told me he was almost back in Atlanta (a six hour trip)! Because the pain in his arms and hands had gotten so bad (his only relief was to soak them in large trays of ice-water), he decided to leave early.

I never saw THE MAN again! Within a few days, he had taken a turn for the worse and was admitted to the ICU of the hospital. Friends gathered to comfort his wife and sons.

At the funeral home visitation, seemingly every doctor in town was in attendance. They would announce who they were to Judy and then she would relate a story back to them that Bruce had told her. It dawned on me as I overheard these conversations, that Bruce had told Judy about every little detail of his work experiences. She knew all of the names and much about each one. A physician would start an introductory story about himself and Judy would finish it. She knew everybody - though she'd never met them!

The next morning at the cemetery, we waited for the hearse and the family. THE MAN'S time on this earth was over. We had our umbrellas to deflect the rain that was certainly to burst forth from the dark clouds. Not one drop fell till we drove away!

There will never be another like him in our business. He was the last of a now extinct breed!

Years before I had heard several physicians talking about their favorite drug reps. Of course, Bruce Sloman's name was the most prominent. One doc said, "Bruce always made me feel like he really enjoyed being around me and spending time with me. I could never determine if he really did or if he just wanted me to write prescriptions for his products".


I told you, he was THE MAN!

HORACE KEPHART AND FEET OF CLAY

Maybe I have come to the point that I take the Great Smoky Mountains National Park for granted. I fish in the streams, I explore the multitude of trails and I soak in the serenity and beauty of this place without remembering how it was preserved. Why is this place not "paved-over" like everything else? There are many who were influential in the development of the park, but one man in particular has captured my attention. He, like all of us, had feet of clay, but he was driven to preserve that which meant so much to him. These mountains have given me back the sanity that the city stole and I am writing this in appreciation of the life of this man. Horace Kephart was a true visionary who wished to preserve this area for future generations. He did not live to see it become a reality, but at the time of his death, he was assured that his work had been successful. Horace was an interesting character and the next time you come to the GSMNP, maybe this will cause you to "ponder" for a moment!

First of all let me give credit where credit is due. During my respites in Bryson City, I have read just about everything George Ellison has written about Horace Kephart and I owe the contents of this article to his research and writings. I will not attempt to footnote, but he deserves ALL of the credit. (George Ellison is the author of MOUNTAIN PASSAGES and the introduction to the revised edition of OUR SOUTHERN HIGHLANDERS. Mr. Ellison writes and lectures about the natural and human history of Western North Carolina and his work appears regularly in the ASHEVILLE CITIZEN-TIMES and THE SMOKY MOUNTAIN NEWS.)

Horace Kephart was well educated, well traveled and had broad work experience as a librarian. He was married and had 6 children with Laura Mack of Ithaca, New York. He entered college ( Western College in Cedar Rapids, Iowa) in 1875 at the age of 13 and in 1876 he enrolled in Lebanon Valley College and was graduated in 1879. He went to Boston university where he was exposed to and enjoyed the Boston Public Library. This pleasurable exposure eventually led him into a career as a librarian! He later worked at Cornell University with its first librarian, William Fiske, who became a personal friend and benefactor. Fiske moved to Italy with his vast book collection which included some of the world's finest holdings. Although Kephart was engaged at the time and after a salary dispute, he followed his friend Fiske to Italy. Horace arrived in Florence in early 1885 and worked in the elaborately appointed Villa Forini cataloging Fiske's collection of titles. He did work in the major libraries of Italy and the Royal Library at Munich. He learned to speak Italian and traveled a great deal but he loved long walking trips in the Apennines and the Alps - this penchant would later become an obsession! In late January 1886, he returned to Laura Mack and quickly accepted a position at Rutgers College in New Jersey in March 1886. By the last week of July, he was approved to be an assistant librarian at Yale College in New Haven, Connecticut.

Kephart married Laura Mack on April 12, 1887 and settled down for a brief time as a working, family man in New Haven. Because of his time in Italy and his resulting keen interest in foreign literature, he translated Italian, Finnish and French literature into English. Seeing little opportunity for advancement at Yale, he began to search for another job. He was offered the librarianship at Princeton University, be he temporarily accepted an assistant position at the Cornell University library. In 1890 he accepted the library directorship of the ST. LOUIS MERCANTILE LIBRARY. While in New Haven, Kephart's interest in the American frontier history developed. Because of this interest and his research in this area, St. Louis (the gateway city) was the natural place to live. Kephart ran this instituion exceptionally for 10 years. Clarence Miller, as assistant, described Kephart as : "the most brilliant man I have known, and, the least assuming. He was never introverted nor austere and was always accessible to the staff or the public".

