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Thursday, June 24, 2010 Opinion The Brownsville States-Graphic page A4 Calvin's Corner By Calvin Carter, Staff Writer The Brownsville States-Graphic(USPS ISSN 08909938) is published weekly by Haywood County Newspapers L.L.C., 42 South Washington, P.O. Box 59, Brownsville TN 38012. Periodicals postage paid at Brownsville, TN. POSTMASTER: Send address changes to The Brownsville States-Graphic, P.O. Box 59, Brownsville, TN 38012 “A publication of American Hometown Publishing” DEADLINES: News, Monday at Noon • Advertising, Monday at Noon Classified Advertising, Monday at Noon Society news, Monday at Noon Legals, Monday at Noon SUBSCRIPTIONS (PER YEAR): Haywood County $35; In-state $42; Out-of-state $49 Communications with the newspaper must include the author’s signature, address and telephone number. All letters to the editor reflect the opinions of the writer and are not necessarily those of the newspaper. The newspaper is not responsible for unsolicited material. We reserve the right to reject or shorten letter to the editor. 731-772-1172 Brownsville STATES-GRAPHIC Scott Whaley, Editor & Publisher Vicky Fawcett, Office Manager Terry Thompson Sales Manager Ceree Peace Poston Receptionist Calvin Carter, Staff Writer Sara Clark, Graphic Design Josh Anderson Graphic Design Julie Pickard, Staff Writer “Somebody should tell us, right at the start of our lives, that we are dying. Then we might live life to the limit, every minute of every day. Do it! I say. Whatever you want to do, do it now! There are only so many tomorrows.” The prelude to this week’s column is a quote from Pope Paul VI. One could easily argue that those are strong, words to live by. However, even when you think that “there are only so many tomorrows,” it’s still, for some, a little difficult to truly live life to the limit. Personally, I’m try- ing more every day to live my life to the fullest. Not so easy when most of your time is spent doing the things you must do, rather than the things you want to do. This leopard still runs into a few obstacles daily that prevents him from fully changing his spots. And still, maybe that’s the ingredient to life: a balanced recipe of equal parts selfish and equal parts selfless. Anyway this column really isn’t meant to focus on life, but rather, a bit on it’s sibling. You know the one. He…she…it is often in the dark cor- ner of the bar, draped in black, as that authorative friend who has to take you home. Meanwhile, you meet the most beau- tiful person at this bar and whether that persons is a guy or girl, it always introduces itself the same: First name is “Your,” last name is “Life.” As the music plays, and formalities have hap- pened, the two of you get know each other. You either discover enough things out of life to wish for the night to never end. Or life becomes such either too boring, rude or just plain ugly enough for you to want leave the bar immediately. But you don’t have the power to go. It’s never your deci- sion really. Whether or not you feel it’s time to go, your dark friend is still the one holding the keys. We could talk about the soul and what happens to it after death takes you from the bar, but that’s a lengthy and confusing column mingled with personal faith and philos- ophy. So maybe another time. However, discussing what happens to body after death is completely open to me. Something happening to your body is inevita- ble as death itself, after, it’s got to go somewhere. What isn’t set in stone however is the method of laying the body to rest. Normally all we ever hear about these days, as far as body handling methods are burial or cre- mation. The data gather- ing services of statistician aren’t needed to tell me that burial and cremation are the top two funeral methods, at least in the states. However, those aren’t the only options. Zorostrians believe that the body is impure, and thus, should not pol- lute the earth after death. Burial and cremation are out of the question. So what becomes of the body? Well, the bodies are placed on a chosen elevated plateau, dubbed, at least for that funeral session, the “Tower of Silence” where ani- mals and elements will have their way with the remains. Then, when the bones have dried and been bleached by the sun, they are dissolved in lime. For those that believe that the ground is liter- ally beneath them, there are tree burials. The body is wrapped in a shroud or cloth and then pulled up on a tree by crook for decomposing. It’s apparently big by some groups in Australia, British Columbia, Siberia and some portions of this country. Brings a new idea to the term “tree hugger” doesn’t it? However, if you’ve ever dreamed of actually being wrapped around the finger of a loved one, you can do so in the form of a diamond or gem sub- stitute. Lifegems is a business that produces gemstones out of some of the cremat- ed remains of a person. Personally it would make more sense to call them Deathgems, since the gem is composed of dead material, but from a mar- keting standpoint, I could see how that wouldn’t be good for business. Created from the car- bon of the remains or a lock of hair, through a complex process of heavy machinery and heat, a gemstone molecularly identical to natural dia- monds is produced. Not quite sure how I feel about this method. On one hand—ha, on one hand, get it? —it’s some- thing completely different that also leaves behind something nice for your family to remember you by. On the other hand— oh come on, that’s at least giggle worthy—aren’t you transforming your- self into another expen- sive material possession? Okay, this particular possession does hold a significant meaning, just like say a wedding ring, or pocket watch passed along a generation of men. But all those could be easily stolen or lost, especially