My Hometown #12: No Greater Love (Series Finale)

This piece, the last of the “My Hometown” series, was originally published in the May 4, 2017 edition of the Grand Saline Sun.

For the second time in two years, our county has been rocked by the worst Mother Nature has to offer. At 4:30 Saturday afternoon, I was seated at my computer anxiously awaiting the end of my shift. I knew that thunderstorms were moving in—I had been getting weather updates on my phone all afternoon. I cheated a little and checked Facebook, something I’m not supposed to do during work. The first thing I saw was a picture of the tornado that had formed just south of Grand Saline, and just as I hit the “Share” button, the weather alarm on my phone sounded—TORNADO WARNING FOR VAN ZANDT COUNTY! I thought to myself, “well, better late than never, I guess,” assuming it was for the tornado in the picture I’d just shared. Then I read the details of the warning and realized that, in fact, it was for a second tornado moving into the southern part of the county from near Cedar Creek Lake. It was headed for Canton, so I informed my supervisor that I needed to seek shelter. Thus began the ordeal that, for me, did not end until power was restored at my house early Monday morning, and for thousands more will not end for weeks, months, and possibly years.

I hunkered in my bathroom, covered with pillows, couch cushions, blankets—the only things I had time to grab as I listened to Mark Skirto say that a large and damaging tornado was making a beeline for the city. That is, for all intents and purposes, where I stayed until a lull in the action allowed me time to head for my sister’s house where we took shelter from the third and fourth tornadoes in her hallway. By then the power was out and cell phone service was, at best, spotty. We relied on updates via text message from family members who were out of town and watching the weather from where they were. The sound of the rain and wind was accompanied by the almost constant wail of the city storm sirens and sirens on what seemed to be far more emergency vehicles than the City of Canton has. Altogether, we were sheltered for over three hours until we were finally assured that the worst had passed us by. With the limited cell service available to us, we were able to get spotty reports of major damage, especially south of town. It wasn’t until daylight, however, that the real extent of the devastation was evident.

By now, we’ve all seen pictures, read, and heard stories of homes completely destroyed; vehicles tossed about like the Matchbox cars I used to play with as a kid; a brand new car dealership demolished; people seriously injured, and, most tragically, four lives lost—four families forever changed. Those stories and pictures will stay with us for a long time, as well they should. But, as we move further away from the event itself, something truly remarkable has also become evident—community spirit. None of us are strangers to this most special sort of “congregation” of support, love, and encouragement in the wake of tragedies. In fact, we see it all the time; but, until we experience it personally, I don’t think we can ever truly appreciate how important the idea of community really is.

Long before daylight on Sunday, hundreds, maybe thousands of volunteers from near and far had gathered in Canton waiting to fan out into the county—to Phalba, Jackson, Martin’s Mill, Fruitvale, and even up into Emory and Rains County; and to Eustace and Henderson County. These were first responders from all over North and East Texas. I saw trucks and cars from Garland and Rowlett, cities where a monster tornado had hit just over a year ago. I saw them from Dallas, Athens, Tyler, Arp, Bullard, and many other towns and cities miles and miles away. These brave men and women left their own homes and families to come and lend aide to the families here—to our families—who were suffering and hurting. And, they’re still here offering assistance with traffic control, security, first aid, and other recovery efforts.

Sunday morning I drove past Wal-Mart in Canton where the parking lot was filled with dozens of trucks carrying crews of linemen preparing to head out into the worst hit areas in an effort to restore power as quickly as possible. These crews do some of the most dangerous work there is—removing downed power lines, some of them still live, and replacing lines, poles, and transformers. Many of the crews that I saw were from out of state, and they had come to join the local crews who had begun working Saturday night even as the rain, wind, and lightning were still battering them while they worked.

I also witnessed an entire convoy of tree trimming trucks rolling into town from various places around the state. Many of them had surely given up their days off and left their families at home to begin the work of clearing massive amounts of debris from roadways and driveways so that the first responders and line crews could do their work, and so that families who had been unable to return to their homes could get back and attempt to salvage what they could from the wreckage.

Some of the most amazing stories of heroism in the face of grave danger come in the form of ordinary folks doing extraordinary things. Stories like that of the motorists passing by on a flooding roadway who jumped from their vehicles and into raging flood waters to save two infants from an overturned vehicle even as a second violent storm was bearing down on them. Stories like that of Brandon Edwards, a disabled Marine war veteran, who saw one of the tornadoes as it crossed Highway 64 and dragged a truck into an open field. Brandon jumped from his own vehicle and ran to the side of the mortally injured man—he stayed with the man even after he had succumbed to his injuries because Brandon didn’t want him to be alone. And, stories of storm spotters and intrepid Grand Saline Sun editors in the field risking their own lives to keep the public informed about the approaching storms.

