Podcast appearances and mentions of lemon street

A long awaited multimillion regeneration plan for the Grafton street area is finally due to get underway in the coming weeks. The project involves a revamp of South Anne Street, Duke Street and Lemon Street. We discuss this project with Olivia Kelly, Dublin Editor Irish Times.

MDJ Script/ Top Stories for November 5th Publish Date:  November 5th    Commercial: From the BG Ad Group Studio, Welcome to the Marietta Daily Journal Podcast.    Today is Tuesday, November 5th and Happy Birthday to Brian Adams. ***11.05.24 - BIRTHDAY – BRIAN ADAMS*** I'm Dan Radcliffe and here are the stories Cobb is talking about, presented by Credit Union of Georgia.  1.      Cobb, Marietta Teachers of the Year Receive New Cars 2.      1 Dead, 1 Injured in Austell Shooting 3.      Gun Brought to Marietta Preschool All of this and more is coming up on the Marietta Daily Journal Podcast, and if you are looking for community news, we encourage you to listen and subscribe!    BREAK: CU of GA (06.26.24 CU OF GA FREE CHECKING_REV_FINAL)   STORY 1:  Cobb, Marietta Teachers of the Year Receive New Cars At the Cobb Chamber of Commerce's Marquee Monday luncheon, the top three Teachers of the Year from Cobb County School District and Marietta's Teacher of the Year received year-long car leases from Voyles Automotive Group, including insurance coverage. Each teacher selected a car from a dealership, with Marietta's Maria Nelson choosing a gray 2025 Kia Telluride. Cobb's overall Teacher of the Year, Karen Wright, selected a white 2024 Honda Pilot. The event celebrated their achievements with videos highlighting their impact. Both Wright and Nelson will compete for Georgia Teacher of the Year, with a chance to keep their cars permanently if they win. STORY 2:     1 Dead, 1 Injured in Austell Shooting Over the weekend, a shooting at a home in Austell resulted in one death and one injury. Cobb County Police responded to the incident on Linworth Boulevard around 12:30 a.m. Sunday. Jeffrey Moore, 54, of LaGrange, Georgia, died from his injuries, while another 44-year-old man from LaGrange is in stable condition. Police arrested 42-year-old Courtney Rashun Woullard of Austell at the scene. Woullard faces charges including murder and aggravated assault and is held without bond. The investigation is ongoing, and anyone with information is urged to contact the Cobb Police Major Crimes Unit. STORY 3:  Gun Brought to Marietta Preschool In an email to families, Christine Ramirez, director of Marietta's Emily Lembeck Early Learning Center, reported that a child brought a loaded handgun to preschool. The Marietta Police Department found that the child's regular backpack was broken, and the parent unknowingly sent the child with a different bag containing the weapon. There was no intent to harm, and the gun was not displayed in class. The investigation is ongoing to determine if charges are necessary. Ramirez invited parents to contact her with questions, and praised the handling of the situation by the child and teacher.     We have opportunities for sponsors to get great engagement on these shows. Call 770.799.6810 for more info.    We'll be right back    Break: DRAKE (Drake Realty (Cobb County)   STORY 4:  'Record Breaking' Early Turnout in Cobb Could Mean Short Election Day Lines Ahead of Election Day, 53% of eligible residents and 61% of active voters in Cobb have already voted, with 293,623 in-person votes and 20,960 absentee ballots, according to Elections Director Tate Fall. Across Georgia, a record 4 million voters cast early ballots, surpassing previous records. Secretary of State Brad Raffensperger highlighted the success of the early voting period, noting that 92 of Georgia's 159 counties exceeded 50% turnout. The Georgia Supreme Court ruled that absentee ballots must be received by 7 p.m. on Election Day to be counted. Polls will be open from until 7 p.m. today, with specific locations serving as polling sites. STORY 5:  Marietta Relaunches Free Preschool Program with United Way Marietta City Schools, in partnership with the United Way of Greater Atlanta, is relaunching its free preschool program, Learning Spaces, starting mid-November. This program offers early learning and play sessions for children under five and their caregivers, aiming to enhance social interactions and provide developmental support tools. Sessions will be held three days a week at various Marietta locations, including the YELLS Building, GraceLife Church, and 353 Lemon Street. All sessions are free, and caregivers can register on-site. The initiative supports early literacy and aims to make learning accessible and supportive for families.   We'll be back in a moment    Break: Ingles Markets (Cereal Options) 1 STORY 6:  KSU Preserving Legacies of U.S. WWII Veterans, Civil Rights Participants Kennesaw State University's Center for the Advancement of Military and Emergency Services is preserving the legacies of U.S. veterans who fought in WWII and participated in the civil rights movement. Funded by the Veterans Legacy Grants Program, the project, led by Kristin Horan and Chris Hess, involves collecting life histories of Georgia's veterans. The team is identifying individuals from records at major cemeteries and plans to create a museum exhibition. Six undergraduate research assistants are involved, using resources like Ancestry.com. The project aims to honor veterans' contributions and facilitate K-12 learning through a traveling exhibit. STORY 7:     Music mastermind Quincy Jones dies aged 91 Quincy Jones, the legendary music impresario who shaped American music and the careers of stars like Michael Jackson, has passed away at 91. Surrounded by family in Bel Air, his death marks the end of a seven-decade career that spanned jazz, pop, and hip-hop. Jones was a pioneering Black executive in the music industry, winning 28 Grammys and producing iconic works like Michael Jackson's "Thriller." He also contributed to film and TV, producing "The Fresh Prince of Bel-Air." Tributes from figures like Al Sharpton and LL Cool J highlight his transformative influence on culture and music.   Break: Marietta Theatre (06.10.24 MARIETTA THEATRE MARGARITAVILLE_FINAL)   Signoff-   Thanks again for hanging out with us on today's Marietta Daily Journal Podcast. If you enjoy these shows, we encourage you to check out our other offerings, like the Cherokee Tribune Ledger Podcast, the Marietta Daily Journal, or the Community Podcast for Rockdale Newton and Morgan Counties. Read more about all our stories and get other great content at www.mdjonline.com Did you know over 50% of Americans listen to podcasts weekly? Giving you important news about our community and telling great stories are what we do. Make sure you join us for our next episode and be sure to share this podcast on social media with your friends and family. Add us to your Alexa Flash Briefing or your Google Home Briefing and be sure to like, follow, and subscribe wherever you get your podcasts. Produced by the BG Podcast Network   Show Sponsors: ●        www.ingles-markets.com  ●        www.cuofga.org  ●        www.drakerealty.com ●        www.mariettatheatresquare.com   #NewsPodcast #CurrentEvents #TopHeadlines #BreakingNews #PodcastDiscussion #PodcastNews #InDepthAnalysis #NewsAnalysis #PodcastTrending #WorldNews #LocalNews #GlobalNews #PodcastInsights #NewsBrief #PodcastUpdate #NewsRoundup #WeeklyNews #DailyNews #PodcastInterviews #HotTopics #PodcastOpinions #InvestigativeJournalism #BehindTheHeadlines #PodcastMedia #NewsStories #PodcastReports #JournalismMatters #PodcastPerspectives #NewsCommentary #PodcastListeners #NewsPodcastCommunity #NewsSource #PodcastCuration #WorldAffairs #PodcastUpdates #AudioNews #PodcastJournalism #EmergingStories #NewsFlash #PodcastConversationsSee omnystudio.com/listener for privacy information.

El agua está en todas partes. Usamos agua para beber, cocinar, y más. Necesitamos agua para vivir, pero la mayoría de personas no pueden hablar de agua fuera del uso de los humanos. En este podcast hablamos sobre el agua en tres partes: la historia del agua, la relación con el comercio, y la visualización de las vías fluviales en Lancaster, Pennsylvania. Los tres expertos de este tema son Randy Harris un historiador y empleado de la Sociedad Histórica en Lancaster County; Jim Gerhart un nativo de Lancaster empleado jubilado del Servicio Geológico de los Estados Unidos; y Steve Sylvester un empleado jubilado de la universidad Franklin y Marshall en el departamento la Tierra y el medio ambiente. Jack Howell conduce la entrevista. El enfoque de esta parte en la entrevista es la historia del agua. Comenzamos con la visualización de Lancaster hace 300 años. Hay bosques, nativos americanos, colonos, y mucha agua. El agua es una fuente de vida porque las personas usan el agua para razones domésticas e industriales, pero el agua también trae obstáculos. La entrevista continúa aproximadamente a 1830 antes de la guerra civil. Al escuchar, aprenderás sobre la historia del agua y la historia de Lancaster también.  ¡WLCH Radio Centro te invita a escuchar la entrevista! Vas a oír los nombres de calles familiares como King Street y Lemon Street cuando los expertos hacen comparaciones con el pasado. La entrevista provee más detalles y perspectivas que da a los oyentes una mejor comprensión de la tópica de agua y la ciudad en la que vives.

