Louisiana hunters will have an early opportunity to return to the marsh this weekend as the state’s September teal season opens Saturday, Sept. 19.

The Louisiana Department of Wildlife and Fisheries announced the statewide season will run Sept. 19-27, 2026.

During the special September season, hunters may harvest only blue-winged, green-winged and cinnamon teal. LDWF reminded hunters that black-bellied whistling ducks and all other waterfowl species are not legal to harvest during the September teal season. Teal may also be taken during Louisiana’s regular duck season, which begins in November.

Hunters are encouraged to make sure they have the required licenses, permits and certifications before heading into the field.

Waterfowl hunters age 16 and older are required to have a Federal Duck Stamp. Hunters age 18 and older must also possess a basic hunting license, waterfowl license and Harvest Information Program, or HIP, certification. Youth age 17 and younger are not required to have a hunting license.

Several LDWF Wildlife Management Areas provide teal hunting opportunities, including Pass-a-Loutre, Atchafalaya Delta, Pointe-aux-Chenes, Sherburne, Dewey Wills and Russell Sage WMAs. Visitors age 18 and older using WMAs must have the appropriate WMA access permit or a qualifying license.

LDWF is also reminding hunters to positively identify their target before shooting, particularly during the early teal season when other waterfowl species may be present.

The nine-day season concludes Sunday, Sept. 27. Hunters should review current LDWF regulations, licensing requirements and WMA-specific rules before hunting.

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There are two times during the year that are awesome for bass fishing, spring and fall. During the spring, bass are moving up into the shallows to spawn and make more little bass. So, it’s a great time to catch that fish of a lifetime as the big females are full of eggs. In the fall, the bass are going through a feeding frenzy and fattening up for the winter which also makes for exciting fishing.

Of these two times of the year, fall is probably my favorite. If you want to catch fish in the fall, tie on any lure you want as long as it looks like a shad. 

Shad colored spinnerbaits or crankbaits are deadly during the fall. Bass will slowly migrate out of their deep summer haunts and will move up shallow and into the back of the creeks. 

They will literally go into ambush mode and destroy a school of baitfish. If whatever you’re throwing looks like shad, they will eat it! Here are few tips on what to throw if you’re not sure what you need to tie on. 

I love to catch them on a shad pattern spinnerbait this time of year. You can throw either a white or any type of shad color and catch fish. Your hook up ratio with a spinnerbait seems to be really good. But a good shad colored crankbait like a Bandit 100 or 200 series in a pearl color with a black back or a white splatter back will also put fish in the boat. 

It’s also a great time to throw a buzz bait or any kind of topwater bait. Bass love a walking style bait like Heddon Zara Spook in either chrome or white. 

But there’s also another bait that is pretty much a guarantee for catching fish in the fall, a rattling shad bait like a Bill Lewis Rattle Trap or a SPRO Aruku Shad. Both baits truly mimic the bait fish bass are gorging themselves on this time of year. 

Fall can also be an excellent time to go out on the lake and find new places you might want to fish next season. And if the lake is low, it’s really great to try to locate and mark those hard spots bass love to get on in the winter and early spring. 

Too many anglers miss out on some of the best bass fishing of year as they park their bass boats and load up four-wheelers and head to the woods. Many start to focus on getting deer stands cleaned out or building and dressing their duck blinds. 

So, take advantage of uncrowded boat ramps that the fall brings. Head out to your favorite lake and enjoy some of the best bass fishing of the year. You never know, you just might catch your personal best.   

Contact Steve at sgraf26@yahoo.com

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In the early 1990s, video games were entering what I suppose we could call their second generation. Compared with what children play today, they were technologically primitive. But at our house, they were cutting-edge.

Our oldest daughter, Allison, asked for a Nintendo for Christmas—the one with Super Mario Brothers.

Christmas morning, the Nintendo was connected to our enormous twenty-five-inch console television. For those of you under forty, a console television was roughly the size of a small refrigerator, weighed slightly more than a Methodist church, and once you put it in the den, it stayed there until the Second Coming.

And Allison started playing Mario.

She was good at it. More importantly, she was persistent. If Mario needed to jump over something, she learned exactly when to jump. If there was a hidden passage, she found it. If there was some secret way through a level, she kept working until she discovered it.

She accumulated experience. She advanced through levels. She got better and better.

Every once in a while, she would let her younger brother Andrew play.

The rule was simple: You can play until you lose all your lives.

Andrew’s turn did not take long.

Bless his heart.

Mario would start running. Mario would hit something. Mario would die. A few moments later, Andrew would hand the controller back to Allison.

She tried to teach him.

“Jump here.”

“Don’t go that way.”

“Wait until that thing moves.”

“Push this button.”

None of it helped.

Then school started back. One afternoon Andrew got home before Allison. I told him, “Andrew, I’ve been working on a project for you.”

While the children had been at school, Dad had been playing Mario. This was not recreation. This was serious parental research. And while I played, I recorded the television onto our VCR—another ancient piece of technology. I had about thirty minutes of Mario being played reasonably well on videotape.

I told Andrew, “When Allison gets home, I’m going to play this tape. You sit on the floor with the controller and pretend you’re playing.”

Andrew immediately understood the spiritual gift God had given him for irritating his sister.

“Move the controller. Lean from side to side. Grunt occasionally. Act frustrated. Do everything Allison does.”

So when Allison came home, there sat her little brother in front of the television playing Mario. And he was magnificent. He sailed through places he could not get through the night before. He made impossible jumps. He advanced from level to level.

Finally Allison asked, “How did you learn to do that so fast?”

We had her. We absolutely had her. Until Andrew started giggling. He put the controller down, turned around, and grinned at his sister— and Mario kept playing.

“ANDREW!”

For a few wonderful minutes, Andrew looked like a gamer. He held the controller. He made all the right movements. He sat in the right place. He knew when to grunt. There was only one problem. He wasn’t actually playing the game.

I wonder sometimes whether that little scene from our den is a pretty good picture of what can happen in the Christian life. We learn how to hold the controller. We know when to stand and when to sit. We know the hymns. We know the prayers. We know when to say “Amen.” We know how Christians are supposed to look and sound. We can become very good at appearing to be disciples.

But Jesus never called us simply to look like disciples. He called us to follow him. To forgive when forgiveness is difficult. To love people we would rather avoid. To serve when serving is inconvenient. To trust when life is uncertain. To give generously. To pray honestly. To live differently because Christ is alive within us.

Faith is not something we merely watch somebody else do. It cannot be prerecorded for us by our parents, grandparents, preacher, or church. Eventually, we have to play. Every once in a while, perhaps all of us need to put down the controller and ask a hard but necessary question:

Am I really living this life of faith, or have I just gotten very good at going through the motions?