Laura Kephart arrived in St. Louis in 1890 having remained in Ithaca after the birth of their second daughter, but by 1897 there were 6 children and during this time in St. Louis, the Kephart family settled into a "blessed rut". By the first of the 20th century, Horace had put together what was arguably the finest collection of Western Americana in existence. He was, however, very disappointed in their literary quality and said they were as "dry as a ship's log book". He planned to take over this task of writing the history of the West where Roosevelt had left off, but this endeavor was postponed for over a decade.

Soon, Horace became disenchanted with the demands of home life and a serious drinking problem arose. It was said that his personality could be altered by taking a single drink. Gradually, he drifted away from friends and companionship and developed a capacity for being alone. This, coupled with his love of the outdoors, evolved into his putting into practice the need for personal isolation by taking long wilderness trips. Some of the writings he collected during this time had the common theme of "the decadence of an overly civilized, material, urban life and the corressponding virtue of a more or less primitive style of existence". He wrote, " I love the wilderness because there are no shams in it." He alienated the library's directors with his frequent wilderness trips and in late 1903 he was forced to resign from the Mercantile Library. The family was broke and before Christmas, Laura took the children and returned to her family's home in Ithaca.

Kephart suffered a complete nervous collapse and in April 1904 his father came for him and took him to Dayton, Ohio where he quickly recovered. Horace became preoccupied with three interrelated concerns: 1) a desire to live a wilderness existence, 2) a desire for a literary career and 3) his interest in the early American frontier experience. The physical proximity and the lure of the Big Smoky Mountains in Western North Carolina seemed to meet all of his requirements and in the first week of August 1904, he arrived by train in Dillsboro, North Carolina and set up home in a tent until October 30, 1904. He then made an excursion by rail to Bryson City and the Snowbird Mountains, deciding to relocate to the Hazel Creek watershed. He was granted permission to us a cabin at an abandoned copper mine, which he refurbished and then had his things sent by rail to the little place called Bushnell. His original intention was to live here and write about his experiences with the land and its people, but he quickly was proccupied with the challenges of living in this rugged environment. He kept meticulous notes which he used in 1906 when he wrote CAMPING AND WOODCRAFT.

Late in 1907 he left the Hazel Creek area and traveled to other parts of the Appalachians in Eastern Kentucky, Tennessee and North Georgia (near Rome) in his efforts to avoid generalizing too much from his limited observations at Hazel Creek. He discovered that true mountain people were cut from the same cloth and returned in 1910. He was fascinated by the true mountaineers, the little farmers living in the branches and the steep hillsides. He kept copius notes of his observations mainly during the period from 1904 to 1907 and these notes would later become the foundation for OUR SOUTHERN HIGHLANDERS, which he wrote in 1913. George Ellison states, "Horace had exchanged an urban, settled, institutional world with a wife and 6 children for another world. This other world was an isolated existence in the Southern Appalachians. Whether this exchange was created by his drinking problem or a conscious desire and need to be alone in the wilderness is yet to be determined."

When he returned to the area, he chose to settle in Bryson City, which was a congregating point for a variety of mountain men and women and in addition, the Cherokee Indians, which were also a source of fascination for Kephart. He loved the quiet pace of mountain life in Bryson City and remained there until his death in an automobile wreck on April 2, 1931. His meticulous notes ,which he utilized in writing OUR SOUTHERN HIGHLANDERS, have been preserved along with many photos taken by his Japanese friend George Masa. The book was a success and has been reprinted - the latest edition in 1967. He was said to have been pleased with the success of the book and was pleased and moved by the way the mountain people responded to the accounts of their lives. After this, his most important writing was done on behalf of the movement that eventually culminated in the establishment of the Great Smoky Mountains National Park. His role in the movement was considerable according to George Ellison. So Horace had his wishes: 1) a wilderness existence, 2) a literary career and 3) a living interest in the people of an American frontier experience (the mountain life).

His own explanation of his motivation behind his expenditure of time and energy on this project was: "I owe my life to these mountains and I want them preserved that others may profit by them as I have."

During my time in the mountains, I have met several interesting characters! All of them are older and have been "beaten-up" by life in one way or another or seem to be running from something. Upon making a new acquaintance, I always ask, "What's your story", because I love to hear their answers. After learning about Horace Kephart, I imagine I came to the mountains for some of the same reasons as he and to paraphrase his words - I was tired of the overly civilized, material, urban traffic and stress filled life and wanted a more primitive life (but not in a tent). I enjoy having friends and family visit, preparing meals together and having a glass of wine and a fine cigar on the front porch while watching the sun set. I enjoy hiking, fishing or just wandering around in the nearby little towns with all the festivals. Unlike Horace, I do love having my wife with me during this time of my life, since she has been there for all the other times.

