A reminder of the privilege and responsibility for these words

As if this job isn’t hard enough already trying to get nouns and verbs to agree (nouns and verbs can be very disagreeable, trust me on that), I have learned that this column is a subject for regular dissection by a group of discerning ladies in Dalton. Uh. Oh.

Ann Viamonte wrote to tell me that an assemblage convenes weekly at the Oakwood Restaurant in town and includes a reading and discussion of my column. She even sent me a picture of the group gathered around the table and under a giant painting of Uga who, if you are from another planet or California (same difference), is THE Bulldog of the Georgia Bulldogs. To quote Humphrey Bogart in Casablanca, I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship.

The Oakwood is owned and operated by state Rep. Kasey Carpenter, the man responsible for getting cornbread designated as our state’s Official State Bread by the Legislature. My hero.

Admittedly, they don’t get around to my column, Ms. Viamonte says, until they have discussed their children and grandchildren, their aches and pains, who is in or out of the hospital or, sadly, who is not around anymore. First things first. But at least I am in the mix.

Her note was nice, appreciated, humbling – yes, I can be humble, but I try not to make it a habit – but most importantly, it was a reminder of a privilege I have been given and the responsibility that goes with it.

I have been at the opinion business for 28 years now. I wrote a one-time column for one publication, shellacking the city of Atlanta, its inept government, a timid business community and a local media in over their heads regarding their respective roles in 1996 Centennial Olympic Games. The Games were great. That bunch was not, and I said so in no uncertain terms.

Elliott Brack, a veteran newsman, thought that my column should be syndicated, and another veteran newsman, Bill Shipp, agreed. That was some 3,000 columns ago. Ironically, Elliott Brack passed away last week, and without his involvement, we might not be having this conversation today. Thank you, Elliott. Rest in peace.

And a conversation is what this is. When I first began this effort, The Beloved Woman Who Shared My Name gave me one order and one piece of advice. The order: Do not put her name in the column. She preferred a low profile. So, I didn’t. But she didn’t say anything about me calling her The Woman Who Shares My Name, which I did. A lot. She should have been more specific.

The advice: Don’t write about politics all the time. Write about things that readers would be interested in. I have tried my best to do that, but when you’ve got humor-impaired wingnuts on both ends of the political spectrum braying like a mule in heat, that’s a temptation hard to resist.

But her advice was sound, as always. A couple of weeks ago, I wrote a column about junk drawers. It generated a large amount of reader response. It seems that most every law-abiding citizen has a junk drawer, and many of you shared with me the contents of yours. Several chided me for not mentioning that any self-respecting junk drawer also contains keys. Keys to whoknows- what. But who would dare throw away keys? That’s just not done.

Nothing is more rewarding than having you say that something I wrote was worth clipping and sharing with others. Words have power. Words can inspire and words can hurt. Even in a case of self-righteous indignation, I try to exercise caution in how I express myself. The words are permanent, and I don’t want to regret having said what I said when I look back on the matter. Don’t make it personal.

The best antidote is humor. The humor may be barbed, Will Rogersstyle, which a lot of politicians don’t find funny. Sometimes it is self-deprecating. I take this job very seriously, but not myself. There are too many people in this business that do.

So, thank you, Ann, Judy, Connie, Rita, Anita, Loretta, Betty, Judy, Alice and JoAnn at the Oakwood Restaurant in Dalton for reminding me why I do this and to do it to the best of my abilities. And thank you Rep. Kasey Carpenter for giving cornbread the respect it deserves. Now, if you will excuse me, I must go. It seems a couple of nouns and verbs are being very disagreeable.

You can reach Dick Yarbrough at dick@dickyarbrough.com or at P.O. Box 725373, Atlanta, Georgia 31139.