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A benefit concert for Boston Pace will be held on Saturday, Oct. 3 from 3- 9 pm at the Lagniappe Event Center in Alexandria featuring country and Southern music performers from Louisiana, Texas and Nashville. Tickets for the benefit concert are $25 for general admission. Doors open at 2 p.m., with the concert scheduled from 3 to 9 p.m. Saturday, Oct. 3, at the Lagniappe Event Center, 7521 Coliseum Blvd. in Alexandria.

Tickets will be available online and at the door. Online tickets are available through Eventbrite at Eventbrite.

Boston Pace, 7, became ill with strep throat in March 2026 along with his two brothers. While his brothers recovered, Boston’s symptoms worsened, including vomiting and severe headaches. After initially testing negative for strep, doctors attributed his symptoms to a virus and later to heat-related illness. Despite efforts to keep him hydrated and indoors, his symptoms continued.

On June 14, Pace took Boston to the emergency room, where a CT scan revealed a mass on his brain. Doctors suspected diffuse midline glioma (DMG), an aggressive brain tumor. The family was referred to St. Jude Children’s Research Hospital, where doctors placed a shunt to drain excess cerebrospinal fluid and performed a biopsy that confirmed the diagnosis.

The event is presented by Buckshot Records LLC and Artist Development.

The lineup includes Jake Whyatt of Nashville, Tennessee; Heads or Tails Band of Alexandria, Louisiana; Thomas Tibbs of Jena, Louisiana; Pat Waters of Longview, Texas; and Big Green Tractor, Nashville’s tribute to Jason Aldean.

Organizers said the event will bring artists, businesses and community members together to show their support for Boston Pace and his family.

Jake Whyatt will travel from Nashville to join the benefit, along with Heads or Tails Band, Thomas Tibbs and Pat Waters. Big Green Tractor will close out the lineup.

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On Sept. 16, 1992, “Seinfeld” introduced one of the most memorable concepts in television history when Jerry Seinfeld and George Costanza pitched NBC on a sitcom that was, essentially, about nothing.

The idea appeared in an episode titled “The Pitch,” which aired as part of the show’s fourth season. In the episode, Jerry and George are invited to pitch a television series to NBC. George comes up with the idea of creating a show about their everyday lives — with no traditional plot or premise.

The fictional pitch became one of the defining jokes of “Seinfeld,” a show that would go on to become one of television’s most recognizable sitcoms.

The episode aired on Sept. 16, 1992, making the date an especially fitting one for fans of the show — and for anyone who has ever wondered how a show about nothing could become such a big deal.

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In the 1880s, getting mail in remote parts of the United States was exciting.  In the era before electricity, mail and newspapers were the only connection between rural communities and the outside world.  Dorsey was one of the many rural mail carriers for the U.S. Postal Service.  Rural in an understatement in his case.  You see, for several years in the 1880s, Dorsey was the only mail carrier between Barstow and Calico in California’s rugged Mojave Desert because no one else wanted the job.  Dorsey lived in the silver mining town of Calico, about 10 miles as the crow flies northeast of Barstow.  Ten miles may not seem like a great distance by our modern standards, but between Calico and Barstow stands the 2641-foot elevation Lead Mountain.  Going around Lead Mountain would have added another four miles each way to Dorsey’s trek, so Dorsey went up and over the mountain.  Dorsey did not ride in a wagon or on a horse.  He walked.        

Each day, Dorsey donned his satchel and began walking through the heat, dust, and over rugged terrain to Barstow.  He knew what time the train from the California Southern Railroad was scheduled to arrive in Barstow and so he left in plenty of time to meet it.  If Dorsey was ahead of the train, which he normally was, he rested and relaxed in town.  As soon as the train arrived, Dorsey met the postman at the train’s mail car, loaded his satchel with mail destined for Calico, and began the return trip.  On a good day, Dorsey could make the whole trip in about seven or eight hours.          

Half a century later, the people of Barstow began searching for a photograph of the local legendary mail carrier so they could honor him with his own U.S. Postage stamp.  Unfortunately, Dorsey’s likeness was never used on a postage stamp.  To the people of Barstow and the few inhabitants of Calico, Dorsey remains a local hero.  They still talk about his daily walks between their towns… on his four legs.  You see, Dorsey, the rural mail carrier, was a black and white collie.

 Sources:

1.     The Astorian (Astoria, Oregon), November 21, 1885, p.1.

2.     Desert Dispatch (Barstow, California), September 2, 1948, p.3.

3.     Desert Dispatch, August 27, 1973, p.10.    

 © 2026 Brad Dison. All rights reserved. Remember This? is distributed for licensed publication only.

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Troopers with Louisiana State Police Troop F began investigating a fatal crash on Sept. 12 around 5 am involving a pedestrian on U.S. Highway 165 at Dellwood Drive. The crash claimed the life of 22-year-old Tania Hamilton of Jena.  

The initial investigation revealed that a 2019 Ford F-350 was traveling north on U.S. Highway 165, in the right lane. At the same time, Hamilton was walking across the northbound lane of U.S. 165. For reasons still under investigation, Hamilton was struck by the Ford.

Hamilton suffered fatal injuries and died at the scene. The driver of the Ford was properly restrained and uninjured. Although impairment is not suspected, routine toxicology samples were collected and will be submitted for analysis. This crash remains under investigation.

Louisiana State Police urge both pedestrians and motorists to remain alert and aware of their surroundings while on or near roadways. Crashes involving pedestrians are often preventable when basic safety measures are observed. Pedestrians should wear light-colored or reflective clothing, avoid dark roadways, and assume drivers may not see them. They should also cross in well-lit areas and walk facing oncoming traffic to improve visibility and reduce risk. These simple steps can help enhance pedestrian safety.

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By Fire Chief Emeritus Michael Louis Kuk, PhD.

Without question, the story of United Airlines Flight 93 is one of the most profoundly moving and heroic chapters in American history.  It is a narrative that shifts rapidly from a routine morning flight to a terrifying crisis, and ultimately to a self-sacrificing battle that saved countless lives.

A beautiful Tuesday morning was found everywhere when Flight 93 went airborne on the morning of September 11, 2001.  As the early hours of the day unfolded, a rush of unknown terror filled the airspace of the upper eastern part of the United States, and one of America’s most infamous events started to unravel a peaceful passage of time in the skies.

One cannot imagine the horror that the plane’s crew and passengers faced that morning in the confined space of an aircraft.  It should have been an enjoyable experience of flight and travel to arrive at destinations of living a full life in the freedom of America.

The terrorists did not win that morning on Flight 93.  A group of determined American Patriots came together in mind, spirit, and courage to thwart the evil plans that America’s enemies wanted to carry out.  