It’s people like these and the countless others who have brought food, water, clothing, and supplies to local churches; it’s people like the volunteers who are now beginning to come in and offer hot meals, a safe place for displaced pets, medical care, tools, strong arms, and even shoulders to cry on who are what make the word COMMUNITY a real and tangible thing and not just an idea that we claim to believe in. It’s people like these who are readily available anytime help is needed; who are readily available to restore our faith in humanity.

In the Gospel of John, Jesus teaches us that, “Greater love has no one than this, that he lay down his life for his friends.” (ESV) I like to think that Jesus wasn’t just speaking about literal, physical death. I think he was also referring to people willing to set their own needs, their own wants, their own desires to the side in order to help those in need. And, this is what we’ve all been witness to over the last few days—women and men who have set aside their own lives to come lend a hand to those whose lives have been ripped apart. It makes me wonder why COMMUNITY seems so easy in times of trouble and so difficult during the good times. Wouldn’t it be a better world if we could see that “greater love” always?

My Hometown #11: Shopping Local

This piece was first published in The Grand Saline Sun on April 27, 2017.

Saturdays were made for kids when I was a kid. Saturdays began with Bugs Bunny & Friends, The Superfriends, and Cap’n Crunch Crunchberry cereal; and they ended with The Love Boat and Fantasy Island on our television which was still connected to the tall antenna outside the living room window—no cable TV with 300 channels back then, kiddos. We knew the struggle of rabbit ears and aluminum foil, and the struggle was real! But, in between the familiar refrains of “you do not need another bowl of cereal” and “it’s time for bed, we have church in the morning,” there were, quite often, trips downtown to fill grocery lists, get haircuts, purchase clothes and shoes, and always find some unnecessary plastic item that we just couldn’t live without.

In my very first “Hometown” piece, “Do You Remember,” I wrote about growing up in Grand Saline when the downtown area was still bustling—at least somewhat. Stores like Darby’s, Perry Brothers, W&W, and Jarvis’ Department Store were still open. While not as cavernous or colorful as the so-called “big box” stores we are familiar with today, they had what those stores have always lacked—charm. Regardless of how much stuff is available on dozens of aisles spread over thousands of square feet, there is nothing particularly inviting about the blue and red giants which have, slowly but surely, siphoned away virtually the entire market share from the all-but-extinct mom and pop shops I grew up with. Those stores were not just places to buy things, they were places to go. We dressed and meticulously combed our hair before those trips downtown because at Darby’s, Perry Brothers, W&W, and Jarvis’, we expected to run into neighbors and friends and engage in leisurely and lengthy conversations. Pajama pants, house shoes, and caps to cover an unkempt coiffeur were not acceptable.

There were other stores we visited on Saturdays which I remember with particular fondness.  Back in those days, my mom wore Merle Norman cosmetics. Now, I will admit that my memory is a little hazy on just exactly where she purchased them—mostly because I almost always refused to go into the store with her and my sister, and partly because that was over thirty years ago and middle age hasn’t been kind to my memory. But, what I do remember for sure is that whether she was buying make-up or the ever-popular “twist-a-bead” necklaces, she frequented both The Smart Shop and The Gift Galleria. Both stores were small, quaint, and full of that small town charm I mentioned earlier. Joyce Sloan and Monteen Joslin, their respective proprietors were always present, polite, and helpful to their patrons. I do have one particular memory of a visit to The Gift Galleria where I saw the first Aggie joke I ever remember seeing. It was an “Aggie bookmark.” It was, of course, maroon and white and emblazoned with the Texas A&M logo. It read, “See reverse side for instructions” on both sides. Just think about it for a second. If you’re still thinking……….well, anyway! The store was full of both funny and fantastic gifts. Believe it or not, though, it wasn’t the only store in town where serious loot like that could be found.

Just down the street and next door to City Hall, in the building where Sammy’s Beauty Shop is today, was The Gazebo. The Gazebo was pure magic for kids. They carried every conceivable trinket, sticker, pencil, eraser…I mean, seriously, talk about an extensive inventory of everything a kid couldn’t resist and a mom or dad couldn’t fathom the need for! It was one of my favorite places to go when I was a kid. Back in those days asking mom for permission to walk down the street to The Gazebo or The Sportsman’s Corner while she shopped for herself was perfectly okay.

