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October 2007
Can’t overlook racism in ‘Wind’
The Atlanta Journal-Constitution
I’ve tried.
Tried to embrace Scarlett, Rhett, Mammy and Prissy.
Tried to understand the cinematic, cultural and societal accolades that have been bestowed upon “Gone with the Wind,” voted by the American Film Institute to be No. 4 among the top 100 movies of all time.
I’ve tried and failed, never frankly cared much. Not even a kernel’s worth.
“Rhett Butler’s People,” the second authorized book sequel to Margaret Mitchell’s best-seller, will be released Nov. 6. The media buzz about the sequel has me, once again, trying to understand the adulation for the original story and its cinematic script.
So I seek enlightenment, a lesson on how to appreciate the flick. If you consider the movie a masterpiece, a favorite, help me see what you see, what I obviously miss.
Maybe the love story hooks you.
Clark Gable’s Rhett and Vivien Leigh’s Scarlett create an on-screen chemistry that’s undeniable. They almost take you away from the war - its purpose - that’s unfolding.
Almost.
Perhaps you’re like a (white) female friend of mine. In Scarlett, this California girl found power, a role model for women. She identified with Scarlett’s ability to rise from the ashes of a defeated South. She especially liked the scene where Scarlett declares she’ll never be hungry again, or something to that effect.
Maybe you’re a Southern sympathizer.
You like the melancholy, cinematic broad brush the movie gives slavery. You like that feel-good spin about states’ rights, the Southern way of life being under attack, a “civilization” going with the wind.
If you identify with all of the above, if you see all these things so clearly, deeply and devoutly, then tell me something.
Where, in the context of this movie, does that leave people with my skin tone?
I had never seen “Gone With the Wind” in its entirety till 1998. Before then, I’d only seen bits and pieces. I couldn’t stomach it. After finally seeing it, though, my lasting impressing isn’t of love and a genteel Old South.
It’s of denigration and minstrel black characters, sympathetic to an immoral Southern cause, put off by “Yankees” who’ve come to disrupt their wonderful life on the plantation.
Spare me, please.
We aren’t even served subservient characters with dignity. Think Huck’s “Jim,” or Miss Daisy’s “Hoke,” characters some critics find abominable. Better yet, how about Sheriff Gillespie’s Virgil Tibbs?
Well, I’ll take them over Mammy, who gets a red petticoat for her loyalty to the O’Hara family.
Special.
You might be able to overlook the inherent racist context. I can’t. That’s like asking Jews to not be offended by a movie that praises Nazi Germany, that treats the Holocaust like a hiccup.
Rick Badie’s column appears on Sundays, Tuesdays and Thursdays. Contact him at 770-263-3875 or e-mail rbadie@ajc.com.
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“If you’ve got scuffs, go to him for a buff”
The Atlanta Journal-Constitution
Next time a man walks your way, look him over, from head to toe.
Especially the shoes.
If his kicks are scuffed and dull, that $500 suit he might be wearing won’t matter . May as well have cost $50. Shoes, dudes, make the outfit.
Real men know this, and some of those in the know pay regular visits to see Lawrence Hardnett at Bennie’s Shoes in Norcross. He just may be the only shoe-shine man in the county.
“One of the best,” says Brian Shemaria, the manager at Bennie’s, an Atlanta namesake since the 1900s. “He can shine rust.”
And Hardnett just might, given how long he’s been polishing. Almost five decades. He started when he was 12, two years after he began selling newspapers at Porter’s Shine Parlor, a defunct stand that was located in downtown Cincinnati. He practiced for two years before he stepped to the parlor manager and asked to shine the manager’s shoes.
“That was it,” said Hardnett, 57, of Lawrenceville. “Been shining shoes every since.”
Raised by his grandmother in Ohio, Hardnett spent summers with aunts and cousins in the Atlanta area, his birthplace. He always knew he’d return to the South to live one day. In 1989, he did. He tried his hand at other jobs. They didn’t fit or pay as well, though. So he returned to what he knew best. He worked at a shoe-shine stand in downtown Atlanta for eight years. In 1997, he found his way to Norcross, home to one of three Bennie’s Shoes stores.
“He takes his time and does it right,” said Shemaria. “He doesn’t give it the ole one-two. He takes pride in his work. He’s never missed a day. He gets here at 9 in the morning and stays till 5. You can go to the airport, cleaners or wherever, but nobody shines better than him.”
Shining shoes is becoming a dying art. It’s partially a victim of changes in the way men dress, especially in recent years with the move to casual business attire. That fashion trend befits boat shoes and suede bucks, not wing-tips and spectators. And it’s hard to find shoe-shine stands. Like Shemaria mentioned, you generally find them in airports where there’s often one goal:
Get it done. Quick.