America has been built upon sacrifice, and it was that same manner of resolve and sacrifice that stood up to evil, and win another battle for freedom.  The cost was high, but it will never be forgotten, and America will continue to be the bastion of freedom for the rest of the world to behold.  America’s defenders that morning were inspired to do what is right and just for the cause of mankind to sustain life and liberty, despite the cost of paying for it with their lives.  

The Delayed Departure

Out of the four flights involved on that fateful morning, there was one major scheduling glitch which caused a delay in the departure of the fourth aircraft at the Newark International Airport.

Thus United Airlines Flight 93 was not on time on the runway, causing the aircraft to not be in sync with the other three flights, all of which were headed for their respective flight paths to cause a massive wave of destruction. 

First of all, United Airlines Flight 93 was a fairly new Boeing Model 757 aircraft at that timeframe in air travel.  The Boeing sported a large fuselage body with a modern design and powerful engines for excellent thrust in takeoffs.  It easily established itself as a trusted aircraft in the skies around the world.  Being highly respected by the flight crews, and enjoyed by the countless number of passengers whenever a flight went airborne, people were delighted to board that plane to their destination.

On that sunny Tuesday morning, it was scheduled to fly from Newark International Airport in New Jersey to San Francisco, California.  Pretty much a routine westbound flight for the crew, and with excellent weather conditions, a stable and safe journey to be welcomed by the passengers, who were embarking on both business and pleasure activities.

• The Crew and Passengers: On board were 7 crew members (including Captain Jason Dahl and First Officer LeRoy Homer Jr.) and 33 passengers.
• The Hijackers: Mingled among them were the four hijackers: Ziad Jarrah (the pilot), Ahmed al-Nami, Ahmed al-Haznawi, and Saeed al-Ghamdi.
• The Delay: The flight was scheduled to take off at 8:01 AM, but heavy airport traffic delayed their departure. The disruption of more and more flight delays of both arrivals and departures gave challenges of increased air traffic flow at Newark International. 

This growing situation compounded what the air traffic controllers were dealing with on a daily basis.  A lot of travelers were opting to use Newark and then take other ground modes of transportation into New York City.  

The plane didn’t lift off until 8:42 AM—just four minutes before the first plane struck the North Tower of the World Trade Center.  This 41-minute delay would inadvertently change the course of history.

Information Trickles In

For the first 45 minutes, the flight proceeded normally.  The aircraft kept gaining altitude and traversing the skies smoothly to its determined flight path.  There was quiet and calm in the passenger section of the plane.  Light breakfast snacks and beverages were being served, and no one expected anything to turn ugly.  The plane finally reached its cruising altitude of 35,000 feet over Pennsylvania and turned west toward Ohio.

Meanwhile, the world below was fracturing.  New York City and its population throughout the five boroughs was being thrust rapidly into a war zone.  An unknown enemy, a ponderous destruction of iconic buildings, with death appearing everywhere on the streets below, and without question, something horrific attacking everyone’s lives in lower Manhattan.  Of which New Yorkers were totally unprepared for.  

The first tower struck at the World Trade Center was thought to be an accident.  A real tragedy that was going to test New York City’s 1^st Responders.  No one thought it was an act of terror.  Just horrible bad luck and very poor judgment on the pilot of the aircraft.  

The tower appeared stable, despite the elevated crash and fire, with heavy dark smoke issuing forth from the impact zone.  Everyone had faith that New York’s Bravest of the FDNY would handle the fire, rescue the building’s occupants, and get everything under control, despite the high-rise challenges that come with the duty of serving as a firefighter in our Nation’s largest city.

But by 9:03 AM, the second tower was hit by another terrorist controlled aircraft.  This act quickly changed everyone’s thinking that we are now dealing with acts of terror via aircraft as weapons of mass destruction.

By 9:24 AM, United Airlines dispatchers began sending out text message warnings to all of their pilots: “Beware any cockpit intrusion—Two aircraft have now hit the World Trade Center in an act of terror.”

At 9:26 AM, Captain Dahl responded, asking for more clarification.  In his mind, he had to be asking himself, would he and his aircraft become involved in an attack of some sort while still in the sky?  He probably was also asking his co-pilot if any of this seemed real, and to watch the radar screen closely for any approaching aircraft near or on their flight path.  Unfortunately it was his last normal communication.  Flight 93’s radio traffic stopped at that moment.

The Takeover (9:28 AM)

At 9:28 AM, all hell broke loose on Flight 93.  The aircraft was flying over Cleveland, Ohio at that moment, and the hijackers immediately started their attack in the air.  The four terrorists quickly scrambled out of their seats, grabbing passengers and cabin crew members.  They displayed knives and large razor like construction blades to everyone.  Although not confirmed, it is believed that one terrorist struck an innocent passenger with his improvised weapon, causing them harm.  This cowardly act sent a shockwave to all who witnessed the attack that this was for real!  War in the air was just declared by the terrorists! 

Meanwhile on the ground, air traffic controllers suddenly heard unmistakable bursts of screaming, scuffling, and shouts of “Get out of here!” over the cockpit radio. The hijackers, armed with their small knives, managed to gain entry into the cockpit.  The crush of foreboding trouble was now at the threshold for the United Airlines’ pilots and personnel of Flight 93.

They first turned their attention to the pilot and co-pilot by shouting at them to leave their seats and controls, while directly forcing them to comply with their concealed weapons being waved wildly in the atmosphere.  They also loudly proclaimed to have a hidden bomb on board, and would activate it if their orders were not obeyed immediately. Despite their commands in broken English, their message of terror was well understood by all.

Of special note regarding the bomb, it was found that during the intense post-crash investigation on the ground near Shanksville, Pennsylvania, it was determined and later revealed to be a fake threat, as no debris evidence yielded any bomb and/or incendiary materials.  It was one of the hijackers’ scary maneuvers to force their way into the cockpit for control of the aircraft.

Once the terrorists gained control of the aircraft and were firmly seated in the cockpit, Jarrah took the controls in a rather calm and determined manner, thereby turning the plane around from its original flight path.  He then headed back in an easterly direction.  His new flight path actually shadowed US Route 30 on the ground below.  

US Route 30 is very well known as the Lincoln Highway.  This notable roadway stretches across our Nation, encompassing 3,000 miles.  During his time in office, President Lincoln used that path of travel to return to his home state of Illinois during his presidency.  Thus, US Route 30 will take one directly into DC, and then with a few extra turns, it becomes an easy connection to Pennsylvania Avenue and the White House. 

Of course, with the Capitol also being in close reach from Pennsylvania Avenue and Route 30, both nearby historic structures would be of immeasurable target value to any terrorist.  Overall, US Route 30 is a much chronicled highway in our Nation’s history.  Our enemies know this fact all too well.

A noted railroad line also parallels the highway.  The Union Pacific Railroad built their tracks to mirror the path of the highway.  Union Pacific’s management wanted to provide a more rapid mode of transportation in the early days of America spreading westward, but also staying duly connected with the seat of the Federal Government.  

