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Unsinkable Sam
Published Friday, July 3
Critter Chronicles by Daniel Taylor
Web exclusive

On May 27, 1941, the biggest, fastest, and most powerful fighting ship ever built, the Bismarck, met her untimely and inglorious end. Despite the fact that her life lasted less than two weeks, books have been written, songs have been sung, and movies have been made about her. On the day she sank, nearly 2,000 of her crew of 2200 lost their lives. What few survivors there were found themselves rescued by British ships that had been involved in the fight. Most of the survivors were picked up by two British ships, and a handful managed to be rescued by one of their own vessels. One lone survivor was rescued by the British destroyer HMS Cossack. Found floating alone on a wooden board, the last surviving member of the Bismarck was fished from the water and for him the war was over. Or so it seemed. Read more | Buy Daniel's book

MacGuyver is my idol
Published Tuesday, June 30
The Drake Report by C.S. Drake
Web exclusive

Before I write this column, I am giving thanks to Craig, Deavon, Molly, Caleb, and that 5th girl whom I didn't know but who stuffed an amazing amount of plastic octopus legs in a very short time. You five were beneficial to a day of hilarious fun, and the inspiration for this week's column. Please keep in mind, fellow readers, that of the few people I just listed, I am at least a good decade older than half of them. Yet their knowledge of movies, television and music from decades when they were in pampers or in kindergarten and their reactions to such conversations, were the sole inspiration for the following:

Have you ever wondered just how much of what a child watches can effect his or her life as an adult? I always knew shows like Barney and Sesame Street would have deep effects. I mean, come on, who didn't learn to tie their shoes from Elmo and Big Bird? Now, I am not talking about the spoof shows of brightly Technicolor wonder that teaches children their ABC's. I'm talking about those shows that some parents consider "too violent" or "too dangerous" for their children to watch. Shows that kids watched for the cool stuff that had nothing to do with guns or explosions or women in bikinis and short skirts. Something the TV industry should think about when bringing in their new fall lineups.

I am talking about the MacGyver generation.

I was born in November of 1980, and in the kiddie years of development I watched shows such as Transformers (the original cartoon, not that new stuff on Cartoon Network), the Thundercats, Looney Toons, and others. Then when the prepubescent years hit, I fell in love with more mind enamoring "who dun-it" shows like Scarcrow and Mrs. King, Remington Steele, and of course my favorite of favorites MacGyver. What is more appealing to a 12 year old girl than a hottie spy who can make just about anything out of a roll of ductape, some dental floss, a tube of toothpaste and a potato? Okay...Maybe not the potato though I did see him use a banana in a tailpipe once i think. Yes I know the younger kids will say "MacGyver who?" when they cry out for Edward Cullen and Harry Potter. But the Twilotter (Twilight /Harry Potter) generations aside, they too have to respect their predecessors. Yeah, Richard Dean Anderson was the hottest thing since Pierce Brosnan's own Remington Steele or Bruce Boxliner's own Scarecrow. But they couldn't touch Angus MacGyver.

His hotness got my attention, but his brains and sense of justice kept me watching the show. He didnt believe in using guns or killing people, even the villains, but he did believe in doing the right thing. Working for a secret spy organization, playing hockey, doing volunteer work, finding his long lost (and unknown of) son - that was just his normal life. But his intelligence, ahh yes that was the one true thing that made him truely attractive. From finding Ambrose's Rose, to outwitting a psychopathic assassin with a personal grudge for Mac himself, life was never boring in the world of Mr-I-can-make-anything- out-of-thin-air-with-random-junk. I never knew anyone who could make a smoke screen out of cleaning chemicals or a fan powered glider out of bamboo, tarp and ducttape. Yes he is the sole reason I always carried duct tape in my car and it always came in handy. But please! Please dont go be an idiot like the bullet curving fans of the "Wanted" movies. Don't go trying the "chemical" MacGyver stuff like that at home. You could blow yourself up or turn yourself into a human version of the blob with your skin melting off. Stick to things like reparing a broken toilet chain with a paper clip, or using a sliced potato to remove a broken metal piece of a lightbulb from it's socket.There are, however, ways you can invoke your inner MacGyver and apply it to every day use. Sometimes you probably don't even realize you're doing it, but I guarentee once you read onward, you'll start noticing and laughing at your own "MacGyver Moments". My father and I had ours this weekend, and boy was it fun.

