Past Imperfect | Madison Taylor

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Noted at the home office

June 14th, 2013, 9:39 am by madisontaylor

My friend and Thatababy cartoonist Paul Trap is a huge baseball fan. When he worked at the Times-News in the 1980s, he would plan vacations around tours of minor and big league baseball parks. He might be in Detroit one day and Racine, Wis. the next checking out a game. When Paul lived in Burlington, he frequented Burlington Indians games.

Because he still keeps up with this area — and is an unofficial fan of Elon’s athletic teams — Paul was aware that the Indians affiliation with Burlington ended some time ago. Now, the Royals call Burlington Athletic Stadium home. On a recent trip to Kansas City to watch the Royals play, Paul visited the team’s museum at the stadium and was delighted to find a section highlighting minor league affiliates. The Class A Rookie League team here in town was prominently featured.

So Paul took this photo. Hey, the season starts next week. Play ball!

Posted in: Let's talk sports • Past imperfect • Strange but true journalism stories | Post a Comment »

Confessions of a Watergate baby

May 17th, 2013, 12:56 pm by madisontaylor

There are only a handful of reasons why people of my generation decided to go into journalism.

1. To see the world.

2. To meet interesting people.

3. To get free stuff.

4. To help people.

5. To cover sports.

6. Watergate.

For me, put the check mark beside No. 6. Yes, I’m a Watergate baby.

The truth is, my interest in news actually predated the famously third-rate break-in during the summer of 1972 at the Democratic headquarters then based at the Watergate hotel in Washington. The break-in itself wasn’t that big a deal. In fact, it was barely worthy of a cop news item in the Washington Post, which was picked up by a new guy it had on staff at the time by the name of Bob Woodward. He was the nighttime reporter, hardly a big name . . . yet.

But all the unraveling that happened thereafter is the stuff of journalism and political legend.

Almost from the start, I was fascinated by the Watergate business. The truth is, I was always drawn to big news. My mom recalls that following the assassination of President John F. Kennedy, I watched all the TV coverage — and she would emphasize all. At age 4, and nearly blind as a bat, I stood right in front of the black and white television. Mom said I was particularly riveted by the coverage of JFK’s funeral. My only personal recollection is of the white horses pulling the flag-draped casket that day. I thought it would never arrive at its destination, which was Arlington National Cemetery.

But during the years in which I was ages 12 and 13, this Watergate deal lassoed my attention in a way few non-baseball-related things had before or since. I read everything I could find about it — and there wasn’t much because in those days the Washington Post couldn’t just be picked up in rural Stokes County. Still, I monitored Watergate on network news and when the hearings began in Congress, I saw it on TV — even when we were on vacation in Myrtle Beach.

Yes, I gave up skee ball at the Pavilion to watch North Carolina Sen. Sam Ervin’s jowly queries of President Richard Nixon’s constipated-looking henchmen.

Ultimately, of course, Nixon resigned but not because of the break-in itself. No, that was just the cracked manhole cover into a fetid sewer of cover-ups, payoffs, illegal use of campaign contributions, enemies lists, IRS audits, break-ins into the offices of doctors, illegal wiretapping . . . the list goes on and on. The guilty even included agencies like the U.S. Department of Justice. Nixon got off lucky. Nearly everyone else who worked for him landed in one country club prison or another.

And all because of some newspaper reporters who wouldn’t take no for an answer, lost sleep tracking down mind-numbing amounts of paperwork or leads that often went nowhere and endured threats from the highest levels of government. They drank a lot of stale coffee, too, I suspect.

What I learned then and there is how important journalism can be. Sure, reporters work on significant stories, gut-wrenching stories, even amazing stories from time to time, but there is a much larger picture. Journalism practiced professionally and thoroughly is an obstacle to unfettered corruption, a guardian of freedom and a line of defense against government authority run amok. If it exists for no other reason, it’s to stand up to the powerful and pursue questions others can’t.

That’s how this deal was set up in the Constitution. It’s what the people who founded this country had in mind. Doesn’t really matter whether people in authority like it or not.

But it only works if the government is not allowed to throw up random roadblocks to public information, harm whistleblowers, seek retribution upon those who report the news or investigate news organizations without cause.