By maintaining this new course of travel, and in concert with the highway direction of Route 30 below the aircraft, the evil mindset of terrorist/pilot Jarrah was truly aiming directly for Washington, D.C., and a handsome collection of America’s treasures in our Nation’s Capital.

His intended target is widely believed to have been the U.S. Capitol Building or the White House.  It’s entirely possible that Jarrah was receiving critical damage information all the while in the airplane’s cockpit via a cell phone, and also being updated as to which target in DC would cause the greatest casualties and destruction.

The Airphone Calls: Operational Intelligence

While the struggles in the cockpit were going on, the other two hijackers forced the cabin crew and passengers to the back of the plane.  Since the terrorists could not watch every angle of the plane’s new “manifest” hostages, they started to quietly communicate with each other via eye sight, blinking, and other body language to come up with a plan for a counterattack to regain control of the plane.

Some were hopeful that they were just hostages being held for leverage, but then they started learning about the Twin Towers attacks and the Pentagon strike.  They then knew that this was a deathtrap, to say the least.   Finally the passengers, with help from the cabin crew, began using the aircraft’s GTE Airphones and their personal cell phones to call loved ones and authorities.

Overall, in the remaining few minutes of life in the sky, they made a total of 37 calls.  Through these conversations, a devastating reality set in, and it was confirmed that America was under attack, but not in a war scenario like World War II or even Vietnam.   It was a combination of planned terror, with unsuspecting aircraft as the weapons, to render as much damage to America and its institutions of prominence.  All on board came to realize the following and extremely shocking information:

• They learned about the twin towers of the World Trade Center collapsing.
• They learned about the Pentagon being hit at 9:37 AM.
• The Hard Realization: They weren’t hostages in a traditional hijacking. Their plane was now a guided missile, and going towards an unknown target, to inflict death and damage to anything that is valuable to the United States.  Ultimately, they knew that they were already dead, unless they did something about it immediately.

Some of the last conversations of loved ones spoke of courage in the face of death.  “Deena, they are breathing fire.  They are going to use this plane to destroy something.  It’s up to us.  I think we can take them.” — Passenger Tom Burnett, Jr., in a phone call to his wife, Deena.  Courage was now replacing fear!

The Vote and the Plan

Putting fear aside and instead of panicking, the passengers organized.  A group of fighters was coming up to take action.   A core group—including Todd Beamer, Mark Bingham, Tom Burnett, and Jeremy Glick—retreated to the back of the cabin to formulate a plan.

They took a vote, and their decision was unanimous…they would fight back!  It would be bold, but no other choice could be made.  They knew that some would have to suffer injury and possible death to counteract the ongoing work of the terrorists.  When one is in a confined space, with limited resources like a ship on the ocean, there are few options for defense.  This is what they faced in the final moments of Flight 93’s time in the air.  A fight for freedom!

Without question, they weaponized what they had access to—hot water from the galley, heavy catering carts, coffee pots, forks, and even rolled-up magazines.  Anything that could hurt another human being was put in close proximity for use by the team.  These items were ready to be used as improvised weapons of defense.  Nothing of value was overlooked.

Just before the counterattack began, Todd Beamer tried to place a call to his wife, but couldn’t get through.  He was connected instead to GTE supervisor Lisa Jefferson.  She listened to what he said about going up against the hijackers.  After detailing their plan and praying the Lord’s Prayer together, Beamer turned to the other passengers.  His last audible words over the open line became the rallying cry for our nation:

“Are you guys ready?  Let’s roll!”

The Counterattack (9:57 AM)

Todd Beamer’s open line was being heard intensely and recorded by the GTE staff on the ground. What the GTE personnel heard at 9:57 AM was the rush and noisy chaos of a group of determined American Patriots, going for broke in taking back the control of the aircraft, no matter what the cost.  The passenger revolt against the terrorists began without delay.  No one hesitated in going forward to do battle with this evil group, who only wanted to inflict death upon innocent people, and destroy their communities and livelihoods.   

Beamer and his resolute team of fighters first sprinted down the narrow aisle, and knocked down the two main cabin hijackers with their improvised weapons.  It is believed that the hijackers were quickly overpowered, thereby becoming knocked out and unconscious.  It is also believed that they both suffered serious, if not fatal blows, to render them completely out of action.  

Now the fight for the cockpit was paramount.  Regaining control of the aircraft meant everything.  Otherwise, this aircraft would find its target and submit a final succession of terror upon America.  This bold action, led by a very courageous Todd Beamer, became the prime mission objective for the retaking of the plane.  Mission failure was not the anticipated result.

Beamer’s team started using a food cart as a battering ram against the cockpit door.  The cockpit voice recorder, via the back-up recording of the plane’s Black Box, captured the terrifying and chaotic sounds of the struggle.  One could hear the smashing of heavy dishes, with shouting and indiscernible screams as the doorway was being rammed. 

Inside the cockpit the two sole hijackers were desperately trying to keep the door blocked.  Each new blow was weakening the integrity of the lightweight door and its frame rails.  It was slow work, but Beamer and his fighters were not going to give up.  Total success of disabling the hijackers was close at hand.  Entry into the cockpit was the end game. 

Now realizing that he was about to lose everything that the hijackers accomplished a short while ago, Jarrah was starting to panic.  The door was failing, and he knew that one of the relentless blows was going to be the final straw to be broken for entry, thus he felt that he needed to take another course of action against the passengers.  

So to throw the passengers’ attacks off balance, Jarrah began violently rocking the plane left and right with his joystick.  He slammed it left and right to make the aircraft pitch itself into a series of scary shakes.  Even though he thought he was gaining the upper hand, he quickly noted that no one was giving up.  He figured that they would overpower him, and end his evil mission. 

He even went so far as to pitch the nose up and down. This action had no negative effect on the passengers.  They didn’t stop.  They didn’t want to.  They just kept pounding on the door, and Jarrah knew that it would soon be over for him.  He would have failed in his mission to reach the inside of DC for a juicy target.

By 10:00 AM, Jarrah realized the passengers were seconds from breaching the cockpit and overpowering them at the controls.  He felt that only one final piece of action would work.

The Crash (10:03 AM)

In his final and desperate act to prevent Beamer and the rest of the passengers from taking the wheel, Jarrah rolled the plane upside down.  He could easily see the ground below him.  He even caught a glimpse of US Route 30.   Jarrah, now in a state of unforgiving desperation, took the controls, thereby moving the plane’s speed to a very high rate of descent.  In the post-crash analysis, it was determined that he drove the aircraft into the ground at over 560 miles per hour.

Without any further embellishment, Flight 93 crashed into an empty reclamation coal field in Shanksville, Pennsylvania, at 10:03 AM.  The destruction and resultant fire was immediate.

