THE LAST DANCE

Back when I was in the 7th grade my mom said I was a little clumsy and she decided that going to social dancing class was the answer. So every friday night I took the Lakeview bus and headed downtown in Augusta, Georgia to the YWCA ballroom to face the incredible torture of learning to dance. All the boys wore suits and the girls had those big frilly dresses. I wore my only suit to church two times a week and to dancing class. The suit gave me sort of a Jerry Mahoney or Howdy Doody look with freckles. Having yet to discover hair tonic my hair style was a lot like Alfalfas. Being the worst possible dancer in the class also brought on a medical condition known as "sweating buckets syndrome." Most of the time the teacher, Mrs. Price, was my constant companion on the dance floor where everyone could snicker at my ineptness, but once in a great while I would dance with my actual dancing partner named Henrietta. She had a great personality but was not much to look at. The music for the classes was stuff I hated like Papa Loves Mambo by Perry Como, Sway by Dean Martin and Blue Tango by Leroy Anderson. After an evening of stepping on many, many toes I would leave and go buy a Coke to help with the dehydration problem and wait for the bus in front of a store I loved called Bowen Brothers. This store had all the latest things plus Augusta's first escalator. I remember that the "The life of Riley" was always on the tv in the store window.
The other day I happen to pass the old "Y" and did a double take. It was reduced to a pile of rubble and machines were scooping it up. Someone said the new library would be taking it's place. As I stood there gazing at it I suddenly realized I never really danced again after that class. I wonder if that kind of social dancing still exists. I kinda hope it does.

BIRTHDAYS

It seems like just a few months ago I had a birthday but here it is again. As you get older you would rather ignore the day than blow out the candles. God forbid someone secretly tells the waitress and you are suddenly surrounded by the entire staff of TGI FRIDAYS attempting to sing Happy Birthday which makes me turn sort of a beet red color. Another thing about getting older is I find the women at Circle K and Starbucks have given me irritating names like "hun" and "sweetie." So i always throw one back like "babe" or "honey." That'll show 'em." And then there's that nightmare where I'm on the Today Show and Willard Scott is calling my name and my picture is on the side of a Smucker's jar and they send me a case of 24 jars of strawberry jam. Well at least they believe I'm gonna live through 24 jars.

Paul Wolfe

THE OLD PHILCO RADIO

DRIVING ALONG IN THE MIDDLE OF A FOGGY NIGHT ON THE WAY TO A CITY A HUNDRED MILES AHEAD I HAPPENED TO BE SEARCHING FOR A RADIO STATION TO KEEP ME COMPANY. IT WAS'NT LONG UNTIL I CAME UPON WSM IN NASHVILLE. ALL OF A SUDDEN THE DJ'S CONVERSATION CONCERNING THE EARLY STARS OF THE GRAND OLE OPRY BROUGHT ME FACE TO FACE WITH MEMORIES COVERED IN COBWEBS. IT WAS THE EARLY FIFTIES AND ON SATURDAY NIGHT I WOULD LAY ON THE BIG GRAY RUG IN THE LIVING ROOM AND LISTEN TO THE GRAND OLE OPRY ON THE RADIO WITH MY MOM AND DAD. THE SHOW WAS FILLED WITH STARS LIKE HANK WILLIAMS, PATSY CLINE, JIMMY DICKENS, THE CARTER FAMILY, ERNEST TUBB AND MANY OTHERS. DADDY LIKED BLUEGRASS MUSIC, YODELING AND HE "PLAYED AT PLAYING" THE BANJO. OUR RADIO WAS A PHILCO CONSOLE COMPLETE WITH A 78 TURNTABLE, FM, AM AND SHORTWAVE. DADDY LOVED TO TURN THE DIALS AND PICK UP STATIONS IN MOSCOW, ENGLAND AND ALL OVER THE WORLD. I LOVED THAT RADIO, TOO BECAUSE IT GAVE ME THE MEANS TO PRETEND TO BE A DJ AND PLAY 78 RPM RECORDS FOR HOURS AT A TIME WHEN NOBODY WAS AROUND. A FEW YEARS LATER I BECAME A DJ FOR REAL. THEN IN 1953 OR 4 WE GOT OUR FIRST TELEVISION SET AND THE RADIO WENT SILENT. ED SULLIVAN, I LOVE LUCY, MILTON BERLE AND MANY OTHERS TOOK CENTER STAGE AT OUR HOUSE. EVEN LATER LAWRENCE WELK, ORAL ROBERTS AND WRESTLING SHOWS GOT DAD'S FULL ATTENTION. HE DIED IN THE SEVENTIES AND MOM IN 2004. WHEN WE HAD THE ESTATE SALE FOR THE CONTENTS OF MY PARENT'S HOUSE THAT RADIO WAS STARING ME IN THE FACE LIKE AN ORPHAN SEARCHING FOR A HOME. SOMEONE CAME ALONG AND JUST HAD TO HAVE IT AND I SAY YES. I KNOW THEY TELEVISE THE GRAND OLE OPRY ON SATURDAY NIGHT, BUT SOMEHOW IT WOULD BE KINDA SPECIAL TO LAY ON MY PARENT'S RUG, TUNE IN WSM AND HEAR THE GRAND OLE OPRY JUST ONE MORE TIME ON THAT OLD PHILCO RADIO.