So whenever I fish in a stream, stare off my porch at the scenic wonder of a sunset or hike one of the myriad trails in the Park, I will not forget those before me whose efforts have added so much to my life.

Horace Kephart might have had "feet of clay" but the efforts of his life have given my remaning years a "concrete" foundation.

I am truly grateful!

Now please excuse my while I get another glass of wine.

I NEED A NEW PLAN

One of the few good things about working for a large corporation is that we are given access to expert financial tools and the best of financial planners. And this is a free service, I might add! I am amazed that so few employees take advantage of this service because of the value and because of the price. I have been told that most people spend more time thinking about what they will eat for supper this week or more time watching TV in a single day than they do planning for their retirement. Most people just think they when they retire there will just be plenty of money to live out their sunset years.

Some people don't worry because they expect to win the lottery! Some people pray for the perfect accident at a Wal-Mart and the massive payout from a retirement law suit! Others just expect the "government" will gladly take care of them.

Not me! I'm a planner and have been for years. I learned about the magic of compound interest years ago and have forced my wife to "get involved" with this process also. We have traditional IRA's, SEP IRA's, a 401(k), a 403(b), teachers' retirement, real estate and a company pension. So as I draw closer to my retirement days, I decided to take full advantage of the financial planning services that are offered by my company.


I picked up the phone and dialed the financial services company that my company has retained for the employees. The very knowledgeable, pleasant and helpful young man on the other end of the phone seemed to take an inordinate amount of time with me! I was shocked by this since everyone else tries to get you off the phone as quickly as possible. He informed me that he had the time to do a thorough job because so few people take advantage of this service. I answered a list of questions about my future objectives ... when do I wish to retire, how much money will my wife and I need per year in this projected retirement and what investment vehicles we would like to use (based on our investment risk philosophy) to get us there? We conversed for about an hour and he took my phone numbers and email address for follow up.

About 2 weeks have passed since this phone call took place, but as promised, the gentleman called me back today!

He told me that based on the information I submitted for my retirement plan, my wife and I would be completely out of money by age 74!

This evening I gave my wife the news ... our retirement plans are in great shape ... I just have to die before age 74! This retirement plan sucks! I either need to get another financial planning company or find a good "government program" to take care of me.

It raining outside tonight; maybe I'll go to Wal-Mart and slip down in a slippery aisle!

Or I could go to a doctor I've heard about! A patient came to this doc and was given 6 months to live. During this time he didn't pay a dime on his bill. When he returned for a final visit, the doctor gave him 6 more months!

I really have to go now. They're having the "Power-Ball" drawing tonight.

John Howard McRee Jr.

I remember the evening vividly!

I was working in Reynolds Pharmacy in my hometown of Reynolds, Georgia on Wednesday, September 11, 1974! I had a terrible cold and I remember thinking that in less than a year I would graduate from the University of Georgia School of Pharmacy and I could start working for real. But this day I felt like warmed over you know what! I think that Leonard Whatley, the pharmacist-owner and friend, even told me that I needed to go home and get in the bed. My life-long friend, Johnny McRee, would stop by just about every day and we would make plans to go for a ride on his new motorcycle. He hurried in around closing time and was ready to make our plans. Not tonight ... I felt like ... well, you know what! He said that he had promised to take my friend and neighbor, Debbie Whatley, for a ride and this would be the perfect evening. Another hometown buddy of ours had just gotten married and was moved into his new home in the Crowell Community. Johnny would pick up Debbie and they would go to the McCrary's for supper. The plans were set! My plans were to go home, eat some of my Mama's cooking and go to bed as quickly as possible because I felt like ... you know what!

My family was in the funeral business, so it was not that much of an abnormal occurence for the phone to ring in the middle of the night. Tonight was no different. I heard the ringing and was glad that my father had answered it so I could go back to sleep. But tonight was different. I heard him say, "Is George with him"? This got my attention and I honed in on this conversation. As the sleep quickly left my brain, I determined that my older brother Mac was the person on the other end of the line. I heard that Johnny had been at David McCrary's with Debbie Whatley and had run out of cigarettes. Debbie suggested that she ride with him but Johnny refused her and said he could make a quicker trip by himself. He would ride to the store and would be back in a jiffy. He never returned and this was to be the last trip he would ever take. After a period of time and concern, phone calls were made and now my brother Mac was looking for Johnny between Reynolds and Crowell and was hoping for good news. Daddy hung up and I got up and went into my parents bedroom. Big Ed now remembered as he awakened that I did not go with Johnny this night and had decided to go to bed early due to my illness. He looked relieved. About this time Mac called again. He had found Johnny's body. Johnny had not been able to negotiate a curve in the road and had run through it, hit some soft gravel and lost control and sped through a little pine thicket. A small limb not bigger than an inch or so had broken his neck. The life of my boyhood friend was over.