Oh, The Sportsman’s Corner! The store where my fascination with fishing lures and iron-on decals was fomented. I can still remember the smell of those iron-on letters and numbers as they were heated and pressed onto the backs of baseball and soccer shirts; and what seemed an entire wall covered with fishing lures in every shape, size, and color. Plus the trophies, ribbons, and medals on display. I’m sure every kid who ever went in the store remembers thinking to him or herself, “I’m going to win that trophy one day!” I also remember an intense curiosity about what was upstairs—the same sort of curiosity I had about the second floor of Jarvis’. I don’t think I ever found out and my curiosity about such things hasn’t waned.

The best thing about Saturdays—really about every day—growing up in Grand Saline back then, was that there was always something to do. There was always somewhere to go and shop or just hang out. I suppose that nostalgia makes my memories of that time far more exciting than it actually was, but it was still a fun time. There was no internet, no Netflix, no PlayStations or Xbox’s. There was just stuff. There was stuff to do and stuff to look at and, if we “acted nice while we’re in the store,” there was stuff to buy in the shops downtown.

While I was preparing to write this piece, I drove through downtown just to jog my memory a bit. While there are still a number of empty store fronts, I was glad to see that things seem to be picking up again. Changes are being made. Positive and encouraging changes. Changes that maybe, just maybe, will give a kid like me some good memories of Saturdays to share someday.

My Hometown Series #6 — Lights! Memories of Christmas

My family did not have a lot of money growing up. Being raised by a single mom who drove to Dallas and back every day for work meant not having a lot of the things that some of my friends had. But, for the life of me, I cannot remember a Christmas during my childhood when I didn’t receive most, if not all, of the things I asked for. The funny thing is, all these years later, the memories I have of Christmas time in our house bring with them very few of those gifts. No, my memories of Christmas time during my childhood in Grand Saline aren’t full of toys, games, bikes, and clothes. My Christmas memories are full of love, laughter, and lights!

For the first few years after we moved in with my grandmother, we didn’t have a big Christmas tree. I remember going with my mom and sister to K-Mart in Tyler and buying a 4-foot artificial tree that sat on my grandmother’s antique Duncan Fife table in front of the living room window. We decorated it with all of the ornaments which had been collected over the years–handmade construction paper gingerbread men with our names and the year written in crayon on the back; silver manger scenes with our names and the year engraved on the bottom; and the many special ornaments given as gifts which meant (and still mean) far more than money could ever buy. Besides all of the ornaments, tinsel, and tree-toppers, one thing that we kept adding each year, probably at my insistence, was lights. I loved–okay, I still love–Christmas lights, and by the time we quit using that little 4-foot tree a few years later, the lights we strung around it each year was a kaleidoscopic cacophony of color, flashing, blinking, and twinkling that would make the Las Vegas strip green with envy! Eventually, we started buying bigger trees and opting for uniformity of color and opting out of flashing, blinking, and twinkling. But, the Ghost of Christmas Lights Past made its way from the living room to the front porch and the hedges.

As we retired the old lights from their indoor duties and moved them outdoors, I found new ways each year to drape them over anything that would stand still. I wound them around the posts onimg_2054 the front porch. I strung them through the handrails beside the porch steps. I wove them between the camellia bush and that other big bush that, to this day, I have no idea what it was. Then I would piece together an intricate tapestry of extension cords and plug them together ending with one plugged into the outlet just inside the front door. It was only years later that the inherent danger present in running that many string of light using 4 or 5 extension cords plugged together in one 50-year-old electrical outlet dawned on me. Fortunately, I never burned anything down, and when I plugged them all in, the results were, to me at least, magical. As the sun went down each evening between Thanksgiving and New Year’s Day, that old house came alive with light and color and the vibrance that is Christmas. But, back then, that was not at all uncommon. Back then, it seemed as if the whole town came alive at Christmas time.