Growing up just south of Kenosha in Gurnee, Aaron Hunzinger was a tinkerer – he had a fascination with taking things apart and seeing what made them work. Also a young subscriber of Mini-Truckin magazine, he developed a love for cars at a young age. Evanston Awning Company, has been going strong for five generations. How does an awning company stay relevant in a world of air-conditioning? They create awnings for numerous films and TV shows for period sets in Chicago and the area, starting with “The Untouchables” in 1987, leading to run-ins with numerous Hollywood celebrities over the years.  However, when the working day is done, that's when Aaron really starts to shine as the operator of AHdidit – his little hobby of creating lamps caught the eye of a pretty woman he met who encouraged him to see his creations as art, which led to a few exhibitions at Lemon Street and the Chicago “Tour of the Chi-Tower.” Today, Aaron is a proud family man who still loves to create, whether it's still making lamps, or creating leather items. But now his working space has grown and he has returned back to one of his earliest loves – working on cars in fun and interesting ways. Follow AHdidit on all those social media accounts, including Facebook and Instagram, and if you have any interest in seeing him hard at work, check out his live feeds on YouTube and TikTok! This episode was recorded on January 29, 2024 at the A+ Mobility Recording Studio – home of Ktown Connects! Law Offices of Frank J. Parise, 7001 30th Ave Shannyn Franklin – ReMax Newport Elite Franks Diner, 508 58th St Aason Hunzinger of AHDidIt Union Park Tavern, 4520 Eighth Ave. Public Craft Brewing Company 628 58th St Casey Family Options Funerals & Cremations, 3016 75th St About Time Moving Systems Vintage Underground, 5817 Sixth Ave Wink Beauty Boutique, 10909 Sheridan Rd The Port of Kenosha Beverage House RockIt Optical Eyewear, 815 57th St, 2nd floor Get your Ktown Connects merchandise at The Lettering Machine, 725 50th St. Drop us an email at ktownconnects@yahoo.com Find us on Facebook, Instagram, Tiktok, and Twitter – and at ktownconnects.com Theme song performed by Dropping Daisies, written by James “Red” McLeod. Your hosts are Donny Stancato and Jason Hedman Get additional episodes early and ad-free, along with bonus material with this week's guest and more great exclusive material by becoming a patreon supporter! Click here for more! 

A person was killed Friday after being buried by a collapsed trench at a Smyrna home. The collapse occurred at a home on Wells Drive, according to Smyrna Fire Department spokesperson Eric Mohrmann. The incident occurred Friday afternoon while the person was working in the trench, MDJ news partner Fox 5 Atlanta reported. Mohrmann said responding firefighters found the person fully buried upon arrival and initiated a “trench rescue.” First responders also called in back-up from additional Smyrna Fire Department units and Cobb County Fire and Emergency Services, per Mohrmann. Mohrmann said the person was confirmed dead at the scene, and the Cobb County Medical Examiner's Office and U.S. Occupational Safety and Health Administration has been contacted. Officials have not disclosed the identity of the person who was killed.   Cobb County commissioners are considering changing the county's stormwater management fees from what Chairwoman Lisa Cupid called an “inequitable” system Tuesday. But what form those changes might take remains very much open for discussion after an afternoon work session on the subject. Presently, residents who live in unincorporated Cobb pay a stormwater fee to the county based on their water usage. Customers with more water usage therefore pay more for stormwater service. But Judy Jones, Cobb's water system director, noted that arrangement isn't reflective of who generates the most runoff, which has more to do with impervious surface area — pavement, buildings, and the like. Jones provided commissioners with the example of a drug store and a fast food restaurant. Though the drug store could generate more runoff by having a larger impervious surface area (a bigger parking lot, for example), the restaurant would pay more for stormwater by virtue of its higher water use. The example also applies to thousands of customers who live outside a city limit but purchase their water from a city. That means they don't pay the county for stormwater services. About 5,000 such customers, for example, live in unincorporated Cobb to the east of Marietta proper. The proposed change would shift the stormwater calculation to one based off impervious surfaces, which according to Jones is the preferred method of more than 60 jurisdictions in Georgia. The discussion originated with last year's floods which caused millions in property damage in east Cobb. In the aftermath, the county repeatedly said it doesn't have the resources to conduct all the maintenance its system needs, and the proposal to explore a fee change was floated as a way to provide stormwater with its own dedicated revenue source. But County Manager Jackie McMorris said changing the fee structure wouldn't be a “panacea” for severe flooding issues. It will still be up to the board, Jones said, if it pursues the impervious-based stormwater fee and whether it would come with any expansion of services. The county could also cut some services, like maintenance on certain detention ponds which were dedicated to the county.   Marietta is set to host the third annual Lemon Street Classic at Marietta High School, December 17-20. The boys high school basketball event, which will have 31 games over three days and highlight 25 schools, including seven ranked in the top 10 of their respective classifications, is presented by Superior Plumbing. Ranked schools include Number 1s Alexander in Class 6A and McDonough in Class 4A. Eagles Landing in Number 2 in Class 5A, Lovett is Number 3 in Class 4A, Dutchtown is ranked seventh in Class 5A, North Cobb Christian comes in ninth in Class 2A and Etowah is 10th in Class 6A. There are also four teams from out of state — Albany Academy from New York, Louisville-Western from Kentucky, Blythewood from South Carolina and Christ School from North Carolina. The Lemon Street Classic is played in honor of the former Lemon Street School and its athletes. Lemon Street was a place of community and pride for the Black community in Marietta and throughout Cobb County. The last graduating class was in 1966 before its integration with Marietta High School. Marietta, which will play its first game of the event at 8 p.m. against North Cobb Christian, will once again wear the throwback Lemon Street jerseys during the tournament. While the Lemon Street Classic has been planned all year, Pope will also host a tournament next weekend which was taken over close to the last minute. Alpharetta was originally supposed to host the event, but because of unforeseen circumstances, could not. Instead it will be the Pope-Alpharetta Holiday Tournament.  Like Santa's sleigh minus the reindeer, a CobbLinc bus laden with presents is traveling around Cobb County this week collecting Christmas gifts for local kids whose families can't afford presents. The “Stuff-A-Bus” toy drive, which kicked off Tuesday, is a partnership between the Cobb County Department of Transportation, CobbLinc and Cobb Christmas Inc., a volunteer-run nonprofit whose sole purpose is providing toys to kids at Christmastime. Toys can be donated at any location on the bus's itinerary, which runs through Thursday. Locations include Wellstar Health Park Acworth, the Kennesaw State University campus and Laseter's Tavern in Vinings. Cobb Christmas gives at least three toys to each child, which are distributed at Marietta's Center for Family Resources in large black bags so parents can keep the toys hidden until Christmas. According to Cobb Christmas, last year's drive provided toys to roughly 1,000 children. The full schedule for Stuff-A-Bus bus can be found at Cobb Christmas dot net slash stuff dash a dash bus. New, unopened toys may also be dropped off at the Cobb Christmas distribution site, IAM Lodge 709 on South Marietta Parkway from 9 a.m. to 4 p.m today. Kennesaw State University senior Bonga Maswanganye (Mas-Wang-An-Yee) said it was an often-misunderstood hobby that led him to his now promising career path as a programmer and virtual designer. The Marietta resident and computer game design and development major is set to graduate December 15 and go to work in the video game industry after picking among several offers. Bonga hasn't only prepared for his career through coursework and theory at KSU. For several semesters, he worked at KSU's Realities Lab within the College of Computing and Software Engineering, developing virtual reality games on which local businesses train their employees. Kevin Markley, virtual reality software developer and Realities Lab manager, said Bonga wasn't just a worker at the lab - he was a major part of its success during the coronavirus pandemic's disruptions and beyond. When students and employees alike had to shift in a weekend to working from home, the lab's team still had project deadlines looming with three companies. Kevin said Bonga was one of the main reasons those projects for companies, including Cobb EMC, stayed on track. Kevin said Bonga, who he called an "avid seeker of knowledge," kept working over the summer, even as he'd traveled to South Africa to visit family, to make sure any project bugs were addressed and lab needs filled. Kevin is excited for Bonga, and a little jealous of his future co-workers in the gaming industry. Christmas is a special time of celebration for families. Unfortunately, too many hard-working families find themselves coming up short at holiday time and are unable to provide Christmas toys for their children. This year, Mount Paran Christian School's high school Beta Club and National Honor Society members joined forces with Mission 1:27. During the week of November 28 to December 2, MPCS sponsored a school-wide toy collection, with families, faculty and staff contributing more than 500 toys and donations with a retail value in excess of $11,000. Approximately 30 Beta Club and NHS high school students gathered the new, unwrapped toys and assisted with the Mission 1:27 Christmas Market shopping event on December 10. At the Mission 1:27 Christmas Market, families who are struggling financially found the latest and greatest toys and gifts at greatly reduced prices. All items were priced at 75-80% off retail, thus allowing families in challenging times to afford Christmas gifts for their children. The Mission 1:27 Christmas Market provides a unique giving opportunity because it provides three gifts in one: The gift of a toy at Christmas for a child whose parents might not otherwise be able to afford one. The gift of joy and dignity for the parents who are able to provide for their families and to select that perfect gift for their child. The gift of community as volunteers work together to stock the toy store with gifts that children will cherish. This is the second year that MPCS student volunteers have supported Mission 1:27 Christmas Market, but 2022 marks the first year that the school hosted a toy collection drive as part of the third annual MPCS Family Christmas event.        See omnystudio.com/listener for privacy information.