Shining shoes also suffers from a cultural stigma and stereotype. Back in the day, blacks gravitated to certain jobs - porter, butler, shoe-shine man - because it was difficult, if not virtually impossible, to pursue white-collar professions. Yes, times have changed, but there’s no doubt a large majority of today’s blacks find certain jobs too Jim Crowish.
Hardnett, who considers himself an independent contractor, understands this. He appears to be at peace knowing that, when he dies, so will his skills. The married father of three grown children has tried to impart his craft to 13- and 14-year-old boys. They tell him they’ll drop by the shop, but for whatever reasons, never show.
“People think it’s a demeaning job,” he told me one day when I dropped off three pairs of dress shoes. “They look at it as an uneducated business that requires no knowledge, no nothing. But physically and mentally, you have to stay up with what’s going on, relate to people, sometimes be a psychiatrist to people.
“And you have to refine yourself, conduct yourself in a proper manner. No cussing. To do this as a business, to make a living, you have to educate yourself. It’s been tough at times, but at 57, I have a home like everybody else.”
It’s Thursday evening and a steady flow of regulars drop by for a $5 shine. Kenneth Russell lives in Fayetteville. Whenever he’s in Gwinnett for business, he comes in. Hardnett gives Russell’s leather slip-ons the standard treatment: five coats of polish, topped off with a neutral coat that, in his word, “simonizes” the shine. Most shoe-shine men use two coats.
“You’d better put a filter on that [camera] lens because you’re going to get a glare with the shine on these shoes,” Russell tells me as I snap photos. “I’m in sales - windows. I have to look my best. As a matter of fact, I’m going to see one of my biggest customers right now.”
I give Russell a look over. Semi-dress slacks. Striped golf shirt. Then I look at those just-polished shoes.
Slick.
When your shoes glisten like that, you can forego a $500 suit and still look sharp.
Rick Badie’s column appears on Sundays, Tuesdays and Thursdays. Contact him at 770-263-3875 or e-mail rbadie@ ajc.com.
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“What a bunch of poop”
The Atlanta Journal-Constitution
The birds poop all over their front porch.
A few days ago, Jo Mackey contacted the county Department of Water Resources. She asked if she could hose down the porch. The female employee said ‘no,’ citing the mandated outdoor water ban that’s been in place since Sept. 28. It was suggested the Buford retirees salvage their shower water and use it.
Jo and Ken Mackey are strict adherents of the water ban. In fact, they were probably water-wise before many of us in parched North Georgia started conserving.
“I’ve been taking a ‘Navy shower’ for years,” Jo Mackey, 73, told me. “Before I married, my water bill was always $13 to $15 a month. Our water bill for both of us is only $25 a month.”
On Monday, Mackey called and asked if I had any pull with the governor’s office. Maybe I could call, she said, and get her an exemption to the water ban so she could clean her porch.
Of course, she was being facetious. Her tongue-in-cheek suggestion led to a discussion that I’d imagine thinking people have been asking themselves since the water crisis has come home to roost.
How did we get here?
Growing up in Georgia, all I heard was how great Atlanta is and would be in the future. The term “international city” preceded reality. Development boomed. Newcomers, foreign and domestic, flocked here, particularly after the 1996 Summer Olympics. They sought jobs, opportunity, affordable houses, and in Gwinnett’s case, good public schools.
Now look at what the 18-month drought has uncovered.
Apparently state and municipal officials have given scant thought to the resources and amount of water necessary for millions to flush toilets, cook, drink and - yes - wash poop off front porches. The issue is about more than bird droppings, though. It’s about water infrastructure, the lack of long-term preparation and planning of it.
Heck, even columnists have to prepare for the expected and the unforeseen. Case in point: The Badie Tour was to accompany Capt. Herb Emory, the WSB traffic reporter, on the sky copter Wednesday morning. Inclement weather grounded us.
We can’t control the rain, but we - the region - could have taken other measures during decades of growth to ward off the current situation.
“They’ll come up with something to address the issue,” said Ken Mackey, 78, a retired Delta auto mechanic. “But it’s about 25 years to late.”
When Mackey was a young man, he remembers a federal study that was done during the era of Richard Russell Jr., the late state senator and governor. It said that five states, including Georgia, would be the most populated states in the southeast due to the availability of water.
“It has come to pass, just not as big as [Russell] thought,” he said. “But nobody picked up on it.”
By no means are the Mackeys making light of the water issue. They are put off, though, with the lack of recommended water-saving initiatives that could have been enacted decades ago, but weren’t.
What a bunch of poop.
