Russell Rawlings and former Wilson mayor Ralph El Ramey ride around and eat a lot. Russell has to “walk the mayor” because Ralph eats so much.
At the beach Russell took the Mayor for a walk on the fishing pier, even though it was cold and windy. Only one guy was fishing.
Ralph talks to everybody. He asked the angler, “Are you catching anything?” Russell said the guy barely acknowledged with a “Naw.”
Ralph said, “Well it’s your own damn fault, Son. They’re in there.” He walked away.

Just attended the 50th wedding anniversary party for friends, Faye and Earl “Country” Boykin.   Country Earl recalled asking Faye out for their first date.   Faye told him he’d have to meet her parents first.
Country was apprehensive.   But then remembered a kid who went to Earl’s church.   The church awarded “perfect attendance medals” if a youngster didn’t miss in  a year’s worth of Sunday School. This particular kid had nine years worth of pins, all attached vertically.   Country borrowed the pins and took off to Faye’s house.   He concluded, “…I think it sealed deal.”  And this from a friend who once advised me, “…the best thing about marriage is you don’t mind dying as much.”
Earl also commented on his higher education: “I went to college for three terms. Eisenhower’s, Kennedy’s, and Nixon’s.”

We recently built a home at Emerald isle, NC. Its located on the North Caro- lina Coast, near the Boykin’s condominium. They were generous in sharing their home with us as we bounced back and forth from our Burlington, NC home, a four-hour trip.
On one such trip I intended to make a day trip. Emergency circumstances caused me to have to stay for four days. I had no clothes. Earl lent me several shirts. Being a staunch East Carolina Pirate, they all had East Carolina, or E.C.U. logos on them. Margaret washed them and I returned them to Country.
“Thanks for the shirts, Country,” I began. “But they had a strange effect on me in the mornings. I’d wake up and masturbate, decide to cut class, mix up a Bloody Mary, and pick up a BBQ sandwich on the way to Happy’s pool hall.” Strange syndrome, but people who know East Carolina in the 60’s understand.

When daughter Sloane got married “Country” seemed obsessed about the price of the flowers. He said the florist “must have made an ‘A’ in charging school.” Faye had all she could take. “Get off the flowers, Earl. You haven’t said anything about that bar bill.”

Earl said: “you gotta have likker.”

Ralph died Sunday. We called him “Mayor”lovingly and he was the mayor of Wilson, N.C. for three terms. I have never had my picture in the obit column before, but I am standing behind the smiling Mayor El Ramey. I am smiling too but you can’t tell it. Smiling because I had just overheard Ralph talking to the old lady dispensing the free, nutty-butty style giant ice cream cones: ” M’am– I have a friend over there who has a HARD TIME getting around. Would you mind giving me two so I can take her one?” Her who? I knew he was about to eat both. And he did.
He loved life. Never went into restaurant that the opening conversation with the waitress didn’t go like this: Ralph: “Well hello. What is YOUR name? Waitress: “Jill”. Ralph: “May I call you Jill?” Waitress: “Sure.” Ralph: “Well, when may I call you?”

Our gang has it’s 49th annual POKER WEEKEND starting Friday at Emerald Isle. At our first game after Ralph was elected Mayor he showed up with a large bag of change. I asked him where got all that change? “Parking meters” he said.
Mayor stories are flying all over eastern North Carolina. A ton will float around Emerald Isle this weekend. And for a long time,

“I love you now and evershall, but there’s no one left to tell.
The world has gone dark before my eyes.”

NETTIE MOORE,

Bob Dylan

Dr. C.H. “Honeybear” Hamlin was still teaching at 92 years old. A pacifist, he gave everyone who could get in his class an “A” regardless. He’d done the same thing starting with World War II, keeping as many in school and out of the mili tary as he could. In 1962 he was saying, “We got no business messing with those “Veeneese”. I can proudly state one of the tennis classes I taught closed out before Hamlin’s “American Social Thought.” (All he taught, the same material in every class). When they announced my class beat Dr. Hamlin, the first person to every top him, I took the Registrar’s mike and thanked the student body, to a round of applause.
People fought to get into his classes. Once, when admits to classes were printed on I.B.M. cards, someone stole the admittance cards from the administration building. They were selling like hotcakes at 35 dollars a pop before the Entrepre- neurs where caught.
People would bring Dr. Hamlin butter beans, okra, sweet potatoes or whatever was growing. He’d first claim kin to them, “What’s your name? From where? Or Yes I knew your sister!”, then he’d pat their hand and say your grade is already “in the vault”. Once I saw a student being led across campus by three blue tick bird dogs. His name was “Blackhawk” (very dark hair) and I asked “Hawk, where you going? He said “I’m gonna show Dr. Hamlin my dogs.”
Atlantic Christian built a nice student center toward the end of Dr. Hamlin’s career. The school had a policy which stated no building could be named after someone still living. The students were told to take down their homemade sign proclaiming the C.H. Hamlin Student Center. They refused. The school removed the sign. The students erected another. The school took it down again. This continued until the school relented, and a nice sign bears witness to love for Dr. Hamlin.