Our house sat on High Street at its intersection with Florence Street. We were just about halfway between the hospital on Waldrip and the old elementary school on Oleander. If you stood at the end of our driveway, you could see about a half mile east, west, or south, and in those days, doing so at Christmas time promised enchanting views. It was easier to count the houses around us that didn’t have lights than those that did. Colored and clear; twinkling and steady; rooftops and treetops and driveways and hedgerows were all aglow. Mr. and Mrs. Darby, Mr. and Mrs. Stuart, Mr. and Mrs. Anderson always lit their homes during Christmas, as did almost all of the others whose names I’ve long since forgotten. In later years, before I graduated high school, the Chamber of Commerce began selling luminaries, which lined the homes and churches on Main Street from Highway 80 all the way to High Street, and beyond. Topping the hill just north of the salt mine on Highway 110 revealed the little downtown area bejeweled in white Christmas lights on top of every building, and what looked like thousands of luminaries stretching for miles out of sight on Main Street. I can still see it in my mind’s eye and it makes me smile.

img_2057As the years went on and as people passed away, and as families moved away, most of those lights went out. There were still a few folks who kept up the tradition, and although most of the buildings stood empty, the city did still light the downtown area. But, it just wasn’t the same. It didn’t seem as alive or magical as I remembered growing up. It seemed as though as the town spirit died, the Christmas Spirit died, too. During the years that I lived away from Grand Saline, I would come back from time to time during Christmas and be filled with disappointment at what had been lost. Fortunately, though, I think the tide may have turned. I made a couple of trips into Grand Saline this year at Christmas and, to my pleasant surprise, I saw a lot more of that spirit coming back. There were a number of homes lit up for Christmas–some with simple displays, and others with elaborate and even choreographed productions. As I turned off of Highway 17 onto 110 at the top of that hill, I could see some of that light from my memory. Oh, to be sure, it wasn’t what it used to be, but it was light and it made me smile.

I don’t really know what it is about Christmas lights that makes me so happy. Of all the wonderful traditions that the season brings with it, light seems to be the best metaphor for what it is all about–the Light of the World coming to dwell among us, even in our most desperate state. I hope I never know a time when I don’t see those lights each year during Christmas. I hope that as I grow older, those lights in my memory grow brighter because they remind me of a time and of a place and of people who mean a great deal to me still. They remind me of a time when life was simple and when Christmas time was magical and bright and full of hope–as it always should be.

My Hometown Series #2 – The Old Red Brick Building

Wow! I’m completely blown away by the response to the My Hometown Series #1 post yesterday. I guess I’m not the only nostalgic person around. In that same spirit, this second post was a piece I wrote for publication in the Grand Saline Sun in July of 2013 on the occasion of our school district opening a brand new elementary school. The old building had been the elementary school for over 60 years and simply was no longer a facility which could function as designed. There was (and still is, I guess) a lot of discussion regarding the fate of the building. To date, it is still standing empty with no plan for its future that I’m aware of. If you would like to contribute to the My Hometown Series (it’s not just about MY hometown), please see the contact info at the bottom of this post.

My Hometown Series #2 – The Old Red Brick Building

The building has stood through wind and rain; through heat and cold; through good times and bad. For more than sixty years, the old red brick building in the middle of Oleander Street has stood as a symbol of part of what we hold dear about our little hometown. For more than sixty years it has stood as generations of students sat in classrooms and listened to the thumps and creaks its old wooden floors made as their teachers returned with worksheets or textbooks.

“Shhhhh! She’s coming. Be quiet!!” The lookout would alert.

But, it was never fast enough. Before the warning was heard by most of the chattering students, the doorknob turned, the latch clicked, the big wooden door opened and Mrs. Starkey, Mrs. Watson, Mrs. Stacey, Fisher, McNatt, Grant or any of the others who gave more of themselves than they were ever asked to give, was standing in front of the class openly aghast by their disobedience but secretly laughing at their attempts to fool her. None of them were ever fooled. None of us were quick or clever enough to make that happen!

It’s a building full of memories – too many to number. Memories of students seated in the wooden seats in the auditorium before school watching cartoons on the old console television in front of the stage. Memories of swinging on the monkey bars or sliding down the slide at recess. Memories of kickball on the old baseball field behind the gym. Each of the memories unique to each of us, and yet a common bond between hundreds of people – young and old – who share them.

It’s a building full of people – some of them still with us and some long gone. Which of us doesn’t remember Mrs. Bogan seated in her wheelchair in the office diligently working to ensure that the day-to-day business of the school was successful? Or, Coach Yates with his four and eight count calisthenics, bear crawl, and “pickin’ peas?” Which of us doesn’t remember ‘Miss Dot’ Jennings collecting lunch money? Or, Mrs. Fisher

The old Grand Saline Elementary School building.

