Category Archives: Opinions
The sad tale of Butch
Butch was a great little guy. We hung together for a couple of years when I was a teenager. Although he was much younger than I, he was one of my best friends.
There wasn’t much we could not talk about. He was a great listener, but usually just wanted to play. As I recall, he 
loved the water. We would go swimming together in Daddy’s lake. He could swim much better than I. He could out run me. As a matter of fact, he could do a lot of things better than me. Brother Fred always said that he was better looking than me. Even though I did have large ears and a large nose, that’s debatable. However, Brother Fred is a pretty astute observer and wise individual.
Did I mention that Butch was a bulldog? A thoroughbred boxer, to be exact. But he didn’t know that, and I didn’t tell him. He thought he was human. I never knew his mom, but his dad was Rex and belonged to Brother Bobby. Since Butch and I favored so much, he decided to give him to me.
Now dogs back in the ‘60s did not enjoy the family status of today’s dogs. Nor did they have the privileges of today’s dogs. They had to stay outside
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Was Ernest T right?
Ernest T. Bass is a character on the beloved “Andy Griffith Show” who burst upon the scene in the ‘60s. When Ernest T. came into Mayberry on occasion, he’d announce his presence by throwing a rock through a window and cackling an 
rnest T. Bass is a character on the beloved “Andy Griffith Show” who burst upon the scene in the ‘60s. When Ernest T. came into Mayberry on occasion, he’d announce his presence by throwing a rock through a window and cackling an insane laugh, yelling out, “It’s me, it’s me, it’s Ernest T.”
Ernest T. had a somewhat limited view of life. He had grown up in an area cut off from much of the outside world.
In fact, he was illiterate, and the boundaries of the world as he knew it consisted of Old Man Kelsey’s Woods and Old Man Kelsey’s Creek.
In many ways he was like a wild animal, but he did live by a code. Free from peer pressure or the need to fit in, Ernest T. was completely free.
He lived off the land, hunted and fished and
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Staying at home as you get older
Aging in place means that we remain in our home as we get older. Many of us want that … to stay where we’re comfortable and things are familiar. With enough advance planning and a few changes, it’s possible, but it means anticipating what our needs will be as we face the challenges of age.
For example, if you know you’ll be staying in your home, there are some things you’ll need to do in advance, basics like moving the master bedroom to the first floor, making the outside safe with better lighting and adding grab bars in the shower.
What about all the daily tasks you’ll no longer be able to handle — driving and mowing, meals and shopping — that you’ll need to hire others to do.
But what if you want to move first because your current environment isn’t what you’ll need? Many of
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An open mind and a fresh economic outlook
First, a standard disclaimer: Anything you read in this column that ever delves into politics or religion or college football is entirely my own personal opinion and not necessarily the opinion of the Pickens County Courier.
That said, we here at the Pickens County Institute for Advanced Theoretical Engineering, Economics and Barbecue Arts & Sciences — my own personal think tank sometimes augmented with the brain power of my best buddy Allen Senn of Clemson — have been doing a fair amount of pondering lately about a concept that on its surface seems outrageously ridiculous. I am referring to something called a “basic minimum income.”
If you’ve been following the Democratic presidential nomination race — which here in Trump country many of you may have been doing purely for entertainment value — you may have heard of a lower-tier candidate named Andrew Yang who has made this concept a centerpiece of his campaign.
Now, I’m not endorsing Yang, or any candidate of either party for that matter, but I think there’s more to this idea than, “Vote for me and get
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Good times at Twelve Mile Elementary
On a cool September morning in 1951, I debuted for my first year of formal learning at Twelve Mile Elementary School in rural Pickens County.
I was an ordinary, inauspicious child of 6 who had never been away from home alone for any extended period of time, and I was terrified. I think I was terrified mainly because my older sister had made me wear short pants to my debut. In my opinion, a man did not wear short pants in public. The attire of ALL the other boys proved me right. There were no other boys in the first grade dressed in sissy short pants. As I recall, I spent most of that first school day trying to hide myself from public scrutiny.
However, I did survive that first day of school and came to enjoy the daily get-togethers of all us guys. Besides, there were plenty of things to do to fill the gaps between book learning sessions.
