They happen so fast; wrecks. In the blink of an eye, one careless motion can change someone’s entire life.
I got behind a UPS truck pulling doubles this morning on the way to work. Ordinarily I would have passed him, but after watching him weave back forth into the fast lane and then all the way onto the opposite shoulder a few times I decided it would be prudent to follow a good way behind until the interstate widened to three lanes. These are the kind of drivers that cause accidents. After a while I watched the truck driver run merge into another lane, running a pickup truck off the road and onto the shoulder. I blew the horn because I felt I needed to do something. It could have been a nasty wreck.
They happen so fast; wrecks. In the blink of an eye, one careless motion can change someone’s entire life. In the time it takes to check a text message someone could brake check you and you’ll be checked out for good.
It is rare that I do not see at least one accident per week on my commute. I have spent hours parked on the interstate behind countless accidents, making me late for work, and more importantly late for home. In April of 2019, I was late for work because of a wreck in Birmingham. As we crawled past the scene I snapped a quick picture with my phone, mainly as evidence for being late. When I finally got to work and had a chance to look at it I was struck by how powerful the image was. Since then, I’ve tried to capture a photograph of every wreck I’ve seen. I’ve captured quite a few over the past year, but I don’t even get half of them. Sometimes it just isn’t safe to try take a picture.
My first wreck photograph. I’ve often wondered about that phone conversation.
It is easy to forget that an inconvenience in schedule for thousands may be fatal for one. While someone is furious about being late to a place that they would rather not go, someone else will never get to speak to a loved one again. I try to think about this when I see a wreck.
I share all of the wreck photos on Instagram. They don’t get a ton of likes. I think because people may feel uncomfortable liking such horrible subject matter. Nevertheless, whenever I meet one of my social media friends in person they always bring up the wreck pictures. It is human nature to want to gawk at calamity, that’s why we rubberneck on the highway, even if we don’t smile about it.
I’m not sure how you look at art, but I like to imagine what is going in the picture. These images all tell a story.
I had a flat on the way home from work. I hope that this is the only time I’m ever featured on Wrecks of the Week.
You can find more wrecks of the week on my Instagram account. As always, thank you for your support.
What’s a slobbering hog to jaybird? What’s a yapping dog to a freight train?
There will always be negative people. They tend to show up to discourage you whenever you’re doing something worthwhile. Like Sanballat and Tobiah did to Nehemiah. The Bible calls these kind of people Sons of Belial (literally sons of a devil). They specialize in running their mouth and not minding their own business.
The paradox of dealing with these people is it seems like you cannot win.
Answer not a fool according to his folly, lest thou also be like unto him. Answer a fool according to his folly, lest he be wise in his own conceit. Proverbs 26:4-5
Some of the best advice I was ever given came from Pastor Jeff Dillon. He told me of a time that he had been in a difficult situation and people had started to talk. So he called his father-in-law, W.C. Parkey to find out what to do. I think he was hoping for some clear direction on what to tell the sons of Belial but Bro. Parkey simply said, “Rise above it.”
Back when I used to listen to a lot more public radio than I do now, I caught the tail end of an interview with some nameless, faceless celebrity-I think it was a comedian- who told of the first time he got sued. He was pretty disheartened at the news for a few days before he received a phone call from Dr. Phil of all people. He was surprised that Dr. Phil knew who he was, much less had his number.
“Hey buddy, I heard you got sued. Don’t worry about it. You ain’t nobody until somebody sues you.”
I can’t remember the comedian, and I have never watched Dr. Phil, but I have drawn encouragement from that statement.
Anything worthwhile will probably be difficult and is guaranteed to have critics. There are art critics, music critics, and literary critics, but I’ve never heard of a stand alone critic, because they have nothing to offer. They can only criticize what is.
For anyone reading this that is planning on doing something worthwhile-and I hope it is everyone- I want to let you know that there will be someone who has no plans to do anything constructive and will use all their energy to keep you from doing anything constructive.
Don’t listen to them. What’s a slobbering hog to a jaybird? What’s a yapping dog to a freight train? Rise above it.