As a result of all this, of course, I decided to pursue a career in journalism. I brought along a finely honed sense of cynicism. I don’t have much faith in authority figures and trust relatively few in public life. I like to get answers when reporters pose questions and have no patience with government agencies that want to withhold any public documents — no matter the reason. I want to be able to write accurate and fair stories. When someone in government gives us a sound reason to hold an item, we usually listen. For example, we never want to publish a story that would harm an important police investigation.

Most reputable news organizations conduct business the same way. I know the Associated Press does. In fact, if there is a knock on the AP, it’s that it is too mild-mannered in its reporting, a hazard of being a one-size fits all type of operation.

So word this week that the U.S. Department of Justice secretly obtained the telephone records and other items from the AP and its staff because it was fishing for information about the source of a story the government didn’t like sent the journalism world into a collective Richard Nixon flashback. And it should have. The act is indefensible, even though the Obama Administration appears ready to try rather than reprimand the DOJ and call for the ouster of Attorney General Eric Holder. It’s standard operating procedure for an administration that isn’t even media-tolerant, forget media-friendly.

Sadly, for a president who ran on themes of hope and change, this all looks very 1972.

Posted in: Column collection • Past imperfect • Strange but true journalism stories | Post a Comment »

Happy belated anniversary to me

May 6th, 2013, 12:44 pm by madisontaylor

An anniversary got past me last week. May 1 marked my sixth year as editor of the Times-News. I know it’s not one of the 5, 10, 15, 20, 25 kind of benchmarks, but in the newspaper business in this day an age we take what we can get.

So I’m thankful for every year they let me stay here.

Really.

That doesn’t mean my time back here in Burlington has been a path strewn with rose petals and glasses of champagne. The truth is, I returned in 2007 for a variety of reasons. One was to be closer to my parents, especially with my dad in failing health. I missed the Piedmont weather and four distinct seasons, which beat the heck out of the brutal humidity and nearly nonstop summers on the coast. And I left the Times-News under an angry cloud in 1992 and I wanted another chance to square the account.

I’ve not regretted it so far.

But it’s been an eventful six years, to say the least.

Some examples.

We did, indeed, lose my dad in 2008 after years of battling heart and lung problems, he eventually succumbed to kidney failure. I was able to see him a little more in his last year than I had the previous five or six combined.

A year later we lost my grandmother at age 95.

We lost my father-in-law to prostate cancer in 2011.

When I arrived at the Times-News on May 1, 2007, we had 28 staffers and a fleet of part-timers. Today we have 23 staffers and a handful of independent contractors who help out in sports.

When I arrived, Steve Buckley was the publisher who hired me.

Today, Paul Mauney is the publisher who puts up with me.

Our newspaper’s owners when I arrived, Freedom, fell into bankruptcy, emerged from bankruptcy, and was sold piece by piece.

Our newspaper’s new owners, Halifax, grew from one newspaper in January of 2012 to 34 newspapers now.

We’ve redesigned our website about a half-dozen times. My least favorite incarnation is the one now.

We lost advertising director Zac Creech to a unknown heart condition, in his 40s, in 2007.

Frances Woody lost son Andy to an unknown heart condition, in his 40s, in 2011.

Frances Woody lost husband Tom to esophageal cancer in 2012.

We lost reporter Mike Wilder to a breathtakingly short bout with cancer in 2013.

Our copydesk has completely turned over in the last six years. Current staffers there, R.J. Beatty and Lyndsey Hicks have helped turn around the appearance of our newspaper, with help from Linda Bowden.

My spouse, the lovely and talented Roselee Papandrea, took a job with the Times-News, won a slew of awards, then left to work for Elon.

Thankfully, we’ve had great longtime stalwarts who are the heart of what we do and continue to be.

I’m talking about Frances Woody, Jay Ashley, Brent Lancaster, Bob Sutton, Linda Bowden, Sam Roberts, Charity Apple Pierce, Adam Smith, Joe Jurney and Brian Rose.

Bob Sutton continues to be the hardest-working sports editor I’ve ever been around. He almost never looks for reasons not to do a story, but finds ways to make stories happen instead. Rare.

We’ve bulked up our intern program, with big help from Elon’s stellar School of Communications. There is almost never a time when an Elon student isn’t on our staff. We are the richer for this.

Two of them, photographer Scott Muthersbaugh and reporter Natalie Allison, are now on our full-time staff.

