Recollections of a Small Town
On the following pages you'll find Art's Art. He
loves to read as well as write, and he has a most entertaining as well
as clever way with words. After reading some of his essays, I decided to
devote the following pages to his art so that others might also benefit
from his wit. Who is Art? I'll let him introduce himself:
ART: A MINI BIO
Born without choice on a South Carolina farm in 1925, early years passed
without complaint until the hard labor of agricultural life intruded on
my preferences. I undertook to learn the printing trade as a more attractive
alternative. Escape wasn’t easy; my father ran the farm, along with supervising
buildings, landscapes and boys for an orphanage operated by Episcopal churches.
The printing office was my refuge, and I applied myself to setting type,
operating presses, folder machines, etc. and escaped much the harder labors
in the fields.
Other adventures seemed to stick on me, not because
I asked, but was chosen somehow. An odd assortment: counselor at a church
camp; bath house manager for a state park recreation area; house parent
for senior boys at the orphanage, bus driver and print shop manager. All
before I’d lived 18 years on earth. A big war was looming. The house parent
left for better pay in making bullets; the printing teacher joined the
navy; those left had to keep the home fires burning.
On my 18th birthday I joined the Army Air Corp
as a more comfortable way to wage war than slogging through mud or dust
as an infantryman. Much better except for the morning our big bomber flew
its nose into the runway instead of into the wild blue yonder. Human damage
was minimal but the flying boxcar was scrap.
Thereafter, I took an opportunity to study journalism
but later returned to my first love of actually printing the words and
made a career of it. Along the way I still found myself “volunteered” for
a variety of non-paying jobs: Church choir and its assorted projects, civic
clubs, city alderman, and various ad hoc endeavors.
How I found time to marry and produce children
is still a mystery. But it was a fulfilling experience of another stripe.
A widower now for 16 years, not a day passes without thinking of my wife
of 34 years—lover, partner, mother of our children, toughest critic and
staunchest defender, keeper of values in trying times. How blessed I have
22 June 2012
Here is a collection of unusual photos NC Art sent
Photos Worth Your Time.
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