V8

Why do they call it V-8?

Each can of V-8 contains juice from the following 8 fruits and vegetables.

1) Tomatoes
2) carrots
3) celery
4) beets
5) parsley
6) lettuce
7) watercress
8) spinach

I prepare it like this:
In a 24 oz tumbler mix:
1/4 tsp. Celery Salt
1/2 tsp. Parsley flakes
6 shakes of black pepper
6 drops Tobasco
12 oz can V8
Add ice to top
Drink with straw

Vodka/Tequila optional as desired

Tabasco and Eggs

 Don't be surprised if my first book isn't about breakfast.  Piecing together the words for this letter, I uncovered ideas for at least a dozen more.

When I was young, getting a private audience with my dad was something of a challenge.  There were seven of us at home, plus the maid and the dog.  At its peak, there were almost five hundred Missco employees, plus Millsaps, plus Trustmark, plus Unifirst, plus St. Dominics, plus Galloway, plus whatever else Daddy got himself roped into, so if I was going to see him, I had to be clever.  When he turned fifty, the Dominican Sisters gave him a two-by-four so he would have another board to sit on.  When they get together, nuns can be some of the funniest people you'll know.

Being a voyeur of other people's habits, I discovered that Daddy liked to eat and he liked to get up early.  That was my inside track.  Breakfast would be our time together.  If I could manage to meet him around six-thirty in the morning at either LeFleurs or Primos number two, I'd have my dad to myself for half an hour or more.  My sister had him for half an hour before that when they'd run together.  She's pretty clever about watching people's habits too.

My dad was never the kind to teach me things by saying, "do this, this way."  He was too subtle for that, and I was too stubborn.  To teach me, he performed the behavior he wanted me to learn when he knew I was watching (which was always) and waited for me to say, "why do you do that, Daddy?"

Fatty, sugary, creamy, breakfast foods are usually comfort foods.  That's not necessarily what you want to start a work day, though.  Daddy had a routine that turned fluffy scrambled eggs into a spirited wake-me-up to rival the blackest coffee.  

"Daddy, what are you puttin' on your eggs?"

"That's Tabasco Sauce.  They make it in Louisiana."

There are probably five thousand different kinds of hot sauce between Texas and Louisiana.  There are posters showing all the colorful bottles of Lousiana hot sauce, but I stick with Tabasco.   Tabasco chili peppers are filled with capsicum, one of the greatest gifts of the people we stole this land from.  As a young man, I took the Avery Island tour where they make Tabasco and saw an alligator, so that's maybe why Tabasco imprinted on me; plus, there were days when I shared a bottle with Daddy, Deaton, Wingate, Bass, and Taylor before we went to see if there were any fish in the water.  When it comes to tradition, the Jews in Fiddler on the Roof have nothing on us Southerners.  

There are a lot of health benefits to Tabasco sauce.  It adds virtually zero calories, is very low in sodium, and the capsaicin in it somehow raises your metabolism by almost ten percent for a little over an hour.  It quickens your mind and body at the time of day when you need it most.  It doesn't hurt if you miss the eggs and hit the bacon a little, either.

By this time next year, Daddy will be out of my life a few months longer than he was in it.  He taught me so many things.  Things that made me what I am.  Some lessons were very serious, some not so much, but my favorite (and his) was how and what to eat.  Sitting in a house Daddy helped build with Sister Josephine, trying to regain the strength I lost, there's a plate with the remains of scrambled eggs and Tabasco behind me.  If that doesn't make me better, nothing will.

  

Editor's Letter

Editor's Desk
Mississippi Free Press
Jackson, MS

Dear Editor,

I am not, what you would call, a supporter of Mayor Lumumba.  I try to be neutral on all politicians.  This is government, not football.  When he does something I agree with, I say so.  When he does something I don't agree with, I say so too, but either way, I put my name to my opinion.  I respect what few readers I have enough to say who I am and what I believe.

Recently, someone has been mailing flyers very disparaging of the mayor to what appears to be almost entirely residents of the 39211 zip code.  The flyers, so far, have been sent anonymously.  If you're from here or have been here any length of time, then you're undoubtedly aware of Jackson's often troubled history.  Many of these dark times involved anonymous political speech.  It was a favored tactic of the Klu Klux Klan.  These anonymous mailings remind me of that dark part of our history.

From a personal perspective, my father sometimes received anonymous letters and phone calls from people who didn't agree with the decisions he made or how he stood.  I know how threatening they can be.  I also know there is no effective response other than to stand up to them without engaging them.  Anonymous political discourse is meant to be intimidating.  It's the only reason to be anonymous.  It makes the speaker seem more powerful than he really is.  

Some of these mailings single out Donna Ladd, which I do not understand.  She's a writer, not a politician.  She makes none of the decisions you're upset about.  She also has multiple platforms where she not only accepts but welcomes your comments and challenges but not if you're going to whisper and hide behind a mask.  I don't think you're going to intimidate her.  Your tactics might motivate her, though.

Nobody on any side is happy about what's happening in Jackson right now.  The mayor is not above criticism, and I'd like to understand what happened as much as anyone.  These anonymous mailings don't help the situation in any way, and I honestly don't think they're hurting the people you want to hurt.  Whoever you are, you are invited to join the political discourse here in a stand-up way.  Whatever your opinion, I will fight for your right to have it.  Whatever your opinion, I may agree more than you realize.  Don't whisper anonymously in my ear, though.  That's bullshit.

Sincerely,

Alexander Boyd Campbell II
Jackson MS

Getting Published

 Everyone keeps telling me to publish.  I want to, and I am, but putting pen to paper and getting someone to publish it are two very different tasks, so bear with me.  It's coming, but I can't say when.  With the exception of my sister and brother, I've been secretly writing longer than I've known any of you, and I'm pretty sure my sister and brother only became aware of it recently.  

I owe my ability to Martha Hammond, my beloved neighbor, who knew I had trouble reading but continued to give me books anyway, and to my mother, who didn't give up on me and, instead of sticking me in a special education class, taught herself the Montessori Method so I could learn to read despite my dyslexia, and one day had the brilliant idea that if I couldn't learn to write properly, maybe I could learn to type instead.  I also owe a great deal to my teacher, Madora Mcintyre, who said, "Boyd's not stupid.  Something else is wrong." and got me tested for dyslexia.  

Writing is my strongest art, and making art is my strongest motive.  Writing is also my therapy.  Sometimes I have to write things down to get them out.  That means I sometimes write about painful, uncomfortable, or embarrassing things.  If it's about me, I'll let you read it.  I don't care.  You can look at my spleen if you want to.  If it's painful or embarrassing to someone else, you may never see it.  I'm not out to expose or exploit anyone.  I've seen writers who did that, and I don't approve.  Sometimes, I can't change the names or the details and keep people from knowing I'm telling their story, so those stories may exist in my computer somewhere, but you'll never see them.  No one will.