Reporter Molly McGowan wasn’t an intern, but she’s an Elon grad on our staff as is Conor O’Neill in sports.

I had the good fortune to bring back my longtime friend Steve Huffman, as a reporter. He knows more about writing stories about Burlington than I’ll ever figure out.

We’ve been fortunate when it comes to winning awards from the North Carolina Press Association.

We’ve done well in appearance and design, news section design and public service. In fact, we’ve captured something in public service nearly every year I’ve been here. That makes me very proud.

Michael Abernethy writes about courts like nobody’s business. It’s still the one thing we can cover in our newspaper that people can’t get much of anyplace else.

And Michael won an NCPA award for investigative reporting this year, the first one of those here in many years.

We have more than quintupled our online audience at www.thetimesnews.com. In fact, I can’t even figure out a word that accurately describes our online growth since 2007. Say this, when I got here the site got about 30,000 page views a week. Today it gets more than 500,000.

We have moved into social media with presences on Facebook, Twitter, Google Plus and Pinterest.

I’m still learning the hard way about all the trap doors that come on that landscape. Social media is fun, immediate, even a little exciting – but there’s a lot of black ice to navigate and online wrecks are only one of the consequences.

We are continuing to dedicate ourselves to mainly local news, but readers still want their national stories as well.

Did I mention that I miss the lovely and talented Roselee Papandrea on our staff?

Readers, for the most part, have accepted the changes we’ve had to make as a result of budget cutbacks. Most seem to appreciate my explanations when it comes to things we do, things we foul up or things we flat missed out on.

Do we cover everything we should be? Far from it. But our average is not too bad, and improving.

I wish there was some way out of doing the editorial page every day. It’s for ideologues that have big visions and opinions.

As I was just telling county commissioner Tim Sutton earlier today, perhaps the worst thing I can say about myself these days is that I’ve been in newspapers so long I no longer have much of an opinion on anything.

But I still like reporting news.

And what’s ahead? Well, I know that in a few more months we’ll be charging people to call up stories on our website. Not sure exactly what the format will be, but I certainly plan to keep readers here posted as the date draws closer. That’s been my habit up to now and I don’t plan to change.

Hope to see you all in six more years.

Posted in: Inside the Times-News • Past imperfect | Post a Comment »

Letting the kids have their say

May 5th, 2013, 9:44 am by madisontaylor

My print column this week reaches into the past to comment on the present — and future. For the record, and there has been some confusion, I’ in favor of putting a student on the Board of Education.

—-

A letter I might have written to a Board of Education in a county far, far away, ca. 1976.

Dear Board of Education members,

So, you think you know what goes on at high schools in this county? Well, I kind of doubt it. The truth is, you don’t know and probably really don’t want to know when it comes right down to it.

“Don’t ask, don’t tell.” Maybe that should be the board’s slogan. It’s got a certain ring to it dontcha think? I’m sure someone will slap it on a commercial or something eventually. In fact, I predict a huge boom for this particular phrase down the road — before people figure out it’s total bunk.

This not asking, not telling and not knowing, well, it leads nowhere.

But what do I know? I’m just a 16-year-old kid. Nobody listens to a kid, ever. At least they don’t here in the 1970s. Maybe the turn of the century will become a time when the opinions of kids matter, at least a little.

But I won’t hold my breath on that one.

Yes, as a kid in 1970s America, it’s my job to just accept whatever happens. I’m supposed to say the shag carpet in the basement really highlights the exposed pipes in the ceiling; that avocado is a beautiful color for a refrigerator; who needs air-conditioning; sure I’ll drive a Ford Pinto; and dig that leisure suit! I’m also expected to shut my yap about My Lai, Muhammad Ali, the Symbionese Liberation Army, and “Deep Throat,” the movie.

But for some reason I’m expected to automatically know how to program this Betamax monstrosity to record TV shows no one wants to watch anyway. “The Love Boat” and “Fantasy Island” . . . I mean, come on.

And how much longer can I simply nod and agree that just another band out of Boston is worth listening to, even though they plainly aren’t. Disco? Who came up with that . . . junk?