You know how they have those giant rolls of paper that people use to make bulletin boards? Well at the church my parents attend they have the same equivalent only made of plastic. The texture reminds me of blow up beach balls, only this comes in sheets. Have you ever seen those rings a croquet ball goes through? Imagine one stretching 6 feet tall and repeating itself smaller and smaller down to 3 feet. Using flexible cane for the framing, a little duct tape to keep it together when braced in the ground, then frame it with the plastic stuff over it till it made a funnel. Next put a flap door on it and two eyes on the side, cut out a giant tail and you have Jonah's biblical fish. The project was one for a VBS game where the children would ride in a small wagon made to look like a boat, then driven down the hill and into the 6ft high mouth to be "eaten" by the whale like jonah. From what i hear the kids had a ball. Apparently those years of watching me watch MacGyver oozed into my family, or so I thought when my dad was able to pull that idea off successfully. Yet it seemed bland inside, or so my father and I thought.

But the ghost of Angus McGyver wasn't through yet, because I had been asked to make smaller animals for inside the giant fishy mouth. So I made a giant octopus, two sea horses, a tropical fish, and just for sheer amusement to hear them scream it's name in pleasure and child surprise - one that looked like Nemo. The fish all varied from 3 1/2 to 1 1/2 ft wide.Tthe octapus head was about a 2foot tall and a foot round... and the leggs were about 4 ft long. Trust me when I say that all of this was drawn freehand and was made from scratch with maybe a few minutes of planing, and a lot of help from some friends, both new and old.

When i arrived and started planning (in the whole few minutes it took), my mother asked me what I was going to do and I remember telling her: "Wait a minute... I'm having a MacGyver moment." Which at the time made me smile and laugh a little even as I said it. Trust me, all of this was done from scratch, maybe two minutes of planning... minimal supplies... and a whole LOT of praying to the McGuyver gods. Those who know me would understand this says a lot for the thought process in relation to my creativity. Before I'd left I had grabbed a few quick craft supplies I always had on hand when babysitting. l brought some ink pens, a few mechanical pencils, my stapler and extra staples, my left over stash of paints (2 bottles of green, one black, one white, one gray, one blue, one yellow), paint brushes, scissors and just in case, a handfull of rubber stampers (that i didnt even use).

Once I got to Strickland, I knew my choice of supplies would be even more limited. Babysitting had tapped out my supplies, and apparently only a handful of markers (dry erase and sharpie only) would work on the plastic. I had my mother print out some clip art images and free handed them onto the plastic and cut them out. If you fold the plastic in half you get front and back sides then just simply staple or tape them together and stuff. Paper, cotton, trash scraps from the cutouts - anything works if you use your imagination. On top of these supplies I had my helpers scrounge up three styerphome or paper plates (to hold the paint0, a few paper towels, a bowl or cup (for rinsing my paint brushes out when they were done), a roll of clear strapping tape, and a flexible rubber ruler.

After the first fish was made, it was easy. The one problem that crept up a few times was when we had to make to make circles. to make the octapus head. Earlier in the day I had beaten that problem - and to me this is irony while in a church, so please forgive my odd sense of humor - so I immediately thought to myself: "What would MacGyver do?" and a second later pulled off my necklace and wrapped it around two pens. Holding one as the center point, and pivoting the other with the necklace pulled taught, I had a customized and self-made MacGyver style protractor.

Before we had even finished the project, everyone wanted the fish and seahorses, all of them getting claimed before we left Friday night. I was vastly amused when Craig claimed the octapus, since at the time he claimed it i hadnt even started working on it yet! Today my father texted me and said my fish were a huge hit, that the kids loved driving through the octapus legs and into the giant fish mouth. I managed to call dibbs on a seahorse for myself. *grins*

I havent had that much fun making such simple things in a long time. Everyone had said "dont go overboard, little kids wont care if it's perfect" so i didnt. I didn't plan really. I just followed the ideas as they popped into my head. I managed what I thought of as "simple" and i STILL shocked them. I mean.. All i gotta say is....