Rick Badie’s column appears on Sundays, Tuesdays and Thursdays. Contact him at 770-263-3875 or e-mail rbadie@
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“Ping-Pong club a go”
The Atlanta Journal-Constitution
They showed up with their game faces on.
It’s a good thing Ric Crosby, owner of the Southern Athletic Club in Lilburn, has a Ping-Pong table set up in his gym. Turns out the folks who had turned up one recent evening had read my columns about possibly starting an informal Ping-Pong club in the community.
My friend Bill York and I came up with the idea. I floated it in the Sept. 25 column. Crosby, who enjoys the game as much as we do, has offered his facility as a host site if the club ever gets ramped up. Guess some readers misunderstood, thought we were up and running. That’s a pretty strong testament of love for a relatively simple game.
See, people enjoy playing; they just don’t have a place. I’ve learned that a tiny, hollow ball and a paddle can serve as a perfect way to connect.
Initially, about 25 people called or e-mailed me to express interest in a club. Nowadays, I get one to two inquiries a week from folks wanting to know if anything has been formalized.
Well, it’s on.
Our inaugural event takes place Nov. 1, beginning at 7 p.m., at the Southern Athletic Club on Beaver Ruin Road. This event - as well as the Ping-Pong club itself - will be a low-key affair. Of course it will be competitive, but most important, it will be fun. That’s not to say tournaments and other changes won’t take shape down the road, though. Those are particulars for another time.
We’re still working out some details. Like equipment. Do you have a table sitting in your basement that you want to get rid of? Let us know. I’d hoped that Gwinnett County Parks & Recreation could help us with a table or two.
No dice.
The county, understandably, can’t commit taxpayer dollars to equip a private facility, said John Register, the county athletics coordinator. He mentioned that the $5.8 million gymnasium/community center, under construction at Lucky Shoals Park in Norcross, is close to completion. The public will have a say in what type programs are offered in the facility.
“Maybe someone will want to start a [Ping-Pong] club,” Register told me.
Maybe.
For now, though, check out the competition Nov. 1 at the Southern Athletic Club.
Don’t forget your game face.
Rick Badie’s column appears on Sundays, Tuesdays and Thursdays. Contact him at 770-263-3875 or e-mail: rbadie@ajc.com.
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“Parental void helps fuel problem of teen sex, drug abuse”
The Atlanta Journal-Constitution
She waited for the firestorm after the Gwinnett Coalition for Health and Human Services released its survey on student behavior.
The questionnaire, completed in spring 2006, showed that kids in the sixth, eighth, 10th and 12th grades are dabbling in sex, drugs and alcohol at a younger age. Among the findings:
* 37 percent of high school students say they have had sexual intercourse.
*8 percent of middle school students say they have had sexual intercourse.
*17.4 percent of high school students say they have had three or more intercourse partners.
Ellen Gerstein, the group’s executive director, offered to speak about the results to parents and civic groups. Few took her up on it.
There’s a way to get folks talking about the issue, though, as evidenced last week in Portland, Maine. There, a school committee voted to make prescription birth control available to kids who have parental permission to be treated in a middle school student health center.
According to the Portland Press Herald, a girl will be able to walk into the clinic, take a physical exam, be counseled by a physician or nurse practitioner and, possibly, get birth control pills. Or the morning-after pill. State law allows students treated in Portland’s school-based health centers to receive confidential care for reproductive health, mental health and substance abuse.
When it comes to sex education, what approach to take typically falls into two camps - the abstinence-based instructional strategy, which the state’s public schools use, and the comprehensive approach.
Given those perspectives, you can either view the Portland school committee’s stance as wisely progressive or extremely contradictory.
Or maybe you’re torn, like me and Gerstein.
So many parents fail to talk to their kids about sex. Pop culture bombards youngsters with irresponsible messages about sex. Some kids look, dress and act older than their biological years. Must be the food.
And as the local survey showed, risky behavior is on the rise. Gerstein wonders whether there’s some magical mix of abstinence-based instruction and safe-sex measures that might cause kids to delay sex and protect those who don’t.
“I think [the Portland] community decided that the health and protection of the child was more important than some of the other issues that were raised,” she said. “I have mixed views. If a girl is sexually active, she needs birth control, professional health, counseling about her sexual activity and all the monitoring. I would rather my child go to a doctor and tell her things, confidentially, than not go at all.”
The Portland decision raises many questions.
What are the long-term effects of young girls going on the pill? What double message does providing contraceptives send kids? What about student confidentiality versus a parent’s right to know?
In a near-perfect society, parents would be the first line of instruction when it comes to teens and sex.
But that’s the thing. So many aren’t.
I asked Gerstein how many concerned parents or civic groups contacted her about the youth survey.
“Not very many,” she said.