I Was Arrested   (I took this selfie to send to Deb Quimby to thank her for the socks and the necklace for Christmas)   I woke up thinking about the kinds of questions Joe Exotic would just love to be able to ask me once I am called as a witness in his murder for hire trial.  He's wanted to debate me for a decade now because he believes if he says something people will believe him.  I know he will insist that his attorney ask if I killed Don and will go on and on about it for as long as the judge will allow.  As part of that he'll probably ask if I was arrested, and it turns out that I was actually arrested once.   I think it would have been around 1988, when my mother had told me that Chuck needed my house that they had built for me in Odessa a few years prior.  I had moved out, and Chuck moved in, but the house was still in my name.  Apparently the dog catcher cited Melissa (Chuck's wife at the time) for not having a rabies tag on their dog.  The citation was to Ms. Stairs at 11306 Castleberry Road, Odessa, FL 33556.  When they never acted on the citation, it became a warrant.  See 8/11/1989.   When I buy houses at tax deed sales, and from foreclosure sales, I don't get keys, so I have to break in and change the locks.  People would be astonished how easy it is to wiggle a window for a minute or two to make the latch come undone.  That's what I was doing one day when a neighbor called the police.  When I gave the officer my driver's license the outstanding warrant matched with my last name and the address.  They put me in the back of their cruiser and took me to jail, where I was finger printed and put in a holding cell while Don drove in separately to post my bond and bring evidence that we owned the home I was breaking in to.   I wasn't there very long and I was held alone, so it wasn't as terrifying as it could have been.  I'm claustrophobic so being in a cage and not being able to see out a window had me close to hyperventilating.  Don thought the whole thing was hilarious.  Now he could say he wasn't the only jailbird in our family.     I had my day in court.  Don didn't come, nor did he offer to provide me with a lawyer.  I couldn't afford one.  It wasn't as bad as it sounds, because I represented us pro se all the time in evictions against our tenants and foreclosures because we both thought attorney's were just too expensive and typically mucked things up to have more billable hours.   I was a single mom at the time and Jamie had to go to court with me.  She saw me cry in frustration at the situation.  That made Jamie cry.  I didn't want to throw my brother under the bus so I pled that I'd never had a dog while living there and didn't live at that address at the time, by showing electric bills and such from Lemon Street.  The case was dropped.  I don't know if it was from the evidence or just because the judge didn't want a mother and child crying over such a stupid warrant.    In retrospect, how bizarre that you can be arrested for not having a rabies tag on a dog but no one has ever been arrested for not having a rabies shot on file for their tigers.  The law says that any possessed animal, capable of contracting rabies, must be vaccinated against it.  There are no rabies vaccines that have been tested effective on any wild animal and most places that keep big cats don't vaccinate them at all because there is no evidence that the vaccines are effective.  We vaccinate all of our cats, big and small, but we are held to a much higher standard than the criminals we are trying to shut down.    Hi, I'm Carole Baskin and I've been writing my story since I was able to write, but when the media goes to share it, they only choose the parts that fit their idea of what will generate views.  These are my views and opinions. If I'm going to share my story, it should be the whole story.  The titles are the dates things happened. If you have any interest in who I really am please start at the beginning of this playlist: http://savethecats.org/   I know there will be people who take things out of context and try to use them to validate their own misconception, but you have access to the whole story.  My hope is that others will recognize themselves in my words and have the strength to do what is right for themselves and our shared planet.     You can help feed the cats at no cost to you using Amazon Smile! Visit BigCatRescue.org/Amazon-smile   You can see photos, videos and more, updated daily at BigCatRescue.org   Check out our main channel at YouTube.com/BigCatRescue   Music (if any) from Epidemic Sound (http://www.epidemicsound.com) This video is for entertainment purposes only and is my opinion.  Closing graphic with permission from https://youtu.be/F_AtgWMfwrk  

It's the Kenosha equivalent of Avengers:End Game, but with a lot less death, when Ktown Connects collaborates with fellow podcasters, Shelby Nesmith and Jake Hoey of The ArtSpace Podcast! You can find their podcast where ever you found this one, and click here to follow them on Facebook.We dive in with Shelby, who is also the Development Coordinator at the Lemon Street Gallery and ArtSpace, 4601 Sheridan Road.Jake has been down this path before, to hear more from him, listen in to our 2020 episode with Jake here.Follow Jake's Kenosha Area Weather Page here!This episode was recorded on Monday, September 26th at Luigi's Pizza Kitchen, 7531 39th AvenueBig thanks to our sponsors:Acupuncture and Wellness of Wisconsin, 3917 47th AveKaiser's Pizza & Pub, 510 57th StLaMacchia Travel, 618 57th StUnion Park Tavern, 4520 Eighth Ave. CarBox, 1750 22nd AveFaded Barbershop for Men, 2227 63rd StLucci's Grandview 6929 39th Ave.Franks Diner, 508 58th Street. Next Home Refined, 7850 Green Bay RoadWink Beauty Boutique, 10909 Sheridan RoadSpecialty Nacho QueenGerb's Gift Shop, 3012 Roosevelt RdGet your Ktown Connects merchandise thanks to The Lettering Machine, 725 50th St.Drop us an email at ktownconnects@yahoo.comFind us on Facebook, Instagram and Twitter – and at ktownconnects.comTheme song performed by Dropping Daisies, written by James “Red” McLeod.Your hosts are Donny Stancato and Jason HedmanGet additional episodes early and ad-free, along with bonus material with this week's guest and more great exclusive material by becoming a patreon supporter! Click here for more!

I can almost hear Chuck and Trundy Stairs's voice   (Chuck holding up a rattle snake our dad shot at our home on Castleberry Road in Odessa, FL)   telling the tale of the old Stairs Family Homestead, during this maiden voyage of the Big Cat Rescue drone.  On 6/14/66 Harold and Sara Stairs bought 10 acres in Odessa, FL.  I remember my father saying he had grown up in a house with no windows in the middle of a pasture that was once Lynn Anderson Dairy.  He went to school in the little shack in Citrus Park that is now a historical monument.   On the new 10 acres, an old army barracks was converted to a modest little home that became the gathering place for the Stairs clan on holidays.  The Stairs tried a number of business ventures there, including bee keeping, a rabbitry, a dairy and a nursery that specialised in Bonsai trees.   I have so many fond memories of this tract of land that seemed to be perched on the edge of the world.  It was so far out in the middle of no where and the road ended about a quarter mile away.  Then it was a little dirt path that ended at the house.   On 10/12/73 Harold Stairs died of an aneurysm.  He had been born in 1912.   In 1975 we built our own house.  We were the original DIY family.  We set the timbers deep in the ground and built the house up on the stilts.  I remember my father and I falling off the roof, two stories up, as we were trying to hammer in the shingles at the lower corner.  Falling into the sand, only our pride was hurt.   Chuck learned to drive a motorcycle in our yard, and I whined about having to water the trees all the time, but look at them now!  We had an above ground pool and so many pool parties and sleep overs.   Coming home with one of my first "dates" for a family dinner, I remember my mother, Mary Stairs, bolting past us at the door, with a shotgun under her arm.  She said she was going to "get that armadillo!" and my date nearly ran the 15 miles back to town; thinking that was going to be our dinner.  (My mother never killed an animal in her life, to my knowledge)   In the 70's my dog, Mitzka and I would hike through what was then orange groves and cypress stands to Lake Alice where I would swim and cave dive as deep as I could hold my breath.  I remember there was such a celebration in 1981 when the mortgage was paid off and burned.   In 1983 Vernon and Mary Stairs built a house on the next plot to the east and gave it to me to get me and Jamie out of the ghetto.  We lived there till 1984 or so and then I moved to a series of homes that I was buying and selling on Smitter Road, Lemon Street and Sheldon Road before ending up here at the "island."   On 4/18/2000 Sara Stairs died.  She had been senile for a long time and kept us on our toes, as she would run off in the middle of the night.  It seemed there would be no more family gatherings of the Stairs clan and the original, tiny little house has set barren to this day.   Chuck moved into my home in about 1988 and still lives there today.  I'm sure he could tell so many more stories about the land and its occupants.  In the mid 2000s Vernon and Mary Stairs moved to Big Cat Rescue and revived family dinners.  We meet and eat frequently to enjoy the wonderful family love we share.  I love them all so much!   My father had to be rushed to the hospital again today. He was supposed to leave for vacation today and it would have been their first vacation in many, many years. I told my mother, "He's allergic to relaxing." He's dehydrated and feeling awful. It's been very hard for him to deal with his ailing heart and failing health. Life is so brief, and beautiful. I plan to make the most of every minute.   Hi, I'm Carole Baskin and I've been writing my story since I was able to write, but when the media goes to share it, they only choose the parts that fit their idea of what will generate views.  If I'm going to share my story, it should be the whole story.  The titles are the dates things happened. If you have any interest in who I really am please start at the beginning of this playlist: http://savethecats.org/   I know there will be people who take things out of context and try to use them to validate their own misconception, but you have access to the whole story.  My hope is that others will recognize themselves in my words and have the strength to do what is right for themselves and our shared planet.     You can help feed the cats at no cost to you using Amazon Smile! Visit BigCatRescue.org/Amazon-smile   You can see photos, videos and more, updated daily at BigCatRescue.org   Check out our main channel at YouTube.com/BigCatRescue   Music (if any) from Epidemic Sound (http://www.epidemicsound.com) This video is for entertainment purposes only and is my opinion.  Closing graphic with permission from https://youtu.be/F_AtgWMfwrk

David Perdue has put his name in to run for Governor against Brian Kemp; Cobb and Marietta schools have left the National School Boards Association; And the Lemon Street Classic basketball tournament keeps the memory of Lemon Street High alive.  #CobbCounty #Georgia #LocalNews      -            -            -            -            -            The Marietta Daily Journal Podcast is local news for Marietta, Kennesaw, Smyrna, and all of Cobb County.             Subscribe today, so you don't miss an episode! MDJOnline            Register Here for your essential digital news.             Find additional episodes of the MDJ Podcast here.             See omnystudio.com/listener for privacy information.