Another Elk’s Clubber, this one from Wilson, was Robert Griffin. He had a ton of money but wore bib overalls everywhere. He also was a client of aforementioned Al Rehm, jr. Robert went to Las Vegas often. When Al was there, Robert would come to Al’s room and drink. Al said he’d drink Vodka until he’d pass out in Al’s room. And he snored like a McCullough chain saw.
Al decided to head this nightmare off, telling a looped, but standing Robert, I’m walking you down to your room tonight Robert. Out in the hall Al asked, “What’s your room number, Robert? “ “I have no earthly idea,” says Robert. “Reach into my pocket, the key’s there.”
Al said he took the key and lo and behold it was to the next room.
Al opened the door the exact same time Robert unhitched his brass overall buttons. The bib overalls fell all the way down to his ankles. From behind Robert, Al could see two things: (1) Robert had no underwear on and (2) The couple in the bed was extremely shocked.
Al gasped, “What are you doing in here?” The man replied, “No, what are you two lovers doing in here?”
Robert solved the problem. “Oh hell Al, I’ve been kicked out of two or three rooms this week. Reach in my bibs and find another key.”
“Find your own damn key Robert!”
There’s only so much you should have to do for a client.

Al played high school basketball. A reserve, when told by the coach to spend the last ten minutes shooting from your favorite spot, he took a few balls over to the bench. Made 2 out of 11.

Al said his eyelids were attached to his ass. “If I sit down I go to sleep.” He told me once “Parham, shut up and let us talk some, we’re drunk too!”

One professor had decided P.E. majors on full scholarship ought to play two sports. This was because he was having trouble filling the track squad he coached. With the implication being that he might influence grades if we didn’t agree, I began to wonder.
He approached me, sized me up and decided I’d make a fine middle distance runner on his team. Uh, oh!
I convinced him that basketball season had left me “burned out” and given two weeks rest, I’d come out for track.
Two weeks to the day I reported in black converse low tops, to track practice at Fleming Stadium, home of the Wilson TOBS (Tobacans). Today was the scene of a blue-white track meet. This later was the scene for the “rain-out” mudslide featuring Kevin Costner in Bull Durham. But today it was fireball Parham in the
440 yd. 880 yd., and leg on the blue team relay.
I was exhausted the first twenty yards of the first event. And so, in the last
one (the mile relay) when called on to run the last lap, I watched from half way around, as the other team crossed the line. The race was over and so was I. I began to “walk it in”. As I walked into the final turn of the track, the manager, clipboard in hand, ran at me yelling, “don’t quit, don’t ever quit”. I replied, “Who the fuck are you? Winston Churchill?” All the while I was wondering how the hell to get out of this trap.
While I’d long been proud of my dad’s tennis win in Madison, I’d played very little myself. Robbins had only one court; an abandoned asphalt topped private court belonging to a dentist, Dr. Alexander. We convinced him to let us repair the court, and my senior summer we played a little. The only other courts were in Southern Pines, and if we went down there to sneak on, the “redneck detector” buzzed and we were evicted. No River Rats.
There were six black topped courts in Wilson in 1961. The first people I saw play while wandering around this court at the Recreation Center were Bobby Dunn and Walt Brown. I was amazed at how hard they could hit a tennis ball. I enrolled in a “P.E.” tennis class held on the brand new five court “green” surfaced (by Van Sumner) college facility. Ed Cloyd was my P.E. department chairman and he and my P.E. teacher were about to establish the first summer tennis camp in North Car- olina. (Page 109) Virginia Skillman was an adjunct teacher Mr. Cloyd knew, and I was lucky to stumble into her class. Mrs. Skillman, soon to become a friend and colleague, was a godsend. Stately, constantly smiling, she had authored a tennis instruction book in the Wadsworth series on P.E. books, under her maiden name, Virginia Dumas. Virginia’s husband, Frank, worked for Dupont and their family members were all a part of the summer camps to come. Later Virginia played Frank in the Singles Championship at Kinston, NC. Virginia let Frank win.
Bobby Dunn, having graduated as a fine math major the previous May, had returned to get a second degree. He had decided to teach and coach, a choice Ed Cloyd and staff convinced hundreds to make. Bobby was also the assistant basket- ball coach, while still living in the dorm. He was sworn to silence.
About the time I’d cussed out the track manager, the man just hired to coach the men’s tennis (no women’s team) became ill to the point he resigned. One after- noon Bobby came to the dorm and stated; “now I’m the tennis coach, too”. Here was my chance. I asked Bobby what you had to do to qualify for the team and he
said, “be warm and breathing”. The next day I’d borrowed a wooden P.E. racket from one-eyed 81-year-old Hugh Faley Bowen, Mr. Cloyd’s P.E. equipment room manager. I hit for the green courts by the creek, not knowing what it would yield me.
The team was so weak; in five practices I was #4. Please don’t take that to mean I was tennis-talented. But this was a weak team. And I loved it, even losing to skinny, redheaded lefthanders, who were about as athletic as cheese.

One night we played Pembroke State at their place. In 1960 this “Indian school” in Lumberton, NC featured some tough fans. McComas had had a run in with an older player on their team. It seems the guy was really mad at McComas for not recruiting him. At any rate the game was tight and this guy was trash talk- ing McComas. With the score tied at the buzzer, the same guy tried to drive the
middle. There was a big block-charge call that went strangely to Atlantic Christian, the visitors.
Right under the basket, and in front of McComas, this irate veteran yelled in protest at the referee’s call. Along with his protest came his teeth, or more accurately his upper plate. As the teeth bounded and skidded toward McComas, Jack handed them to the player, smiling broadly.