Rick Badie’s column appears on Sundays, Tuesdays and Thursdays. Contact him at 770-263-3875 or e-mail: rbadie@ajc.com.
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Should you or shouldn’t you call water cops on neighbors?
The Atlanta Journal-Constitution
It didn’t rain Tuesday night.
But the lawn and roses looked especially spry at this particular house in Lawrenceville.
Richard Pate parked his county truck alongside the curve for a closer look. He got out and ran his fingers through the grass in the front yard.
“Pretty wet,” he said Wednesday.
Wood chips and the bottom half of a side fence were wet, too.
Yet the woman who came to the door professed ignorance. She told Pate that she’d just returned from vacation. She said her lawn crew may have watered the landscape, but she didn’t know for sure. She hadn’t seen any workers stirring.
Pate issued a warning anyway. Next time, he explained, there would be a $1,000 fine.
“I hate doing that to people,” he said as he climbed back into the driver’s seat. “Normally people know when they are in the wrong. She may not know. But there’s definitely been some watering going on this morning.”
In these parts, every drop of water counts. Lake levels are dim. The state is at a Level 4 drought, and because of that, outdoor residential watering has been banned.
Though the region may be blessed today, Mother Nature hasn’t provided the rain to fill reservoirs and erase a deficit. So we all should conserve. That means taking shorter showers, and turning off the faucet while you brush your teeth - doing things we should do anyway, not just in crisis.
But what about neighbors?
Should one’s concern for conservation creep into our neighbor’s yard? Do we ignore those who skirt the law to wash cars and maintain lush lawns?
Should neighbors turn in neighbors, call the water cops?
Generally, “yes,” said David Word, spokesman for the Metropolitan North Georgia Water Planning District, which takes in Gwinnett. But he offered a caveat.
“That kind of question presents more things to consider than water - the relationship with neighbors, how long you’ve known them, whether they have a mean dog at home,” he said.
“But taking action - whether friendly, suggestive or through the neighborhood association, I think - is appropriate. Most people, if a neighbor came by in a friendly way, would respond.”
The other day, my daughter, Olivia, rode her scooter while I followed in tow. Down the street, a neighbor had his front-yard sprinklers going full blast. I didn’t know him, but I approached and asked if he knew about the watering ban. He grunted something indiscernible but cut off the sprinklers.
In Gwinnett, people generally adhere to the restrictions. Usually, a written warning is all it takes, Pate said. The county has issued about 200 warnings and about 20 citations since the state banned outdoor water use Sept. 28.
“We get 15 to 30 e-mails a day from people reporting other people, and over 100 phone calls,” he said. “But our customers are starting to realize how serious this is.”
Pate’s a backflow prevention supervisor for the county Department of Water Resources. He’s also one of a dozen or so employees who’s a sworn officer of the court, empowered to carry a badge and write citations.
If they see water-ban violations while out on their “real jobs,” they address it. They also respond to citizen complaints when radioed about an accused offender whose address is in the vicinity of their work assignment.
Pate has taken several national and local TV news crews on ride-alongs, so he had no problem Wednesday accommodating the Badie Tour. Even when sprinklers are absent, this water cop knows to check for smoking guns.
Wet driveways. Water streaming down the curb or from the front yard. Hoses that appear to have been stretched to reach the front yard.
Little things.
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The Atlanta Journal-Constitution AIDS has claimed two of her relatives. John, a cousin, acquired the virus through sexual transmission. He was tall, well-built, handsome. By the time the Atlanta man died in 1994, he was a shell of himself. An HIV-related cancer had ravaged his 35-year-old body. “A horrible death,” Janie Bruce told me. “His death was one that no one should have to face.” Then there was Cindy, another family member of Bruce’s. She, too, contracted the virus via sex. The 30-year-old Snellville mother died of liver failure in 1999, leaving three kids behind. Suffice it to say that Bruce, of Grayson, knows what families experience, what it’s like to live with the virus. She became a volunteer with AIDAtlanta shortly after her cousin’s diagnosis. And she continues to help the cause through AIDGwinnett, which also serves Rockdale and Newton counties. According to its Web site, the agency has helped more than 900 clients and families with everything from food to medical care and preventive education. Volunteers, which number more than 200, make it happen. Bruce, a five-year volunteer, does whatever she’s asked. Office and clinic work. Recruitment. She’s trained to counsel and conduct HIV tests, too. “The only thing I haven’t done is mail delivery,” she said, “and that’s because I’m not the best driver in the world.” Sharon Kricun, an AIDGwinnett manager, praises Bruce’s dedication. “She’s come in, enthusiastically, and helped us every time we have asked her to do something,” she said. “This is a big weekend. We hope she’ll be able to come.” The 2007 Atlanta AIDS Walk takes place at 2 p.m. Sunday in Midtown’s Piedmont Park. It’s a 5K walk with proceeds benefiting area programs like AIDGwinnett, based in Duluth. Several “walk teams” have signed on to raise money for the local agency, which hopes to pocket $40,000. Last year, Bruce served as captain of the agency’s walk team. This year, she just hopes to be able to attend. She was born with a hip problem that has led to complications. Her right leg is amputated below the knee; a recurring infection has confined her to a wheelchair in recent months. She’s learning how to walk again. Slowly. “I hope I’m able to be there, but it depends on how wheelchair-friendly Piedmont Park is,” Bruce said. “I know they have access, but on that day it will be real limited.” But even if she can’t attend the walk-a-thon, Bruce will be present in spirit. For us on the outside, looking in, Bruce has a suggestion. “Pick up the telephone and call any HIV agency in Atlanta and ask questions,” she said. “You’re not going to overcome any misinformation and fears without knowledge, and that’s the best thing to equip yourself with. It can change you, motivate you to walk, volunteer, to give.” For more information about AIDGwinnett or Saturday’s AIDS Walk, call 678-990-6440 or visit www.aidgwinnett.org.