MacGuyver is my idol and always will be. :D Having those "MacGyver Moments" throughout my life helped me in a great many ways at a great many times. I always thought of MacGyver when my friends would have their huge crisis moments and then I would comment when I saw a simpler and easier way to fix things. Things they hadn't even considered before. It's amazing the things you learn to do on the fly. So no, my fellow readers, this isnt a tribute to my intelligence or ego.

This colum is a tribute to friends who inspired the dedication to a man playing a character on TV who helped me save their VBS day to make it a little more fun.

Thanks Mac. This one's for you.

~Fin~

C.S Drake is a avid movie and book fan from Corinth. She welcomes comments via e-mail at The_Drake_Report@yahoo.com See more of her work at http://drakereport.blogspot.com or at www.myspace.com/The_Drake_Report

Every day was my father's day
Published Saturday, June 27
By Ryland Bruhwiler
Special columnist

As we worked our way through Mom's house last month, sorting and packing and pitching so that she could move to a smaller place in the country, you can imagine how many side trips we made down Memory Lane.
As when I came across that wooden apple painted bright red over an undercoat of yellow, like a Fuji or a Red Delicious, leaving yellow blotches at the stem and base and one bright spot on the side.
I reached for it, automatically twisting the top half off, knowing exactly what I would find within, then carefully, carefully setting the top back on, so that the paint strokes matched up exactly, the way I always did as a child playing on my grandmother's rug.
Then I opened it again and spilled the contents into my palm. A tiny tea set, carved from wood, each piece dabbed with a few strokes of pink and green, suggesting roses. Both teapot and sugarbowl had its own wee lid that you could take off and put back on. Two teacups, not much larger than big green peas, sat on their own saucers.
I looked down and frowned. "Bunny," I said to my stepmother. "One of the teacups is missing." Why I cared, I don't know. I certainly didn't expect her to tell me where that other cup was. No one's played with that tea set for decades. So I was mighty surprised when she grinned and said, "It's on the windowsill above the kitchen sink."
I must have looked a question because she continued: "That was Maverne's cup! The one she had her coffee in at breakfast."
"No!" I exclaimed.
"Yes!" she said. "Go get it and put it back in the apple."
Well, well, well. Maverne!
I headed downstairs and found that teacup among Mom's windowsill assortment of miniature bottles and very old marbles and wishbones that never got wished on. Somehow I'd never quite seen the teacup per se, perhaps because it's stained brown, its faded roses all but washed away. I popped it into the wooden apple, knowing I wouldn't have it any other way. This cup is marked as Maverne's. Sad to say, I never actually met Maverne, who, as you might have guessed, was one of the family's pets. Over the years, we kids had everything from champion dobermans to an orphaned skunk. The hognosed snake was one of my younger sisters' favorites. He'd huff'n'puff himself up like a viper, then -- when that didn't make anybody run away -- he'd roll over and play dead.
Their friends thought that silly thing was a hoot -- till the day he got disgusted and wouldn't play dead anymore.
Most of these critters my dad brought home.
He was a hot-headed, competitive, driven man. He was also soft-hearted, humorous, and amazingly patient. Never lost the ability to see the world through the eyes of a child. I adored him till the day he died.
I'd already moved away, in fact was married, when Maverne moved in. Her cage sat next to the kitchen window on the table in whose "possum-belly" (yes, that is a technical term) onions and potatoes were stored.
It's not every family that keeps a rat in the kitchen, but as my sister Bay hastens to point out, Maverne was a lab rat, white with a black hood and a stripe down her back. Still, when our pretty Aunt Leslie came to visit, they decided they'd better tell her this rare creature was an Australian Gerbil.
I don't know whether or not Les believed them, but by the end of her visit, she'd so deeply bonded with the gentle gerbillus Australogus that when they told her the truth, it didn't even matter.
Every morning as the bacon began to sizzle, Bay says, Maverne would climb the plastic tower of her cage to wait, her tiny hands pressed against the wall, her whiskers twitching expectantly.
Now, my mom is one fine cook, but she can hardly get a glass of OJ down that early, much less solid food, so Dad did breakfast.
Scrambled eggs, lots of pepper. Toasted bread, lots of butter. He'd set out portions on battered plates (not the lovely dinner china). And instant coffee loaded with cream and sugar.
A big mug for himself. A little cup shaped like a tomato for my baby sister. And four drops -- maybe five -- spooned into Maverne's rose-painted teacup.
Which he placed along with a one-inch square of toast and jelly in the top of her tower -- till she grew so old and fat she got stuck in the tube. Thereafter, Bay says, Maverne was served in the lower chambers. As Mom put it the other day, Daddy would make breakfast for anybody who showed up.

