Where's Bobby Gentry When You Need Her?

This article was first published in the September 5, 1990 issue of The Camden Chronicle. 

Just about the time I say to myself, "Self, I believe I've seen or heard about every dumb thing a bumbling politician or stupid, arrogant bureaucrat can do," one comes up with a new ineptness that baffles the mind.

Here in Michigan we are blessed with the normal amount of bumbling politicians but due to the wealth of the state and the high tax structure, we will put our number of over-bloated bureaucracies up against any state, with the possible exceptions of New York and Massachusetts.

Zilwaukee Bridge collapse, 1987

Some years ago, the Michigan Department of Transportation decided to build a bridge over a Big Sandy-sized river on Interstate 75, north of Detroit*. The span they designed and built would have crossed the Amazon at the river's widest point. The original cost estimate was amazing and the over-runs were atrocious. Before it was finished, a portion of the bridge fell delaying work for months and months. Meanwhile, three departments were pointing the finger at each other with none taking the blame. As usual, the taxpayer felt a mighty surge in his hip pocket.

Now, none of our state departments has committed a blunder that is funny, unless you are a fish. In this particular case, the cost to the taxpayer is low enough that we can laugh about it. The Michigan Department of Natural Resources was testing the effects of coal-fired power plants on the fish in the Muskegon River. The method they used was to put a poison called Rotenone in the water near the return point that the power plants used. Then they would count the number of dead fish that floated to the surface. Unfortunately, they let it get out of hand. The poison floated downstream three miles, merrily killing fish along its way. The department head, David Hales, immediately pleaded guilty.

"We broke the law," he said, "and we'll pay a penalty." He ordered his department to pay two $25,000 fines to the State's General Fund.

"We're no different than anyone else," said Mr. Hales. "We violated the law, so we have to pay."

This brings up two questions. First: When something is dead, can it be counted? Does Benton County count the people buried in Mt. Zion Cemetery in its census? And, if so, does Mary Parker count since she escaped**?

The second question is: since the Rotenone damage to sport fishing in the river is estimated at $100,000, why compound it by giving away $50,000? Why not use that money to repair the damage? Bureaucracies alone may not destroy the state of Michigan but Lordy, Lordy, they sure provide some comic relief.

Editor's Notes:
*   I believe Jim is referring to The Zilwaukee Bridge, located on I-75 over the Saginaw River. 
** For more information about the mystery of Mary Parker, click on the link above. 

And Bobby Gentry's song was one of Jim's favorites. 

The Non-Fiddling Campbellites, The Mary Parker Saga, Part 2

[Originally published in the July 11, 1990 issue of the Camden Chronicle]

Dear Editor:

There are a number of reasons why I write these letters to the Editor. First, I enjoy writing them and, if the letters and phone calls I receive are a true indication, there are some subscribers who enjoy reading them. That pleases me to no end. Then, sometimes other rewards come in surprising ways. Two days ago I answered the doorbell to find a man standing on the porch.

"Are you James Parker?" he cocked his head to one side and narrowed his eyes. Since he carried no net nor wore a badge, I admitted that I was.

"I'm Shannon Parker and the Mary Parker you write about, the one that escaped from her grave at Mt. Zion Cemetery, that was my grandmother." I invited him inside and there followed an hour of animated and enjoyable conversation.

Shannon Parker said he was born in 1919 and spent his early years in Carroll County, mostly in Bruceton. Later, he went to high school in Holladay in Benton County. In 1940, his family moved north, first to Ohio, then to Michigan and, except for a few years making war on the Germans, he has been in the Detroit area since.

He talked of his immediate family.  His wife's picture showed a motherly looking lady with features that must have made her a stunner as a teenager. He passed me pictures of his son, daughter and grandchildren -- beautiful people, blonde and intelligent looking young folk you would claim for your kin, whether they were or not. Only one flaw showed up in Shannon Parker's otherwise perfect character: he belongs to the Church of Christ. A Campbellite! Or, if you remember the vernacular, a "Camelite!"

Now, most Parkers are Methodists, defending and promoting that religion from the rising of the sun til the bats go to roost. Shannon was probably influenced by his wife, who is an English girl and strong-willed, as English girls are wont to be. I can say this because my earliest recollection of going to church was to the Cedar Grove Church of Christ!

Alexander Campbell, ca. 1855

The Church of Christ was founded by a man named Alexander Campbell.  In 1906, a rift over music developed among the adherents of the faith. One group said only the human voice could make a joyful noise until the Lord. Others maintained that the noise would be a lot more joyful if accompanied by an organ or a piano. They split with the No Instruments group referring to the Musical Instrument group as "fiddling Campbellites."

Cedar Grove Church used no instruments; all singing was a cappella. My mother belongs to the faith and was determined that the souls of her children were going to be saved without music. "She believes," said my father, "that music-saved Christians will have to sit on a nail keg in the back row of the Heavenly Church."

They went round and round about that issue, but neither gave in. Dad died a Methodist and Mom, though old and unable to attend the services, still retains her beliefs and her joyful noise is all her own.

I didn't get Shannon Parker's sect affiliation but the next time we meet, I'll ask if he plays a fiddle or uses a tuning fork.

Siblings

[No date noted.]

My sister was on the phone. She is a little older than me and, like most people, still retains childhood jealousies when anything good happens to a younger sibling.

"Saw your picture in the paper," she said, trying to sound disinterested.

Scan of Jim's column headline, circa 1990

"Yes, what did you think of it?" I asked.

"You're looking older, more gray in your hair." She paused. "More wrinkles. And you're putting on weight. How much did you pay them?"

"I didn't pay them anything," I protested. "The paper asked me for the picture, said they wanted to see what I looked like. Is that so hard to believe?"

She ignored my question. "I have to admit when I first saw your picture, I thought you had been arrested and I was glad Daddy is not alive to see it. You know what a law and order man he was, it would have broke his heart."  She hardly stopped for breath. "I bet you didn't read any other story that was in the paper. I bet you just sat and looked at your picture all week."

"I did too read some other stories in the paper. There was a story on the front page about a mussel diver who said he contacted a body while working in 22 feet of water in Kentucky Lake, but then he lost it, then he found it again. But couldn't bring it to the surface."

The thought occurred to me that the body could have been that of our kinswoman, Mary Parker, who escaped from her grave at Mt. Zion Cemetery some months before. Mary had lived down near Harmon's Creek. Maybe that high ground at Mt. Zion was just too dry for Mary and she decided to go swimming.

"Don't go making jokes about a dead person." She sounded pained. "So you read the front page and nothing else?"

"Sure!! I saw the pictures of all the high school graduating kids. A lot of names sounded familiar, I probably know most of the fathers and grandfathers. And that's not all, in the "Liberty News," Andrea Madden wrote about a preacher who had hit the happy trail because he wasn't being paid enough.  In her "Chalk Hill" column, Nell Morrisette mentioned a lady from Ooltewah, Tennessee. That sent me scuttling for my atlas. I never heard of that town before. Sure enough! There it was, in the Southeast corner of the state, a few miles east of Chattanooga. And there are only two people in the obituary section this week, which is a considerable improvement over the last issue."

My sister seemed not to have heard. "I hope," she grunted, "if they print your picture again, they do it in color - not black and white - so the wrinkles will stand out more."