Best of Afternoon Rantz week of 6-14-2021 Featuring music from Lemon Street on Locals ONly

Meditation Brings Back a Flood of Memories   My fiancee, Howie Baskin and I were on a flight from our home in Tampa, Florida to Los Angeles, California and I was taking advantage of the rare opportunity to indulge in the pleasure of reading a book.  This one was called “Corporate Nirvana” by Judith Anderson.  We were somewhere over the desert and I was getting tired.  The author was detailing her intuitive encounter with a group of business people in which she suggested that they close their eyes and imagine that they were all alone, on a deserted island.  There was no work to do.  No deadlines.  No responsibilities.  No demand on their time.  There was only the island, the sand crunching between their toes and the birds over head.  Their attention was diverted to a beautifully ornate, bejeweled treasure chest in the sand.  As they approach they can see that it is unlocked and they know that inside is their gift.  This gift will be the answer to the question that is plaguing them now.  They will know when they see this gift exactly what it means to them and therein is their answer.   I haven't meditated in the deep relaxed manner that I had been practicing in over a year.  I have been too busy.  Things have been going too well for me to value the need for it.  This seemed like a perfect opportunity to shut the book and try her visualization.  I asked myself, “Why am I always taking on tougher and tougher problems?  Why can't I just say, “enough is enough” and be happy with what I've done?”  Holding that thought, in my sleepy half conscious state, I began the walk down the beach in the deserted island in my head.   Seagulls overhead, palm trees swaying in the tropic breeze, the warmth of the sun on my face and the sand crunching between my toes.  So far, so good.  Ah, there is the treasure chest…going over to admire it…it really is beautiful…I wonder what is inside, but I hesitate.  Do I want to know?  What if I don't find an answer?  What if I do and don't like it?  I stall and ponder the gravity of the moment.  In this box that I made up, in a place that I made up, lays the answer to the one problem that has driven me since childhood.  Here at 30,000 feet, while I look to all the world that I am asleep, I am about to discover the meaning of life…the meaning of my life anyway.   I begin to slowly lift the lid.  There is an aura of purple light escaping from the treasure chest.  “Nice special effects” I compliment to my imaginative self. “I wasn't expecting that.”  I am opening the lid so slowly as if I am expecting some dragon to consume me with its fire breathing anger.  Come on Carole…open the box…its just a box…go on now open it!   Leaping backward from the box as the top swings open I can only see what looks like a purple, fuzzy blanket in the bottom of the box.  Tentatively, I lean forward thinking there must be something under the cloth.  It isn't moving and there doesn't appear to be any real shape to it.  I am disappointed with myself.   “That's it!  That's the best you could do?  You have the opportunity to solve all of your life's struggles in one vision and all you can think of is a blanket!  I must be cold.  That must be what is behind this first thought and my REAL revelation must still be in the box.”  I try hard to see something else in the chest and after a while I resign myself to just being totally unimaginative.   OK then, let's have a look at the fuzzy purple blanket and what ever that could possibly mean to me.  As I am muttering, “purple blanket” to myself I lift it up out of the dark box and hold it full length.  “Well, how about that?” I say to myself as the living material, with a light that gave it the fuzzy appearance, unfolds to the sand.  “It's not a blanket at all.  It's a cloak, shimmering with a life all its own.  It is breathtakingly beautiful!  It is too precious to wear.  No king ever wore a cape as magnificent as this!  I wonder briefly if I am worthy to wear this aura of lavender light?   “Of course I am,” I chide. “I made the thing up.  I can wear it.”  I put it on.  Wow!  I am cloaked in spirituality.  What does that mean to me?  It means that I have remembered who I really am.   I am safe.  I am at peace.  I am at one with God.   Everything I have ever done was leading to this moment.  Every challenge that I ever set myself up for has culminated in this moment of awakening.  All I have ever been trying to do was to reach this moment of spiritual enlightenment.   My driven self said, “OK.  Nice lesson.  Now get back to reading and learn something.”  My spiritual self said, “I am learning now.  I am learning that my drive has come from the need to prove myself worthy, but my spirit has always known that I am and that every lesson in life is about reaching a higher level of Nirvana.”   As if the flood gates had been instantly opened every challenge that had beset me along the way raced through my mind.  I was seeing what was common in every situation:  Every time a challenge presented itself, it was a much more difficult one than the one before.  Every time I succeeded in reaching the goal there were people who I felt were betraying me.  In each case, as the stakes were higher, those people were stronger or greater in numbers than the time before.  It wasn't the tasks or the challenges themselves that were my lessons to learn, but rather, how I would deal with the people who would disappoint me so profoundly.   How I would deal with having betrayed myself.  Nothing on this earthly plane; wealth, fame or fortune means anything.  It is all about reconnecting with God and that is done by reconnecting with ALL of His creation.  Yes, Carole, the people too.  Perhaps the people especially.  It is about remembering who you are and how we are all One.   The author, Judith Anderson  suggests the Piper Principle:   1. What troubles a person most about a situation actually reveals an aspect of themselves (an underlying fear or concern) they don't yet see;  a blind spot. 2. Underlying fears and concerns of leaders, and the unconscious way in which they protect themselves from them, show up in parable form as organizational barriers or blocks to achieving whatever goals are set. 3. When aggravation or blocks show up, a person can pay the piper, investigate the blind spot, and resolve the fear and concern or blame others.  Unproductive patterns reappear until you pay the piper.   I don't think I have ever considered a more truthful thought than that.   Some lessons I just go through over and over and over until I get it.  Once I get it then the next lesson is harder and will keep repeating over and over until I finally get that one too.  Until yesterday I didn't see this pattern of escalation.  I wonder, if I had, would I have had the courage to take on each new challenge, knowing that success ultimately meant a tougher lesson to follow?   Ignorance is bliss, but it is highly ineffective when we know our days are numbered and we have so much to learn in this lifetime.  I am increasingly convinced that we live forever and are doomed to repeat lives of frustration and striving until we each experience our own moment of looking into the treasure chest and discover ourselves and our connection to All that Is.   The rest of this is not meant to read like a resume of accomplishments, but rather as an example of how each of us is presented with unique challenges that we meet to the very best of our ability each time.  Many times challenges have been presented to me that I was incapable of overcoming.  Connecting with people has been the hardest for me.  Sometimes we may look back and think we could have done better, but I don't think so.  I think we are all doing the best we can for the skills we have now and that the only way we will ever “do better” is by learning from each lesson.   My family were fundamental Christians and raised me to believe that we are to strive for perfection, but being human, will always fall short.  The only good news in that was that  God is Love and is capable of loving us even though we are never really good enough or deserving.  This belief was the canvas on which I would paint my life.   I was five years old, naked as a jaybird, cleaning my canary's cage in the front yard with a hose and wondering how a caged bird could sing?  Free birds had something to sing about, but why do caged birds sing?  Caught up in my own reverie and enjoying the summer sun on my skin and the sand between my toes I was quite taken aback by my mother throwing a blanket over me and dragging me into the house, all the while telling me that “little girls don't go out side naked.”  I wondered, “why not?”  I felt so connected to the earth, the sky, the water from the hose, the soft summer breeze in my hair...  “What is this obsession people have with hiding who they are? Cloaking who they are?”   I was a big kid; always head and shoulders taller than my peers, with a shock of short white hair and big blue eyes.  Butterflies would light on me in the playground and every stray followed me home.  I had the same entourage of broken down, unwanted people throughout my life.  All of the kids that were disabled or slow or who just didn't fit in with the “in” crowd flocked around me.  I always tried to help them see what was special about them that no one else had to offer.  It wasn't that I was so understanding and wonderful.  It was because if I could heal them enough to feel that they belonged they would start to fit in with others and would leave me alone.   I preferred the company of the animals and my spirit guides, the two leopard size, glowing white cats who were with me always, but who I wasn't supposed to talk about unless I wanted to merely call them my “imaginary” friends.  It's one of those things that a kid just keeps to themselves when they realize that adults are too scared to talk about invisible, panther like creatures who sound like God when they speak in that still small voice, that carries all of the majesty and power of thunder.   Three years later I am eight and my father is the personal pilot to the governor of West Virginia, Arch Moore.  We live in a trailer park, in a single wide tin can that is always freezing inside.  Our lot looks like the terrain from a hostile planet with its caked, dry and broken clay surface.   Until I was six I was raised by my mother's mother during the day while my parents worked.  At night my parents would pick me up and take me home to sleep and then the next morning I'd wake up back at my grandparent's home.  My grandparents have stayed in Florida and I am still hating this separation from my other parents and the warmth of Florida.  Both of my parents work full time and I have become responsible for taking care of my brother who is six years younger.  There is a seething anger at my situation that seems impossible to me to resolve, and the only respite from it comes from the animals that I rescue.  Taking care of them, takes my mind off what I cannot change.   One day a cat with a couple of bullet holes in her finds her way to my door.  I discover that the man across the street had shot the cat because it was near his trash can.  This man is big (compared to me), has a history of beating his wife and children (Ada), and is ugly to boot.  His face is deeply scarred with pockmarks that indicate a hormonally challenged youth, and maybe one bar brawl too many,  and he is now in his late twenties or early thirties.  He drinks, he swears and he is just about as vile a human as any I have ever encountered.  Until this moment, I have made a point to stay clear of him, even though his daughter and his younger son, have found me to be a safe haven in a life that heretofore was unbearable to them.  It is his children who have come to me and told me that their father shot the cat and was threatening to kill any cat he saw come near his trailer.   Trembling, but fully resolved to make myself clear, I march up to this man and tell him that if he decides to take another shot at a cat, or if I hear a shot being fired and even think it is him, then that gun shot will be the last sound he ever hears.  He just stands there looking down at me, but as scared as I am, I feel like I am in charge of this moment.  I am offering up a challenge, that I have no idea how I will be able to carry out, but I can't let him know that.  After what seems an eternity of staring down this man, through my tear streaming eyes, he turns and goes inside his trailer.  He blinked.  He turned.  He ran from me.  I won!   I never heard another shot being fired.  The word of that confrontation, spread by his own children, earned me a tremendous following in that poor little back woods trailer park.  Now the kids who gathered around me were high school age and I felt like I had the moral support of every kid in the neighborhood.  I used to lead them in money making schemes from selling popcorn and Kool-Aid, to mowing lawns, washing trailers, and making pot holders and such to sell door to door.  Rock bands were making it big and I tried to assemble one, but I couldn't sing and we just didn't have what it took.  I felt like learning to make a living was important and learning to manage others was going to be a crucial part of that.  It felt necessary although I didn't know where it was leading.   I felt like I was in some sort of intensive training for something important.  I didn't know what it was about, but as a child you trust your instincts more.  At school I was quiet and respectful but felt like the public school system was not meeting my educational needs.  There was something important to learn about this thing called life and it wasn't in memorizing multiplication tables.  There were machines that could do that far better than I ever could, so what was the purpose in all of this useless knowledge?  Teach me how to succeed.  Teach me why the caged bird sings…   I wouldn't wear shoes.  You can't be connected to the earth and all of the glorious power that is available to you with shoes on.  It was fortunate for me that we lived in a West Virginian “holler” where going to school barefoot wasn't considered too weird.  After school I went into the forests.  It wasn't your typical kid-playing-in-the-woods so much as going to learn what it was like to be the woods, to be the brook, to be the animals and the wind.  I would climb up as high as I could get in the trees to get a better vantage point on observing everything around me.  I wanted to know how everything worked, how it was all connected.   The teachers would send home piles of homework.  My attitude was that it was a ploy designed to keep bad kids off the street.  If they had to turn in a lot of work the next day they didn't have time to be in trouble.  I wasn't being bad.  I was learning something that I thought was a lot more important and I wasn't going to do class room “busy” work outside of the classroom.  This got me into a considerable amount of trouble with my teachers, but I aced every test and my grades were still As and Bs despite all of the bad marks for refusing to turn in homework.   By the time I was 12 we were back in Florida and I was attending a little private school called Florida College Academy.  There were grades 1 thru 9 there, with one class for each grade level that had 12-24 students.  My great aunt, Mari, was the principal which as her son, my cousin Scott, and I knew was the worst set up possible for a kid.  You were perceived as having special privileges by your peers, and yet the reality was that you were held to a much higher standard because of the fact that relatives see you as a reflection on themselves and they want to be seen as perfect.   It was 1971 and women were burning their bras in the streets a decade before, but our school had held to very antiquated beliefs, that said little girls were to be modest and wear long dresses and never speak out against authority.  I actually bought into most of that but a lot of the girls were not from religious homes and even those that were frequently dressed in pants at home.  They wanted to be able to wear pants to school so that they could play more freely on the playground.  Even though I didn't even own a pair of pants, everyone turned to me to do something about it.  I thought their reasons were sound.  Wearing a dress on the playground was certainly less modest than wearing long pants and so I decided to take the suggestion to the principal.   Not only was my Aunt Mari an authority figure within the family and the school, but she was someone I had observed carefully since I was a toddler in the way in which she dealt with my cousin.  Scott and I were born the same year and day and look like twins.  We have often wondered if we were and just were separated at birth to be raised by two different families because neither one could afford both of us.  My cousin has grown up to be a maintenance man in an apartment building.  I watched his mother tell him he was stupid and that he would never amount to anything his whole life.  By contrast I was always told I could do anything I set my mind to do.  Both of us lived up to our parents' expectations.   I went to my aunt and presented our case and was promptly dismissed as being “un-Christian like”.  I went back to my classmates and suggested that the only way to effect a change in the dress code was to lead an organized uprising against the status quo.  I busily engaged both sexes in my plan and drew up posters and hung them in the halls, held rallies and basically just wouldn't shut up until I got what I was asking for.  I fully expected to be burned at the stake.  Much to my amazement we won.   I went out and bought my first  pair of pants.  (They were plaid and hideous.  It was the 70's after all.)   I kept them for twenty years as a reminder of that success.   Two years later, at the age of 14 I was trapped and raped by three men (Steve & Jim? Crabtree and George Minogue).  They cut my throat and for years I carried a scar that I hid with scarves.  I didn't tell anyone because I fully believed that I was to blame.  If I had not been in a place where I shouldn't have been this would not have happened to me and thus I felt that not only was it my fault, but that it proved I was not worthy as a human being.  I was no longer a virgin and could no longer expect that I would grow up and marry a decent man and live happily ever after.  Within a year I had let this event colour every aspect of my self esteem.  The deeper emotional scarring of this event however came from the betrayal of my best friend.   Cindy Clark Brown and I had been friends since we were nine or ten years old.  I was the innocent; the perfect daughter, cooking and cleaning for my family and joining in working the landscaping business after school.  