Rick Badie’s column appears on Sundays, Tuesdays and Thursdays. Contact him at 770-263-3875 or e-mail: rbadie@ajc.com.
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The Atlanta Journal-Constitution Alex Robson
Alex Robson, Monica Lindsey and Brad Fleming, of the Freedom Project
He’s watched politicians on TV, screaming at, to and over each other to make a point. “Like mortal enemies,” said Alex Robson, 17, of Lawrenceville. “Like they really wanted two different things.” The more Robson thought about it, though, the more he came to realize: The screaming heads in the shouting matches might harbor different opinions, but they share a desire to do right by America. Everybody - regardless of political party, social leanings, race and income - probably would agree on what’s good about America, he thought, and that’s its freedom. Thus, the Freedom Project was born. For the past two years, Robson, with the help of two friends at Georgia College and State University, has contacted folk of varying persuasions and asked them to define freedom, one of our country’s most fundamental concepts. Kenneth Starr, the lawyer assigned to investigate the Clinton-Lewinsky and Whitewater affairs, was the first respondent. “Freedom represents and embodies the realization of human dignity in community,” Starr said in a handwritten response. “His response made me wonder what Bill Clinton had to say,” said Robson, a 2007 grad of Mill Creek High. “Turns out they are very close, that those two men thought similarly.” So far, the Freedom Project has received about 200 responses from politicos, journalists (Dave Barry), movie stars (Michael Caine) and musicians (Bill Withers). Quite a collection. View them all at www.definefreedom.com. This project isn’t geared just toward the rich, famous and powerful, though. “Everyday” citizens can participate too. Send a 3x5 card with a hand-written definition and signature to The Freedom Project, 1380 Buford Dr., Suite 160-199, Lawrenceville, Ga. 30043. Robson, a freshman English major, decides on the people who will be contacted by letter and asked to participate. Monica Lindsey edits the requests. And Brad Fleming writes the bio that accompanies definitions posted online. The return address for the self-addressed, stamped envelopes used to be Robson’s home in Lawrenceville. “[Alex] started writing to people who are incarcerated, and he thought it wasn’t a good idea to give them the [home] address,” said Tracy, his mom. “It’s amazing how this has taken off.” Last week, I received my letter in the office. It included an index card and this question: “Could you please write what freedom means to you in one or two sentences and sign it?” I’m still thinking about my response. Robson wants to expand the project to local high schools. Seniors would be asked to fill out a freedom card. The one determined to have the best response would win a scholarship. Details are being worked out. As for all those responses, well, Robson wants to give them to his grandkids some day. He says he doubts he’ll ever run for office - “I’m not really big on the yelling and that kind of thing” - but he definitely wants to be involved with political activism. He already is. Rick Badie’s column appears on Sundays, Tuesdays and Thursdays. Contact him at 770-263-3875 or e-mail rbadie@ajc.com.