GAPING WOUNDS

FRESH FROM OUR MOTHER'S WOMB WE BEGIN OUR LIVES AS PERFECT LITTLE PEOPLE NOT YET EFFECTED BY THE WORDS OR DEEDS OF THOSE AROUND US. AS TIMES ROLLS ON LIFE'S ROCKY TRIP CHANGES ALL THAT. ALONG THE WAY SOME HAVE TO DEAL WITH ONLY MINOR BRUISES WHILE OTHERS ENDURE A GAPING WOUND THAT FESTERS. IT CAN BE SAID WITH CERTAINTY THAT ALL 32 VICTIMS OF THE VIRGINIA TECH MASSACRE WERE NOT PERFECT PEOPLE, BUT LIKE 99.9% OF US THEY WERE GETTING THROUGH LIFE PRETTY WELL. FOR SUENG HUI CHO LIFE'S CONSTANT INPUT TOOK A DIFFERENT TURN AND HIS DEMONS FINALLY WON. WHAT GOT HIM TO THAT POINT WE WILL NEVER KNOW. AND SECOND GUESSING HOW WE COULD HAVE STOPPED IT DOES'NT HELP THE DEAD AND BURIED. AS CARING HUMAN BEINGS WE WILL PROBABLY THINK ABOUT CHO IN THE DAYS TO COME AND WHAT WOULD HAVE BEEN THE APPROPRIATE TORTURE FOR SUCH A KILLER BUT THEN, THAT COULD MAKE OUR OWN LITTLE BRUISES GAPING WOUNDS.

PAUL WOLFE

THE MASTERS

Sitting here watching golf in Augusta, Georgia with some friends from California I can't help thinking about the greatness of the Augusta National Golf Club and The Masters. I've been to many Masters, including a couple of them where I held ropes while sweating bullets in my ROTC uniform. They were always fun. The club was started by the legendary Bobby Jones and a New York stockbroker named Clifford Roberts. In my minds eye I can still see Bobby Jones sitting in a wheel chair greeting friends beside the National clubhouse. Over the years Clifford Roberts really ran the show and was known as a ruthless slavedriver of sorts. Having said all that I do believe he got it right. It's sort of nice NOT to see sponsor's cars floating on a turntable in a water hazard or a commerical banner draped across a bush. Probably the worst case is seeing a sponsor's name become the name of the tournament. Just imagine The Rolex Masters, The Cadillac Masters or the AT&T Masters. That's why The Masters is such a great event in golf. As an Augustan I feel priviledged just to ride by this golf icon ever so often. The class and integrity of the Augusta National gives everyone in golf something to shoot for...

PAUL WOLFE

THE MEDIA GLUT

Scottish essayist Thomas Carlyle once wrote "under all speech that is good there lies a silence that is better." If Carlyle was around today he might be referring to the glut of television programs that seem to cover so little ground. There is no doubt this generation has more to watch and listen to than any other. Hundreds of channels devoted to razor thin slices of life, hardly worth the electricity it takes to warm up the cameras. It's like going to the mall where every store specializes in one object. Talk shows whose menus always include incest, people pulling out each other's hair and, of course, women having their eighth dna test to find the father of their baby. Let's not forget the wonderful evening shows about Hollywood to keep us abreast (oops) of whose in and out of rehab and who is throwing in the towel on their year-long marriage. I can't wait for the comments from stars with first names that include Sean, Barbara, Susan and Martin to tell us why we should hate our president and revolt against all Republican policies.

When I was a kid we had just three television channels, a few radio stations and that was it. I did have a movie projector and a record player which I wore out. You're probably thinking we were a bunch of bored kids but we were'nt. Television was being born and the greatest talent in this country took part in producing shows that are now classics. It's hard to find many classics these days because the writers are spread too thin on hundreds of second rate shows. I do admit there are some exceptions but not a lot.

I feel priviledged to have been a viewer before too much became too little. High def pictures and digital surround sound can't bring back the contents of greatness. Maybe Carlyle was wrong about "silence being better" but it's not a bad idea these days.

Paul Wolfe