Cindy was about as wild as they came.  She was a year older than I and was smoking, drinking and experimenting with drugs.  She was always in trouble and would often come stay with me until her family could brace themselves to deal with her again.  She made fun of me for being a goody two shoes and was jealous of my beauty and sense of grace.  People always commented on my air of confidence.  The fact was that my grandmother had always made me walk around the house with books on my head and the result was a walk that had an unintentional  haughtiness to it.   Cindy and I had been out for a walk earlier and she was flirting with three men from the race track.  We went to their house and played cards, while they had both the radio and the T.V. on full blast.  They were all stoned and I watched the scene in amazement.  I had never been exposed to this sort of activity, and although the only part I participated in was the card playing, I was very curious about this sort of approach to life. Cindy was sitting in their laps, giggling and whispering in their ears.  I wondered if they knew how stupid they looked and sounded?   That night, when Cindy and I were supposed to be in bed, she wanted to slip out my bedroom window and go back to their house.  I reluctantly agreed and as we cleared the yard, Cindy said she needed to go back to my room to make a call, and that I should go on ahead of her.  I did as instructed.   They were waiting for me.  What I didn't know, until many years later when Cindy felt compelled to clear her conscience, was that she had told them I was a virgin and had sold me to them for drugs.  The call she made was to let them know I was on the way.   A year later, back in W.Va. I had turned 15.  My mother, who had always been my most trusted friend, and I got into the first fight we had ever had.  She had accused me of having sex with a nice boy I knew and I had not.  I was defending his honour more than my own, because I was so convinced of my own guilt from the rape.  As she was storming off to work she said, “When I get home, I don't want to see your face!”     This was the last family photo before I left home, and yes, I am only 14 in that photo, which explains how I was able to wait tables in bars without being discovered.   I thought she meant that she never wanted to see me again and as fate would have it, I was ready for the next challenge.  A young man named Jim Jones, who I barely knew from Florida, was in boot camp near Washington, D.C.  He had gone AWOL from the army and was driving back to Florida and asked if he could drop by.  I told him I couldn't live here any more and asked if he would take me with him back to Florida.  I packed my cat, my radio and two paper grocery bags of clothes and waited for his arrival.  As we drove away I watched my 9 year old brother playing in the yard and wondered if I would ever see him again?  Taking care of him had always been my responsibility and as much as I hated being saddled with that, I felt guilty leaving him there.   I had known Jim from the skating rink where kids from my church were all taken to be with others of “our own kind”, but Jim worked there and intrigued me.  He was 6 ‘ 4 “ weighed 230 pounds of solid muscle and had long golden hair down to his waist.  He was a genius on skates, if not intellectually.  Running from the U.S. army should have been my first clue that he was never going to be a brain surgeon.  I only knew Jim from the rink and had invited him to one church picnic.  Now I was on the run with him.   I worked bars and restaurants and sometimes held three jobs at once because Jim wouldn't work.   Turned out he couldn't even pass a driver's license test.  He had a bad drug habit and a nasty temper and whenever the two mixed I was caught in the cross fire.  I was always on guard to dodge a swing from a punch that would knock the wind out of me.  He beat me with a bed rail one time so severely that I couldn't go back to work for weeks because I was so badly bruised.  As he swung the rail and hit the concrete walls of the garage we lived in he had knocked huge gaping holes in the concrete as a constant reminder to me of how much it hurt to be on his bad side.  As scary as it was to be with him I believed it was better than the alternative.  I had seen the brutality men could use to crush someone as innocent as I had been and at least there was only one of Jim to deal with.  Jim was the constant validation of my belief that I was unworthy.   Jim decided he wanted to go home and I was driving us there through San Antonio, Florida.  He was drunk and was all over the steering wheel and blocking my vision.  With one arm I was trying to push him back into his seat so that I could see, as I ran a stop sign and was hit broadside in the little Toyota we were driving.  The Mercury Cougar that hit us was later reported to have been traveling in excess of 60 miles per hour.  Drunks seem to never be the victims in auto accidents and Jim was no exception. He walked away without a scratch, once he woke up from the stupor.  I went through the windshield and broke my neck.  I remember getting up and dragging the front bumper of the Cougar out of the road as I went around first to the passenger side and made sure the little old lady was okay and then around to the driver's side to check on the little old man.  He had hit the steering wheel pretty hard, but was able to speak.   What happened next was like the opening scene from the movie, The Gladiator.  When I saw that movie I was awestruck at how it looked exactly as I had seen it all those years ago.  I walked out into a field of tall grass.  The sun was shining.  The wind was blowing softly through my hair, as I reached out with both hands to lightly touch the tops of the waving strands of grass.  Everything was silent and then it went white.   I woke up in a hospital, unable to move.  I was paralyzed and Jim was telling me that he didn't want the doctors to know who I was because he was still on the run from the army.  I remember two doctors standing over me, x-rays in hand, telling me I would never walk again because my neck was broken in three places.  The only hope I would have of even sitting up in a wheel chair was if they fused a steel rod up through my spine.  They obviously didn't know that I was just a child.  I had gotten my first marriage proposal at the age of 12 and had always looked a lot older.   I laid there thinking, “This cannot be my life.  I can't be paralyzed.  This can't be happening to me.”  I suspect most people go through that denial, but I just wouldn't give in to the “reality”.  I had learned from previous efforts that you can't give up.  No matter how big and bad the odds are stacked against you, you just absolutely cannot give up.  Being young and ignorant, I didn't know what these doctors could legally do to me, but I wasn't going to take my chances of waking up and finding that some surgery had left me incapable of ever getting past this paralysis.  I believed I could heal myself, but not if I had a metal rod installed through my spine.   Jim and his friends from the band (Jim said the band's name was Credence Clearwater Revival, but I find that hard to believe in retrospect) came and whisked me out in a wheel chair without telling anyone.  I spent what seemed an eternity at his parent's home unable to walk and only able to drag myself across the room, but I dragged myself a lot.  I wouldn't call my family.  I didn't think I was welcome there anymore.  Jim's parents didn't want to be held responsible for what their son's actions had caused and didn't want the army to find their son, so they were happy to hide me and my affliction.  My grandfather, Floyd Norris, through a miraculous chain of events, somehow found out where I was and got me to a chiropractor who soon had me walking again.   Because I wasn't even old enough to be in a bar, I couldn't work anywhere for very long because I couldn't show the management my driver's license for the employment forms.  After the paralysis I often collapsed and doing that just once with a tray of flaming cherries jubilee was enough for me to think that I needed to find some other sort of work.  I didn't have a high school diploma and was underage but had heard you could get a worker's permit.  Arch Moore was replaced by Governor Rockefeller who decided to replace all of the state's planes with helicopters, but none of the state's pilots, including my father could fly helicopters so my father was without a job.   More as an effort to avenge my father's dismissal from the aviation team I applied for an opening in the state's Department of Business and Economic Community Development and got it.  I quickly advanced through the ranks and became Governor Rockefeller's secretary's secretary.  My job was to investigate officials that Jay would be dealing with and put together photos and bios so that he would look good.  What didn't look good, when the word got out in the press, was the fact that a 15 year old high school drop out had risen through the ranks of the W.Va. government to governor's aide when there were far more “qualified” men and women vying for the position.   1977 was the first time I was in the newspaper as an adult.  Being born the fifth living generation had gotten the family into the newspaper in 1961.     The press made a big fuss of the fact that I moonlighted at a Greek restaurant and insinuated that I might be the veiled belly dancer, Little Egypt.  My boss told me to dress as frumpy as possible that day and wear glasses so that people wouldn't think I was hired for my looks.   Had I known that I was on this learning quest to deal with people issues I think I might have stuck it out and played that hand to the end, but at the time, I thought these challenges were about accomplishments and proving worthiness.  I had proven that I could step out of a wheel chair, out of the smoke filled bars and into the governor's office (and not just any governor, but a Rockefeller) and rise to the top.  I wasn't old enough to run for election.  That would have to wait.   Riding high on this wave of worthiness I drove Jim to his mother's home in Tampa and dropped him and his trailer full of belongings off in the front yard.  I didn't have enough money to get back to my job in W.Va. so I looked through the want ads to find waitress work that would get me enough gas to get back to the job that I was told would still be mine upon my return, despite the media craze that had erupted.   What happened next was one of those near misses.  It is a juncture in your life that is probably meant to happen, but gets thwarted.  I walked into “Our Place” bar on Ben T. Davis beach and was hired on the spot.  20 years later I would discover that my daughter's fiancée (Daniel Capiro) was being raised by the waitresses in that bar and I would have been raising him had I shown up for work, but I didn't.   I had come so far and I just wasn't willing to go back to even a short term job where my ass was constantly being patted and pinched.  Instead, I drove across town to a luncheon spot and was, again, hired on the spot, but I had to have frumpy shoes for the job.  All my feet could ever stand were sandals if I had to wear shoes at all.  I walked across the street to the Zayre's store and overheard a man saying that he needed to hire a clerk to run the automotive department.  That sounded like a new challenge and didn't require stifling shoes, so I asked for and was given the job.  I would work for a couple of weeks, collect my checks and then head back to West Virginia to see where that road would take me.  I never went back to West Virginia.   I was living in a Datsun Pickup truck with a camper on the back.  My cat, Pearlie Mae, who I had had since I was 8, lived with me so I had to park where it was cool for her during the day, but the days were getting hotter and she was going to die in that truck if I didn't find somewhere for her to live.  My manager's name was Michael Eugene Murdock and I spent more time dodging his advances than I did stocking shelves.  He was leaving his wife and moving into an apartment.  I asked if my cat could stay there during the day and I would pick her up at night.  He was happy to trade sexual favours for the cat's room and board.  I hated him.  At night I would pick up my cat, do what I had to do to cover her “rent” and then she and I would back the truck up against a building somewhere so that no one could surprise us by opening the back hatch.   I would wash my hair in the bathroom of the nearest gas station at night after they had closed for the evening.  I tried to maintain my independence for as long as possible, but finally gave in to the pressures of needing a roof over my head as well as the cat's  and moved in with him.   Despite hating Mike, I married him at the age of 17 and gave birth to our daughter at the age of 19.   My mother knew that I was living with a man who was not my husband.  She had just enough psychology in college to believe that if she suggested I marry the man, I would rebel and leave him, which was the result she was really hoping to get.     I thought it was really what she wanted me to do.   I had felt such a loss in the trust that our former friendship had enjoyed and I believed that if I married him, as she suggested I should, then I could be worthy of her love again.  I would do this to please her.  She had no idea how I felt about him.  I stayed with him for eight years, because I was raised to believe that marriage is for life.  When I couldn't take it any more and divorced him, my mother finally revealed that she never liked him and never wanted me to marry him, but had thought that by suggesting it I would run.   Mike was very physically abusive, but clever enough to hurt me in ways that were not visible to the casual observer.  It was again, my sick way of validating my belief that I was not worthy.  Meanwhile my growing and learning self decided to apply for a job at the Tampa Boat Mart in 1984.  The job paid better money than I had made elsewhere and required an interview and an IQ test.  I was fascinated by the opportunity to have my intelligence measured and probably applied based on that aspect more than any other.   The owner's wife did the interview and test and said that I had registered as a genius.  Bolstered by this, I told her I would take the job, but wanted 50% more than the job had offered.  She balked but I could tell that she wanted me for the position, so I made a deal with her.  I would work for the first 6 months at the price in the paper, but at the end of six months she would advance me to the salary that I requested, because I explained that I would be so irreplaceable to her, or else let me go.  She agreed.   I asked her to lay out everything that she could possibly think of as my job description.  When she did, since I was salaried, I asked if it mattered how long I worked to get it all done.  She said if I could do it in four hours that was fine and if it took me ten, that was fine too, but I wasn't getting overtime.  In no time I had automated the process so that I could do it in just a couple hours a day.  This freed up my time to work on a business that I believed was going to be my key to financial freedom.  I left the Tampa Boat Mart in 1985.     This was me working at the Neptune and S. Dale Mabry Hwy Radiant Oil gas station owned by Joe Capitano in 1982.  He had offered me my own station out on Gunn Hwy, but I got the Boat Mart job instead.           At the age of 19 I met and began dating Jack Donald Lewis.  Everyone said he had made his money in illegal drugs, but he told me it was from cutting the axels off trailers for re use by the company and selling the boxes.  While at the bank one day a loan officer told him she had a $20,000.00 mortgage that was in default that she would sell for $2000.00 if someone would just take it off her hands.  Don couldn't read or write above a first grade level, but he could understand getting something for ten cents on the dollar.  He asked her to make a copy of the documents and he brought them to me with the story.  Thinking there must be a catch, he asked me to find out what it was.  I couldn't find one.  If we bought the mortgage for 2000.00 and the people started paying us on the 20,000.00 balance we would be getting a great return on our money.  If they didn't pay and we foreclosed, we would get 20,000.00 at the foreclosure sale or we might even get the house and be able to sell it for more.   We did it and we made more than 20,000.00.  I knew that this was my next big challenge and even then knew that it was just a stepping stone to allowing me to do something far more important than make money, but I didn't know what that was and didn't waste much time thinking about it.  Instead I was calling every bank and loan office in a 5 county area asked to see their bad loans.  They thought I was crazy and I got a lot of resistance at first, but they soon learned that I wouldn't betray their confidence and I would quickly and easily turn their bad loans back into cash for reinvestment.  The Boat Mart gave me the regular paycheck I needed to grow the real estate business so that I never had to take money out of this exponentially growing pot of gold.   I worked crazy hours.  I worked every waking hour.  I divorced the man I hated and lived in a huge house on Lemon Street with lots of rooms that I rented out so that I didn't have to touch my investments for living expenses.  The business had grown to well over a one million dollar value.   I drove an old Impala that I had paid 100.00 for, bought all my clothes at Goodwill and had taken on some investors who were happy to get 12% return on their cash and let me make the difference for growing my portfolio.  It was a man's world but I knew how to play the game.  I started a business called C.Stairs, Investments and told people that I was Mr. Stairs' secretary.  They wanted to deal with a man.  I made one up for them.  I was so convincing that for years after Don Lewis and I married people called him Mr. Stairs because they just assumed I had married my boss.  I had bought into the belief that as a woman I was unworthy of being treated the same as a man.   I am a little hazy on the year, but I was about 27 (1988) when I was driving a drunk, named Bill Benjamin, home from a bar.  My car had stalled and he got out to push it out of the road as I steered.  It was in the early morning hours and a woman who had fallen asleep at the wheel careened into the back of my 1983 Blood Red Volkswagen Rabbit and pinned the drunk to my bumper, while hitting with enough force to give me a concussion and to bend the door frame where my head hit it.   I woke up in the hospital again, but this time with a Viet Nam vet suffering from post traumatic stress who was screaming bloody murder if I tried to leave the room.  