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The Atlanta Journal-Constitution When she first considered Gwinnett College, Tinice Smith wasn’t so sure. It has a low-key reputation. It’s a non-traditional campus, located in a Lilburn strip mall, next to a pawnshop. But after talking to administrators, Smith, a 23-year-old single mom, decided to enroll at the private school off Lawrenceville Highway. She’s a second-semester student in the legal administrative assistant program. “I won’t have a problem getting a job anywhere I go,” she told me. You’ve probably wondered about Gwinnett College - the type students it serves, the programs offered. I’d wondered the same thing for some time and decided to check out the institution after seeing local TV commercials and overhearing a student in a restaurant sing its praises. The school was founded in Lawrenceville in 1976 as a bookkeeping and secretarial school. Michael Davis bought it in 1995. It offers associate degrees or diplomas in 12 programs, including the medical, legal, business and computer fields. Davis serves as president. His son, Lenny, is the vice president. The school has 35 full- and part-time instructors as well as other administrators. It’s a for-profit, family business, with one goal. “The students are here to get a job,” Michael Davis said. “To learn skills and get a job.” According to Lenny Davis, the junior college just filed a 2006 accreditation report that documents a 92 percent placement rate. The school is accredited by the Accrediting Council for Independent Colleges and Schools. It has offered associate degrees since 2003. “This is a steppingstone for a lot of students,” Lenny Davis said. “Placement drives our programs and most of the decisions we make.” To that end, a new program went online in January. Massage therapy. The family recently acquired the Rising Spirit Institute of Natural Health, a massage school with locations in Dunwoody and Marietta. A logical step was to offer the study at the flagship “campus” in Lilburn. “The American Massage Therapy Association says there are more people [age] 24 and under getting massages than any time in history,” Michael Davis said. “If we offer a program, our students have to be able to get a job in it.” Nearly 350 students attend Gwinnett College. They are nontraditional students, working parents, twentysomethings who, for whatever reasons, didn’t take right to college. Admission requirements are lenient - a high school diploma or GED. The way Michael Davis sees it, not everybody is college material. Not everybody earns the SAT scores, has the finances, and in some cases, the academic wherewithal to plunge into a four-year institution. Sometimes, they need decent employment first. That takes skills. “To make you think you’re nobody if you don’t get a bachelor’s degree is a bunch of crap,” he said. Unfortunately, society does it all the time. Gwinnett College has a family feel, as the Badie Tour observed Wednesday. Michael and Lenny knew the names of every student we saw in the halls and classrooms. Every semester, the school hosts a “Fun Day” or “Fun Night.” That’s when classes are canceled, and students and faculty go bowling or something. That personal touch is just another reason Smith, the student in the legal administrative assistant program, is sold on the nondescript school. “This is the real deal,” said Smith, who works full-time at a local day care center. “At first, you think it’s just a small little school. “I would tell anybody to come sign up. Just try it out.” For more information about Gwinnett College, visit www.gwinnettcollege.com.
Rick Badie’s column appears on Sundays, Tuesdays and Thursdays. Contact him at 770-263-3875 or e-mail rbadie@ajc.com.
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The Atlanta Journal-Constitution Pop in the disc. Close your eyes. You might “hear” Stevie Nicks. It’s not. It’s the voice of Kristin Tinsley, an aspiring songwriter and guitarist. She has released a debut CD - “Cry Out to the Night.” It gets airplay on HounddogRadio.net, a broadcast Internet site that caters to independent artists often shunned by mainstream radio. “I started singing at the age of 4,” Tinsley, 24, told me, “but pursued athletics instead because it just seemed easier to get into.” These days, you can catch her performances at venues across metro Atlanta. Locally, she hosts as well as plays for Open Mic Atlanta, the Gwinnett version of which takes place 8:30 to 11:30 p.m. Tuesdays at Nemo’s Tavern in Norcross. Tinsley, a Georgia native, graduated in 2001 from Cherokee County’s Etowah High. There, she excelled at volleyball, good enough, even, to play for the Junior Olympics volleyball program. Good enough to land a scholarship to Valdosta State University. Defense was her specialty; she started as a freshman. Still, life was off cue. Early on, she’d put singing on hold to concentrate on softball in elementary school, then cheerleading in middle school and through her freshman year in high school. Then came volleyball. After her 2001 season at Valdosta State, Tinsley returned to metro Atlanta. She picked up the guitar, too, and taught herself to play. Then she gave volleyball another run, this time at Georgia Southern University. Her writing and guitar playing continued. Two years later, she returned to Woodstock and enrolled briefly at Kennesaw State University. She also made another decision, one that so many of us find difficult. She became serious about her passion. Open mic venues became her outlet. They led to solo bookings. Last year, she released “Cry Out to the Night.” Though she’s a fan of Nicks and other 1970s artists, the CD has no covers. She wrote, produced and played guitar on all 10 original songs. Eric Jefferson, a Hounddog host and musician, has had Tinsley on his weekly show, “The Cybertoxic Lounge.” “I have heard some of the newer music she;s working on and it’s a step beyond her current CD,” he told me. “Stevie Nicks is her No. 1 idol, but as she matures, she’ll even break more from that and find her own unique style.” I could barely hear Tinsley when we talked on the phone Sunday. Music blared. She was at a breast cancer research benefit at èlon Salon, her part-time employer, in Marietta.