All the students at Twelve Mile School were from the country. Some of us were not the cream of the crop intellectually. My memory reminds me of a couple of older kids who were as big
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Drink your milk, it’s good for you
A long time ago, when we were very young, we lived on a peninsula, Cape Charles, in Virginia. Sometimes we had the car. Those were the days Daddy didn’t need it in Norfolk. We’d pile in the backseat and Mama would drive Daddy to the ferry for his morning ride across the Chesapeake Bay to Norfolk. He worked for a marine engineering company whose name I don’t know.
Cape Charles was not heavily populated. People made their livings mostly from agriculture or fishing. Shopping was challenging, because many things easily available in larger towns were not an option for the residents.
The Sears and Roebuck catalogue was the store of choice for many things. And any clothing items that had to be tried on required a ferry ride across the bay into Norfolk, which was an entirely different world.
Norfolk is a Navy base, and the streets would be packed with sailors. There was traffic, an unknown to us where traffic was
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Courier Letters to the Editor 8-28-19
It’s an evil, horrible thing
Dear Editor,
It’s an evil, horrible thing that someone has recently vandalized four local churches and graveyards. They should realize that they will have to answer to God almighty at the judgment seat of Christ after they die. This is a serious offense when anyone damages God’s house of worship. They need to wake up before it is too late.
Also, we all need to pray for our school teachers, staff and most of all, students for their salvation and safety this school year. Pray that there will be no more mass shootings or violence for all the schools of the entire world.
Diane Finley
Easley
Thinking outside of the box
Dear Editor,
Has anyone reading this thought as I have about how the more technology advances, the more abstract
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Reviving a ranch with rock and roll history
I know a lot of you old hippie types out there have been celebrating the 50th anniversary this month of a certain famous three-day festival of “peace and music” up on Max Yasgur’s farm in New York state. But how many of you remember that we had our own little Woodstock right here in Upstate South Carolina back in the mid-70s?
It was at a venue called Charlie B’s Ranch Arena, just across the river in Oconee County, and it drew thousands upon thousands of “longhairs” from across the region for daylong events featuring the likes of Fleetwood Mac, ZZ Top and the Marshall Tucker Band.
I have some very special memories of those events (although they are, admittedly, a little fuzzy), because the band I was playing with at the time, Sashay, was the warmup act for two or three of them, and it was one of the highlights of my career.
Now, the reason I’m telling y’all about this is that after a lapse of more than 40 years, the festival has been revived — sort of. Charlie B is in rock and roll heaven now, but his grandson, Nick Crenshaw, who now owns the ranch out in the country south of Seneca, has consented to let some
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If only that old pot could talk
A very time the pot is brought in, it brings with it the memories of Grandmama in the big old kitchen at Sycamore Hill. The pot was a huge Mirro-Matic pressure cooker and was in almost constant use for the duration of each summer.
Because Grandmama and Uncle Walter had lived through the Great Depression, they worked hard to can enough produce to carry us through the lean times.
Everything humans could grow was planted and harvested and carefully processed.
It supplied us through the winter.
And just as important as the amount put up was the quality of the food.
Not only did the old cooker process hundreds of jars of everything you can imagine, it was also the pot of
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Catching a case of TB
If my best friend Joe and I had not met each other in our early teens, we most likely would have succumbed to a most dangerous and contagious disease called “Teen Boredom” or T.B. for short. When this affliction gets into a teenager’s system, it’s pretty much incurable. At least until he or she gets into their middle-aged years, if at all.
Here is just one example of teenage boredom. Joe and I were sitting at his house one day in March with nothing in particular to do. Now, if we had several assigned jobs to accomplish, we would not have to “think” for ourselves. This is definitely bordering on boredom when a teenager has to think.
After a 30-second planning meeting, we decided to go on a road hike. This type of hike is easy to plan. The only requirement for me was to make sure we returned home in time for me to milk the cow(s), slop the chickens, feed the hogs, carry in the firewood, do my homework and eat
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Paul O’Shield is a local native who enjoys writing about his time as a youngster growing up in Pickens County.
