Marion Barry & Me

This photograph from the January 19, 1990, Washington Post
appeared in the same edition as news coverage of Mayor Marion
Barry's arrest for crack cocaine. 

One might wonder how a young woman from Missouri could possibly hold a connection with the crack smoking, former long-term mayor of Washington, D.C. (1979-1991 and 1995-1999), especially on the day the news and pictures of his arrest splashed in papers and on televisions around the world. Marion Barry and I were the top items in The Washington Post that day--we shared the headlines.

The perfect storm of events began at noontime on January 18, 1990, when a group of my colleagues from HCR Management and Consulting gathered across the street at McPherson Park to eat lunch. The unseasonably warm January weather made it a “Great Day for a Picnic” as the headline above declares.

The Post photographer shot some photos and then asked for my name as I was the focal point of the picture. I provided it and never thought another thing. Unbeknownst to me, three blocks down K Street one of my best friends from my days at the University of Kentucky, Paul O'Neill, also decided to eat lunch at the park across from his office. The same photographer took Paul’s picture with friends and asked for his name. 

January 18 so happened to be the very night the married Mayor Marion Barry was photographed smoking crack

Mayor Marion Barry caught
smoking crack on a surveillance
video on 1-18-1990.

 with a former girlfriend in a snazzy DC hotel. The newspapers the next day featured pages and pages of grainy photos of the Mayor’s misdeeds the night before. The entire paper was news of the crack smoking mayor, a few ads, and well.....you guessed it, the picture I starred in “Great Day for a Picnic.”

A friend called to alert me that morning and I found my office copy of the paper and preened up with pride. How cool! My critical thinking cap, however, wasn’t on as I was basking in my own glory. I thought I’d pick up a few papers after work so I could send my parents a copy of the picture. The joke was on me when every single newspaper in the city was gone by 3 p.m. I managed to scrounge up a few pictures and this is the only one to survive the last 25 years. It is a great misfortune that a complete issue of the paper never made it back to Missouri because it is hard for people to believe that is really was just Marion and me in the January 19, 1990, edition of the Washington Post.

P.S. The story takes a humorous twist when my friend Paul (mentioned above), who I was in a small tiff with, called me at the office on January 19th. We had not spoken in two weeks. Rather than congratulating me on my picture, he gave me a tongue lashing about how HIS picture should have been in the paper. Paul told of getting his picture taken the day before and ripping through the Post to find his picture. And there I was laughing (at him, he says). He said seeing me in that picture was adding insult to injury. I replied that, no, it was poetic justice. We agreed to meet halfway and have never had an argument again!

Despite my trumping Paul O'Neill for the only non-Barry
picture in the Washington Post that day, we have remained friends
for over 25 years. No way Marion Barry can come between us.

A Proper Guest Room

When my good friend Allison planned a visit to Columbia for this past weekend I told her that she would be the first to sleep in my new but very old Murphy bed. Allison and I share, in addition to a dear and meaningful friendship, a love of eating with our sterling silver, sleeping on freshly ironed sheets, and other old-fashioned luxuries. In typical Allison fashion, she quipped: “Emily Post suggests spending a night in your own guest bedroom to find if anything your guests need might be missing.” I told Allison she’d once again have to be my Emily Post.

The Murphy bed is over 200 years old. For many years it was in the attic of my Great Grandmother’s home in Columbia for use when her family members would come for summer visits from Palmyra, Missouri. In the late 1970s my Mom had it refinished and we used it for extra bed space at our lake cabin. At some point, my cousin Garry Banks, moved it in his home but due to downsizing, he asked my Mom if she wanted it back. I volunteered to be the latest keeper of the family Murphy bed.

I enjoyed preparing her room before her Saturday arrival. I even managed to incorporate the awkward elliptical machine (note: always for sale, shoot me your best offer) that is in the room as a part of the guest bedroom decor, thinking “every traveler needs a quick work out.” I selected several albums for her listening pleasure and had fresh cut Irises adding a lovely scent to the air.

I’m now taking reservations for the summer season. Allison left me this message in the nonexistent guestbook.