The old Grand Saline Elementary School building.

leading the class singing K-K-K-Katie?! They were and are one of a kind and the roll call is a Who’s Who of dedicated women and men who cared for their students as if they were their own children.

They’re all there – the people, the sites, the sounds – they are all part of what makes us nostalgic when we drive by the old red brick building in the middle of the street. To be sure, things have changed over the last six decades. New buildings have been built and a few of them have already been torn down. Countless coats of paint have been applied to walls and doors and trim. Playground equipment has come and gone. But, that building still stands as a keeper of memories; a keeper of hopes and dreams; a keeper of history.

The halls are empty now. The last students to ever walk them left weeks ago, but the floors still thump and creak as teachers and workers walk them while working toward the big move. Each thump is a footstep from history. Each creak is a memory of days gone by. No matter what happens in the next months and years, those memories will remain. It will be 2023 before that last student to walk those halls walks the commencement stage and that will be almost 80 years since the first student entered the new red brick building in the middle of the street.

August will bring a fresh start in a brand new building. The floors won’t thump or creak. The latches on the doors won’t click as loudly. There will be new faces and new names; new toys to play on; new desks and chairs to sit in, and new memories to be made. But, for those of us who are lucky enough to have spent part of our childhood walking those halls, playing on that playground, and learning from those teachers, the memories will remain part of us. Whatever the future holds, for us Grand Saline Elementary School will always be that old red brick building.


If you would like to be a guest blogger for the My Hometown Series, or any other topic, please email me — jason@jasonawalker.com

My Hometown Series #1 – Do You Remember?

I wrote this piece back in 2008 for publication in my hometown newspaper, The Grand Saline Sun. I no longer live in Grand Saline, and some of the things I wrote about have changed, but in general it is still relevant. A reader commented on this post earlier today and reminded me of our hometown back when we were growing up. Nostalgia got the better of me, so I am posting this as the first in a multi-part series called “My Hometown.” I will feature pieces not only about Grand Saline, but hopefully hometowns from all over submitted by guest bloggers. See information about contributing after the piece.

My Hometown Series #1 – Do You Remember?

Do you remember it — the sound that the big brass latch made when you pressed it? Do you remember the squeaky hinge on the big wooden door? Do you remember the sound of the small bell that alerted the clerk when a customer came in? What about the creaking of the hardwood floors that always seemed to shine no matter how many feet walked over them day after day? Do you remember the store even being there?

When I was a young boy – long before my mother, sister and I moved to Grand Saline – I always looked forward to coming to town to visit my great-grandmother, Marie Sharp and my great great-aunt, Hallye Watson. One of the reasons I liked coming to town so much is that, without fail, Miss Hallye (as she was known to all her former students) would take my sister and me to town with her when she and my grandmother had errands to run. Once they had finished what they had to do at the bank or the Post Office, we would make the short walk down Main Street to the W & W Department Store. I remember everything about that store as if I had been in it this morning. The latch, the squeaky hinge, the bell, the wood floors and even the smell — yes, I remember that smell that is impossible to describe and yet is so vivid to me all these years later.

Darby's Dept. Store - Now the future location of the Grand Saline Salt Museum

Darby’s Dept. Store – Now the future location of the Grand Saline Salt Museum

There was a charm about Grand Saline back then. That squeaky hinge could have been on just about any door in Downtown. Perry Brothers, K. Woolen’s, Jarvis’ or Darby’s Department store, they were all there. I remember getting Ice Cream at The Emporium and a fountain Coke at City Pharmacy. I remember sitting outside on the hot sidewalk while my mom, grandmother or aunt went into The Smart Shop or The Gazebo. I even remember Tolley Wimpey’s bench. It was a 1950’s town in a 1980’s world.

As I grew older I made memories walking with friends downtown during the Salt Festival. It lasted all week long back the and there were tons of people in town. On the one occasion I was exempt from final exams in middle school, I remember walking down to the Saline Café for lunch and eating a chili cheeseburger. When I was in high school I swept and mopped Darby’s Department Store after closing and washed the windows and mowed the grass by the railroad tracks on Saturdays. I remember seeing Mr. Maciel and Mr. Ellis standing in front of their storefronts talking to customers.

city pharmacy

The Old City Pharmacy

Back then we still had The Show. When the Johnson’s owned it, I helped out at the snack bar a few times. I didn’t care that I wasn’t getting paid – I got free drinks and popcorn and when it wasn’t real busy I got to go upstairs in the projection booth and watch the movie from there. When the show was over I got to take home as much popcorn as I could carry. I remember all of these things.

