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January 2006
Housing shortcuts short homeowners
The Atlanta Journal-Constitution
I didn’t buy her a diamond ring. Or wine and dine her.
All I did to become King for a Day in my wife’s eyes was repair the garage door. It’d been squeaking, squawking and threatening to come unhinged for days. OK — months.
It would stop midway between up and down. It might go all the way down, then creep upward again as soon as it touched ground. Our garage door was possessed.
And I fixed it, baby.
With WD-40, no less.
So we didn’t have to have a repairman make a house call.
This time.
Rest assured, though, there’ll be other malfunctions that demand more than a squirt of oil. And chances are great it will be something that wasn’t built right or installed properly from the get-go. Stuff like defective wood, creaky floors and sagging walls. Things that require the expertise of a plumber, electrician or some other repairman.
Anecdotally, it’s a common occurrence in Gwinnett, where houses sprout like kudzu. We live in a county that attracts more than 25,000 people a year. Schools are top-notch. Jobs are plentiful.
Because of growth, we need houses — thousands of new ones every year.
Of 17,182 building permits issued last year, 6,632 were for single-family residences, according to the 2005 activity report compiled by the Gwinnett County Department of Planning & Development.
When some contractors work at breakneck speed to meet demand while juggling several projects, mistakes happen. Shortcuts get taken. Quality plummets.
And we, the homeowners, pay for it, literally and figuratively.
“The most common complaint we hear with the new homes is with the painting and the drywall,” said Chris Davis, president of Fair and Square Home Services. “So many companies use these guys they pick up on the corner. They’re amateurs, and it’s detrimental to the industry. For repairmen like us, though, it keeps us busy.”
When I moved here in 1997,the number of advertisements for handymen and all-purpose crews astounded me. Now I know why.
We hired a contractor to turn my basement into an in-law suite. We learned that there was no insulation behind the drywall. Our plumbing sprung leaks inside the walls. We learned the pipes were made of a material that had been the target of a class-action lawsuit — decades ago.
When repairmen or service technicians show up at our 20-year-old house, I ask them the same two questions:
What do you think about the general quality of homes in Gwinnett? And is a $400,000 house crafted any better than one that costs $200,000?
Their answers are uniform. Quality is a very hit-or-miss proposition. It doesn’t discriminate by ZIP code, either. A Gwinnett McMansion can be just as defect-prone as an abode in a cookie-cutter subdivision or modestly priced neighborhood.
“Forty percent of our repair work is on houses less than five years old,” said Harvey W. Roberts Jr., the plumber who installed new water pipes in my crib. “And I work in houses that range in price from the cheapest to over a million. That’s not good.”
Actually, it’s a crying shame. Because a can of WD-40 can do only so much.
Binge drinking a problem, but also a choice
The Atlanta Journal-Constitution
Jeff was awakened by a gurgling sound. It emanated from the other side of the room.
He was a student at the University of Georgia, living off-campus in a cool apartment. He and his friends studied hard and partied often. On this night, they imbibed quite heavily.
They never needed much reason to celebrate, but this night was special. His roommate was turning 21. Time to party. Everybody chipped in for a fifth (or maybe it was a liter) of Bacardi 151 rum.
Copper-colored rocket fuel.
They consumed one rum and coke after another. No one complained about being sick. No one spoke with slurred speech or stumbled around. Everything seemed to be under control.
A week ago, Lewis Fish wasn’t so fortunate. The 19-year-old UGA student died after a night of drinking. UGA police say he went to a party at a private residence and then to a fraternity house, where he drank a bottle of whiskey he’d had in his pocket. The authorities are trying to piece together his last few hours in the Classic City.
When a tragedy like this happens, a familiar script unfolds. We wait for the police to complete their investigation, one that may find culpability. We lament over the young generation’s sense of invincibility and carefree existence.
There’s a renewed concern about binge drinking, especially among the underaged. We turn to college officials, bar owners, students — anybody with insight on ways to curb excessive consumption of alcohol.
All this we do in post-tragedy mode. It’s all commendable, responsible and sincere. The goal is noble. Who wants another family to lose a loved one to an alcohol-related misstep?
But there’s a bitter truth that will always detract from what we do.