OK, I admit, I’m way off the subject. But I wanted to offer up a little background because none of you board members has been in the game for a while. School changes. Fact is, it only has a passing resemblance to the schools you attended way back when, or even taught in just a few years ago. About the only thing in common is that you had books, chalkboards, erasers and teachers — and so do we. And I guess in your day, students were expected to sit down and shut up, too.

That doesn’t make it right.

You see, I attend a school where punishment is random. Some kids get it, while others don’t. Who knows why? I certainly can’t figure it out.

And one of the assistant principals . . . well, she just runs students out of school if she gets a mind to. Makes their lives so absolutely miserable there’s no other option. Want to look at the dropout rate, well, look at her.

Then they hired a second assistant principal, if you can believe that, and since you made the decision to hire him I guess you do. This guy’s sole job seems to be making sure girls don’t smoke in the boys’ smoking area and the boys don’t wander into the girls’ smoking area. Boys and girls smoking together — goodness knows what might happen. If the school system ever gets rid of smoking areas, kids might stop going to school at all.

And the driver’s ed instructor who’s also the football coach? We are his personal errand service to the trophy shop in Winston-Salem, the hardware store, even the post office. Must be nice to have a chauffeured car filled with gas courtesy of the school system at your disposal.

Temporary classrooms? They’re trailers, dudes. Trailers. We freeze in the winter, toast in the summer and watch ceiling materials flutter down to our desk tops. We all need Dramamine when the wind blows. What’s the expiration date on the word “temporary” anyway?

Better be thankful for Mrs. Lloyd or nobody in this school would know how to write a term paper.

Kids who get bullied have no place to turn. Who speaks for them at our school? Nobody, that’s who. They just get bullied some more.

And the principal? That guy’s primary function, by all appearances, is monitoring short skirts on girls, harassing black students and making an annual speech every spring over the intercom about “rising sap.” He seems to believe he’s a prison warden.

Look, I realize I don’t know squat about what courses we should take or how teachers might best be evaluated or what a principal is supposed to do. But I have a pretty clear idea of what they shouldn’t do, and I see a lot of that. Not learning an awful lot either, at least nothing that will mean much to me a year or two from now.

Can any of this be fixed? I don’t know. The best suggestion I have is to perhaps listen to a student every once in a while. At least that way you might have a wider idea of what happens on campuses. You might even appoint a student or two and have them attend your meetings regularly and offer suggestions. It probably couldn’t hurt, might even help. It’s worth a shot at least.

But I’m sure nobody’s listening. After all, I’m just a kid.

Posted in: Column collection • Past imperfect | Post a Comment »

No time for head games

February 2nd, 2013, 11:00 am by madisontaylor

My print column this week was sparked by a Facebook status of about 40 words. Mining my past for fool’s gold.

———-

Growing up, the only youth sport in which I was even marginally competent was football — and I emphasize the word “marginally.”

I was on the small side. Wore glasses thick enough to repel the space shuttle. Had the speed of a junked car. When other kids accurately pointed out that I was “Blind in one eye and can’t see out of the other,” I laughed with the joke. Starting fights to correct statements that are abundantly true didn’t make much sense — then or now. Explains why I’m not in politics, probably.

But I was tough, because I had to be. I couldn’t back down about anything. I had to prove I could play with everyone else. And because I was already a splendid disaster at baseball and basketball, well, making it in football was everything.

So I played in one of those Pop Warner youth leagues when the little town next to mine started one. I joined the Walnut Cove Lions.

My football career began inauspiciously — as an undersized member of a team for older kids. Because there was no junior pee wee division the first year Walnut Cove had a team, I suited up for the pee wees. My playing time was limited to those occasions in which the team was so far behind our opponents would have to surrender like Lee at Appomattox in order for us to win. On the occasion I actually got into a game that year, I recall a runner escaping my attention and scampering past my clueless defense for two straight scores. At this point, alert coaches decided that free safety wasn’t the place to put the half-blind kid.

A year later, the junior pee wees were born, and I flourished, to a fashion. Moved to either the offensive or defensive lines I managed to start all but one game the remainder of my four-year youth football career. The only blemish on my record came the following season — after I had grown into the pee wee division — when I was benched for a game as noseguard by the coach who noticed that my play on defense in practice scrimmages against the offense was not to my usual standard. He suspected me of “lollygagging.” He somehow overlooked the fact that his son, the regular center, was sick that week and someone who was 100 percent more ferocious replaced him and knocked me in the dirt play after play.