What I don’t remember from back then is empty buildings and empty streets. Maybe it’s nostalgia, maybe it’s just getting older and wanting to remember things more fondly than reality would allow, but in my memories there always seems to be something going on downtown. In my memories there are always people. In my memories Grand Saline is always open for business.

I work until 7pm these days. By the time I arrive home around 8, the streets are quiet and the shops are closed. If it weren’t for our restaurants, the movie store and Brookshire’s, the entire town would be down for the night.

Why the change? What’s the difference between the Grand Saline in my memory and our present day home?

The old K. Woolen's Dept. Store building.

The old K. Woolen’s Dept. Store building.

Where did the people go and what happened to the bustle of activity? It can’t be that the world just simply passed us by.

We’ve all heard the stories. Years ago, Sam Walton wanted to put one of his little stores in Grand Saline, but in a fog of short-sightedness, Grand Saline said, “No.” So, old Mr. Walton said, “Ok, I’ll just put one of my stores on either side of Grand Saline and choke the life out of it.” Who knows how much of that is really true and how much is legend, but whatever the case is – however true or false the story may be – the fact remains that somewhere along the line, Grand Saline lost what luster it may have once had and after that may have lost its will to live.

I’m not naïve. I know that change is inevitable. Nothing ever stays the same. But, I also know that whether change is good or bad largely depends on how it is dealt with. I’m not much for believing in an unalterable destiny that takes us down a path not of our own choosing. In other words, we don’t have to simply settle for something less that what we want because someone else tells us that’s the way it is.

There’s been a lot of talk over the last few years about bringing Grand Saline “back from the dead” so to speak. Our town has been named a Main Street City. We even had the First Lady of Texas come and make the presentation. Some money has been handed out and several noticeable changes have taken place to the look of the downtown area. We now have a very nice gazebo across from the pavillion and the library. At first I thought it was misplaced so close to the train tracks, but then I accepted that as part of the quirky charm Grand Saline still has.

I was happy to read that Mr. Darby has donated his building and that it will be used for a museum. I think that is a great place for one and offers plenty of space. If it is done right it can be an interesting look at how this town sprang up in the middle of nowhere and how a little part of us and our history travels around the world every day with that little girl holding the umbrella. It still fascinates people who don’t live here when I tell them there’s enough salt under Grand Saline to supply the world with salt for 20,000 years. “Are you serious?”, is generally their answer. Do we find our home interesting, or is Grand Saline just a place to be from? Maybe some of that fascination is what we need.

As fascinating as the town is, even more so are some of the folks who live here. In a time when veterans of World War II are leaving us more and more each day, we need to take the time to cherish the ones who are still with us. They are as much a part of what makes this town unique as any of those old stores or what lies under our streets. Let’s not let them and their memories go without capturing them. Recently, National Public Radio traveled around the country with a mobile recording studio letting people tell their stories and there were some pretty interesting ones told. Perhaps we should consider a project like that here in Grand Saline. Not just for our veterans to tell their stories, but for anyone who wants to share their memories from home. It would be a sad day if we let anymore of them go unshared.

Surely I can’t be the only person thinking about these things. There must be someonegs city limits else out there who doesn’t want to see Grand Saline simply wither away. Oh yes, I’ve complained about it many times. But, you know, your home town is a little like your family – it’s OK for you to make fun of it and complain about it, but you’ll fight anyone else who does. Let’s do something now before it’s too late. Let’s get people back to town. Let’s give people a reason to come TO Grand Saline and not just come THROUGH Grand Saline. There’s only one movie theater in Van Zandt county now – shouldn’t there be another one? First Monday is only 11 miles away – how about an antique shop or two? I like to bowl – do you?

We can do this, you know that, don’t you? We don’t have to resign ourselves to mediocrity. All it takes is the ‘want to’ to get it done. Yes, it will take some work. Yes, it might cost a little something. No, it won’t happen overnight. But, it absolutely can happen if we want it bad enough!

For all my gripes and complaints, I don’t want this town to die. And, the reason I don’t want it to die is because of those memories I talked about. Those memories are part of what made me who I am. Those memories are part of all of us – when they’re gone, so are we. Let’s not let that happen.

Do you remember?


If you would like to contribute to the “My Hometown” series, or be a guest blogger on any topic, please email me — jason@jasonawalker.com