There’s an element that’s key to whether we have another alcohol- related death next month or next year. It packs more power than anything we do, and we can’t control it.
It’s free will — the way it’s exercised. It’s the choices we make and how we decide, exactly, what we will or will not do. At any given time. In any given situation.
Jeff Aaron, my roommate in college, was never a deep sleeper. Which was lucky for me. I might not be writing this column nearly 20 years later.
My friends and I chugged rum and coke for hours that night. I woke up to find Jeff leaning over my bed. He was tapping me on the shoulder. Calling my name.
I’d been the songbird emitting that gurgling sound. I wasn’t snoring, though. I was vomiting in bed and, apparently, choking on it. That could have been the way I spent the last hours of my life — lying in a pool of vomit, asphyxiated. My 21st birthday would have been my last.
I made that decision 20 years ago to consume high-octane rum and coke. I lived to tell it.
Not everyone is so fortunate.
Mr. Fish, bless his soul, reminds us of that.
• Rick Badie’s column appears on Sundays, Tuesdays, and Thursdays. Contact him at 770-263-3875. Or e-mail: rbadie@ajc.com
Know of a grungy strip mall? Submit it for our list of shame
The Atlanta Journal-Constitution
It’s either off-white or light gray. Hard to tell. The color of the paint is cloaked behind a film of dirt and grit.
This particular strip mall houses a barber shop, beauty supply store and European grocery. It has two dollar stores as well as two bridal shops. If there’s an anchor, it’s the Goodwill donation center, which, according to a sign in the window, receives 4,000 donations a month.
A few storefronts are closed. Lease signs adorn the windows. The parking lot’s expansive, big enough to hold an emissions testing trailer and a shuttered bank with a boarded up ATM machine. On weekends, the parking lot turns into a car lot. Private car owners park their for-sale vehicles there.
This is Lilburn Square. It’s in the 5000 block of Lawrenceville Highway. I pass by it several times a week en route to the gym or taking Miles to basketball practice.
On Wednesday, I stopped to browse in a few of the square’s shops and storefronts. I asked the clerk in the beauty supply store about upkeep.
When was the last time the building was pressure- washed? Has the parking lot been repaved in recent years? What about the paint job?
The man minding the store gave me a slight smile, then shook his head. He said tenants clean their own windows and their space, but that was about as far as it got.
In Gwinnett, we’ve mastered the strip mall strut. Mini-malls are omnipresent. Sometimes they’re built to a bare-bones minimum.
Sometimes they go upscale. Think Forum. Despite marketing that touts standalone buildings and storefront parking, it’s still a strip mall at the end of the day.
And there’s nothing wrong with that.
But sometimes developers, owners, investors or whoever let these concrete centers go to the dogs.
You know what I’m talking about. The ones that need a good hosing and paint job. The ones where marquees and other signs lack a few letters and lights.
Ones like Lilburn Square.
Of course others exist. Which brings me to my request.
Let’s see if we can compile a list of the dingiest and dirtiest strip malls in the county. They can be anywhere. It doesn’t matter if they are vacant or occupied. Square footage is irrelevant, too. If they are unkempt, give me a holler.
You can e-mail me or post your offering in the Badie blog. Include the name of the strip mall along with an address that at least provides the name of the nearest major road.
I, with the help of the AJC Gwinnett News staff, will give them a look. We might shoot some photos. If we have enough, we might compile a list, say, of the 10 worst-looking malls.
More important, we’ll try to track down the owners and ask them why in blazing saddles have they let their property go south. Then we’ll ask what they plan to do about it.
Sound like a plan?
Spooky and Kelor
The Atlanta Journal-Constitution
I got an e-mail the other day from the teens who have made a habit out of spray-painting property along Jimmy Carter Boulevard.
“Spooky” and “Kelor” —- members of the so-called SK (Silent Kids) crew —- admonished me for “talkin’ bad” about them and their work.
And get this: They claim that the mess they left on a dozen or so buildings a few weekends ago serves a purpose.
“We want to make you realize we don’t wanna live in a place where going to work and then coming back to sleep is life,” Kelor wrote. “We need some kind of hang-out place where everyone can come and do recreational activities. I know you are going to try and follow up where and who I am. You can do it. I don’t care.”