Yes, college has nothing on youth sports when it comes to grooming people for life in the American workplace.

Still, I have fond memories of those days. I was generally coached by good men, family men, men who thanklessly volunteered in order to make sure that kids in rural Stokes County had the opportunity to play organized football with uniforms and everything. Of them all, only one coach was a sadistic maniac. He arrived for every practice with a Sun-Drop bottle filled with a brownish substance. We weren’t allowed to touch the bottle. He got crazier as the afternoon wore into the early evening. Go figure.

But every single coach liked to see us 9- to 12-year-olds knock the total snot out of each other. We were screamed at to hit low, smash each other in the helmet and be tough. If we failed to do so, we were usually compared to girls. Pretty horrifying thing for a 10-year-old boy back then.

Yes, in sports — and the military — such observations are seen as motivational tools. Can’t say it didn’t work like gangbusters.

So we ran headlong into each other for what seemed like hours. The players with the most scars on their helmets got vigorous pats on the back and calls of “attaboy!”

The one drill we all dreaded involved the “chicken coop.” It was an open-ended contraption with a height of about three feet, the top covered by chicken wire. Players were told to line up facing each other underneath the wire and then fire into one another — clashing helmets — repeatedly. This was supposed to teach us to hit low. What I learned, mainly, was about the exceptional capabilities of BC Powder and Excedrin.

By the wisdom of the day, those drills were fine. And as a lineman, I was marginally competent at all of it. No better, no worse. A passable piece of the interchangeable puzzle parts that make up the machinery of a working football team.

I left football after that because I felt I was too small to play on the line in high school and this getting beat up and going home with headaches at nightfall seemed patently ridiculous. I became more of a fan of the game. I loved high school and college football. Still do. I like the strategy behind a well-timed offensive play or how the blocking or defensive schemes come together.

And, sadly, I like to see people knock the snot out of each other.

Today I’ll probably watch some of the Super Bowl. I’ll acknowledge that pro football’s move to improve safety for its players is wise and long overdue. Helmet on helmet hitting is a serious problem. All levels of football need to look at it carefully. Concussions are nothing to fool around with.

I also want the game to continue. People should have the choice about whether they wish to play or not. But it should be made as safe as is humanly possible. It’s a contact sport after all.

Still, if I had a kid today the last thing he or she would be doing is playing football.

Posted in: Column collection • Let's talk sports • Past imperfect | Post a Comment »

Covering the political sideshow

December 9th, 2012, 12:13 pm by madisontaylor

Long, long ago in a county far, far away I received a December telephone call from a just-elected member of a county Board of Commissioners. The caller was a retired cop who succeeded in his second bid for public office. Several years before, he lost a brutal battle for sheriff to a candidate with more public support than personal or professional common sense and knew full well he would never be able to beat this former colleague / friend who turned into something of an enemy. Being a commissioner was his consolation prize for never, ever becoming sheriff.

Anyway, the reason he called on this early December morning was to ask a question. He wanted to be chairman of the board, had to do some political engineering to accomplish it and was interested in what the newspaper might think about it, editorially speaking. Because he dealt with the media a lot as a police officer, he knew me fairly well. And in those days I wrote a lot more often about local politics than I do now.

Insert line about “the time to put away childish things” here.

So when he asked how the newspaper might view his bid for chairman I answered very directly.

“We don’t care,” I said.

“Huh?” he responded in surprise.

“We don’t care, not even one itty-bit. That chairman thing is y’alls’ deal, not ours,” I answered. “The chairman only has one vote like any other commissioner and he or she is elected by county voters just like any other board member. The chairman is just someone with a gavel and a copy of ‘Robert’s Rules of Order’ is all.”

And even though I know it’s slightly — but only ever so slightly — more complicated than that, I didn’t add anything more to the conversation. And the new commissioner in question went on to be one of the worst chairs of any politically elected board I’ve seen before or since.

But the newspaper still didn’t care one wit, except for one thing. Meetings went from two hours to nearly five under this chairman’s watch. Not good for our deadline. Seems this particular politician had a very circular way of talking and not enough self-awareness to gavel himself to shut the heck up.

But ultimately, it still wasn’t much to make editorial hay about because who’s in charge of a local government board is really all about its members, how they interact and very little else. Sometimes it might impact the way a discussion proceeds, but in the final analysis, few in the public take much real notice at all.