All of the 40 passengers and crew members died instantly.  The impact of unforgiving percussion would have easily killed anyone else being on the ground within a short range also. 

United Airlines Flight 93 was only about 20 minutes of flying time away from the heart of Washington, D.C.

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All Louisiana Office of Motor Vehicles customer service centers will be closed Monday, Sept. 14, 2026, for system modernization efforts and staff training.

All private companies contracted to do business with the OMV, including Public Tag Agents and Auto Title Companies, will be unable to perform driver’s license, reinstatement, vehicle registration and title transactions from Saturday, Sept. 12, through Monday, Sept. 14.

Additionally, the OMV’s website, Expresslane.la.gov, and LA Wallet will be temporarily unavailable from Saturday, Sept. 12, through Sunday, Sept. 13.

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I’m a huge fan of the Little League World Series. There’s so much joy watching baseball at its purest form, kids having fun in a game that has been played for over a century, not worried about how much money they are making.

It’s probably the one time in a young baseball player’s life that money is not a factor. It’s kids playing a game they grew up with on a sandlot or in the side yard of their neighbor’s house. 

This is how I learned to play baseball, either on a sandlot or in someone’s backyard. Sure, there were a few broken windows and an occasional broken nose when someone (probably me) lost control of a fastball. But at the end of the day, it was just a part of the game we all loved!

Of course, once a window was broken, we scattered like a covey of quail and ran to our houses as if nothing had ever happened. No one wanted to accept or admit they were responsible for the damage done. But eventually over time, the truth would come out and the person responsible had to pay for the window either by handing over cash or doing yard work for a month, or maybe even both. 

While we very seldom had enough players to field a full team, baseball is the only game that I’m aware of where you have ghost runners. That’s right, imaginary runners who could literally fly around the bases. You could play with 3-4 players on a team and make it work, all due to the ghost runner rule.  

The thing about growing up in a small Texas town was that there really were neighborhood rivalries. East side vs. West side, North side vs. South side. One elementary school vs. another. The rivalries were real until you got to high school and you became one team. 

What is the secret to a winning athletic program? Well, in the town of Mt. Pleasant, Texas, during the 1970s, the athletic talent level was insanely high for such a small town. There were many great athletes coming through MPHS during this time frame. The Mt. Pleasant Tigers had a statewide reputation for winning and doing well in all sports. 

Championship teams were a constant and expectations from the community were high. But the one thing I remember the most was the support we had from the school and the community itself. 

The leadership came from a lot of people like the mayor, school principals, teachers, booster club members, the student body, auxiliary groups, coaches and our parents, that paved the way for so many championship teams. You cannot put a price on how much community support means. 

We took pride in representing Mt. Pleasant High School and looked forward to anyone who wanted to challenge the Mt. Pleasant Tigers in any sport.

I was so blessed to have the opportunity to play for a Texas baseball state championship in 1978 and win. I’ll never forget what our head coach told the team after we won. “Fellows, this win tonight will mean more to you later in life than it does now.” Truer words have never been spoken.

To this day at the young age of 65, it’s the proudest moment I have ever experienced as an athlete including the day I signed to play college football and baseball at Northwestern State. Winning a state title has meant more to me than being drafted by Major League Baseball.

There’s something special about growing up in a small town and winning a state title during your high school years, playing with guys and friends you grew up with. 

It’s that closeness and comradery that made us great, along with the talent we possessed as a team. It has made us friends for life as we continue to get together from time to time to celebrate our accomplishment and share the same stories over and over. 

The one thing I have noticed over time is just how much better we have gotten with each passing year. That’s right, we’re now legends in our own minds!  

How lucky was I to have been a part of such a great community of people who cared about and made sure we had the support we needed to be successful! I would like to say thank you to those who played a part in not only my personal success, but the success of many teams that represented Mt. Pleasant High School. Go Tigers!

Contact Steve at sgraf26@yahoo.com

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On Sept. 9, 1776, the Continental Congress formally declared that the new nation would be known as the “United States” of America, replacing the term “United Colonies” that had been used previously. 

The decision came less than three months after the Declaration of Independence was adopted, as the colonies continued establishing the government and identity of the nation they had declared independent from Great Britain.

The name “United States of America” was directed to be used in continental commissions and other official documents.

Sept. 9 also marked other notable moments in history, including California becoming the 31st U.S. state in 1850 and Elvis Presley making his first appearance on “The Ed Sullivan Show” in 1956. 

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“We don’t understand it, but your muffler is disintegrating from the inside.”

For once, the description of the noise my truck was making actually matched the noise it made for the service technician. Usually, when you take a vehicle to the shop, it immediately begins behaving like a child in front of company.

“It was doing it all the way over here,” you say.

The mechanic starts the engine.

Silence.

The truck sits there looking innocent.

But Saturday it cooperated.

“Eventually,” the service man explained, “your muffler will completely disintegrate, and your truck will become very loud.”

There are at least two ways you know you are getting old. The first is when the phrase “your truck will become very loud” sounds more like a threat than a promise. When I was younger, a loud truck might have been impressive. Now I want my muffler to do exactly what its name implies: muffle. Loud and old do not mix well—whether we are talking about trucks, music, neckties, or people explaining their opinions at restaurants.

The second way you know you are old is Muzak. If you step into an elevator, a doctor’s office, or a car dealership and realize the gentle instrumental music playing in the background is the same song your parents once yelled, “TURN THAT GARBAGE DOWN!” about—you are old. Saturday, Muzak was playing while the service man described my disintegrating muffler.

There was no denying it.

I am old.

And suddenly I began imagining life with a loud truck. Would people hear me pulling into the church parking lot before they saw me? Could I lead a funeral procession in it? Would the Baptists think I had joined the youth group? Would the Catholics begin praying for me?

“How much will it cost to fix?”

It was going to be expensive. Apparently, disintegrating from the inside was not covered by the warranty. That phrase stayed with me. Disintegrating from the inside.

How is your muffler?

Because mufflers are not the only things that can look reasonably good on the outside while quietly falling apart where nobody can see.

People can do it too.

Discouragement is a kind of interior rust. You start with faith, hope, and love. But disappointment works on you. Frustration works on you. Anger works on you. Fear works on you. And if you do not continually center your life in Christ, the corrosion begins. Often the problem is not that God has abandoned us. The problem is that we have decided exactly how God ought to behave. We get a plan fixed in our heads, a result fixed in our hearts, and a timetable fixed on the calendar. Then, when God refuses to cooperate, we become discouraged. Slowly, quietly, something begins disintegrating on the inside.

And here is another thing I learned about mufflers: When they deteriorate on the inside, eventually they get loud on the outside. That may explain more about our world than we would like to admit. Public discourse has become a contest to see who can be loudest. Conversation has been replaced by competition. Listening has become a lost art. We no longer seem content to disagree with somebody; we must defeat them, embarrass them, label them, or shout over them. Maybe all that exterior noise is telling us something about our interior condition.