Actually, he did. Seems homeboy and his buddies don’t want the cops to learn their real names and addresses. Kelor and I exchanged several e-mails this week before he reneged on a face-to-face interview tentatively planned for Wednesday.
You can justify just about anything if you think about it long enough. Kelor and Spooky may truly believe they’re right to deface property.
Or maybe they’re trying to play me. It’s hard to justify what they’re doing, and for residents who are tired of seeing scribblings on buildings and signs all over the county, their explanations don’t fly.
For sake of discussion, though, let’s look at what they said. They want a teen recreation center, or something like that, for youngsters who live in neighborhoods in and around Jimmy Carter Boulevard. Sure, there are parks in the area, but most times the fields are taken up with league play.
“There is no way around it —- our area is underserved with parks and recreational activities,” admitted Sen. Curt Thompson, who’s working to revitalize JCB and other declining corridors. “But they need to realize that tagging is illegal, absolutely illegal. I am quite certain that if a group of teens signed petitions or conducted a sit-in about their concerns, the county would take notice. Those are legitimate ways of expressing a need.
“Painting graffiti is not telling the county we need more park space or a teen rec center. That’s telling the county to hire more police officers.”
Via e-mail, Kelor told me about his life. He’s 16, and claims to be an “A” student and a rising junior at a local school. He likes to break dance, draw (imagine that), read and plan his next graffiti hit. Dad designs pipe structures for a living. Mom works in a factory. He’s got a brother and a sister. He’s been a tagger since he was 13, but only recently took up the admittedly “ugly and bad lookin’ ” scribblings occasionally visible along JCB.
Spray-painting graffiti isn’t something you do in broad daylight. What does Kelor tell his parents to break free at night?
“There is always a new excuse to stay out late,” he wrote. “I might tell them I am spending the night over at my friend’s house, or just tell them I am going to another concert.”
I asked Kelor what would make him and Spooky stop destroying property that costs hundreds and, in some cases, thousands of dollars to paint over or chemically clean.
“All we are askin’ for is a sane place” to hang out, he wrote. “Try and use your skills to [write] something that will make a change.”
Too bad this kid and his friends don’t take their own advice.
Make taggers clean up graffiti
The Atlanta Journal-Constitution
It was only a matter of time before they’d get caught.
They were outlaws, but not like Jesse James or Billy the Kid. They didn’t rob banks or kill anybody.
They just spray-painted graffiti on property all over Norcross. We came to know them by their nicknames, or tags — “Spooky” and “Kelor.”
And after almost a year of defacing property, the 16-year-olds have finally been nabbed by Gwinnett County police. Their apprehension is as much a credit to their brashness as to solid police work.
Authorities got a tip that the Norcross teens boasted of their tagging exploits on a Web page. They even posted photos. Then came the breakthrough.
“One of them used their real name on the site,” Detective E.S. Osterberg told me.
Police say Spooky and Kelor are responsible for at least six incidents of graffiti vandalism in the county. They’ve been charged with misdemeanor criminal trespass and criminal damage to property, a felony.
You’ve probably seen their handiwork. They have admitted to authorities that they defaced the Crescent Lake Apartments on Sunrise Village Lane, the Greens Corner Shopping Center on Jimmy Carter Boulevard and a Firestone Tire & Service Center on Rockbridge Road.
They told Osterberg and Jason Summers, the lead investigator, that they were expressing themselves. That the taggings are art.
Please. I don’t know much about art, but I know what it isn’t. What I see spray-painted around Norcross definitely doesn’t qualify. It’s not even remotely close to the murals you can see from the seat of a MARTA train as it whizzes through the city.
The boys told Osterberg they felt bad about what they’d done.
“They said they were sorry about putting stuff on people’s property,” he said. “Were they legit? I can’t really tell. I don’t know if they were genuine.”
In August, Spooky e-mailed me to say that he and Kelor — also known as the “Silent Kids” — were responsible for graffiti along Jimmy Carter Boulevard. They took pride in their work, which they attributed to boredom and lack of a place to hang out in southwestern Gwinnett. He told me how he’d tell his parents that he was spending the night with a friend or attending a concert.
Spooky’s a cocky kid. He had the audacity to admonish me and suggest I use my skills to write something that would bring about change in the community.
