Larry Franklin's blog

I wish the Queen was my Queen

Faithful readers are not surprised that I’m taking this opportunity – the next to last Corner ever – to profess my love of a woman who means so much to me.
She is the wind beneath my wings. The gas in my engine. The cheese to my smile. The peanut butter to my jelly.
It also won’t surprise faithful readers that I’m not writing about The First Wife/My Current Wife, who was covered in a previous column in the Larry Farwell Tour.
This piece is about the great woman in the world. The Queen. Not Freddie Mercury’s group. THE Queen. Elizabeth II.

A confession about The First Wife

Many things have changed since I came to work here in 1974. Many people have come and gone. A constant through it all has been the unwavering support of My First Wife and My Current Wife. In support of full disclosure, “they” are the same woman.
Janice and I married in 1971. I was a student at USC. Had we not married, I’d still be a student at USC. After I said “I do,” I found I really meant “I don’t” have as much desire to play pool and go to movies.

Facebook pictures of pets and food should be against the law

Let’s take a break from the Larry Franklin Farewell Tour to talk about a couple matters of much greater import.
I know that President Trump and Rep. Jeff Duncan and Bill O’Reilly have a lot of important things to….hold on, I’m getting a message in my earpiece. Oh. Well. No surprise there.
I know that President Trump and Rep. Jeff Duncan and Tucker Carlson have a lot of important things to take care of.

Some of you folks have just lived too dadgum long

There have been occasions the past 43 years when I have written the “memorial” column about someone who has died.
I don’t understand why some people refer to dying as passing and to the person who died as having passed.
The Google says referring to death as passing away comes from Judiasm.
We say cows die. We say dogs die. But Uncle Fred passes away.
I refuse to use the euphemism. If someone has died, I say they died.
There are other, more colorful ways to refer to death, of course. Kick the bucket. Cash in the chips. Buy the farm.

The newspaper biz is not all glitz and glamour

On today’s stroll down memory lane, we’ll take a look at the dirty underside of the newspaper business. Let’s call it crimes and those who commit them.
I’d not been here long before I learned that, as a reporter, part of my job was to report crimes, suspected crimes, alleged crimes and things that might be crimes. I’d have to talk to the police, the criminals, attorneys and (rarely) judges.

Thinking back to the time I thought John McCain was going to kiss me

Faithful readers will remember last week I told you there’s a lot I want to talk with you about before I leave. Actually, one-time readers will remember that if the one-time was last week.
Anyhoo, this job has allowed me to do a lot of really cool, really interesting, really fun things. I have also had to do some things that were hard and some things that were sad.

There I go, turn the page

I just can’t work in a county without Frank Stovall or Greg Alexander.
In the March 8 issue of Clinton’s award-winning hometown newspaper, we reported on Page 1A that Clinton City Manager Stovall and Chamber of Commerce CEO Alexander are high-tailing it.
Stovall is going back home to Virginia and Alexander is going to Hilton Head. They’ve both done a great job and will be missed, blah, blah, blah.
Hopefully, as you’ve worked your way back to this page today, you noticed on Page 1A that your humble scribe and publisher is retiring at the end of June.

Alternative facts may be a good thing

It’s probably hard to tell much about me, given the tiny size of the picture of me that accompanies this column. So, to summarize, I’m 6’2”, 195 lbs. with flowing blonde hair and flawless skin. I have 6-pack abs and long, perfectly manicured fingernails. I wear a size 12 shoe and have large hands (in case you’re wondering).
That, faithful readers, is what’s known as alternative facts.
Presidential advisor Kellyanne Conway probably knew, as soon as she said it, that the term “alternative facts” was going to come back to bite her.

This is the year we decided to stop pretending

This year, we finally decided to end the charade (I pronounce it sher-rod). For years we had pretended. At first it was for the kids and then we hung on because of the grandkids. It ended in 2016. I didn’t shed a tear. She vacillated until I put my foot down. It was over.
What we decided to do is not the answer for every couple. The friends with whom we’ve shared the news are stunned. Most of them can’t imagine doing what we’ve done.
I’m going to come right out and say it: we didn’t have a Christmas tree this year. I have advocated this for years. To no avail.

The Coach plays his final round here on earth

He’d get mad if this was sad, so it won’t be. I hope you’ll be smiling when you finish reading this.
In fact, I’ll bet Tommy Addison hasn’t stopped smiling since he took his last, labored breath on Nov. 27 and then took his first, full breath looking at the face of his saviour.
I’ve known Tommy since he graduated from PC in 1977. I had dealings with him when he co-owned Home Petroleum with his brother-in-law Ned Handback and then more often when he moved over to PC as head golf coach.

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P.O. Box 180
513 North Broad St.
Clinton, SC 29325
Phone: (864) 833-1900
Fax: (864) 833-1902

 

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