Maybe some of us need our spiritual mufflers repaired. There is a verse of Scripture that both comforts and confronts. Eight simple words that can aggravate people who are determined to stay loud and bring wonderful hope to those who know something inside them needs restoring:

“Be still, and know that I am God.”
—Psalm 46:10

Be still. Stop shouting. Stop insisting. Stop rehearsing everything that is wrong. Stop telling God how God ought to run the universe. Be still long enough to remember who God is—and who you are. Maybe faith, hope, and love are not restored by becoming louder. Maybe they return when we become quiet enough to hear God again.

I get it, Lord.

Will you help me repair my muffler?

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In 1863, the United States of America and the Confederate States of America were in the midst of what we now call the Civil War.  On June 1, 1863, nineteen-year-old Willis Meadows of Lanott, Alabama, joined Company G of the 37^th Alabama Regiment.  Willis was a fierce hunter who realized early on that missing a shot at wild game meant that he and his family would not have any meat on the table.  Within days of his enlistment, his superiors recognized his shooting skills and made him a sharpshooter.  One month to the day after his enlistment, July 1, Willis was helping defend Vicksburg from the Union army.  Through a small hole in a sheet of boiler plate, Willis took careful aim and fired a single shot at a time at Union soldiers so as not to give his position away.  He waited several minutes before firing again so the enemy could not pinpoint his position.  Every few minutes, Willis took down another soldier.  

21-year-old Peter Knapp and three other members of the 5^th Iowa volunteers were ordered to eliminate the sniper.  They slowly scanned the area while they awaited another shot.  Finally, Peter saw a flash come from the small hole in the boiler plate.  Peter was a crack shot as well.  As Willis peeked through the hole in search of another target, Peter fired.  The one-ounce cone-shaped bullet went through the same hole Willis had been firing through and struck him, Willis, in his right eye.  Peter saw Willis collapse and knew he was either dead or dying.  Peter and the other three reported that they had eliminated the sharpshooter and were sent on another assignment.

A short while later, a Union soldier found Willis and realized that he was still alive.  He and other Union soldiers took Willis to their surgeon who transferred the wounded sharpshooter to a federal hospital.  Doctors operated on Willis and concluded that it would be too dangerous to try to remove the bullet.  They stopped the bleeding and hoped for the best.  Despite the doctors’ grim prognosis, Willis’s condition slowly improved.  Except for the loss of his right eye, Willis regained his health.  Willis was eventually paroled and returned to Alabama.

58 years later, Peter was reading the newspaper when he read Willis’s incredible story.  He soon realized that Willis was the man he shot and whom he thought he had killed.  Peter wrote to Willis and they began corresponding back and forth for the remainder of Willis’s life.  The newspaper article which turned former enemies into friends was published on March 22, 1921.  On the day before, Willis, then 78 years old, was in his kitchen when he began coughing.  His coughing progressed into a coughing fit.  Willis held his handkerchief over his mouth, but nothing he tried would ease his coughing.  After several long minutes, Willis’s coughing ended abruptly when something struck his handkerchief.  He lowered the handkerchief from his mouth and stared in amazement.  58 years after being shot through the eye and left for dead, Willis coughed up Peter’s bullet.         

Sources:

1.     The Wellston News (Wellston, Oklahoma), April 1, 1921, p.2. 

2.     Phillips County News (Malta, Montana), September 8, 1921, p.1.

3.     “March 14, 1921 Coughing up Bullets,” Cape Cod Curmudgeon, March 24, 2018, Accessed August 30, 2026, https://todayinhistory.blog/2018/03/24/march-24-1921-coughing-up-bullets/.

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Back in 1990 when I started fishing bass tournaments, I had a great partner, Randy Farrar, who helped teach me a few things about how to pre-fish before a tournament — pre-fishing techniques like how to find bass but not catch them right before a tournament. You always want to catch them on tournament day and not so much in practice.

So many guys go out and catch bass right before the tournament and take them home for a good fish fry. One thing I know for sure, you will not be able to catch them on tournament day after you’ve eaten them!  

I learned a lot from my first fishing buddy. One thing he taught me was how to “shake fish off” and not hook bass during practice since you want to catch them on tournament day. 

“Shaking” refers to when a bass bites your lure, you shake the tip of the rod and hopefully the bass will let it go. Close to tournament day, the last thing you want to do is set the hook and sore mouth bass you’re wanting to catch when it counts.

However, during pre-fishing when the bass are in spawning mode, you don’t have to worry if you hook a fish. Because during spawning, bass are very aggressive and will strike a lure multiple times if it comes anywhere close to their spawning bed.

But over the years, I have learned on my own that bass might be the most unpredictable creatures on earth. So many times during practice, I have gone through a particular area and shook off a lot of bass thinking they will be there on tournament day. Well guess what? For whatever reason, the bass have either left or will not bite. 

This is when fishing gets very frustrating! But then there are times when finding those bass, a day or two before tournament day, actually pays off.

Another pre-fishing technique that I now employ is fishing without a hook and using what is called a screw lock. I use this when I’m fishing with any type of soft plastic worms. This is where you tie on a screw lock and use it to hold your worm or soft plastic bait instead of using a hook.

This way you never have to worry about hooking any fish you want to catch on tournament day. This is a pre-fishing technique I always use, especially the day before the tournament. 

In today’s bass tournament world, if you don’t pre-fish several days in a row before a tournament, you’re probably not going to win. The anglers winning today are guys who are on the water at least three days before the tournament. 

The days of showing up and winning or even getting a check are gone, as there are too many anglers putting in 8-10 hours a day locating bass. Even fishing on a lake that you know very well is not good enough to beat the guys putting in hours of pre-fishing. 

There are a lot of variables that can affect your ability to locate bass and catch them on tournament day. The first and foremost is the weather. This is something an angler has no control over, but you must understand bass behavior well enough to know how the weather affects them. 

Another factor you can’t control is the movement of baitfish they like to feed on. Bass will always be close to wherever the bait fish are. It’s their buffet; it’s their grocery store. Wherever the baitfish go, the bass will follow. 

So, if you want to compete and have a shot at winning or even getting a check in today’s bass tournaments, you better pre-fish and find as many schools of bass as you can during practice. Otherwise, you’re just donating your entry fee.  

Contact Steve at sgraf26@yahoo.com

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If you think declaring yourself emperor or empress requires an army, a palace and perhaps a crown, Joshua Abraham Norton had a different idea.

On Sept. 2, 1859, a San Francisco businessman named Joshua Norton took a rather unusual step: He proclaimed himself Emperor Norton I of the United States.