I stayed by his side constantly, even though I only knew him as someone I had bought a rug from a few days before.  Both of his legs had been crushed and he was in a lot of pain.  I felt guilty because it was my car he was pushing out of the road.  I had to do something to feel guilty.  It wasn't in my paradigm to go without that cloud of unworthiness hanging over my head.  I was so caught up in Bill Benjamin's drama, that I didn't realize that I didn't know who or where I was.   My secretary (Anne McQueen) found me in the hospital.  I had been missing for days so she had done the obvious and called everywhere until she located a Jane Doe.  Was my name Jane?  When she gets me on the phone she asks where my daughter is.  I have a daughter?  A baby?  “Oh my God, where's the baby?” my mind screams.  Sensing my fear she tells me that maybe my daughter had been living with my husband.  I have a husband?  Then who is this man?  All of a sudden I am aware that I don't know anything about whom or where I am.  I just can't describe that.  I have seen some films since then that try to address what amnesia is like, and nothing really conveys what that fear is like.   She takes me home and there are people living there who say that I own the house.  I walk into an office full of file cabinets, papers and ringing phones and I do not recognize any of it.  I answer the phone and people are asking me questions and giving me information that means absolutely nothing to me.  I spend hours reading every file, looking at photos, meeting my daughter, for what seems like the first time, talking to my secretary and one of the women who lives in my house (Mary Young) to try and reconstruct my life.   Over the next weeks and months I get a handle on it and things start coming back to me, but I never know that something is forgotten until I try to fill in a blank spot or until some revelation comes to me as a memory and I sit there wondering, “Was that in this life?”  At the time I thought it was a very unfortunate setback, but in retrospect it just seems to be another challenge that I posed to myself to see if I could rise to above it.   This time I was betrayed by my own memory.   I discover that when I touch people I see their lives, or what I imagine to be their lives.  I am always confused, still, when I get a rush of feeling, if it is theirs, or if it was mine from long ago, just now surfacing.  One of the most dramatic instances of this happened years later when a volunteer (Crazy Gary) introduced me to his room mate.  I shook the smiling man's hand and immediately fell to my knees sobbing.  The despair was overwhelming.  I was embarrassed by the incident and brushed it off to both of them as just being over worked, but the next day the room mate put the barrel of a shotgun in his mouth and blew his brains all over the ceiling.  Crazy Gary told me he knew that his room mate was sad, but had no idea of the depth of his despair.  I knew.   Don and I married on October 10, 1991 at ten minutes after 10 am.  We lost one million dollars in our assets to settling with his wife and one and a half million in assets to settle with his girlfriend, Pam, who was trying to have him brought down on Racketeering charges so that she could keep our 3 million that was in her name.  I had always allowed Don to hold our money because I believed he would give me what was owed if I were ever to ask for it.  There were a lot of real estate transactions for Pam and her trust in 1991-1996, but they began to taper off and 2004 was the last entry I found for her doing business in Hillsborough County.  She had satisfied a mortgage made by our ex secretary Luba Myck.  I knew Richard Dery was in Camp Pam, but didn't know Luba was.  1995 appears to be her last actions in Pasco County, with one suspicious document between her and Jack Martin.     Since Don could barely read or write he didn't know that she had put the properties in her name, or so he said.  What had been 5 million dollars worth of my work was now reduced to half that, but I could rebuild it and did.  I had learned how to negotiate the best deals and had learned how to do all of our foreclosures, tenant evictions and get people out of the bankruptcy courts when they ran there for protection.   I learned by going to the court house and reading every file I could lay my hands on, copying the language and forms the attorney's used and then setting up charts that showed me what the appropriate times between filings were.  I spent  hours in the law library reading cases and making copies of those that were particularly pertinent to my cases.  I sat in on every hearing that the judges would let me sit in on.  I befriended several of the judges who would afterwards give me their summary of what had just happened.  A lot of the judges did not like that I represented myself pro se and would  hold me to a much tougher standard than the attorney's were being held to, but none could make me give up.   When attorneys were hired to combat me they usually fell into the trap of underestimating my preparedness.  In all these years I only ever lost one case, and I won it on appeal.  Even the judges who had initially tried to run me off ended up being very supportive and would often compliment my ability over that of my licensed peers, which didn't make me very popular among members of that profession.   I was a 30 year old multi millionaire real estate tycoon by anyone's definition, and undefeated in the legal arena.  Everything I touched turned to gold, but I still felt unworthy.  What was next, a billionaire?  Would that make me feel better?   This wasn't working.  Maybe if I could change the world.  Maybe then I would be worthy.  Maybe then I would say, I'm OK.  I belong.  I can be at peace.   Consciously I began looking for a way to give back to God all that He had given to me.  Unconsciously I was setting myself up to fail and validate that long held belief that I was unworthy... or win and prove once and for all that I was worthy.   All you have to do is wave the wand of intention to bring it into your life.  Before I knew what happened we were rescuing cats from fur farms, drug lords, circuses and unprepared pet owners.  I was writing books on exotic cat care and my articles were being published in magazines and newsletters all over the country.  There were more than 200 animals depending on me for support and the IRS said I couldn't call it an expense, despite the fact that it was costing me about 300,000.00 a year, so I called it a non profit in 1995.   Two years later, my husband has disappeared off the face of the earth leaving me as the accused of an unknown crime, and all of my assets are seized by the courts upon a petition by the children of his former wife, and my secretary, my only girlfriend for the past 17 years, who I discover has put nearly 600,000.00 worth of my assets in her maiden name and changed my husband's insurance policy to make her the owner of a one million dollar life insurance policy, just four months before his disappearance.  She tells his children that Don and I were having marital trouble and suggests that they appoint her as conservator of his estate.     His estate!  I don't think anyone knew better than Anne that Don spent all of his time in dumpsters and cruising neighborhoods after yard sales to bring home van load after van load of trash.  I had been trying to get him to an Alzheimer's specialist but Don said Anne was telling him that I was trying to have him committed.  This can't be happening.  This can't be my life.  Sound familiar?   The courts only allow me to use 125,000.00 of my income each year, for the next 5 years, to support the cats, because the courts are “preserving the estate” in case my husband wanders back into town.  In the first years after his disappearance I discover, through the private detective I hire to find him, that my husband, the man I have adored since I was 19 has had a string of girlfriends, mistresses and even prostitutes.  Women come out of the wood work claiming that Don told them he would leave everything to them or their illegitimate children by him.  I discover that the love we shared was a lie.  I was betrayed.   Our expenses are far more than double what the courts will allow me to touch and there is no where for the animals to go.  I get to learn a whole new set of skills in running a non profit, but I haven't chosen just any charity.  No.  I chose the one type of charity that sees less than 1% of all donated dollars.  I had to pick an animal charity.  People give more money to art than to animals.  In retrospect, this would only be a good test of my worthiness if I could overcome insurmountable odds, right?   The People for the Ethical Treatment of Animals, PeTA, brought me a video clip of a lion being beaten senseless with a baseball bat while restrained within the confines of a small transport cage.  They explained that this abuse had been video taped undercover and sent as evidence to USDA, but that when the perpetrator had told his USDA inspector that this was considered a standard training method for big cats nothing had been done to stop him.  The question was posed to me asking if this was, in fact, a routinely accepted practice.  In front of all three major television stations I said that the sad fact is that this sort of brutality is frequently visited upon these innocent animals by people who have USDA's stamp of approval, but that it was inhumane and USDA was negligent in their unwillingness to enforce the animal welfare act that my tax dollars were paying them to implement.   A few weeks later I was served with a summons.  In disbelief I read the case style:   The United States of America versus Carole Lewis.  Being bludgeoned into unconsciousness with a bed rail all those years ago did not take my breath away like reading these few words.  My country.  The one I had pledged allegiance to along with Captain Kangaroo each morning of my earliest remembered years.  The country I sang songs about, even when I wasn't in school.  The one that bore the flag; the mere sight of which could raise goose flesh on my skin with pride and adoration.  My country had not only abandoned me, it was attacking me, and it was doing so because I spoke out against cruelty.   Some pencil pushing bureaucrat was going to show me to keep my opinions about her doing her job to myself and she was in a position to levy the entire nation against me…or so it seemed.  Maybe America did have tanks and jet fighters and nuclear weapons, but I had the truth on my side and was not going to take this lying down.  Our supporter list had grown to about 3000 people and I sent out a newsletter detailing what the charges against me were and why I felt the USDA had taken this action.  More than 2000 people wrote in on my behalf and for a long time I didn't hear from the USDA.   Then I found out how they work.  If they don't have a legitimate claim then they make an accusation and never follow through on it.  This way they can always point to the accusation and say that they cannot comment on pending litigation.  They never have to prove their case.  I would never be able to clear my name of the ridiculous and unfounded charges unless I took control.  So I did.  I learned all I could about how to represent myself in a Federal lawsuit and I called for a final hearing.  I was stalled several times and when the day my “day in court” arrived, I got a call from the Federal judge who said that the USDA had decided to dismiss their suit against me.  Then he asked if I would please let my supporters know to quit sending him mail and calling his office.  With such a victory you would have thought I would have felt vindicated, but all I felt was betrayed.   Over the next five years the court appointed co conservator and attorneys ate away at my estate, in the name of preserving it, until there was only a fraction of it left.  Then they declare my husband dead, when there is nothing left under the court's control to take, and tell me to have a nice life.  Meanwhile the cats are costing nearly half a million dollars a year to care for and the nation is in a recession following the stock market crash that sends everyone scrambling into real estate as the only safe investment.  Having that much money diverted into real estate by people who know nothing of the business drives the price of property through the ceiling.  The government steps in to try and pull the economy back up onto its feet by lowering the interest rates and giving loans to anyone who will take them at rates lower than they have been in my lifetime, makes my niche a little difficult.  I loan at 18% and buy distressed properties at a fraction of the cost and then resell them.  With all of the stock money now in real estate there are no deals and almost no one has to borrow at 18%.   Stress has made me fat and irritable and I drive to the Keys every two years to spend the weekend crying in a hammock on suicide watch until it's time to get back to business Monday morning.  I learn how to raise money by begging; something I wouldn't do when I was living out of garbage cans as a 15 year old run away, but I have to do it now for the cats.  I learn how to manage people and put together a team of volunteers that become world renown for their ability to work together.  I run through a string of low life boyfriends that continue to validate my belief that I am not worthy of the love of a good man.  I lose 70 pounds so that I can be more effective at getting out the message that exotic cats don't make good pets.   The last 20 of those pounds were the hardest and after exhausting every diet known to man, I tried hypnotherapy.  I was just starting to read about spirituality, healing, past lives and was willing to try anything.  I remember that first session like it was yesterday.  In the meditation the therapist asks me to walk down the beach and notice a little girl sitting by the shore.  He tells me to go up to her.  I don't want to.  He urges me on.  I don't want to.  I finally give in and of course, she is me, about 5 years old, full of innocence, big blue eyes and white hair.  He tells me to hold her and to tell her that I will never betray her again.  I will protect her from anything and anyone else who tries to hurt her.  I made a pact.   My life changed again.  Suddenly I find myself asking, “Is this my life? Can this really be my life?  I didn't think I deserved a life this good.”  Enter, Howie Baskin.  He's a brilliant 52 year old bachelor who makes my heart skip a beat.  He is the kindest, most loving, genuinely wonderful spirit I have ever encountered on the planet.  He personifies integrity.  He is way out of my league which, of course, just adds to my desire to have his love.  To Bask-In his love.  (I just couldn't have made this up!) But he is more than just the next level higher of a challenge.  He is both my reward for reaching this level of understanding and my partner in learning to love mankind.  Becoming one with him is my first step in becoming One with all humanity.   I am reminded of a Bible principle that says man's greatest love for God is expressed in being a living sacrifice.  Nothing defines a living sacrifice better than Howie.  His friends all tell me that he is the most wonderful, loving person in their life.  He lives for others.  Watching him, marveling in who he is and how he is, causes me to look inwardly and challenges me daily to be more understanding and more loving.  He says his goal in life is to help me love people the way I love animals.  I thought I took on big scary goals, but this man knows no fear!   Now things are looking better than they ever have before.  I have finally paid the piper in this lesson of betrayal.  I had betrayed myself when I accepted the notion that I was not worthy and the even more erroneous notion that I could achieve worthiness if I overcame the obstacles that I invited into my own path.  I was going to deal with being betrayed by the people I trusted, and loved the most, until I understood. My fortune cookie tonight even confirmed the presence of God in the statement, “You never hesitate to take on the toughest challenges.”  It was as if He said, “I am here with you and this is just my humorous way of letting you know that I am as real as the piece of paper in your hand.”   The real estate business is recovering.  The sanctuary managed to break even on operating expenses, if not capital expenses, for the first time ever last year (2003).  I have been elected as the Vice President of the Association of Sanctuaries and am serving on its Board of Directors.  (From the future: I don't remember I have the opportunity to influence legislation that will protect wild animals and the physical and moral support of a team of family, volunteers and the man I admire most in the world to help me achieve those goals.   What I notice about each of these hurdles is that I was focused on the subject matter. While I may have been successful in dealing with that aspect, what I failed, almost universally, to do was to learn from the interaction with the people.  In most cases I saw the people as the problem and bulldozing them aside was my methodology.  It seems abundantly clear that I will continue being presented with challenges that are stressful and painful until I pay the piper on this issue of loving people other than those in my innermost circle.   I wonder how I could go about this learning in a less painful and ineffective manner?  Maybe it's time to put on the fuzzy purple blanket (to give myself the warm fuzzy I have longed for), the cloak of spirituality, and take a look at reality from a different, non judgmental, perspective.   I've been writing my story since I was able to write, but when the media goes to share it, they only choose the parts that fit their idea of what will generate views.  If I'm going to share my story, it should be the whole story.  The titles are the dates things happened. If you have any interest in who I really am please start at the beginning of this playlist: http://savethecats.org/   I know there will be people who take things out of context and try to use them to validate their own misconception, but you have access to the whole story.  My hope is that others will recognize themselves in my words and have the strength to do what is right for themselves and our shared planet.     You can help feed the cats at no cost to you using Amazon Smile! Visit BigCatRescue.org/Amazon-smile   You can see photos, videos and more, updated daily at BigCatRescue.org   Check out our main channel at YouTube.com/BigCatRescue   Music (if any) from Epidemic Sound (http://www.epidemicsound.com) This video is for entertainment purposes only and is my opinion.