Ryland Bruhwiler lives on a farm in McNairy County, Tenn. A special columnist for the Daily Corinthian, her column appears Saturday. She can be contacted by email at downyonder@wildblue.net.

Corporal, against tremendous odds
Published Friday, June 26
Critter Chronicles by Daniel Taylor
Web exclusive

"The Philippine theater of operations is the locus of victory or defeat." Thus, General Douglas MacArthur established the Philippine islands as the key strategic point on the map from which ultimate victory against the Japenese would arise during World War II.
Luzon is the largest and most dominant island in the Philipine chain. Before US forces could launch the attack on Luzon, a base of operations needed to be established close by. Airbases were needed in order to provide attacking troops with air support. Troops captured the island of Mindoro, which put two airbases under the ultimate control of the U.S. From there’re the attack on Luzon was scheduled to be launched in of January 1945. With the capture of Mindoro, U.S. forces were positioned south of Luzon. MacArthur, on the other hand wanted to land his forces in the north. Read more

Heroes among us
Published Thursday, June 25
Corinth Talks by Caldera
Web exclusive

While vacationing in Pensacola, Florida this month, it was an honor to meet a true American hero of the Vietnam War.
Just to set the scene, we are driving down Navy Boulevard, leaving the National Museum of Aviation, where moments before we viewed incredible displays of vintage aircraft and enjoyed lunch in a replica of Subic Bay, Philippines. Read more

Getting caught car dancing
Published Wednesday, June 10
By L.A. Story
Staff Writer

One of the joys of living in a smaller town is the fact that you see so many people you know. One of the pains of living in a small town is the fact that so many people you know see YOU!
I love music. I make no apologies that every morning when I get ready for work, or when I am doing housework or whenever I am driving, I am having my own personal concert. And, my musical tastes are eclectic, too. One might hear absolutely anything blaring from my speakers from Bob Marley, John Mayer, Jason Mraz, Norah Jones, to Godsmack, Skillet, the Red Hot Chili Peppers, to Dixie Chicks and Keith Urban, to a haunting Celtic medley, French acoustical or African dance music. Read more

Passages: Losing a
piece of the puzzle
Published Saturday, May 30
Column by Carol Humphreys