I went with Daddy to the McRee's home out in the country. I had spent countless hours in this house as a boy, often spending weeks at the time there and then Johnny in turn would come to our home for a week or so. "Pill" McRee was like another mother to me and she and my father had grown up together so she made me feel like I was just one of her kids. When we walked up to the door of their darkened house in the middle of the night, Pill thought that Johnny was home and was wondering why he didn't just come in and go to bed as usual. She came to the door and saw Daddy and immediately new bad news was in store. Because he was the local funeral director, everyone knew that if Big Ed came to your door in the middle of the night, it was not to wish you a Merry Christmas. As almost in desparation, she asked if it were her mother, Nell. Daddy shook his head and then Pill collapsed. I then realized how upset my father was when I discovered that he had driven all the way out to the country without his glasses ... and he was blind as a bat! Big Ed loved Johnny like a son and he was visibly shaken and almost in a state of shock. I was thankful that we had not had a wreck driving out. Howard McRee, Johnny's dad, was a chain smoker of Home Run cigarettes and I remember his walking up with a Home Run hanging out of his mouth. It had to be around 2 am and I will never forget the pain I saw in Elizabeth "Pill" McRee's face that night. She and Johnny were not just mother and son, but best friends. Johnny was 23 years old! Pill had a wild and crazy sense of humor and is partly responsible for the development of my own love of laughing and pulling practical jokes. She was the master, but I never saw this in her again. She was never the same and carried this hurt with her to the grave in 1994!

We decided that early hour that a phone call to Johnny's sister, Linda, was not the thing to do, so Julian Whatley (Debbie's dad), Debbie and I drove to Linda's apartment in Atlanta to tell her the sad news. I remember that she lived somewhere near the Georgia Tech campus and we got there around 5 or 6 in the morning. She followed us home to Reynolds.

One thing about Johnny McRee was that he loved to drive anything fast! The boy loved speed! Even as a young boy, he would build ramps so that he could get his bike going as fast as possible to see how far he could jump. He was an early version of Evil Knevel! Learning to drive on dirt roads of his family's farm, he loved to make the car fish-tail. As he got older, he would often relate to me that he would drive his car over 100 miles per hour on the road to Butler. He actually dated the Sheriff's daughter in high school. I don't know if he really loved her or he just needed a way to keep from getting too many speeding tickets. This thrill-seeker side of him cost him his life. We determined that he had to be moving extremely fast coming into that curve that night.

Johnny was a natural athlete! He excelled in all sports: football, basketball, tennis, golf and track and field events. I think he came close to setting state records in several track events in high school. And the boy loved to hunt and fish. I remember so many dove shoots with Johnny, JimWhatley and I. Johnny and I were fishing in Rick's pond on the outskirts of Reynolds one summer afternoon and we caught so many fish that we ran out of crickets. Since we sold crickets and red wigglers at Goddard's store, I talked him into running back to town to replenish our bait supply. He agreed and in a few minutes, Big Ed and Johnny drove up with more bait. Daddy just had to see how many fish we had caught! One morning Johnny, Jim Whatley and I set out to the Reynolds Kiwanis Golf Club for a day of golf. Before the sun set (or as the sun set) we had played 72 holes. Johnny had the worst "hook" that I have ever seen on a golf course. There were times when I thought his golf ball would boomerang back to us.

In the summertime, I would go to the McRee's house for a couple of weeks and then he would come into town to our house for a couple of weeks. Those summer days in the country were spent playing around with the farm-hands and helping to pick some of the crops like watermelon and cantalope. For some reason, we loved helping to load watermelons onto a flatbed truck to take to market. We built forts, fished and went on dove shoots in the numerous fields and generally just had a ball. I thought Ms. Elizabeth, "Pill", was just another one of my mothers! It was great growing up in a community where I knew that all of my pals' moms loved me as much as their own children. She would cook bowls and bowls of fresh vegetables, corn on the cob, fried chicken, roast beef and then top everything off with Vidalia onions and home-grown tomatoes. Of course, corn bread was a staple! You must understand that this was a different time in America. Familes were friends for generations and their lives were interwoven in the fabric that was small-town life. The McRee's were an integral part of my upbringing. Of course, the biggest thrill of all was trying to do everything we could to drive Linda, the big sister, absolutely crazy! As I mentioned before, my father and "Pill" grew up together. Our grandparents grew up together and as a matter of fact, Miss Nell, Johnny's grandmother, lived across the street from my grandparents. Our great-grandparents were friends. Our friendship was just a natural progression of the way things were. We were the first generation that went off to college with the idea of moving away from home and going to where the action was!

