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By Staff
Poem celebrates roll of fathers
Dad's Greatest Job
In loving memory of Gary Thomas Byrd
I may never be as clever as my neighbor down the street.
I may never be as wealthy as some other men I meet.
I may never have the glory some other men have had.
But I've got to be successful as a little fellow's dad.
There are certain dreams of cherish, that I'd like to see come true
There are things I would accomplish, 'ere my working days are through.
But the task my heart is set on, is to guide a little lad
And make myself successful, as a little fellow's dad.
I may never come to glory, I may never gather gold
Men may count me as a failure, when my business life is told
But if he who follows after, shall be manly, I'll be glad
Then I'll know I've been successful as a little fellow's dad.
It's the one job that I dream of, it's the task I think of most
If I fail that growing youngster, I'd have nothing else to boast.
For though fame and wealth I'd gather, all my future would be sad
If I failed to be successful as a little fellow's dad.
Mrs. Paul Byrd
Progress does not a nice city make
As a kid growing up in the city of Hartselle, the climate was small and cozy. Not a creature was stirring and no one I knew had an apocalyptic view. The town became a meeting place on Saturdays. Folks would buy, trade and sometimes haggle but they usually found what they were looking for.
The old codgers would talk about the good old days, while I was just starting to work on mine. Although the stores and sidewalks were crowded, there was plenty of room for everyone. There were no major traffic problems. Who would have thought by the year 2000 (and onward) Hartselle would have changed its spots?
Now, we have one humdinger of a traffic problem.
Some people have their squawk boxes (cellular phones) stuck to the side of their faces, never watching while they are driving. I call it a big shot thing, but you can call it whatever you want to, it's still dangerous.
With more buildings springing up all over the city, how much more land is available? Even on the outskirts of town, there's more concrete. I cannot fathom how many people have the false impression that progress is always bigger and better.
With progress you need to hire more police officers, build more fire stations, install more traffic lights and even build more streets. Don't forget more taxes.
A point conceded to the city council: No city can operate on air alone.
There are some good intentions by the people in charge, but Jonah didn't set out to be swallowed by a big fish, look what happened.
Like Humpty Dumpty, Hartselle has become a shell of its former self. Progress does not a nice city make.
Jimmy Robinson