While celebrating my sister's birthday with her and her family this past weekend in my old hometown of Hernando, I found out an high school nemesis had recently passed away. I know it sounds like I'm over-dramatizing the relationship between Denise and I, but everything is dramatic when you are a teenager.
I always thought Denise was one of the prettiest girls I'd ever known -- on the outside. However, the dark-hair beauty with the brilliant but angry blue eyes seemed brittle on the inside. She always reminded me of Elizabeth Taylor in 1966's movie "Whose Afraid of Virginia Woolf?" -- even at age 13. High-strung, fierce temper, biting tongue and cynical are all words that come to mind.
I didn't realize the news of her death would bother me so much. We were never close but in retrospect she has always figured prominently in my teen-age memories. I had known her since I entered the 7th grade at Hernando Junior High.
She had lost her father at a young age and her mother was a teacher. I remember her younger brother being in the news after he made a solo trip down the Mississippi River on a home-made raft. At the time he was still a kid, barely in his teens.
Through junior high and high school, she and I were in the same classes. She was always the sullen one who sat in the back of the room viewing everything and everybody with an offhanded disdain and I was the blond "cheerleader" type who always asked impromptu questions. Despite our "distinct" personalities we both did academically well and were both on the school's newspaper staff during our junior and senior years.
Ironically, we both had a close friend in common -- Joy. "Will-o'-the-wisp," ( a mischievous spirit attempting to lead travelers astray), Joy was a fashion statement in herself. She was my partner in "crime" from our preteen years up to our early 20s. Being both incredibly impulsive and cynical, Joy appealed to both Denise's and my nature.
Despite this common friendship with Joy, Denise tended to associate with only a tightly knit group of childhood friends. Her actual nemesis was my best friend Alicia -- my part was guilt by association. Except for a brief time as friends in elementary school, Alicia and she had some sort of rivalry going which seemed to escalate through our junior year in high school. Since Alicia and I had long since been "like peas and carrots," I was included in a lot of Denise's animosity.
The day came when I finally confronted her and let out all my pent-up frustrations at her attitude towards me. After I vented my anger, I was surprised to see her soften up. Later, I was rather proud of myself because not many people purposely turned Denise's wrath on themselves. I probably shocked her as I was generally a happy-go-lucky girl. If she had known me better she would have known I'd grown up in circumstances similar to hers and was not one to shy away from confrontation.
I guess I just didn't understand Denise's personality or why she was determined not to get along with the world. She approached everyone as if she immediately saw through them. Now I'm older I realize some of it may have had to do with she didn't want to be like the rest of the world, something I can identify with. There were times I didn't want to be myself but I didn't want to be like anybody else, either. I wanted to "stand apart." Denise with her beauty and her temperament definitely did that. In today's world she would probably be considered "Emo" in the way she presented herself. Despite her strong personality, she was a sensitive and creative writer.
My own inclination for confrontations became tempered as I matured and became a mother. I wonder if it had done the same with her. I knew at some point she had her own studio and had been a fitness instructor and become a mother. I was not surprised she was an entrepreneur as she had been very smart in high school, though like me, not always as smart outside of it. I don't know why of all the people I remember growing up with in a small town my thoughts keep coming back to her. At our 10-year then 20-year class reunions seeing her was as if the years had rolled back. To my great surprise she had married her childhood friend, Sam, someone who had always been a dear friend to me. As the reunion evenings grew long and old friends reunited, we easily fell back into the old camaraderie. We also saw each other with new eyes.
Except for our brief confrontation Denise and I never sought out each other's company. She and I had gone through our young lives looking at each other with critical eyes. I know now through experiences with other people, that judging someone on the outside does not always give you insight into who they really are.
Denise was my sister in time. Hearing of her untimely death is like losing a little piece of the puzzle that made me who I am.
She would have probably found it odd that even though it has been 11 years since I last saw her, I suddenly find myself wishing we had been better friends.

Carol Humphreys is news clerk with the Daily Corinthian and a resident of Corinth.

Brant's Slant:
Becoming my parents
Published Sunday, May 24
By Brant Sappington
Staff writer

“Let me explain something to you. I am the parent. You are the child.
This is not optional.”
These were the words I found myself saying, pointlessly, to my
13-month-old son, Liam, as I tried to get the wiggling toddler to calm
down and go to sleep recently. As his twin brother snoozed quietly in
the nursery down the hall, Liam had gone into what I like to refer to
as “twin tornado” mode as time for bed approached, thanks mostly to an
ill-advised but unavoidable nap earlier in the evening.
As I held him close, rubbed his back and, eventually convinced him to
calm down and dose off, I realized how much my words sounded like
those of my own parents from my distant childhood.
It frightened me.
My first year of parenthood has brought numerous lessons, none larger
than the realization that at my core, for good and for ill, I am my
parents’ child. I’ve found myself more and more often saying and doing
things and then stopping to see if one of them is around because I
know, just know, that it must have been them and not really me.
I’ve been blessed to be raised by two loving, dependable people of
amazing character and strength. They have supported me with
encouragement and taught me by their example throughout my life.
As I look at the two little bundles of energy who spend their days
searching for new and creative ways to destroy my house and my sanity,
I see all the fear and responsibility that comes with understanding
that another human life totally depends on me. I also see the
boundless depths of a kind of love I never really understood until I
held them in that hospital nursery and the potential to learn from
them each day how to be a better man simply because I have to in order
to give them what they need and deserve.
There was a time when I feared becoming my parents. Like most young
people, I thought I knew so much more and swore I would do everything
different and better.
My children have taught me how very wrong I was. I realize now in the
way I interact with my family and with other people, in the way that
my life is totally focused on my boys and in countless other ways, I
am very much my parents’ child.
Instead of fearing that I may become my parents, I fear that I won’t.
I pray each day that God will give me the courage to take to heart the
lessons they taught and find a way to be to my children what they were
to me. I can’t imagine achieving any greater success in life.