I’ll leave you with a passage from Nehemiah 6:1-3
Now it came to pass when Sanballat, and Tobiah, and Geshem the arabian, and the rest of our enemies, heard that I had builded the wall, and that there was no breack left therein; (though at that time I had not set up the doors upon the gates;) That Sanballat and Geshem sent unto me, saying, Come, let us meet together in some one of the villages in the plain of Ono. But they though to do me mischief. And I sent messengers unto them, saying, I am doing a great work, so that I cannot come down: why should the work cease, whilst I leave it, and come down to you?
The closest I ever came to meeting Mr. Wiltha Kelley in person was delivering hay to his barn a couple of times. By then he had long since retired from teaching agriculture and shop class at Vincent High School. My dad introduced me to Mr. Kelley by recalling his experiences as a student in his class. Even today I feel the influence of Mr. Kelley, a man I only knew by his picture in my parent’s high school yearbook and the power of story telling.
I do not know for sure if Mr. Kelley began his teaching career before or after the integration of the Alabama public school system in the late 60s or early 70s-I think it was around 1970; but I do feel that providence placed Mr. Kelley in the Ag. Shop at Vincent at the right time. He demanded respect from all of his students. The high regard that my dad had for Mr. Kelley is a testament that he not only demanded, but received that respect.
There are only a few accounts that I can recall, but they deserve to remembered. The stories stand for themselves, you can read into them what you may.
Mr. Kelley did not tolerate nonsense.
“My name is W. R. Kelley.” He would introduce himself at the beginning of each school year pronouncing the R as Are-uh. I do hope you know someone that pronounces their R’s in this manner.
There was a student who by description probably had cerebral palsy. His motor skills were undeveloped and he was given to spasms. In the cruelty of humanity, another boy took to poking him with a pin, in Mr. Kelly’s class of all places. The spastic child would react and moan at each offense much to the pleasure of the other kid. Fortunately Mr. Kelly caught the boy in the act.
“Get up here in front of the class.” Mr. Kelley said as he snatched the pin from the hand of the boy. Mr. Kelley poked the bully repeatedly in front of the class.
“Laugh ______! You thought it was funny a minute ago!”
Dad used to tell this story and laugh. I suppose on the surface it is a pretty funny story. But it really happened. I doubt a teacher could get away with such creative disciplinary action today. It seems that Mr. Kelley was not merely interested in imparting the knowledge and skills necessary to meet the requirements of his curriculum, but that they also became good citizens, and more importantly men. I do not merely suppose that a lack of this kind influence in the public school system-and its critical support by the administration and in the home-has been extremely detrimental to society, I am certain of it.
When report cards were issued, Mr. Kelley would require each student to present his report card in front of the class.
“What’s this baby?” Mr. Kelley was well aware that it really messed with some of the boys to be called baby.
“F in English? What language do you speak?” He would ask.
“English.” The failing student would reply.
“Now how you do you plan on communicating if you fail English? You going to learn French?”
“I see you got an A in P.E. Though.” He would reply.
“That’s cause all you know how to do is play. You better start practicing this motion right here.” He would hold out an imaginary spatula and began flipping burgers. “This is what you are training to do.”
Woe to the student caught hugging a girl in the halls between classes. “Have you bought a gallon of milk lately? How much are diapers these days?”
Mr. Wiltha Kelley supervises a student.
My Uncle Jason recalls a time when he was digging a splinter out of his finger with a pocket knife beneath his desk while Mr. Kelley stood at the blackboard teaching.
“Mr. Kelley! Wells has got a knife!” A classmate interrupted the lecture.
Without turning around, Mr. Kelley reached in his pocket and retrieved a pocket knife. “So have I.” He said as he held the knife aloft, a little annoyed at the distraction from the lesson.
When the bell rang Mr. Kelley said to Uncle Jason prvately. “Wells, keep that knife out of sight. Some of these children ain’t used to seeing tools and don’t know understand how to use them.”
