THE VILLAGE TIMES

   Resident Jay Gordon moved into Independence Village back on June 15, 2021. He was followed nearly a year later (April 15, 2022) by his mother, Sylvia Gordon, shortly after her husband died. Jay has lived in Raleigh and has worked for a number of years for Rex Hospital transferring patients to and from radiology and other departments. He also likes to sing and act and has taken an acting gig in Raleigh’s Little Theater (“I always wanted to be a movie star,” he chuckles,)

   “I’m glad I moved here,” says Jay, “And so much has happened: During freak winter weather some of our pipes froze. A few drops of water began dripping onto my bed from the ceiling. Just as I left the room to report it, I heard a tremendous crash! It turned out that a pipe had sprung a leak right over my bed. The water build-up had proved too much for the ceiling and down it came. I thank the good Lord for saving me because my bed was totally destroyed – but without me in it. My mother, who lives just down the hall, was OK. And so was “Cally”, our cat.

   Jay (aka John Boyd Gordon III) was born July 10th,1959. His father, John Boyd Gordon II, was born in Gastonia, N.C. and served in U.S. Army Counter-intelligence during the late 50’s (1956-1959). “He was also a prize-winning amateur photographer,” says Jay. “Going back even further, my great-grandfather was a Presbyterian minister.”

   “Speaking of names,” said Sylvia, “I was born as Margaret Catherine. But it was the ”wrong” name as the result of a family misunderstanding, My grandmother solved the problem: she picked out the name Sylvia. I wasn’t aware of any of this until years later when I discovered my original name on an old application my parents had filled out for me to join the National Society Children of the American Revolution (C.A.R.).

   “Anyhow,” she continued, “I met and married Jay’s father in Shelby, North Carolina, where I was born and grew up. The Army moved us from place to place, such as Baltimore and Richmond. I graduated from Queen’s College in Charlotte, N.C., after which I taught high-school English in Baltimore and Richmond (where Jay was born). Then I worked in Raleigh for the North Carolina Library for the Blind and Physically Handicapped for nearly 29 years until I retired in 1998.”

   “Jay has a younger sister,” she continued. “Her name is Catherine and she works in Houston, Texas as a pediatrician and endocrinologist. She tells me she will soon be taking a job with NIH in Bethesda, Maryland.”

   Sylvia, by the way, is an artist – and a very good one, I might say. She began to paint at age four and has been taking painting classes since 1976. Most of her artwork, saved when she moved out of the family home of 54 years on Raleigh’s Wayland Drive, now adorn the walls of her apartment.

Collards – by Margie Lewin

  Few culinary traditions run as deep as collards in North Carolina. This leafy green claims one of the longest growing seasons of any in North Carolina’s crops, and is oftentimes all that remains in home gardens and farms come January. On New Year’s Day, tables are filled with foods that symbolize luck and money: black-eyed peas, cornbread, ham and collards, the last of which resemble dollar bills and are believed to invite prosperity. Just like the New Year, collards return again and again to nourish and delight, bringing with them hope and a sense of State pride.

   In downtown Ayden, N.C., there is even a Collard Festival parade that includes live music, art shows, food trucks and more. this event is 50 years old.

Lebanon – by Richard Smalto

   When I was in the army, I belonged to the 48^th armored infantry an outfit stationed in Europe that lost its colors in Korea because it ran. Colors are critical to the success of an army. They mark the location of the commander and serve as a rallying point for the troops. In the chaos of battle the ability to maintain a formation is critical to the army’s success. Because of the use of modern weapons and a change in tactics, colors are no longer carried into battle. However, in the past an elite corps of soldiers protected the colors and it was considered a great feat of arms to capture them.

   As a result of this tradition, we watched with a great deal of curiosity and a certain degree of trepidation as each company came to full strength while the remainder of the battalion was put into a state of readiness and complete mobilization. Reorganized and ready one evening. the German girls we were drinking beer with told us not to go to bed that night. That night at two o’clock in the morning we were awakened and mustered to be deployed we knew not where. Loaded onto large troop transport trucks, we moved to an airfield staging area where we waited to be told what our mission was.  We drank coffee as airplane engines came to life and non-commissioned officers scurried about. Engines roaring, hearts pounding, the order came to send us back.