As a young petunia-picker, Beth Dary was frequently told by her mother that “idle hands were the devil’s work.” After years of creating her own art and being one of the originators at the Kenosha HarborMarket, Beth is now the executive director of the Lemon Street Gallery and ArtSpace, 4601 Sheridan Road.Stop on by Lemon Street to see the best of local art! They are currently open Friday and Saturday from 11-5 and Sundays from 11-4Visit their website here for more!This episode was recorded on  March 15st, 2021 at Luigi’s Pizza Kitchen, 7531 39th Avenue. -Big thanks to our sponsors:Kaiser’s Pizza and Pub of Kenosha, 510 57th St.Captain Mike’s, 5118 Sixth Ave.Union Park Tavern, 4520 Eighth Ave. Lucci’s Grandview 6929 39th Ave.Pine Blossom, 5925 Sixth Ave-A Coming Up Roses Cleaning & OrganizingWashed Out Hair ProductsGet your Ktown Connects merchandise thanks to The Lettering Machine, 725 50th St.Drop us an email at ktownconnects@yahoo.comFind us on Facebook, Instagram and Twitter – and at ktownconnects.comYour hosts are Donny Stancato and Jason Hedman - Theme music performed by Dropping Daisies, written by James “Red” McLeod.

Rodney Gullatte and George Miller learned from teachers that made sure they only gave their best. Lemon Street school taught them much more than math, science and band. Lemon Street was an African American grammar and high school closed after integration in 1967. But there are people that want to keep the memories of Lemon Street alive.  One of those people is Nicholas Estes. He is creating a basketball tournament that is scheduled to be played at the Marietta High School and Marietta Middle school gyms on December 19, 21 and 22. Learn more at https://www.lemonstreetclassic.com