She’d booked the musicians and organized the entire fundraiser.
That’s another thing about Tinsley, Jefferson said. Her heart is just as impressive as her music. For information about Kristin Tinsley, visit www.kristintinsley.com.
Rick Badie’s column appears on Sundays, Tuesdays, and Thursdays. Contact him at 770-263-3875 or e-mail rbadie@ajc.com.
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The Atlanta Journal-Constitution His mother died in a car accident when he was 7 months old. All Reginald Andre Dube knew about his father was what Aunt Bernadine had told him - that Noyce Dubé had died in a car accident, too, en route to the airport for a flight to Zambia, his home. The story never convinced Dube, a Charlotte native who was raised by his grandparents. When he turned 24, he set out to locate the man he knew only from photographs. Research online and by other means proved fruitless - until April 2007. What’s transpired since then is a story about faith, hope and miracles. It starts with a Google search, leads to phone calls, an exchange of letters, and a recent trip by Dube to London, England. Noyce Dube and Shirley “Jean” Hollins were a couple in the early 1970s. She was a nurse. He studied or worked at Johnson C. Smith University in Charlotte, N.C. Noyce Dube knew Hollins was pregnant when he returned to South Africa. He helped make arrangements for the delivery. He wanted the child to carry his name. The couple planned to reunite, but distance, the war front in Africa and other issues prevented it. He never learned about Hollins’ death or whether they’d had a boy or girl. He even took out ads in an American newspaper. Nothing. Reginald hit dead-ends, too. Google searches of his father’s name only turned Lucky Dube, a reggae artist. One day in April, his wife Sonya went online. Up popped an article from the Mail & Guardian Online, an electronic newspaper in South Africa. It mentioned Noyce Dube and identified him as a headmaster of a school in Zimbabwe. Sonya contacted the author, who responded immediately with the phone number of an African man whose surname was Dube. When Sonya contacted him, he gave her the phone number of yet another Dube who resided in Bulawayo, the second largest city in Zimbabwe. “I was scared to call,” said Reginald, a finance manager at Gwinnett Place Honda who was an R&B singer/songwriter in his younger days. So Sonya did all the talking. The woman who answered the phone was courteous yet cautious. It’s not everyday a stranger calls - from Suwanee no less - with pointed questions. Her husband, she said, traveled frequently on business. He wasn’t home. Call back in a month or so, she told Sonya. During a subsequent conversation, the woman confirmed that, Noyce Dube, her 68-year-old husband, had spent time in Charlotte in the 1970s. Later, Reginald wrote a letter to Dube, explaining who he was, what he’d been doing with his life. Weeks later, Reginald and Sonya’s phone rang. A father was calling the son he’d never ever spoken to, whom he didn’t know about. “I’ve always believed in God,” Reginald told me. “Now, I have no doubts.” Noyce Dube recently wrote a five-page letter to his son, giving him the history of those years in Charlotte, recalling the special relationship he shared with Reginald’s mother. “I want to assure you that I am your loving father,” he wrote. “… Let us have a special prayer to thank the Almighty for this great discovery of each other. I can’t wait much longer before I can see you and your family.” Reginald, now 36, is trying to figure out a way to either visit his father or have his father visit. Airfare to Zimbabwe is outrageous - $2,500 or so for a one-way ticket. Reginald and Sonya recently spent several days in London, England, visiting three of Reginald’s six siblings. Two others live in Africa; another lives in Canada. They’re professionals - engineers, lawyers and such. The youngest child hopes to pursue music. Years ago she wrote a song about wishing she had a brother, one who understood and enjoyed music. She already has one. Rick Badie’s column appears on Sundays, Tuesdays and Thursdays. Contact him at 770-263-3875 or e-mail rbadie@ajc.com.