   Later that day, in the barracks, we learned that Eisenhower decided to give us a chance to recover our colors by sending us into Lebanon to keep the peace. Before the order could be carried out, he changed his mind and told the generals to send in the marines. He said because he thought the 48^th would muck it up again.

Somethin’ Fishy: A Fish Tale – by Frank Howes

   Once upon a time there was a group of men fishing for herring in a branch that ran into Contentnea Creek in eastern North Carolina. This was in the mid-sixties when the herring and shad were still thick in the rivers and streams when they ran in early April. On this particular occasion, the men were fishing at night, and while they waited for their nets to fill, they told tales around a campfire.

   Among those around the campfire was a young man named Eddie and a wizened old man named Mr. Tom.

   Eddie was a classic Southern good-ol’ boy and a former high school football star. He was competitive to a fault, and sometimes given to bragging.

   Mr. Tom was a laconic old tobacco farmer who was fond of a good joke.

   This evening, the conversation, naturally enough, turned to fish stories: who had caught the biggest fish, what was the best fish bait, and so forth. Many people told their story, but after each one, Eddie told a story about a bigger fish. People around the fire were obviously getting impatient with Eddie’s one-upmanship.

   Finally, at just the right moment, Mr. Tom started talking. He told a story about a bass he pursued in 1934. “I was a’ter this bass one time in ol’ man Corbett’s pond. I seen him jump once or twice. He was huge, but I could never catch him. Hooked him a couple o’ times, but he got away every time. I was bound and determined to catch that fish, so I kept working at it.

   “But that was a smart fish. He never bit on the same bait twice. I started out using worms. Then I used crickets, and later I tried grubs from a wasp nest. Each time I hooked him he got wiser. Like I said, that was a smart fish.”

   Determined to outdo Mr. Tom, Eddie said “Yeah, I’ve caught some big bass, but I like artificial lures, especially rubber worms. One time I caught an 11-pound bass on a rubber worm. Man, did he put up a fight.” He paused a moment, then said, “Mr. Tom, did you ever catch that fish.”

  “Yeah, I finally caught him. I outsmarted him.”

   “What’d you catch him on Mr. Tom?”

   Straight faced, without the slightest gleam in his eye, Mr. Tom said, “Castor oil.”

   “Castor oil‽ How’d you catch a fish with castor oil‽”

   “Well, I found out where that fish was a-layin’ up. I started feedin’ him regular one day. I fed him all the baits I’d used – worms, crickets, grubs, all his favorite foods. And then I used the castor oil, and I caught him!”

   “I still don’t get it, Mr. Tom. How’d you catch him with castor oil?”

   “Well, I soaked some bait in castor oil, and I fed it to him. I fed him ‘til he couldn’t eat no more, and that’s how I caught him.”

   “What,” said Eddie, “I still don’t understand how that helped you catch that fish.”

   “Well, that fish was so full, he was about to bust open, and when he crawled up on the bank to take a crap, I just reached down and picked him up.

   “Man,” Mr. Tom continued, “that was a whopper! It might have been a mite smaller than your eleven-pound whopper, but that was a big ‘un!”

It’s Never too late…

Olive – The Cat with Seven Lives – by Pat Simpson

   Recently my daughter Diana took her two boys, Charlie & Johnnie on a trip to Maine, specifically to Long Cove Artist Cottage, a rustic little self-contained Maine cottage on Deer Isle, located about 20 miles out in Penobscot Bays – a perfect retreat: everything they would need in one location – walking, swimming, and boating.

   The boys love animals, and when they met Olive the cat, it was love at first sight. Olive was very friendly, but her patchy fur seemed to indicate she was still on the mend from an injury. Her owner & host, Judith, said she was taken by a Bald Eagle but somehow got away and survived the attack, crawled home, and managed to get patched back together.

   “Olive was alone and covered in tree sap and very sick when I found her,” Judith explained. “After a lot of baths and medication, she was finally well enough to move back in.”