I’ll do that right now, Spooky. My idea, though, requires input from you and Kelor. You guys ought to be named the county’s graffiti cleanup crew. Instead of calling Gwinnett Clean & Beautiful, residents and business owners would report eyesores directly to you. You’d have to remove the taggings on weekends — your free time.And without pay.
How’s that for invoking change?
Hollywood unkind to South
The Atlanta Journal-Constitution
Kim Wall, an Atlanta native and resident of Stone Mountain, plays a Kentucky socialite in "Glory Road."
On screen, she’s a snooty Southern woman.
In “Glory Road,” Kim Wall plays a Kentucky socialite who just doesn’t understand Don Haskins, the basketball coach at Texas Western. Her lines required her to use a word once reserved for blacks: “coloreds.”
It made Wall uneasy.
“Saying words like that always make me nervous,” the Stone Mountain resident told me. “I wouldn’t want anyone to think I am like that. It’s probably a silly concern, but it’s a fear that I have.”
Wall conquered her angst. She nailed the scene, and it survived the cutting room floor. You can catch the actress’ work in theaters across the county.
Wall has been an entertainer for decades. She and a friend took a modeling class when she was a kid. That led to acting workshops and, eventually, a major in drama at the University of Georgia. Then she spent four years studying acting in New York City.
Her credits include plays, commercials and voice-overs. She can bark like a dog and meow like a cat (excellently, I might add). She can invoke different accents, especially those that demand a twang.
“Glory Road” isn’t her first foray onto the silver screen. The Atlanta native played a “butch cop” in “The Dukes of Hazzard.” Her character rebuffs a request from a sweet-talking Daisy.
“Daisy always gets her way,” Wall said. “It didn’t work with my character.”
With “Glory Road,” and “The Dukes of Hazzard,” Wall has two high-profile flicks to her credit. Back-to-back films — one comedic, one true drama.
Both Southern fried.
Hollywood isn’t particularly kind in its portrayals of the South. Seldom do the producers and directors get us right. Granted, it’s hard to capture the essence of a region with so many strange, seductive nuances.
The regional bias is hard to ignore. Or dismiss. Especially if it’s your home.
On film, we’re dimwitted yahoos. We live in towns inundated with racist Bubbas and downtrodden, oppressed Leroys. We’re ignoramuses, and we’re content, save for the obligatory enlightened character who gets deemed eccentric by everyone else in town.
And unlike “Glory Road,” many of these movies aren’t representative of any set time period. It could be 1950 as easily as it’s 2006.
John W. Cones, a writer and Texas native, has researched the issue. In his 1997 book, “What’s Really Going on In Hollywood,” one chapter carries this subheading: “Hollywood’s Rape of the South.”
Cones informally critiqued more than 200 movies that spanned from the 1920s to the early 1990s. He wrote that “negative portrayals of the American South in Hollywood films are particularly offensive and often include the negative or stereotypical portrayals of people, places or things in the Southern U.S.”
“Nothing has changed,” he surmised via telephone from his Los Angeles office, but he couldn’t say for sure because he hasn’t updated his research.
Wall, though, thinks otherwise.
“It’s gotten better,” she said, noting that Atlanta actors audition for diverse, rich roles. In fact, Wall just auditioned for the role of a psychiatrist in an upcoming action thriller.
“Actors here are extremely happy with the roles that are cast out of here,” she said.
“We would love if they cast everything out of here, but we really love it when directors cast Southern roles out of here rather than New York or California. Here, they get real Southerners.”
And not an entirely scripted one.
Home schooling has strong draw for invested parents
The Atlanta Journal-Constitution
You wonder what he’s doing on campus.
Maybe his mom or dad is a professor. Or he’s just waiting for a brother or sister.
It’s understandable why you’d think like that the first time you see Joshua Davis on Georgia Perimeter College’s Lawrenceville campus. He’s 15. Yet he’s a college student in his fourth semester there.
Before you marvel at his academic acumen, consider this: His two sisters, Hannah and Abigail, were 16 and 15 when they enrolled at Georgia Perimeter. Hannah, now 18, has her eye on nursing school. Abigail, 16, is a rising sophomore.
