WHEN CLAUS MISSED FROGPOND

As published in the Newport (TN) Plain Talk
December 22, 2011
Column Number: FM 1151

“WHEN MR. CLAUS MISSED FROGPOND”

Sunday evenings after church at the Cracker Barrel are always interesting times. There are some things that are very predictable: my “Atkins-legal” double egg and double bacon order (yes, I’m down 35 and counting, thank you), Larry and Lisa’s unpredictable ordering (if it is his time to pay, it is water for both of them; if it is my time, it is steaks for both of them), Jack’s predictable “No thank you”, Gracie’s predictable baked potato; and – wait for it – a table visit from my long-time buds, Charles McNabb and M.E. Edwards.

By the way, my three years in “Freshman Bonehead English 101” didn’t enable me to come anywhere close to being able to outline that last sentence. Yours?

Charles is always predictably carrying on some delightful foolishment; and M.E. predictably always has some interesting tertiary tidbit to tantalize us; whether it is an old black-and-white photograph, or an “Enka” story, or maybe something from the days-gone-by in Parrotsville. (Since there had only been fourteen presidents when M.E. was in school, they weren’t too difficult to memorize).

Anyway; (or to use the most-hated word of the year – “whatever”)! Moving right along; M.E. wanted me to write a column under the title of our title today. So, I shall endeavor to endure to enact an encouraging endowment to enable you to encircle the subject.

Actually, I cannot remember a time when Santie Claws missed a landing at Frogpond International Airport – at least to at least one of my friends at least. You have to remember that that was way before GPS, “Tom-Toms” and Garmons; smart phones and most dumb phones; and 24/7 newscasts (are you kidding me: that was even before black-and-white television – and color? Forgetaboutit)!

Whether it was a pair of skates with which we could ruin the floor of Mary Mims’ basement; or a bat and ball with which we could break out the windows of any neighbor in hitting range; or a bicycle with which we could try our luck coming down Grammar School Hill or the High School “Walkway-to-Downtown” (the sudden stop at the end of both of these torture devices was generally worth a visit to Fred Marvin’s and Josephine Celeste’s first aid station (which was well stocked with a box of band aids, a little dropper bottle of Mercurochrome, and a jar of Vicks’ Salve.

“Mercurochrome”? Wonder what was in that? Looks like Mercury and Chromium to me – both of which are hazardous waste now, aren’t they? I can’t wait for a commercial from some ambulance-chasing lawyer who intones that I have been injured by prolonged use of mercurochrome; I am due a settlement of a gazillion green American dollars.

On second thought, maybe that is what happened to me! Where’s my ambulance-chaser?

You see, I was Fred and Josephine’s “baby” – translation – “youngest”. “The Big Ugly” and “The Music Man” were six and four years, respectively older than me. So Fred Marvin had to have somebody with whom to “play the game”; so I was elected. I remember I checked out my bicycle which they had hidden over at the Masters’ house across Fifth Street several days before the big day.

Fred Marvin had lung problems which led to Emphysema which led to COPD which led to Heaven; but while he was with us, he had a lot of problems breathing. One Christmas Eve, I heard him carrying my set of barbells (I think they are called free weights now) up from the basement. He was breathing so loudly, he sounded like an obscene phone call. I wanted so desperately to help him; but they loved to play the game; so who was I to spoil their fun – even though I knew, and they knew I knew; and I knew they knew I knew.

My gift was usually wrapped in the color comics section of the Sunday Newspaper. I think that was because “The Big Ugly” thought that was cute or something. Seems kind of juvenile, now that I think about it.

Whatever! It was always a fun time of the year; with lights and colors and sights and sounds; and sometimes, even a visit from Santa Claus when he could get directions to Frogpond. Remember, that was before the printing press so maps were non-existent and the Frogpond Post Office (with its zero mile marker) had burned the year before!

One Personality that was always there; but especially showed up at Christmas was The Lord Jesus Christ! He was the Object of our Church Services and Christmas Carols; and He did not need a map to find the hearts of a lot of the kids that grew up in Frogpond. It would really be interesting to know just how many of those kids accepted Jesus Christ as personal Savior while a resident of Frogpond, Tennessee.

So, to be politically incorrect for the umpteenth time – Merry Christmas, everyone – or Merry CHRISTmas! (It IS named for Him, you know!)



Tom Mooty currently serves the West End Baptist Church as Senior Pastor; and writes this column for the Thursday edition of the “Newport (TN) Plain Talk”. Mooty appreciates all your comments (especially the good ones). He is a published author and can be contacted at tommooty05@comcast.net or at P.O. Box 851; Newport, TN 37822.

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