My dad was disappointed that Mr. Kelley retired before Zach had a chance to be in his class. “I been looking at the numbers and I’m losing money if I keep on teaching. I’m going to retire. I ain’t putting up with these childrens no more.”
Mr. Gibson ended up replacing Mr. Kelley as the Ag/Shop teacher. Like Mr. Kelley, he was the ad hoc disciplinarian of the school. If you got in trouble you could be sent to Mr. Gibson for punishment. He would make you hold a paint can or a hammer straight out in front of you with your arms parallel with the ground.
Mr. Ted Gibson, a worthy replacement for Mr. Kelley.
It seemed like Mr. Kelley died suddenly. I remember dad being upset. We kept the obituary on the refrigerator for a long time. More than likely it is probably still tucked away in a yearbook somewhere to be discovered by another batch of Wells kids. There are few individuals whose character and integrity cause them to live on from generation to generation in anecdotes and stories. They eventually become legends. Such was, or is, Mr. Wiltha R. Kelley.
Nobody ever waded through a crowd of people at the fair because they smelled a snow cone.
You know are an adult when you start ordering grilled onions on your cheeseburger. You may have suffered from alliumphobia as a kid, but sooner or later you’ll grow up. The smell is what gets you. You can trick people into thinking that you’ve been working up a storm in the kitchen by simply putting an onion in the oven. If you’ve ever been at an outdoor festival, it’s the smell of grilled onions at the polish sausage stand that draws you over. Nobody ever waded through a crowd of people at the fair because they smelled a snow cone. It’s the caramelized onions that draw you.
I hated onions as a kid. I am still not the point where I can take a bite out of a raw onion like Ronnie Spates. Perhaps I’ll work up to that someday. Right now I tolerate raw onion and cilantro that they serve at the taco place, and the occasional slice of onion that comes on that turkey sandwich from Costco. I’m still not overly fond of raw onions, but I am talking about it so that is part of the healing process. Onions are ingredients, not stand alone food. People don’t just walk around eating flour or baking soda do you? I do remember people walking around at Smith’s Grocery eating starch out of the package. The kind of starch you iron your clothes with. “It’s great!” They said. “But my doctor tells me not to do it.” I never understood that. Eating raw flour might make more sense. Do you know any starch eaters?
I remember sitting in the buggy and eating raw hamburger meat straight out of the package at Food World. It was before Lindsay was born, so I guess I was under two years old. It seems like I was mesmerized by the shiny shrink wrap around the ground beef. I poked it with my finger. After a while I made a little hole in the shrink wrap and started eating the raw meat one little nibble at a time. It was the cashier who noticed that the package had a hole in it. Mom frowned at this discovery but never suspected me. I told her a couple years ago. And I just told all y’all. If you are wondering I’m fully recovered. Anyway, I was telling you about grilled onions.
It all started in Winchester, VA. There was a little hole-in-the-wall restaurant called The Snow White Grill. It had been open since the 30s and they were known for tiny little hamburgers. Imagine Krystal burgers, but good. The burgers are-perhaps were, I haven’t been in a while-made from fresh local beef on a flat top grill. They make about forty patties at a time, and they finish them with grilled onions. They take pride in their grilled onions. There is not an option to have a burger without onions and if you ask for no onions they will look at you like you ate the Lord’s supper.
The Grilled onions on the Snow White Grill cheeseburger is what got me. It was a completely new way to experience a burger. Like seeing your childhood neighborhood in a different city. One with a Chick Fil A. It’s like going from arithmetic to quantum mechanics. Or Perhaps just algebra. I’m not entirely sure what all quantum mechanics entails. Grilled onions on your cheeseburger makes it deluxe. Like the familiar standard model, but way better.
Maybe you already know this and have been putting grilled onion on everything from cheeseburgers to ice cream for years. You probably eat raw onions too. But some of y’all have never tried grilled onions on your cheeseburger, and if you’ve read this far so you might as well go do it. Just be sure it’s at a reputable hamburger place. I recommend Hamburger Heaven or Milo’s. And let met know about it.
Bacon Cheeseburger with Grilled Onions from Hamburger Heaven
Mostly From Memory 