Norton had once been a successful businessman, but after losing much of his fortune, his life took an unexpected turn. He began wearing a military-style uniform and issuing proclamations about how the United States should be governed.

His 1859 declaration announced that he was now Emperor of the United States. A few years later, he expanded his imaginary empire by proclaiming himself Protector of Mexico.

San Francisco residents, rather than simply dismissing Norton as a crank, embraced the eccentric figure. Newspapers published his proclamations, restaurants reportedly accepted his self-issued currency and some businesses gave him free meals.

Norton also issued decrees that were surprisingly ahead of their time. He called for the creation of a League of Nations-like organization and advocated for a bridge connecting San Francisco and Oakland — decades before the Bay Bridge was built.

Although Norton had no actual political authority, he became a beloved San Francisco character. When he died in 1880, thousands of people reportedly attended his funeral.

So, Sept. 2 marks the anniversary of one of history’s strangest self-promotions: the day a financially ruined businessman decided he wasn’t unemployed after all.

He was emperor.

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Football season has arrived in the South, which means several things are about to change. Our Saturday schedules will change. Our diets will change. Hopefully, the weather will change. And for the record, if Alabama is playing, please do not call the preacher unless the church is on fire, somebody is bleeding, or you have discovered a previously unknown Bible verse promising a Crimson Tide victory. Did you know the phrase Crimson Tide appears in many hymnals?

I am an Alabama fan living and pastoring near Louisiana Tech, and my children went to LSU. So, I know what it feels like to be a football outsider. I have survived years of purple and gold. I have smiled through “Geaux Tigers.” I have lived close enough to Louisiana Tech to know that on game day, Ruston suddenly contains considerably more red and blue than the census would suggest. Football in the South is not merely recreation. It is geography, family history, tribal identity, and occasionally a reason not to speak to your brother-in-law until Monday.

Football season also changes our schedules. In July someone says, “How about Saturday afternoon?” Everybody answers, “Sure.” In September, the response becomes, “What time is kickoff?” Don’t get me started on couples who plan a big church wedding on Saturday afternoons in the fall! That may be the first theological lesson football season offers us:

We make time for what matters to us.

People who are “too busy” can somehow find four hours for a football game, an hour for the pregame show, and another hour afterward listening to people explain why the coach should have gone for it on fourth-and-two. Our calendars reveal our priorities. Jesus said, “Where your treasure is, there your heart will be also.” I suspect our calendars may reveal our treasure almost as clearly as our checkbooks.

Football season also changes our wardrobe. We wear team colors. We have lucky shirts. Some fans own clothing containing more school logos than actual fabric. Wouldn’t it be interesting if Christians were equally recognizable—not by what we wear, but by how we live? Jesus said the world would know his disciples by their love. Not their bumper stickers. Not their church membership. Not their ability to identify all the verses in Revelation. By their love.

Then there is the football diet. Nobody has ever said, “Alabama and LSU are playing tonight. Let’s celebrate with steamed broccoli.” Football calls for wings, nachos, sausage, barbecue, cheese dip, and whatever mysterious creation has been simmering in somebody’s Crock-Pot since breakfast. And strangely enough, there is something theological even there.

People gather around tables. They laugh. They tell stories. They argue about officials. They remember old games and old friends. We were created for community. That may be why Sunday worship matters. Church is not simply a place to hear a sermon any more than football is simply a way to discover the final score. We gather because we belong to one another.We celebrate victories. We carry one another through losses. We pray when life goes into overtime. 

So enjoy football season. Wear your colors. Cheer loudly. Eat irresponsibly. And when Sunday morning comes, remember there is another gathering where you belong. The admission is free. The fellowship is better. And unlike football, we already know who wins.

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Dolly Rebecca Parton, beloved singer, songwriter, actress, philanthropist, and one of the most treasured figures in American music and culture, passed away on Tuesday, August 25, 2026, in Nashville, Tennessee, at the age of 80.

Born on January 19, 1946, in rural East Tennessee, Dolly was the fourth of twelve children and grew up in the foothills of the Great Smoky Mountains. From those humble beginnings came a voice, a talent, and a spirit that would eventually reach nearly every corner of the world.

Over a remarkable career spanning more than six decades, Dolly became one of country music’s most recognizable and influential artists. Her extraordinary gift for storytelling gave the world songs that became part of the American soundtrack, including Jolene, Coat of Many Colors, 9 to 5, and I Will Always Love You. Her unmistakable voice, quick wit, larger-than-life style, and genuine warmth allowed her to connect with generations of people far beyond the boundaries of country music.

Her talents extended well beyond the stage. Dolly became a celebrated actress, author, businesswoman, and entrepreneur while remaining deeply connected to the Tennessee mountains and the people who helped shape her. Yet among her greatest accomplishments was the generosity she showed to others.

Through the Dolly Parton Imagination Library, founded in honor of her father, millions of books have been placed into the hands of children around the world. Her philanthropy also supported education, disaster relief, healthcare, and countless communities and individuals throughout her lifetime.

For all the awards, records, rhinestones, and worldwide recognition, Dolly’s greatest legacy may be the way she made people feel. She encouraged people to dream bigger, laugh at themselves, remain true to who they were, and extend kindness wherever possible. She never seemed to forget where she came from—and because of that, people from every walk of life felt as though they knew a little piece of her.

Dolly was preceded in death by her beloved husband of nearly 60 years, Carl Thomas Dean, who passed away in March 2025. Their famously private and enduring marriage remained one of the most cherished parts of her life.

The little girl from the mountains of Tennessee grew up to become an American icon, but she never lost the heart that made the world fall in love with her in the first place. Her songs will continue to be sung, her stories will continue to be told, and the kindness she put into the world will continue through generations of lives she touched.

In lieu of flowers, those wishing to honor Dolly’s extraordinary legacy of generosity and her lifelong commitment to children and literacy are encouraged to make a memorial contribution to Dolly Parton’s Imagination Library. Through the program, books are provided each month at no cost to children from birth to age five, helping Dolly’s love of reading and learning continue to reach future generations.

Memorial donations may be made directly to Dolly Parton’s Imagination Library: Click here to Make a Donation in Memory of Dolly Parton

A message from the family of Dolly Parton: Click here to watch video

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By Brad Dison

Where are the flying cars that engineers began promising us as early as the 1940s?  In 1946, Popular Mechanics magazine predicted that flying cars would become commonplace soon.  Nearly 40 years later, Doctor Emmett Brown in the Hollywood film Back to the Future told Marty as they were preparing to hit 88 miles per hour, “Roads? Where we’re going, we don’t need roads.”  That was in 1985 and flying cars are still not commonplace.  What happened to the flying cars that we have been promised for generations?  