And yet, newspapers cling to the antiquated idea that this annual exercise over who might be the next chair is the most significant local government matter that will occur all year — even though we know better. The Times-News did the same old thing this year, too.

Old habits, it seems, are hard to break.

The reason is pretty clear. It’s easy for the media to become hypnotized by loud and cantankerous political machinations because it’s the most visible and easy thing to cover. It’s difficult to boil down Alamance County’s financial maladies into a 500-word story that all can understand. It’s much simpler to throw political spitballs at just-elected Commissioner David Smith’s secret plan to cure the county’s money shortage, a proposal he said he would reveal after winning election, Of course, when he unveiled his plan last week it turned out to be a bigger disappointment than the final episode of the old TV show “Lost.”

The problem with the media and politics — whether it’s covered by local, regional, state or national reporters — is put into excellent perspective today in a letter to the Open Forum by Ken Sellers. It’s on page A5 of today’s Times-News. While I wouldn’t endorse keeping the media out of political coverage — far from it in fact — I concur that political antics are becoming a sideshow in the American carnival and we’re partly to blame. We indulge the petty back and forth that has only further polarized a political process in which Democrats and Republicans have stopped listening to each other.

But in a larger sense it’s also problem across the board. Once again, I go back to a time long, long ago in a community far, far away. A person new to the area called my office. She didn’t understand why town elections were non-partisan. She thought the idea to be completely backward.

“How does anyone know who to vote for?” she asked.

The answer, I thought then and now, seems obvious. Start by paying attention to what’s important.

Posted in: Column collection • Past imperfect • Politics too complicated for politicians | Post a Comment »

Point of interest: The Beirut Memorial

October 23rd, 2012, 8:59 am by madisontaylor

Jacksonville is home to perhaps the least well-known must-see destination in North Carolina: The Beirut Memorial. It’s a monument to the 241 Marines, sailors and soldiers killed on Oct. 23, 1983 in what would be the first large-scale act of terrorism committed against Americans. Members of Camp Lejeune’s 24th Marine Amphibious Unit made up the vast majority of the troops who perished that day when a truck filled with explosives was driven into the barracks by islamic extremists.

The world would never be the same again. And it left a huge mark on the Marine Corps, Camp Lejeune and the population of Jacksonville — a town once divided by military and civilian loyalities that came together as one afterward to rebuld shattered lives and a wounded community.

The memorial on Lejeune Boulevard (also known as N.C. 24) is the result. The monument, a solitary Marine, is stark and the tree-lined park itself is remarkably quiet considering that it’s next to a major highway. Along the median of Lejeune Boulevard, which links the city to the main gate at Camp Leujene, Bradford pears are planted in memory of each service member killed that day. Their names are inscribed on a wall of the memorial.

The trees and monument are there to remind us all of the sacrifices made by the Marine peacekeeping force sent to Lebanon to provide some form of security during a civil war between Chrisians and Muslims. The Marines were seen as enemies by the latter, even though that was far from the case. The legend at the memorial, “The Came In Peace,” speaks volumes. Today, hundreds converged upon the site for the yearly Beirut Observance.

It’s also a solemn marker to the root of terrorism committed against Americans, something that would continue over the next 29 years, most recently in Libya.

Really, it’s a memorial all Americans should see. People who vacation in North Carolina coastal communities like Topsail Island, Swansboro or Emerald Isle should make it a point to drive the 20 or so miles to Jacksonville and spend some time in reflection there.

Posted in: Just thinking out loud • Past imperfect | Post a Comment »

Hate here at home in 2001 and its connection to today

August 8th, 2012, 8:25 am by madisontaylor

Until our daily news budget meeting at 4 p.m. on Tuesday I wasn’t very familiar with the term “hate rock.”

Turns out, I should have been.

We talked about hate rock, a subculture of rock’n’roll music that appeals to neo-Nazis, skinheads, Klan members and their ilk because of an Associated Press story about mass killer Wade Michael Page, a former Fort Bragg soldier who killed six people at a Sikh temple in Wisconsin Sunday before being taken down by police. Page was apparently linked to hate rock bands as a member. The AP described the hate rock scene as “a shadowy world of hundreds of performers in the U.S. and Europe, most of them playing metal or hardcore punk. Some also play country, folk and other genres.” Their lyrics and attitudes are singed with racism and sometimes threats of violence.