All three were home schooled, taught by mom. And Diane Davis plans to do likewise with the rest of the brood — Nathan, 13; Mary, 12; Catherine, 10; Joseph, 8; Sarah, 5 and Esther, 3.
Davis used to teach French at a DeKalb County public school. She quit, but not begrudgingly. She simply wanted to spend time with her kids and to infuse Christian principles into their education.
“They grow up so fast,” Davis of Lawrenceville told me via e-mail. “I love our children, and I love to teach, so home schooling is a clear fit for me.”
I support public schools wholeheartedly. My son is a fourth-grader at Nesbit Elementary, where Principal Cecilia Garcia and her staff do a jam-up job.
I still wish I could teach my kids at home. Too bad the commitment requires things I don’t have enough of — money, patience and strong organizational skills. But home schooling is compelling. The freedom, individuality and headiness attract. You and your child on a journey. Sweet.
And when you hear about kids like those of Tim and Diane Davis, you wonder what, exactly, you could do differently. If not better.
Joshua’s a B student. He likes to swim, play soccer and chess. Our local Doogie Howser wants to study industrial engineering at Georgia Tech.
Last semester, Joshua made a C in precalculus.
“My parents asked me if I had learned anything from making that C, and I told them that I had,” he told me one rainy Tuesday. “They told me to take that experience and use it to make an A in calculus.”
My money’s on Josh.
And I’m not even a betting man.
Attendance by whites is still lacking
The Atlanta Journal-Constitution
Robbie S. Moore prefers to see her glass half-full, not half-empty.
So she wasn’t disappointed at the turnout for the 2006 King Day Celebration.
A concerted effort was made to ensure that all Gwinnettians — notably whites — felt welcome at this year’s event. A few showed up.
But you know how the cameraman pans the crowd at a professional football or basketball game? Whites typically occupy most of the seats. Well, it was a similar scene at Monday’s King celebration, only in reverse. Among a sea of black faces in the auditorium at Central Gwinnett High School, two dozen or so whites sat.
This is just me talking, but, man, it would have been cool to see white Gwinnett constitute at least 10 percent of the 500 or so residents who attended. Especially after all the United Ebony Society of Gwinnett County did to try to boost attendance.
“I bet we e-mailed 50 white churches — twice,” Moore, the group’s president, told me.
“I also stopped by a lot of churches, and if I couldn’t see the pastor, I talked to the secretary. Our organization wants to set the example for all of our children. It’s the county that has to catch up to us,” she said.
As we made our way through the cafeteria, Superintendent J. Alvin Wilbanks of Gwinnett County Public Schools acknowledged Moore’s efforts.
“Great program, Robbie,” he told her.
Besides Wilbanks, I spotted Charles Bannister, chairman of the Gwinnett County Commission, and Jerry Oberholtzer, the mayor of Snellville. Other dignitaries were present, but these leaders stood out.
“They didn’t have to take time out of their day to be here, but they did,” Moore said. “We got great support from the county and our schools. Putting this event on is like being in a family. You work with who shows up.”
Janet Gibson showed up. Gibson, a five-year member of the Ebony Society, said she didn’t think it was necessary for the group to jump through hoops to make this year’s King Day more inclusive.
“I am a Georgian by birth and a white female,” she wrote to me in an e-mail a few weeks ago. “There has never been anything said or done that would indicate whites weren’t invited or that the event would be used to blast the ‘white establishment’ or stress some ‘social agenda.’
“I have found our King Day program an opportunity to revisit his teaching and appreciate his contribution to the betterment of our society. This organization operates on values that are important to me, such as respect, service and honesty.”
On Monday, Gibson passed out programs at the entrance of the auditorium.
“There’s a lot more whites in attendance today,” she told me. “A lot more. I hope more of our citizens understand that Dr. King’s message isn’t just for blacks. It was for all of America.”
And if you get that pertinent point — truly get it — then maybe you don’t have to get off the couch when the King holiday rolls around. Black or white, you don’t have to volunteer in the community or show up for a pep talk on that particular day about the importance of caring and showing respect.
You already practice what King preached.
Don’t you?
