Madison County Opinion...

DECEMBER 18, 2002

By Frank Gillespie
The Madison County Journal
December 18, 2002

Frankly Speaking
Lott has put final nail
in political coffin
Trent Lott has put the final nail in his political coffin. First, he angered the radical left by suggesting that Southern values expressed in Strom Thurmond’s 1948 election would have made this a better nation.
Now he has disgusted the right wing by going on BET and totally caving in to the so called “black leadership.”
Lott was correct in the first instance. Thurmond’s policies in 1948 would have given us a much better nation. While it is true that Thurmond was a segregationist that was not the theme of his campaign. Thurmond was promoting the four basic principles on which this nation was founded, principles that the liberals have totally abandoned. They are: low taxes, limited government, state sovereignty and individual responsibility.
A Thurmond presidency in 1948 would have greatly reduced or eliminated the massive federal bureaucracy we have today. It would have made headway toward eliminating federal giveaway programs, returning welfare to the state and local communities where it belongs. A Thurmond administration would have kept federal taxes well below the confiscatory levels we have today.
Lott knew all this. He knew what he was saying. He failed to stick to his guns when the critics attacked. Just like far too many Republicans, he panicked when the radical left dug out the old racism charges.
The most disgusting thing I have seen in years is Lott’s appearance on the most racist program in America today, Black Entertainment Television, to kowtow to his critics. He even declared himself a convert to the idea of “affirmative action, a program that rewards minorities for no other reason than their race.”
Political terrorism is just as evil and just as dangerous as any other form of forced repression. The efforts by those who devote their lives to living off the government to defeat those who believe in personal responsibility are behind attacks on Southern conservatives that have now advanced to a new level. We are now under a massive assault from cultural terrorists who are determined to wipe out all things Southern.
Why? The South is the one remaining defender of the four founding principles I listed above. The War Between the States was not about preserving slavery, it was about restoring the founding principles of this nation. The 1956 Georgia flag was not about racism, it was about preserving that same Southern cause.
The radicals on the left, both black and white, cannot defend their attacks on those principles, so they make the claim that all who defend those principles are “racists” and use that as their primary weapon.
Frank Gillispie is founder of The Madison County Journal. His web page can be accessed at His e-mail address is

By Phillip Sartain
The Madison County Journal
December 18, 2002

The Lawyers Side
Wishful thinking
There is only one item on my Christmas Wish List this year. It’s not expensive but it’s essential to my mental and physical well being—all I want for Christmas this year is a private, uninterrupted moment in the bathroom.
When we had children, it never occurred to me that I would have to petition Santa Claus for a private moment. Our pediatrician never told us the truth about children—they’re wired like moths. The moment I merely think about going into the bathroom, a light goes off in their heads and they swarm uncontrollably in my direction. Yesterday was no different.
At the time, I was almost in the clear when my five-year-old daughter, who has the strongest “bathroom-interrupting gene,” busted me at the door. As usual, she wanted to come inside. “Listen,” I said, “I need a moment here.”
“Okay,” she chirped, having already wormed her way into the room. “But I need to ask you a question first.” In an effort to keep her from developing a traumatic bathroom psychosis later in life, I let her go ahead and ask. “Well, Daddy, I, um, I was, uh, wondering.”
“Yes, what is it?” I answered as I started to hop from one foot to the other.
“Um, um, I have a question, um.”
“Yes, we’ve covered that, what is your question?” I gingerly inquired, building up some steam with the hopping bit.
“You know those little bugs?”
“Which bugs?” I asked, grasping the doorknob in anticipation of applying maximum force to close the door immediately after answering yet another bug-related question.
“Well, the ones that have wingy things and ....”
Feeling a heightened sense of urgency, I began to chew a massive hole through my tongue. I hissed at her through clenched teeth, “Which wingy things? A lot of bugs have wings. Can we talk about them a little later?”
Of course, that ridiculous request only prompted a series of questions about the meaning of “later”, and thus prolonged my agony. By then, I was hopping and chewing vigorously and mentally cursing all bugs in general and wingy bugs specifically. I squinched up my eyes to the rising pain and continued a little tersely, “What ... bugs ... talk ... about?”
“Umm, um, you know, um, um, they’re always bouncing and flying circles around light bulbs,” she stumbled along.
Just moments before I was about to lose consciousness, it occurred to me that my daughter was starting to look like a giant bug herself. To her credit, she recognized all the signs of an impending bathroom psychosis and she called her two sisters for help.
So instead of one child with a single question, I was confronted by three budding entomologists crowded into the bathroom with me, peppering me with inane questions about bugs with wings. In other words, I was caught in a swarm of privacy devouring humanoid moths.
All restraint and decorum evaporated when I realized that my need to use the bathroom had finally reached heretofore unknown historic levels, and I blurted out, “They’re moths, they must be moths, now get out of this bathroom immediately, or you will all suffer the most severe and profound punishment known to man.”
As I rushed to shut the door, Susanna refused to yield. “But Daddy, why do they they do that?” she yelled through the crack in the door. Unable to communicate, I just howled like a poor wounded animal, cornered and awaiting death. Fortunately, by the time I finished and exited the bathroom, they had moved on to devour their mother.
I wouldn’t even think of putting this on my Wish List, but I go through this process every single day of my life and I’m desperate. And for the record, Santa, if I can’t get a private moment, I’d be willing to settle for a giant can of bug spray.
Phillip Sartain is an attorney in Gainesville.

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