When not chasing toddlers, Brant Sappington is a staff writer for the
Daily Corinthian. Click here to contact Brant.

We can learn valuable
lessons from a canine
Published Saturday, Feb. 7
Web exclusive Sidetracks by Mark Boehler

I buried my best friend today.
On a friend's farm in rural Alcorn County down a dirt lane, I spotted just the place near a field at the end of a stand of hardwood trees. It was a cold winter day over a cloudless blue sky. The wind seemed to freeze each tear on my cheeks.
It was on this now sacred ground I would return my dog Freckles back to the Earth.
A pet burial is a grief ritual for me. It is an act I must do alone. And in this case my large breed loveable companion the past five years presented quite the challenge to get the job accomplished. Between the anger of a pet lost and thoughts of the wonderful experiences we shared, I chopped with a small ax through sizeable tree roots. And as my rusty shovel hit clay in the depth of the final resting place, my back and arms began to ache.
Emotions can overcome physical limitations. Freckles would have her spot, even if took me all night.
The winds rustled the leaves near where my friend was resting, and the sound was as if she was wagging her tail. I collapsed in the trench, laughing out loud as I wondered if my girl was watching over me to witness yet once again her master was sometimes the hard headed idiot who was about to dig his own final resting place.
I finished my deed, then sat in the nearby leaves to ponder our lives together and regain enough strength to drive back home.
She was the fifth canine burial over the past five decades of my life, but never one so painful as a chapter came to a close in a unique love story. You see, we didn't seek Freckles. She found my wife Dawn and me.
Dirty, starving and abused, she crawled up to us down on her luck. We never let go. As it turned out later, she was pregnant. She delivered nine beautiful pups we gave to good homes.
We cleaned the oil off her back where she had sought refuge under vehicles. We put the broom away, an obvious previous whipping stick. And we stayed away from fireworks, as her previous life had to be full of gunfire.
Freckles turned into a wonderful house dog, potty trained, peaceful yet protective, intelligent yet playful and one to never leave our sides. Our world took a jolt in December with the discovery of a growth in her throat. From there, each step in life's journey became a series of setbacks.
Those fine folks at Corinth Animal Care Center kept us focused on the potential problems, then our experience at Mississippi State University School of Veterinary Medicine - as tragic as the situation became - we knew our Freckles was getting the best care in the country.
Faced with mass cell cancer in her body and a melanoma cancerous tumor in her throat, we made decisions we wanted quality of life with what was left. It would be our last Christmas with Freckles.
Our girl recovered so well from her surgery, but the warnings proved true. Melanoma is the bastard of all cancers and it takes no prisoners, just victims. The growth came back, and with a vengeance. Dr. Doug Locke became more than my vet. He is Doug my friend. He said I would know when the time was upon us.
And I did.
I was not going to let my Freckles suffer. I agonized over the decision, but in the end, it was the best decision I would ever make for her.
Just short of what we think was her sixth birthday, Doug did the humane thing at my request.
The tears poured as never before, but to love is to turn loose the things we hold dear.
All of mankind can learn from the Freckles of the world. She took her lumps, yet never complained.
She greeted all friends and family with a smile, wag of a strong tail and sparkle in her half blue, half brown eyes. She never hurt anything or anybody, yet considered it a couple of times when confronted by a perceived threat. When she played, the 70-pound spotted Australian Sheppard mix played hard.
The game of fetch wasn't over until the ball or flying disc was discovered and returned to the person who tossed it. When she messed up, she would own her act my lowering her ears, thus revealing she knew she was wrong.
Freckles gave nothing but unconditional love to her family.
Humans preach it, yet rarely practice it on a daily basis with not much effort. I didn't deserve Freckles, but she accepted me for who I was.
There are those who say there is no heaven for animals. I believe this pet has gone to a happy hunting ground in a better place, free of pain and room to roam.
I want to believe she is at peace in a heaven somewhere - and in my eyes - a queen on a throne with goose down pillows with an unlimited supply of treats.
I shall miss my beloved Freckles. And I'll never forget the valuable lessons she taught me.
I am a better person for just knowing her.

Mark Boehler served as executive editor of the Daily Corinthian from 1995-2008. The Fun 91 radio station general manager can be reached at wmarkboehler@gmail.com.

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