“When checking in to any popular Boone County B & B one expects to find well lit and well appointed rooms with beautiful decor and comfortable amenities, but nothing compares to the magnificent antique Murphy bed found in Ann’s guest room. It stands majestic with a lovely filigree and other simple adornments and yet folds down into a most comfortable place to spend a night of soothing sleep, nestled on a down pillow encased by a freshly ironed cotton pillow case.  The room also holds a sitting area, stereo and even a state of the art elliptical machine. Already looking forward to the next time!”--Allison Ricks, May 19, 2013

12-12-12

The auspicious day has arrived--The Maya Prophecy! As the magnet above states so perfectly--The End? or The Beginning?

Fall 2009. Wednesday night often found Mom, Jim, and me at the weekly church dinner. It ensured that we would see each other at least weekly and eat a delicious, hot meal prepared by the one and only Laura Estes. The round tables seat eight people to promote friendship and fellowship.

That Wednesday night Mom brought up my impending trip to Guatemala later that winter. I can hear her now, “Do you know that they KILL Americans down there?” Someone at the table piped in “Do you know they kill Americans in Columbia, Mo.?” She moved on. “And who are you going with?” she asked. By myself, I replied. “WHY would you want to go THERE?” Jim was cracking up, watching the common disconnect between the style and ways of Mom and me.

“Ann’s going to get things set for December 12, 2012,” Jim told Mom. “WHAT?” Jim continued, explaining to Mom that the day was the end of the Maya calendar and likely the end of the world. He playfully held out his hand and told Mom she should turn over her cash to him as it would be worthless in just two years. Later Jim told me that the Mayas were a special interest of his--progressive, highly intelligent people, way ahead of their time.

When I was in Guatemala, I saw the magnet pictured and bought one for me and one for Jim. It was on his refrigerator until the day he died. Tears streamed as I took it down when my siblings and I worked to clear his house following his death. I put the magnet in my pocket.

Today, I want to find Jim’s good friend Dan Riepe and give him the magnet. I don’t need two, I don’t want two magnets. 

Missing Jim

Jim Rogers (Nov 18, 1976-Nov 5, 2010)

Two years ago today my baby brother was called home. The loving and missing are still fresh but not raw. My hope is to never get “over it” but rather to move through it at all stages of my life with grace and hope and a dignity that honors Jim.

The Trading Post

Ann Rogers, John Rogers, and Hartley Rogers on their way to
collect goods for the annual Trading Post in Columbia, Mo., on
Halloween evening, mid-1970s.

The only Halloween picture in my cache of photos works well for the story I want to share about a Halloween past. Last year I told the granddaddy of them all--receiving a bowl of guppies as a Halloween treat and the trick it played on my siblings and me. See http://annie-allthingsimportant.blogspot.com/2011_10_01_archive.html for the true tale.

This year’s story remembers the annual “Trading Post” with my brothers. Hartley, John, and me would come home from hours of trick-or-treating and pour our bags of candy into individual mountains and carefully divide the loot into categories (think chocolate, bubble gum, taffy, suckers, caramelized apples, nuts, non-edible toys, and on), creating foothills to each mountain of candy. 

When finished, the Cowgirl (me), the Indian (John), and the Patriot (Hartley) would spend a couple of hours bartering wares so that our arsenal best suited individual taste buds. I can’t imagine the amount of chocolate I sacrificed to obtain as much bubble gum as possible. See, gum was contraband in the home according to Mom and anything banned topped my list. My brothers tended to go for pure sugar and chocolate did the trick. I think all three of us would agree that we have as many memories surrounding the annual Trading Post as the actual trick-or-treat collecting itself. It’s when the game got serious and the stakes became high.

As much as my Mom disliked Halloween, I think my Dad secretly loved it as this memory reveals. One Halloween, perhaps later in the evening in the picture above, the Trading Post conducted its final deals and closed shop. We all took our goods to place in hiding from each other--and as it turns out, most importantly Dad. That night, in the wee hours, when brother John was too pepped on sugar to fall asleep my father tiptoed into his room to swindle a sample from his hidden stash in the closet. Before Dad could make the steal, John shot up in bed and declared “Don’t take my candy!” Dad was so startled by the command that he allowed an eight-year-old Indian to stop him in his tracks. 