Bill talks to several players, politicians and school employees on the first Marietta football state championship since 1967.  The parade started at the location of the African American high school, called Lemon Street and several of the interview talked about this historic location.

How do you get a historian excited? You rebuild a historical building that was torn down and you bring it back to life.    That’s exactly what Grant Rivera and the Marietta School Board have decided to do. The site of the old Lemon Street High School, the black high school in Marietta, was torn down after integration in the 70’s. Now it is being rebuild to house Marietta City Administration offices. There is also work being done to use the Lemon Street grammar school across the street.    Grant Rivera has spearheaded the effort and he shares the story of the importance of telling the whole story of Marietta and building community at the same time.   Also, his daughter beat cancer and a fundraiser is coming up at Glover Park Brewery on 9/19/19 from 6 to 9 pm. Get your tickets here: https://give.choa.org/site/Ticketing?view=Tickets&id=101521

Locked Inn is Live Once Again!! Come Join Us out at Pete White Boxing and MMA where we will be Live for a Free Recording of our podcast. Special Guests: Pete White, Michael Davis, Taylor White, Demetri Karagiannis, Anderson Hutchinson, and Jon Radford Tuesday, November 28th @7pm 601 Lemon Street, Port Orange, FL Follow us!  Twitter - @Locked_inn  @Max_Van_Auken @davidvanauken Facebook - LockedInnPodcast Instagram - locked_inn  Please subscribe, like, and leave a comment!

It was a pouring down freezing rain day in December when the Marietta Blue Devils played in their second state championship game. They battled fierce weather and came together as a  team despite integrating with the Lemon Street school that very year.  Hear from the players and one cheerleader that were there and what it was like to win one for Marietta High School. Episode includes: Bill Kelly, Bob and Jim Cagel, Mike Welsh, Ken Delk , Freddie Summerour , David White,  Vickie Young, (cheerleader), Ralph Hudgins, Lori Hill and Mickey Brown!

Daphne Darnell Delk grew up in Marietta, Georgia. She began high school at Lemon Street and transferred to Marietta High School with Treville Grady. Both Delk and Grady were the first African American students to attend Marietta High School. In 1968 Delk became the first African American student to graduate from Marietta High School. Her aunt, Lettie Williams, worked with Hattie Wilson at the Fort Hill Library in Marietta. The Lemon Street High School buildling became the Hattie G. Wilson Library. ID:ksu-45-05-001-03007 Rights:To request permission to publish, reproduce, publicly display, broadcast, or distribute this material in any format, you must contact the Archives, Rare Books and Records Management.

Daphne Darnell Delk grew up in Marietta, Georgia. She began high school at Lemon Street and transferred to Marietta High School with Treville Grady. Both Delk and Grady were the first African American students to attend Marietta High School. In 1968 Delk became the first African American student to graduate from Marietta High School. Her aunt, Lettie Williams, worked with Hattie Wilson at the Fort Hill Library in Marietta. The Lemon Street High School buildling became the Hattie G. Wilson Library. Use Restrictions: To request permission to publish, reproduce, publicly display, broadcast, or distribute this material in any format, you must contact the Archives, Rare Books and Records Management.