During World War II, Theodore “Ted” Hall proposed a flying car that could be used in commando-type raids but he was unable to convince the military of its practicality.  Following World War II, Ted worked with Consolidated Vultee Aircraft Corporation to build flying cars for the masses.  They began with the Convair Model 116, a two-seater crude car body with detachable wings and tail.  Test pilots completed more than 65 flights in the Model 116 before Ted began working on a more marketable model called the Model 118 (see photo above).

The Model 118 had a more refined plastic car body, a 26½ horsepower car engine, a more powerful Lycoming airplane engine, and could comfortably transport four people.  Convair planned to produce 160,000 of the Model 118s and expected to sell many of them to airports to use as rental vehicles.  

On November 15, 1947, test pilot Reuben Snodgrass flew the prototype Model 118 for the first time, and it performed splendidly.  Three days later, pilot Snodgrass and flight researcher Lawrence Phillips flew the flying car over San Diego, California, on what was supposed to be a one-hour flight to test the engine’s calibration.  A few minutes into the flight as they were enjoying what had been a flawless test, the engine sputtered and died.  All attempts to restart the engine failed.  Pilot Snodgrass was familiar with the area and glided the flying car toward the hard-caked mud flats near South Bay.  It was a textbook landing for the first 200 feet, but pilot Snodgrass did not see the four-foot-high embankment until it was too late.  In the crash, pilot Snodgrass suffered only minor bruises, but Phillips suffered a fractured shoulder.  The car portion was destroyed, but the wing and airplane engine were repaired and used on further test flights.  Although public interest in the flying car was initially high, it was not high enough.  The company cancelled the flying car.     

The reason the Model 118 flying automobile was never made available to the public was not because of a design flaw, not because of something the pilot did, but something he did not do.  On that cool November day, the Convair flying car crashed because… it ran out of gas.  Pilot Snodgrass was a careful pilot who always used a preflight checklist to avoid accidents such as this.  After the crash, Pilot Snodgrass went over the checklist more carefully one item at a time.  He remembered vividly checking the fuel gauge which showed to be full.  Then, he realized his mistake.  It was a simple mistake that anyone could make.  Pilot Snodgrass had checked the fuel gauge, the car’s fuel gauge.  He had not checked the airplane’s fuel gauge. 

Sources:

1.     The Fresno Bee, November 12, 1947, p.1.

2.     The Los Angeles Times, November 19, 1947, p.14.

3.     Holdenville Daily News, November 20, 1947, p.4.

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I’ve always felt that I grew up in the perfect era. It was the early ‘70s and the Vietnam War was coming to an end. My generation never had to worry about being drafted by the armed forces. If you wanted to join the military, it was strictly voluntary. 

While a few of my classmates chose to go in that direction, my attention was trying to get an athletic scholarship to play either football or baseball on the Division 1 level.

Let’s go back to my early years of growing up in the small East Texas town of Mt. Pleasant. As a child during this time frame, we had a lot of freedom. If you had a bike, it was this form of transportation that was basically unlimited. If you could ride your bike on it, there was no limit to where you could go. 

We woke up at daylight and were on our bikes by 8 o’clock every summer morning and only came home for lunch, or right at dark. My kids still have a hard time understanding that the only rule we had — be home when the streetlights came on. 

Parents didn’t always check on their kids. They pretty much knew where they supposed to be. My mother always knew where I was and who I was with most of the time. There was also a certain amount of trust between parents and their kids, until that trust was broken and we got into trouble. 

We lived about three miles out of town and several days out of the week, I would ride my bike for miles. I was either playing ball somewhere at a local ballpark or somebody’s back yard. We rode our bikes looking for coke bottles on the side of the road that we could trade for candy at the local country store.

We played in creeks and ditches, especially after a big rain. As friends we were always together every day and spent a lot of time playing baseball or going to the local pool. 

Occasionally, you could find me fishing at one of the stock ponds, or tanks as they call them in Texas.  If I wasn’t at one of the ponds on our ranch, our neighbor Mr. Rayford Jones, who lived across the road from our house, owned a cattle farm and allowed my brother and me along with his grandson to fish his two ponds (tanks) that were full of bass and catfish. 

Growing up in the country meant you probably had a garden to tend to. Every other day, I had to spend a couple of hours raking grass out of the garden, which was absolute torture for me. But the produce that came out of the garden was incredible, especially after dad had a load of chicken manure brought in! 

We also had about two acres around our house that had to be mowed once every two weeks. Not with a riding mower, but with a push mower! That’s right, a 14-inch cut push mower, which required at least two days to complete the job. 

I had a brother, seven years younger, who was supposed to take over the lawn cutting duties after I left home for college. Guess what showed up two days before I left home: that’s right, a Sears riding mower! 

To say I voiced my displeasure to my parents about this purchase would be an understatement. For five years I push-mowed two acres and now my little brother would get to use a riding mower! 

That being said, there were several chores demanded of me that my brother never took on. So, I guess you could say being the youngest had its privileges.

Looking back, I had an awesome childhood with more freedom than kids have today. They say it’s a different world than what my generation grew up in. I’m not sure that’s totally right. 

There’s just so much more media exposure with up to the minute news and social media sites that are always shedding light on topics most really don’t want to hear about. 

There’s always been bad people in the world who are looking to prey upon the weak. Today’s kids are growing up in a bubble of overprotection. Parents are less likely today to allow their kids to roam free like we did. 

I think kids and young teenagers today are not near as mature as earlier generations. This is due to parents being overprotective, afraid to let their kids make mistakes they can learn from. With my generation, we all had summer and part-time jobs that helped us to mature and understand responsibility at an early age. 

Our parents did a great job of preparing us for the real world. That gave us something I think is lacking with so many of today’s youth –maturity and accepting responsibility. We can only hope and pray that the generation of today will find its own path to success sooner rather than later. 

Our country is at a crossroads in so many ways today. Far left extremists continues to gain ground in small areas of the country. But I don’t think when it comes down to a national election, they will have enough support to win.

I think common sense once again will prevail with the American people,like it did back in the good ole days. If it wasn’t for today’s social media, these small pockets of far-left activists would never even be heard. In God we trust! Stay strong America!

 Contact Steve at sgraf26@yahoo.com

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A bomb discovered at a Nevada casino on Aug. 26, 1980, was supposed to be carefully dismantled by the FBI. Instead, the attempt to disarm it triggered an explosion that caused millions of dollars in damage.

The bomb had been planted at Harvey’s Resort Hotel in Stateline, Nevada, by extortionist John Birges. He demanded $3 million from the casino and built the device inside a large metal box.

When authorities discovered the bomb, FBI bomb technicians were brought in to dismantle it. During the operation, however, a mistake caused the device to detonate. The explosion tore through part of the hotel and caused an estimated $18 million in damage. 

Despite the enormous blast, no one was killed.

The bizarre incident became one of the more unusual chapters in the history of casino crime and bomb disposal. Birges was eventually arrested and convicted for the bombing.

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