Employed Again!

My Dad encouraged me always to be my best in any situation.

My Dad always said......“You need to have a job to get a job!”

Stephens College threw me a curve ball in Summer 2011 when they laid me off from my professional position at the college. I became a part of one of the most feared national statistics--the unemployed. 

Though many experiences over the 14 months felt like vignettes out of a B-movie plot, I learned so much about myself, values, faith, and determination while experiencing joys and opportunities that I might never had otherwise. Unemployment benefits, freelance writing, babysitting, and book selling kept me from borrowing money or losing my home. Still, unemployment is hard, hard stuff. It can get to one’s head and it certainly did mine. Certain X factors made it difficult for me to find employment: my stubborn desire to stay in Columbia; a professional background of many years in director-level jobs in a specialized field; and a resume that made me appear unaffordable and “overqualified” for jobs that I would have given my all to if hired. I was the bargain that no one would hire.

I realized after a year that it was time to take up my brother’s offer to work at the Dairy Queen franchise he owns. Starting my fast food career at the age of 46 was humbling to say the least but I soon learned life lessons that I will treasure forever. 

David Baskett Rogers and Ann Louise Rogers
Our Last Dance

Today, I want to share with you that I have accepted an offer as Manager, Research and Development Services at ChildFund International (http://www.childfund.org/). Some opportunities are worth the wait. Beginning September 4th, I will work in my specialized field (prospect research) from my home, with regular visits to the ChildFund headquarters in Richmond, Virginia, and receive the best pay and benefits package I’ve ever been offered. 

And I very well may be the only ChildFund professional that has the coveted DQ “curl” skill in their arsenal. A word to my friends--never underestimate the difficulty of that curl that tops the ice cream cone or the intelligent and hardworking staff at Dairy Queen--or any fast food restaurant. It is difficult, fast paced, and under appreciated work. I’ll forever remember Dairy Queen as the place I was reminded once again of my Dad’s great wisdom. 

“You need to have a job to get a job.”

Neon IOOF Sign Relit 40 Years Later

The Relit IOOF Sign Again in its Original Glory

The bright neon glow of the Independent Order of Odd Fellows (IOOF) sign once again lights up the southwest corner of Walnut and 10th Streets in downtown Columbia. After 40 years of darkness, the restored sign was remounted and lit in late spring of this year. The sign marks the historic building that currently houses Stuart Insurance and the We Always Swing Jazz Series among several other local businesses.

John Bell, owner of Stuart Insurance and treasurer of the Columbia Odd Fellows, said the lodge had long considered refurbishing the sign but in the past the extra expense always shelved the idea. The organization commissioned Bee Seen Signs for the restoration, which was originally designed and installed by Davis & Hourigan Sign Company, in the early 1950s. Coincidentally, Bee Seen Signs purchased Davis & Hourigan in 1985. Tom Hourigan, son of the original IOOF sign designer, now serves as manager of Bee Seen Signs, and was delighted to learn of the effort to relight the downtown sign that often arouses local curiosity and questions.

When work started Hourigan found the sign in remarkably good condition with no chips to the porcelain enamel. The original transformer boxes--date stamped 1948-49--still worked and as Hourigan said, “they don’t make them like they used to.” After removing dirt and tar build-up he decided to use the originals to power the neon lights.

“The sign was in great shape,” Hourigan added. “There was enough old neon left to trace a pattern of the original lettering and to replicate the original colors of the sign. It mostly needed elbow grease to restore.”

The sign runs on a timer and is now lit from 6-10 daily. Sitting on the edge of the North Village Arts District, it adds a nostalgic flavor to a section of downtown Columbia that missed the neon glow of the IOOF letters since the late 1960s and promises to keep shining bright for decades to come.

The Restored IOOF Sign Ready to be Remounted to the Odd Fellows Building