   “Wow,” said Johnnie, “I’m glad she’s alright.”

   “So am I,” said Charlie. “I’ll bet she has nightmares1”

   Olive, now on the bed where they had placed her, looked up as if she wanted to talk. As you know, cats can’t talk. But I’ll bet you didn’t know they could think…

   “You don’t know the half of it,” thought Olive. “Not only can I think, but I do have nightmares…let me tell you why…I was minding my own business – as cats always do – when ‘Bam!’ something hit me on my back. It really hurt! And I immediately felt myself being lifted from the ground. Something was pinching my back and I was getting higher and higher…so high that I thought I was looking down from Heaven.

   “That’s when I lost the first of my nine lives.

   “Suddenly, whatever or whoever it was, let me go. That’s when I fell from the sky. And that’s when I lost my second life.

   “It wasn’t until much later (as my mom Judith explained to me) that I learned eagles drop their prey to incapacitate them. They will use their strong talons to grab them and throw them off a high cliff. After they drop dead from free-fall, the eagle will devour them.

   “All I can say is that the next thing I knew, I awoke in the forest the following morning. I was surrounded by dampness, mud, and an overwhelming sense of isolation. My body bore the marks of the harrowing experience, with bruises on my neck, shoulder, and ankle. My right eye was swollen shut and I felt a wave of dizziness wash over me. I came to the grim realization that I had survived a great fall through the forest. Overhead, I could hear the cry of an eagle but the dense canopy of trees obscured me from its view.

   “What now?” I thought. “But I realized I had no choice. I had to confront the daunting challenge of surviving alone in the treacherous cold forests of Maine – and I would have to use every survival skill as well.

   “Aware that I couldn’t stay there forever, I decided to venture into the forest. I carefully treaded forward, one step at a time, as a precautionary measure to avoid stepping on hidden snakes or insects. I repeated this process – stepping and listening – repeating the cycle as I forged my way through the treacherous terrain.

   “I had no food, and when thirst struck, I resorted to licking water droplets from tree leaves. Determined to find civilization and home, I followed a small creek, hoping it would lead me to a larger river and eventually to help. Days without sustenance took their toll. I succumbed to hallucinations. With sheer determination I somehow managed to persevere.  However, I heard a voice that seemed too real to be a mere figment of my imagination. It was Judith! She emerged from the forest, took me home and provided me with food and tended to my injuries.

   “It was Judith who gave me healing. It was Judith who gave me the care I desperately needed.

   “Judith, I am but a cat; but I still have seven lives and I’ll be your friend forever!”

   P.S.  It wasn’t until later that I learned that Judith could have protected me with a “raptor shield”. You know – Protects against raptors. birds of prey: hawks, owls, eagles – like the one that almost got me. You can also get something like a spike vest or a coyote vest. What eagle in its right mind would want to attack cute little me? It would get a mouthful of spikes!”

Our First Wedding Anniversary: A Note of Thanks from Pat and June Cheek Simpson

    June and I just want everyone to know how grateful and thankful we were for Food and Dietary Director Charlie Banks (C.B.) and his staff’s fabulous treatment of us on Sunday evening, May 21, 2023. Just a couple of days before that I had mentioned in passing to C.B. that Sunday marked our first wedding anniversary. As you may know, June Cheek and I were married right here in the dining room a year ago. We will never forget C.B.’s wonderful food and service at our wedding reception that day.

   Fast forward one year later to Sunday evening – food server Mary Saseen had asked us at lunch-time to be at a certain dining room table at 3:30 pm. We knew that something was up – so we indeed arrived on time. Lo and behold, Mary, assisted by Imani Kelly and Jamaul Bible, brought forward a wonderful round wedding anniversary cake with three candles. She got the crowd to say “Happy Anniversary” as June blew out the candles. It was a wonderful cake (and wonderful prime rib) and we had a wonderful time!

   I pray for C.B. and his staff every day, asking God to grant them the gifts of “helps”, the gift of patience, and the gift of love. God granted all three prayers last Sunday night. June and I would like to thank them from the bottom of our hearts. May they all have one blessed day after another!