From Atlanta Journal Constitution, 3-4-1999, by Jim Minter
Excerpted from Jim Minters book, Some Things I Wish We Wouldn't Forget.
If somebody put me in charge of this country I'd make a rule that everybody must be raised in a small rural community, preferably in the South.
I'd do that out of a sense of fairness and compassion. Every American, male and female, ought to have the opportunity of growing up like I did in Inman, Ga., a dot on the map of south Fayette County, between Harps Crossing and Woolsey.
Living in the country is a lot different from living in Atlanta, or even Hapeville and College Park. Uncle Raymond was stunned when he had to leave the farm and take a railroad job in Atlanta after the boll weevil invasion nearly ruined cotton farming.
"You wouldn't believe it," he said when my daddy asked him how he survived living in a city. "They cook collards in the back yard and go to the bathroom in the house!"
One thing you get to do in a small farming community in the South is tag along when your grandfather goes places like Mr. Marvin Lamb's general store, where old men sit around a potbellied stove, spit tobacco juice in a sandbox, drink Co-Colas, talk politics and cuss.
One afternoon listening to the talk about something Roosevelt and his New Deal crowd had done up in Washington, I picked up the phrase dammit to hell. Being a student of the language even at an early age, I was impressed.
The next morning I was walking around my grandmother's back yard, entertaining Ginger, my faithful collie. Dammit to hell, dammit to hell, dammit to hell, I kept saying to Ginger. Until my grandmother heard me. She washed out my mouth with Octagon soap, a powerful detergent normally reserved for dirty overalls and guano sacks. That taught me a lesson. I never used Octagon soap again.
One thing you may have noticed about rural Southerners is that they address everybody as either Aunt, Uncle or Cousin. "Why do they do that? "an immigrant from Up North asked me. "Everybody can't be related."
Wrong. Just about everybody is. Cousin John McLucas and Cousin S.J. Overstreet, who do genealogical research on the Internet, turned up 2,500 of our close kinfolk and ancestors, among them Lord North, the English nobleman who advised King George to go ahead and slap tea taxes on the Americans. Said it wouldn't cause serious trouble in the colonies.
I don't know if were really descended from Lord North. Judging from the caliber of advice he passed out, it sounds like we might be. Anyway, our North kinfolk are the reason we have North's Bridge Road and North's Bridge over the Flint River. Otherwise, we couldn't tell where Clayton County stops and Fayette begins.
The Minters are newcomers to Fayette County. Until the late 1880s Grandpa Minter farmed with his brothers across the river near Bear Creek, now known as Hampton. I've heard my Clayton County kin described as good gray land farmers, a nice accolade only slightly below good red land farmers in Fayette County. We haven't spent a lot of time tracing our family tree, possibly for fear of what we might find out.
Some folks in North Carolina sent us a letter saying they had discovered the authentic Minter coat of arms in England and would be happy to furnish us a copy for $25. My mother was writing the check when my father intervened.
"All the Minters I've ever known were looking for a coat to go on their arms," he explained. We still don't have a coat of arms, but I have suggested a family motto: Trust, but check.
The Harp side of the family has been in Fayette County since Indian times. We get most of our longevity from our Harp genes.
We buried Aunt May a couple of months after her 109th birthday.
The Rev. Mozee Harp helped the Rev. Bogan Mask found our Methodist church in Inman going on to two centuries ago. His preacher genes obviously rubbed off on Cousin Don Harp, who left his daddy's truck farm for the cloth and now presides at Peachtree Road Methodist Church in Atlanta, which is about as high as you can fly in his business.
Cousin Don must have good connections Upstairs. He served Communion to Deion Sanders before a Falcons game and Deion intercepted two passes and ran a kickoff back for a touchdown. He also performed Lewis Grizzards only marriage that didn't end in divorce. In fairness, I guess I ought to mention that Lewis died the next day.
Cousin John Harp, who hit me in the head with the blade end of a gooseneck hoe one afternoon when we were chopping cotton, grew up to become Potentate of the Shrine empire stretching from Chattanooga down to Macon, an office tantamount to two or three seats in Congress.
I'm proud of my heritage. We haven't produced a governor or gotten anyone into the Piedmont Driving Club, but then we've never had anyone in jail or in the Legislature.
Excerpted from Jim Minters book, Some Things I Wish We Wouldn't Forget.