if it has any monetary value attached to it. But I suppose you could say that about any material possession real- ly. I can’t really judge. I don’t think I want be made into a gem. In fact, really I have never thought about what I want to happen to my body post death, other than donating my organs. I’ve thought more about how I would die than my funeral. I wish I could say that I’ll go out in a blaze of glory, or while doing something that I love. But given my luck, I figure a 50/50 chance of it being something funny or something uneventful. Here’s hoping for some- thing funny. After all, I want people laughing and having a good time at my funeral, not crying. So let me get this straight — our legisla- ture has just designat- ed yet another official Tennessee state song. Apparently they thought seven wasn’t enough. Number eight is “Smoky Mountain Rain,” by Ronnie Milsap. In case you don’t remember your 80’s country music, it is, according to the joint resolution honoring it, a story of “. . . a spe- cial, enduring love of a Tennessee sweetheart and the storyteller’s return to Tennessee and the Great Smoky Mountains in search of that which he holds most dear.” Also, “. . . the Tennessee cities of Knoxville and Gatlinburg are featured as part of the storyline of the song.” Well, O.K. That makes, if you count the four offi- cial bicentennial songs previous legislatures have adopted, 12 offi- cial state songs, an even dozen. There’s our first official state song, “My Homeland, Tennessee,” adopted in 1925. There’s “When It’s Iris Time in Tennessee,” adopted a decade later, then fol- lowed 20 years later by “My Tennessee,” our offi- cial public school song. In 1965, they added “The Tennessee Waltz” which most people think is the “real” state song, and when the national bicentennial came along, the legislature added two more songs to our state jukebox. “The Tennessee Salute” and “Fly Eagle, Fly!” But they didn’t stop there. “Rocky Top,” one of the most hated songs in all of college football, was added in 1982. Then, a decade later, they added another. The song, “Tennessee” joined the state songbook in 1992, followed by “The Pride of Tennessee,” in 1996. Then came the state bicentennial and two more official songs. “My Home Will Always Be in Tennessee” was designat- ed the official Tennessee Bicentennial school song in 1996, and that year we also became the only state in the nation to des- ignate an official state rap song. Our legislature seems to have cornered the market on multiple state songs. While most other states have only one song to sing; we have an entire hit parade. But why stop at a dozen? Why not desig- nate a new state song every year? Have a Tennessee Top Forty ses- sion of the legislature each year in the Grand Ole Opry House where they could announce their selection of the new state song for the year. Or not. And hey, we don’t have an official state Christmas song yet, so may I suggest right now, “Tender Tennessee Christmas,” the Amy Grant version. Another glaring defi- ciency — no official state Elvis song. Can you believe it? A dozen state songs and not a one of them by the King. Surely someone will jump on that. And why should we have two official state songs about East Tennessee and none about West Tennessee? Maybe we should have official state songs for each grand division of the state. But what would the West Tennessee song be? What song represents our entire region? “Blue Suede Shoes” is a true West Tennessee song, written in West Tennessee by a West Tennessean and recorded by two West Tennessee boys who sold millions of copies of it between them, but loca- tion wise, it is generic. The action could just as easily be taking place in Jackson Hole, Wyoming as Jackson, Tennessee, so it doesn’t work. “Memphis,” the Chuck Berry/Johnny Rivers classic, certainly meets the location stan- dard, if you think West Tennessee consists of nothing but Memphis, which much of the state apparently does, but we know better, so “Memphis” won’t do. “Delta Dawn” tells a story set in Brownsville, and it mentions the town by name. It was a huge hit for both Helen Reddy and Tanya Tucker. Surely its claim is as good as that of “Smoky Mountain Rain,” but “Delta Dawn” is a sad, dysfunctional story. “Graceland,” by Paul Simon, is about Elvis’s house, but the song is so funky sounding no one but Paul Simon can make it sound right. So it won’t do either. Now there’s a Rascal Flatts song, “Backwards,” that begins with the line, “I was sitting on a bar stool, in a barbecue joint in Tennessee.” Now we all know West Tennessee is the only part of the state where you can con- sistently find good bar- becue, so it must be a West Tennessee song, but it’s about country music, not West Tennessee. It won’t do. The song, “Ladies Love Outlaws,” is about “. . . a lovely child from West Tennessee” who fell for “. . . an outlaw hard and mean.” That won’t do either. “Nutbush City Limits” isn’t exactly lau- datory about the town, and it’s not exactly the image we’re looking for. Paris, Tennessee, is men- tioned in George and Tammy’s “We’re Not the Jet Set,” and there’s this old Porter Waggoner song called, “The Carroll County Accident,” but Porter’s song is about adultery and “We’re Not the Jet Set” is a celebra- tion of unsophistication. Bad images, both of them. Maybe we don’t need a regional song after all. Maybe we should stop celebrating our unique- ness here and spend more cementing our sim- ilarities. Because you know what? East, West or Middle, we’re all Tennesseans together, and we share one of the grandest heritages in the world. We should forget our regional differences and just be proud to be from Tennessee. But I’m right about the barbecue. By 28th Judicial District Circuit Court Judge Clayburn Peeples Tennessee Hit Parade Death, Taxes and Diamonds
