Remembering Mississippi: A Place That Never Leaves You

I haven’t lived in Mississippi since 1987. That’s pushing forty years now—four decades since I packed up my life, left the Magnolia State, and planted myself in south-central Kentucky, mostly Bowling Green, where I’ve been ever since 1988. But every now and then, something stirs the dust of those old memories, and suddenly Mississippi doesn’t feel far away at all. It feels like yesterday. What brought it all flooding back this time was the news about Lane Kiffin. The Ole Miss football coach decided to bail on the Rebels and head to LSU for a whole lot more money. The move left the players hanging, the administration scrambling, and the fans and alumni feeling sucker-punched. And as a proud Ole Miss alum myself, it bothered me too. You don’t abandon the people who poured their hearts into you—not without leaving a bruise. I ended up talking with a former fraternity brother of mine, Dr. Donald Simmons, who now lives in Tupelo. He’s a chaplain down there, still connected to the heartbeat of Mississippi. We reminisced about the old days, and that simple conversation unlocked a whole room full of memories—college days, journalism classes, long nights at the Daily Mississippian, and the people who shaped my young life. Mississippi may be poor in dollars, but it’s rich in soul. Oxford, Ole Miss, and the Spirit That Lingers Oxford was where I became who I was going to be. I studied journalism at Ole Miss, worked at the campus newspaper, and walked the same streets that so many storytellers had walked before me. It was also where I met my wife, Patty—a meeting that would define the rest of my life. Funny how a single place can carry so many beginnings. There’s something about being a freshman at Ole Miss—the buzz on the Square, the Grove on a Saturday, the faces you meet who somehow stay with you long after you leave. The Ole Miss spirit doesn’t fade. You carry it with you. It becomes a part of how you talk, how you laugh, how you remember. Willie Morris and the Writers’ Bench One of the brightest memories from those years was Willie Morris, the late writer-in-residence at the university. Most folks know him for My Dog Skip, but to us journalism and English students, he was something more—our literary uncle, our storyteller-in-chief. Willie was a Southern writer who had lived big in New York City—editor of Harper’s Magazine, Rhodes Scholar, a man who knew both the Delta and Manhattan. And somehow he made Oxford his home. I was one of his groupies. A lot of us were. We’d sit with him at the Hoka, sipping coffee that may or may not have been strengthened with a little bourbon. We’d follow him over to The Gin, drinking White Russians while he talked about life, writing, and Mississippi. Sometimes we’d wind up in his house on Faculty Row—No. 16, if memory hasn’t tricked me—where he’d read to us or listen to whatever half-finished stories we were working on. Those nights had a magic of their own. Dr. Simmons was the one who first introduced me to Willie. I still have several of Willie’s books, all autographed, plus some letters we exchanged through the years. He was generous that way—generous with his time, his words, and his whiskey.

Family Roots in Mississippi Mississippi is also where our son Tony was born, in Pontotoc. Hard to believe he’s 38 now and living his own life up in New Jersey. Funny how something as simple as thinking about Oxford can make the years feel like a stack of old photographs sitting in your lap. And speaking of people from those days, I’m looking forward to reading The Dean by Sparky Reardon, one of our former deans at Ole Miss. Sparky is retired now, but he was a legend when I was there. My stepdaughter, Misty Hale from Taylor, asked what I wanted for Christmas, and I told her plain and simple—an autographed copy of Sparky’s book. That’ll bring back even more memories, I’m sure. Time Moves On, But Mississippi Holds Tight I may have built my life in Kentucky, raised kids, worked different jobs, and grown older, but Mississippi still lives quietly in me. Those eleven years—from 1976 to 1987—were long enough to shape a lifetime. They were good years. Formative years. Years full of friendship, learning, heartbreak, joy, and the unmistakable Southern charm that only Mississippi can produce. Lane Kiffin leaving might sting for a while. Folks in Mississippi have a way of taking loyalty seriously. But coaches come and go. Players come and go. What stays is the spirit—the memories, the people you met, the stories you lived, and the feeling you carry long after you leave Oxford. And even after nearly forty years away, Mississippi still knows my name.

Let's Keep Building Ole Miss Up Rather Than Tearing Her Down By Taking Away Her Traditions And Heritage

The Lyceum

   I knew Willie Morris, Barry Hannah, Dr. Porter Fortune, Ron Shapiro and The Hoka. I knew the Rebel flag, the Rebels, Frat Row, the Dixie Song and Kentucky bourbon in my Coke on a Saturday football fall afternoon. I knew the Spirit of Ole Miss as I graced her hallways in The Lyceum on an early Spring morning or as I sat in a classroom at Bondurant Hall on a long, hot summer day. I knew the beat of her heart when I walked the Grove on a beautiful fall afternoon.

    And I can still hear her calling my name as I am one of thousands of students who knew and loved her as she was. Thirty three years later, it’s not a matter of how much money I have given her through the years. But it’s a matter of how much she has given me. She prepared me for the world, my career and how to be a family man. She made me into a productive and responsible citizen in my community.

My late mother and I in 1986 at Ole Miss

   
She has given me so much more than I could have ever given her. So the question is, “Would we recognize her today? No, I don’t think so. Has her spirit, heart and soul been destroyed? Yes, I think so. The liberals and socialists have crawled all over her like poisonous and diseased insects. So let’s keep building her up rather than tearing her down. Let’s keep her traditions and heritage alive so she will continue to have a positive impact on all of her student’s lives for future generations as she done for mine today. May God Bless Ole Miss and Hotty Toddy! (Pic below: My late mother and I in 1986).

Ole Miss Lives On Forever

Ole Miss is a place. It’s a place that lives on in our hearts and minds whether we are 18 years-old or 94 years-old. It does not matter if you live in Nantucket, Mass., or Bowling Green, Ky., some of us attended school there and some of us did not. Nevertheless, Ole Miss is the place that you see in your mind when you close your eyes and meditate upon her. When I shut my eyes, I can see myself standing in The Grove or The Circle looking at the front of The Lyceum at a moment’s notice. I can still hear the Ole Miss choir standing on the staircase of The Lyceum during my freshman year back in December of 1982 singing Christmas carols to the administration and staff on the last day of school before the holiday break or in Fulton Chapel singing the Ole Miss Mater Song during an Award ceremony in the early Spring. No, we could never be mad at Ole Miss for what she stands for and what she means to us. She lives on forever and our love for will never end.  No one can ever kill our love for her or take away our memories. We will all die one day but she will live on forever creating new memories in the hearts and minds of new students and people from other places from far away and in-between. Hotty Toddy!

SEC Football Is Like A Religion In The Deep South

"SEC Football is like a religion in the Deep South on Saturdays in the fall. I remember when I was Sigma Pi at Ole Miss in the early 80's, I dressed up in my blue blazer, blue button down shirt, plaid tie, Duck Head khaki pants with a flask of whiskey in my back pocket and penny loafer shoes. Now that I'm a lot older, married, own a home, have a grown son and work a full-time job while living in Kentucky all these years, looking back, it all appears
to be a little cultish in some particular aspects of the traditional rituals that revolve around the actual game itself. Indeed the tribes will and do gather on game day. However, everybody else still wants to be like Ole Miss."-Galen A. Smith Sr.