You might be wondering why after all of these 32 years that I am writing about Johnny McRee today. Well, that night that he was killed, I went into the funeral home and told my father that I wanted to see Johnny. Big Ed let me go back. I took the watch off of his broken arm and got his wallet out of his pocket. I tried to give these to his mother, but she would not take them because it was too painful. She told me to keep them! Years later, I tried again to give them to her but she still did not want them so I have had this watch and wallet in my desk drawer all of these years. I open this drawer almost every day and I am reminded of my friend every time. Linda is married and lives in Carrollton, Georgia now with her family. Through a mutual friend, I tried several years ago to give the watch and wallet to her. She sent word back that I would have to deliver them in person. I think the time has come!

In this wallet I have Johnny's Georgia driver's license, his hunting and fishing license, his National Guard ID card, a typed list of invitees to a dove shoot, a prom picture of his sister Linda and her date, his warranty card for his Honda motorcycle, 2 crisp dollar bills which would have bought 4 packs of cigarettes in 1974 and various other reminders that my friend Johnny was involved up to his neck in the life that was so suddenly taken away that Wednesday night in the fall of 1974 on a country road just outside of Reynolds, Georgia.

I will never forget Johnny McRee! Never!

So tonight as you hurry to get the garbage can to the street for pick-up tomorrow or as you lay around on the sofa watching some mindless comedy on TV or as you try to get all the bills paid, I just wanted you to know that 32 years ago, a bunch of boys- becoming men lost a great friend in a freaking motorcycle wreck on a dirt road in rural Georgia!

I don't want the world to forget my friend, Johnny McRee!

And I haven't been on a motorcycle since that night!

Christmas Colonoscopy

Today (August 1, 2006) I had my second colonoscopy and I am only 54! If you are over 40 with a history of colon cancer in your family or if you are over 50 ... why haven't you had this procedure done yet? Colon cancer is deadly and yet it is the most preventable so why not remove this means of departing from the earth from the many choices. Believe me! the worst thing about the whole ordeal is taking the laxative .. the first time I took "Go-Lightly", but this time I opted for the tablets (Visicol). The tablet route is simpler, but it would be difficult for anyone with an aversion to swallowing large "pills", but it still beats the heck out of drinking that half-gallon of liquid misery. I know you won't believe this, but the actual procedure is pleasant. You will be in twilight anesthesia (breathing on your own) and will wake up refreshed after what seemed to be only seconds. More about this later, but in December of 1999, I wrote a little poem about my first procedure which was done by my friend Dr. Bill Conner of Rome Gastroenterology of Rome, Georgia. Hope this helps you to make the decision to have this done.

CHRISTMAS COLONOSCOPY

'Twas three weeks before Christmas 1999,

I came to Rome Gastro to get a colonscope up my behind.

The reason I came is really no mystery,

I have colon cancer in my family history.

As I walked in the door, I saw all the crew.

They greeted me with smiles like they always do.

I walked in the room and the curtain was drawn,

As I got undressed, I was all alone.

The stockings were hung by the chimney with care,

But my shirt, pants and underwear, I placed on a chair.

Out in the hallway, the gurney's wheels did clatter,

Dr. Conner wore a lab-coat 'cuz Go-Lightly makes you splatter.

Go-Lightly makes you go and makes you go fast,

When I find who named that stuff, I'm whuppin' his ass.

As the nurse injected the Demerol and Versed,

Visions of sugar-plums danced in my head.

Within a few seconds, I was out like a light.

I didn't scream and yell or put up a fight.

When my eyes opened, I was certainly glad.

I hoped the news from Dr. Conner would not be bad.

At my side was my wife, the love of my heart,

I was glad to see her, but I sure had to fart.

As sleep left my eyes, I began "Cuttin' Wind",

Then my friend, Dr. Conner, came walking in.

"Not a polyp, nor fissure; no hemorrhoid, nor mass,"

Dr Conner said, "George, you're a perfect ass."

Go Vixen, Go Rudolph, Go Lightly, Go Prancer,

MERRY CHRISTMAS TO ME! I DON'T HAVE CANCER.