MLK DAY
The Atlanta Journal-Constitution
Good morning. Hope you had a good weekend, and that your week is off to a good start. I’m heading to Lawrenceville this a.m. to take in the MLK celebration. Maybe I’ll see you there. The march kicks off at 10. It concludes with a program at the high school. Rosa Parks’ niece is speaking. She lives in Gwinnett. Unbelievable. Considering the holiday, I thought you all would appreciate this first-person story I found in the Alternet. It’s called, “Finding Words to Talk About Race.” Check it out at: http://www.alternet.org/story/30755/. Finally, make sure you read my column on Tuesday. It will be related to today’s King activities — whatever strikes me as interesting. Be safe. And keep posting those comments. Sincerely, RB.
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9-year-old sets example for all
The Atlanta Journal-Constitution
Forget the tears.
Put aside, for a minute, whether you think it’s disrespectful to paint a U.S. flag on the ground in a cul-de-sac. Or that to do so defaces property.
Let’s focus on character traits. Stuff we don’t see enough of. Things like humility, strength and responsibility.
Rachel Renbarger exudes them. She’s the 9-year-old girl in Duluth who, with her sister, innocently painted an American flag in the center of her subdivision’s cul-de-sac. It was a July 4 project, but this well-intended civics project turned sour.
A World War II veteran considered the image disrespectful. Restore the flag’s dignity by removing the image, he implored.
City officials likened the painting to graffiti, a comical assertion to those of us who live in southwest Gwinnett.
We know graffiti. We’d welcome the image of a flag as opposed to what we see every day.
The flag flap took on a life of its own. National media took notice. Residents took sides on whether to let it stay or pressure wash it. While everybody got worked up, Rachel stepped up.
She and her father did some research on Old Glory — how to properly display it. They learned that an image on the ground — one that people can walk on and where dogs can do their business — wasn’t befitting of a national symbol. It violated the dignity of the flag.
So last week, a tearful Rachel addressed the Duluth City Council.
“I am so sorry,” the fourth-grader said. “We will do whatever it takes to remove it — me and my sister. I am so sorry.”
We witness countless situations in which CEOs, politicians, athletes and other newsmakers do wrong, then blatantly pass the buck. Seldom do they express remorse or accept responsibility. It’s their world. Nothing else really matters.
Sadly, they don’t get what Rachel apparently already knows. That with actions come consequences. Sometimes repercussions. And that regardless of the outcome, you have to deal with it.
“It’s nice to see someone with accountability,” wrote Marcus Spencer in the Badie blog.
“It’s even better when they might have trouble even spelling the word. At least some parents are doing their job nowadays.”
Initially, Rachel’s image and the brouhaha that ensued grabbed our attention. But when all has been said and done, when the flag is removed by city officials later this year, that’s not what we should remember.
Let’s remember the poignant way she stood before a group of adults, told the truth, apologized, then offered to help fix the problem.
Then, let’s try to emulate her.
Black parents take education reins
The Atlanta Journal-Constitution
Jordan Hermitt doesn’t sit squarely in her seat.
She likes to fold one leg back, sit on it, then lean forward. Off go the shoes. Such tendencies, Mom admits, can be annoying in the classroom.
Some Gwinnett public school educators suggested a remedy: Put the 9-year-old on Ritalin.
No way, said Andrea and Leslie Hermitt of Lawrenceville.
“It was either home schooling or Ritalin,” Andrea Hermitt told me.
Initially, home schooling was embraced mostly by Christian whites ticked off with public schools and unable to afford private ones. They still make up the majority of the nation’s 1.1 million home schoolers, but nowadays, blacks are a fast-growing segment.
Some black parents are disappointed and disillusioned with public schools — their quality, Eurocentric curriculum, academic inequities and racism, be it real or imagined.
“They are fed up and believe they can better ensure their children have positive educational futures,” said Jennifer James, director of the National African-American Homeschoolers Alliance in Chapel Hill, N.C.”I can say that the numbers, without a doubt, are increasing.”
Gwinnett County school records show 3,049 home schoolers are registered this year. Even though almost every student statistic known to a local, state or federal educational bureaucrat is broken out by race, not so in home schooling. The district doesn’t break those numbers down racially. Ditto for the state education department, which places the total home school population around 40,000. Nationwide, there are about 110,000 black home schoolers, though James and others say that figure is too low.
