Bill's Blog

One out of every two marriages in this country ends in a divorce.  Why?  Well, I can’t prove this, but I firmly believe that the alarming divorce rate in this country is directly related to putting up Christmas trees.

Every once in a while in life we are blessed to meet a deeply spiritual person.  There is a common misunderstanding about what it means to be a “deeply spiritual person.”  Many people think that such a person is someone who is expressive, if not outspoken, about their faith and their beliefs.  They believe a deeply spiritual person is someone who has great certainty rather than doubts, and is fond of quoting scripture or praying in public.

I’m a proud graduate of the University of Tennessee where I obtained my Bachelor of Conservative Arts degree with a major in football appreciation, and a minor in miscellaneous extracurricular activities.

On Tuesday, United States Senator Bob Corker announced that he will not run for reelection to the Senate next year. Within minutes after his announcement, people across the Volunteer State were asking: Will Peyton Manning throw his helmet into the ring? 

It was no surprise that Tennesseans began to wonder if there was a Senator Peyton in their future.

My all-time favorite newspaper columnist, the late, great Lewis Grizzard, once wrote a book with the wonderful title, Elvis is Dead and I Don’t Feel So Good Myself . While I love the title, I respectfully disagree with it. 

Some 40 years after the King went to Rock and Roll Heaven (where as the Righteous Brothers reminded us, you know they have a hell of a band), Elvis remains very much with us in spirit. He remains alive in our hearts and makes us feel good when we hear his music.

Forty-four years ago, a young Tennessee Senator named Howard Baker appeared on national television during a Senate hearing and asked the following compound question: “What did the President know, and when did the President know it?”

When I was a child growing up nearly 60 years ago, lightning bugs or “fireflies” filled the summer night skies.

On an October afternoon in 1964, I sat impatiently in the back of Mrs. Evans’ 7th grade history class at Frayser Junior High School.  I had the small plastic earpiece of my Japanese transistor radio in my right ear so I could listen to the 5th game of the World Series between the evil New York Yankees and my beloved St. Louis Cardinals.

Last Saturday, I celebrated (sic) my 65th birthday.  My present was a Medicare card. Yes, it’s happy Medicare for me! 

Now that the Federal government has issued me a Medicare card, it’s official: I’m an old geezer.

JUNE 8, WASHINGTON, D.C.—Today is National Seersucker Day, and I’m celebrating it in the United States Capitol with Senator Bill Cassidy of Louisiana, Senator Dianne Feinstein of California, and many other well-dressed Senators participating in “Seersucker Thursday.”

This coming Monday, Memorial Day, marks the 100th anniversary of the birth of our 35th President, John Fitzgerald Kennedy. 

Like almost every American over the age of 60, I can tell you precisely where I was on Friday afternoon, November 22, 1963, when I heard the news that President Kennedy had been assassinated.

On Monday, the University of Kentucky announced that it is changing the name of its football stadium from Commonwealth Stadium to Kroger Field.  That’s right, frequent football shoppers! Come September, the University of Kentucky Wildcat football team will be playing in a football stadium named after a grocery store.

Tonight is Trolley Night on South Main Street in downtown Memphis.  Except there won’t be any trollies. There will be those hideous looking buses designed to look like trollies.  Those faux trolley buses are the Elvis impersonators of mass transit.

Behold, brothers and sisters!  I bring you good tidings of great joy … and comfort! Seersucker season is back, at least for those of us who live south of the Sweet Tea Line!

When I was a child, Easter Sunday always began in darkness.  And it always ended in sunlight.

My mother would awaken me dark and early on Sunday morning long before sunrise.  I would put on the Sunday clothes she had laid out for me. A white sports jacket. White dress shirt. A colorful bowtie. Black pressed trousers and black shoes my father had shined on Easter Eve.

JUPITER, FLORIDA:  I am at this very sunlit moment sitting in one of my favorite places on Earth, Roger Dean Stadium, winter home of my beloved St.Louis Cardinals.  It is 83 degrees, and there is not a cloud in the sky.  If Heaven is better than this, it must really be something.

We are now living in the era of fake news.   If you don’t believe it, you obviously did not watch the telecast of the Academy Awards ceremony on Sunday night.

In the spring of 1973, I was an undergraduate majoring in Football Appreciation at the University of Tennessee.  Like a lot of college students, I skipped several classes that spring, and I’ve got the transcript to prove it. 

But I didn’t cut class in May of 1973 to throw a Frisbee or to enjoy springtime in the mountains of East Tennessee.

Unless you are a divorce lawyer, February is one of the best months of the year.  That's because right smack in the middle of the year's shortest month comes a day for lovers ... Valentine's Day!

I love bookstores.  I particularly love small, cozy independent bookstores that are cluttered with stacks of books. 

I generally hate to shop, but I make an exception when it comes to bookstores. I love to browse around them, sipping on a cup of coffee, and occasionally plopping myself into an available lounge chair and start reading some special book I have found and intend to buy before I leave the store.