According to the AP, Page once played guitar and bass with Intimidation One, as well as in bands called Definite Hate and End Apathy. Apparently there’s a lot of crossover among band members in the hate rock world.

None of that stood out for me until later Tuesday night when I got a call at home from Brad Coville, a former photographer here who is now with the Wilson Daily Times. Page is a former resident of Nashville, N.C., which is in their area. While doing some research, Brad came across a GQ article from 2001 about the band Definite Hate.

Turns out, they have a connection to Alamance County but don’t seem to have been based here, as Brad originally thought.

The September 2001 GQ story written by Geoff Edgers describes a day in Alamance County that begins in Graham at the Civil War memorial event and ends at the Ossipee Ski Lodge, a notorious bar that operated for years out Old Highway 87 and was pretty much a kind of ground zero for racism in our community. Today it looks like a far more tranquil hangout for bikers and calls itself the Old Ski Lodge. It has new owners and none of the trappings or attitudes of the former Ossipee Ski Lodge, I’m told.

Edgers follows Definite Hate throughout the action-packed day, including their performance at the former Ossipee Ski Lodge, which drew a nasty assortment of white supremacists from varying groups. The headline on the story was this:

“White Trash: The inside story on the making of a hate band. Or how five impressionable skinheads learned that being a bigot is the quickest way to a record deal and a loyal following the world over”

Edgers’ piece contains this description of the Ossipee Ski Lodge in 2001.

“The Ossipee Ski Lodge sits in one of the ever shrinking pockets of Klan country in the American South. There was a time when blacks wouldn’t dare approach these parts. Now they drive by, sometimes honking in protest as they pass. The lodge is a low cinder-block building with booths and pool tables inside, a concrete patio outside. The walls are decorated with Confederate flags and NASCAR photos. Above the bar hangs a noose around the mask of a black woman with oversize bogeyman features. Outside, a few dozen skinheads mingle with fifty or so older Ossipee regulars, drinking beer and sifting through … a table of Resistance products. A Johnny Rebel tape from the 1970s plays over the PA. His racist rebel songs provided a white-power fix for an older generation.”

The Ossipee Ski Lodge first flashed across my radar screen when I worked for the Times-News in the 1980s. Intrigued by the name, it was mentioned in passing occasionally by the newspaper. My old sports editor Bill Hunter once mused that the Winter Olympics would be held there one year. Reporter Mark Kemp, a longtime friend and former colleague wrote a story about the place in 1987, characterizing it as a spot where good ol’ boys hang out, drink frosty mugs of beer and watch hunting and fishing shows on TV. Later a colleague dropped by there for a cold beer and reported seeing racist posters and other items. When questions were raised about it, the owners at that time were steadfast: Black people were not welcome there.

My policy in such instances is simple. Then I’m not welcome there either. So I bid good riddance to the Ossipee Ski Lodge without ever setting foot in the place more than two decades ago.

Sadly, others didn’t do the same.

Anyway, the Wisconsin shooter isn’t mentioned in the GQ article and probably drifted from band to band. That seems to be the hate rock profile based on my very rudimentary research. It also seems that performing hate rock is a way for otherwise crappy bands to find whatever sadly marginal success they can attain.

And I’m not sure how many gigs Definite Hate or other hate rock bands have performed in Alamance County. But I’d say one is too many.

Posted in: Just thinking out loud • Past imperfect | 3 Comments »

They put the band back together … show night

May 20th, 2012, 10:13 pm by madisontaylor

My longtime friends from high school brought their reunion rock show to a club in Mebane on Saturday night. In all honesty, I wasn’t too sure how good they might be. After all, I hadn’t seen some of them in more than 20 years. Of the five, I had truly only personally witnessed one play an instrument of any kind. And while he was always great, I had no idea how much game the rest of the Men in Black might have.

When I arrived at Fourth Street Bootleggers shortly after 9, they were waiting for me to get there before starting the show. “We were going to wait until 9:30 if we had to,” Brad Dunlap told me with Joe Terrell concurring immediately.

Friends are great, aren’t they?