Cynthia James of Lilburn volunteers at the Georgia Home Educators Association in Fayette County.She takes calls from black parents all the time.
“And it’s not just from Gwinnett,” she told me.
It’s good to see black parents take control of their children’s schooling and realize that traditional teaching methods may not be the best way. Nor are they the only way.
Before she committed to home schooling, Hermitt read about 30 books and took a fact-finding trip to California.Jordan and Jackson, her 11-year-old son, also take classes at the Master’s Academy of Fine Arts, a home school program in Duluth.
Jackson has skipped a grade. This summer, Jordan scored in the 90th percentile on a standardized test.
“I was brave enough to do something different with my children,” Hermitt said.
It appears to be working.
The 110-year secret? Be happy
The Atlanta Journal-Constitution
She grew up in a log cabin.
To get to school, she trudged through many a Michigan winter. School was one of those one-room wonders, a la “Little House on the Prairie.”
Jessie Ilene McArthur witnessed the advent of machinery and technology that most of us have never lived without, couldn’t fathom life without, and take for granted.
Electricity. Automobiles. Television.
“When she first saw electric lights, she said she thought it was a miracle,” said Deborah DiPaolo, a granddaughter who lives in Lawrenceville.
McArthur grew up on a farm in Dowling, Mich. She and her four siblings milked cows, fed chickens and did schoolwork by oil lamp.
And like many in her generation, she married young — 19. She met Lisle McArthur at a roller-skating rink. They wed in June 1915. The newlyweds rented a house for $8 a month in Hastings, Mich. Jessie McArthur became a homemaker. Her husband ran garages in Hastings and Hickory Corners.
“My grandfather was one of the first in town to own a model T,” DiPaolo told me while flipping through two albums of photos. “He was a mechanic.”
And a builder.
McArthur’s husband built their two-bedroom, one-bath house in Hickory Corners. He died on New Year’s Day in 1963. After his passing, she continued to stay in the home. She tended flowers, volunteered for community groups and kept up with the Detroit Tigers.
Then one day in 2000 she fell and broke her hip. She was 105, unable to fend for herself. DiPaolo decided to move her into an assisted-living facility, the same one that DiPaolo’s parents were in.
But Michigan was too far away.
DiPaolo wanted her grandmother and parents closer to home. Mom and Dad moved down first, followed by McArthur in 2003. She settled in Del Mar Gardens of Gwinnett in Lawrenceville.
On Aug. 9, the facility celebrated her 110th birthday. The party room was adorned with 110 pink balloons. McArthur wore pink, her favorite color. A band played. McArthur, wheelchair-bound for five years, had wanted to dance. DiPaolo twirled her hand.
“She was very aware it was her birthday, and that we were there,” said DiPaolo, a Delta flight attendant. “She knew all of us. She was very talkative and very animated.”
By Thanksgiving, McArthur’s disposition turned dour. She stopped eating and stayed in bed. Grandma, a doctor told DiPaolo, had a few days left.
McArthur died in her sleep on Dec. 14. She was 110.
According to Guinness World Records (www.guinnessworldrecords.com.), the oldest woman to have her age verified died Aug. 4, 1997, in southern France. Jeanne-Louise Calment lived 122 years and 164 days. She was born in France on Feb. 21, 1875. Now, an American holds the title as the oldest living woman. Elizabeth Bolden of Memphis turned 115 last August, according to Guinness.
McArthur — maiden name Matteson — was born Aug. 9, 1895. She outlived her siblings, one of her two children and one of her grandsons.
People want to know her secret. The University of Georgia sent researchers to interview her for a study on people who lived to see 100. She’s featured in a Michigan book about centenarians.
McArthur never drank and never smoked. She didn’t credit her longevity to a Puritan lifestyle, though. And she disappointed those looking for her to say something profound about her endurance. The key, she told those with inquiring minds, was to stay positive and happy.
“She’s been very well her whole life,” DiPaolo told me. “No cancer or anything like that. She always looked 10 or 20 years younger than she was. Her skin was real pretty.”
Lisle McArthur is buried on a family plot in Hastings. The tombstone already carries his wife’s name, but one thing will have to be changed. The headstone lists the year she died as “19—”.
She beat that century by several years.
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