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Rick Badie
The Atlanta Journal-Constitution Steven Starling was 16 when he began volunteering for the Elisha Winn Fair. Back then, Gwinnett families would loan antiques and other artifacts for the festivity. Starling would help load and unload the treasures for a fair that was - and still is - held the first weekend of October. “I remember [a family] bringing a dining room suite just to use for that weekend,” said Starling, president of the Gwinnett Historical Society. On Wednesday, Starling gave me a tour of the 1811 Elisha Winn House, site of the county’s first courthouse and election. The furnished manse off Dacula Road anchors a one-room school, blacksmith shop, jail and mule barn. Who’s Elisha Winn? Well, he served as the justice of the Inferior Court of Jackson County. He was a state senator and state representative. He built the Winn house in Dacula and allowed the county to conduct business there. He died in 1843. In 1978, the historical society bought the house for $12,000, then sold it to the county. The society leases the property from the county, which contributed $10,000 this fiscal year for maintenance and upkeep. The society maintains the grounds; this weekend’s fair is a fund-raiser for the site. The way in which the society does its business has a critic, though, and that’s why the Badie Tour visited the historic grounds. Terry E. Mannin,, a lifetime Historical Society member, dislikes the direction the society has taken with the property. One issue that grates on him is the Jackson log cabin. Starling says the society is trying to figure out what to do with the structure and determine its historical value. Manning, of Lilburn, wants it restored. Some work was done during his tenure as society president, but nothing since. “I’ve been disheartened with the progress,” said Manning, who met me at the property on Wednesday. Starling, along with other society members, showed up, too. Everybody acted with civility, though you could have tripped on the tension when Manning and I stepped inside the Winn house. “This will forever be with us,” Bill Baughman, a trustee, told me earlier this week. “Bickering back and forth does nobody any good.” So let’s just say Manning and the society officials view some issues differently, and leave it at that. Despite the disagreements, though, they share a worthy mission in a county with such a contemporary mind-set. “We want this for the public,” said Starling, who praised Manning for his work helping to restore the Winn house. “We want it maintained and we want it to grow and prosper.” And that’s where you come in. Check out the fair. Watch an artisan work in the blacksmith shop (circa 1910). Sit in the one-room school (circa 1875). Tour the Winn house. Listen to some gospel and bluegrass. Step back in time. The 29th annual Elisha Winn Fair, held at 908 Dacula Road, takes place 10 a.m. to 5 p.m. Saturday and 10 a.m. to 4 p.m. Sunday. Tickets are $3; children 12 and under get in free. For more information, contact the Gwinnett Historical Society at 770-822-5174. Rick Badie’s column appears on Sundays, Tuesdays and Thursdays. Contact him at 770-263-3875 or e-mail rbadie@ajc.com.
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Rick Badie
The Atlanta Journal-Constitution He used to play Ping-Pong at clubs in metro Atlanta. With the traffic, though, he found getting to them too taxing. Jon Gustavson started looking for a place closer to home. He learned that no Ping-Pong clubs existed in Gwinnett. He also learned that the USA Table Tennis League, an online network, recognizes as a “club” any players with tables. So Gustavson declared the table in the basement of his Lawrenceville home the Gwinnett Table Tennis Club. Today, the club plays at Rhodes Jordan Park in Lawrenceville. About 130 players comprise the roster. Anywhere from 20 to 25 men, women and kids show up on Wednesdays and Saturdays for scheduled playing time. “It’s not always the same 25 or 30,” said Gustavson, 50, who works for UPS. On Saturday, I was supposed to hit a few with Gustavson, the founder, and Patsy Barrett, the assistant director, of the Gwinnett club. Life got in the way, though, and I never made it to Rhodes Jordan. Maybe Wednesday. In last Tuesday’s column, I asked if there was any interest in forming a Ping-Pong club, an idea dreamt up by me and Bill York, a friend. At the time, we didn’t know that the Gwinnett club already existed. We still want to set up something for players in the Norcross-Lilburn-Duluth area, and Gustavson has offered to assist. His club philosophy definitely inspires. All ages and levels are welcomed. It costs $2 to play, a fee that goes to the county, which supports the program. There are no dues. Emphasis is on player development. For a fee, coaches offer beginner basics as well as help devotees elevate their skills. The club hosts USATT league tournaments and other events. “It’s worked out extremely well,” Gustavson said. “You have so many people - serious players, people with kids, a lot of different levels.” A dozen or so people have responded to the initial column that sought player interest.
Gail Hock told me that her boyfriend is Duke Stogner, a Senior Olympics gold-medalist player who lives in Alabama. The couple used to play at Spin City, a business in Roswell off Holcomb Bridge Road that recently closed. Hock said she’d like a place to play that’s closer to home. “I, for one, would love to play in Gwinnett during the week, or on the weekends,” she wrote. “Feel free to contact me with any news about what you plan to do.” If you’'re interested in a south Gwinnett club, give me a call or send an e—mail. York and I are working out the details; information will be provided in this space within the coming weeks. Until then, take your game face and A-game to the Gwinnett Table Tennis Club. Surely, any number of players can dole out a heaping serving of humility. For more information about the Gwinnett Table Tennis Club, visit www.gwinnetttable tennis.org. Contact Jon Gustavson, the league director, at topspin9@bellsouth.net; or Patsy Barrett, the assistant director, at patsyjo@bellsouth.net. Rick Badie’s column appears on Sundays, Tuesdays and Thursdays. Contact him at 770-263-3875 or e-mail: rbadie@ajc.com.
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Rick Badie
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