The three-set show included more than 30 songs and lasted well beyond midnight. Here are my impressions because basically I’m a newspaper guy who has to follow a story to its conclusion.

1. After being apart for 16 years, only rehearsing on weekends and playing three shows, they were a very tight band. Every song from “Ring of Fire” to “I Wanna be Sedated” was spot on. A longtime friend of the band Jim Lindsay handled the sound and the balance was perfect. The performance overall was at times inspired, always engaging and, well, rockin’. The boys indeed have some game.

2. My wife actually liked the show. That was huge and unexpected.

3. The boys know a lot of songs. Nearly every one they started made me smile right away. My wife told me later she recognized each song they played — except for one.

4. Joe Terrell, the engineer for Progress Energy, is dedicated to the craft of playing lead guitar and doing so well. He takes it very seriously. I wish there was a hobby that could captivate me in such a way. I admire his dedication and the outcome is superb. Bob Norris is an excellent bassist and Larry Hincher rounds out a stout guitar line, specializing on the acoustic guitar. In fact, he began the second set with a short solo section of his own. Nice break among the rock numbers.

5. I knew Keith Farmer could play the drums exceptionally well but I had no idea he could sing. “Keep on rockin’ in the free world,” my friend. The next barbecue from Pulliam’s is on me.

6. Brad Dunlap, though, handles most of the vocals and was a revelation. I heard him on a recording a few weeks ago but I had to see it to get the full impact. After all, I’ve known Brad since he was 5 years old and don’t think I ever heard him sing anything before Saturday. He’s pretty damn good with range that encompasses Michael Stipe, David Bowie, Mick Jagger and Kurt Cobain. One tip: It helps to know what’s on the set list. Just a suggestion.

7. Fourth Street Bootleggers is a neat venue to see a small band. And it’s a tremendous bar. It’s in an old building with high ceilings and antique brick walls. There were speciality brews on tap (love Red Oak) and the pool tables were topped with red felt. It creates the bootleggers mood. I’ll go back.

8. The band had fun and it was obvious. They played all covers — except for one original piece from back in the day. Brad told me later, “Back then we thught we might go somewhere with it, now we just do it for fun.” Nothing wrong with that. In fact, there’s a great deal right with it. I’d hate to see them give up the original songs, though. It was pretty damned good.

9. I wish more people were there to see it. This might be their only Alamance County appearance. At the highest point, the crowd couldn’t have numbered more than 35. They do better closer to their home base in Winston-Salem. Because Joe lives in Raleigh and I’m based in Burlington, they had hoped for a few more folks. I feel like I let them down. But who knows, they liked Bootleggers and would jump at a chance to play the Fat Frogg.

10. I’ll go see them again and hopefully very soon. They’ll be at Noma’s Urban Bar in downtown Winston-Salem on June 9 and again on July 7.

Here’s the set list from Saturday’s show followed by some blurry photos I took. Joe gave me a copy of the set list on the way out. I should’ve had the Men in Black sign it for a sourvenir.

Posted in: Past imperfect | Post a Comment »

Sounds like …

May 18th, 2012, 10:07 am by madisontaylor

When you reconnect with people on Facebook some time is spent comparing notes about jobs, family, parenting, travel, music, movies, etc. That’s especially true when a couple of decades separate people.

Every now and then it becomes clear that cosmic forces put two old friends in the same place at the same time — only their paths for whatever reason never crossed. A Smithereens show at then-Elon College around 1990 or ’91 fits that description. During some back and forth on Facebook, I discovered my longtime friend Brad Dunlap attended that show. I was there as well. The Alumni Gym performance on the band’s “11″ tour was the loudest rock show I’ve ever attended. The reason I can’t understand the mumbling young cop on the cable TV show “The Killing” is directly related to this concert — or The Clash at Carmichael Auditorium in Chapel Hill around 1982.

It’s a tossup.

Anyway, Brad and his band Men in Black, will be performing their covers of 1990s and classic rock during a show Saturday (9 p.m.) at Fourth Street Bootleggers in Mebane. The band is made up of many of my old friends from high school — but I explained all that in a previous post this week. What I did decide to do here, is post a cut by Men in Black — a cover of a song by the Smithereens — so folks could hear what they sound like. Not bad from my perspective.

By the way, this may or may not be my final shameless plug for my old pals from high school. See you at the show.