Last Updated on 3/17/2010

Published on 5/20/2009
Written by Charlie Walker

Here’s a blast from the past, this column was published in The News on Thursday, March 4, 1976.

Next to sex, I guess there has been more written on teenagers than any conceivable subject.

May be that’s as it should be. You couldn’t have one without the other, and for someone who spent six years of his life as a practicing teenager; I can recall nothing that can help me to solve this crossword puzzle in blue jeans.

A few Sundays ago, Chuck cut something out of the paper and pinned it to my door. The message was loud and clear: You give me everything I need except you.

They say in all the books that parents can’t communicate with teenagers, so the message came through from this young man halfway between the Three Stooges and the junior-senior, right on target.

The world he’s grown up in and the world I grew up in are light years apart. When I was 13, I wore overalls because that’s all I had. Now he wears overalls because it’s the “in” thing to do. My heroes were the Lone Ranger and the Clemson football team. His are the “Fonz” from TV’s “Happy Days” and the Clemson football team.

To him a gourmet meal is anything on a sesame seed bun and this supper would supply the minimum daily requirements for vitamins for the population of New Jersey.

The other day I took this current Clemson T-shirt out of the closet and hung it on the clothesline and took the first Clemson sweater that I ever bought him and hung it next to the T-shirt for a photograph. Was he ever really that small? The sweater looked like an orange and purple diaper.

There is one thing of which I am grateful. His taste in music, like his voice, is not changing yet. He still thinks rock is something you throw instead to listen to.
I guess I’m just getting old. There are more mysteries surrounding teenagers than you will find in the New Testament’s book of Revelation.

The fire that destroyed Allen Furniture was a terrible thing and we can be thankful that the wind was not blowing as it had been the day before or we might have lost the entire town.

I’m sure that all of us share the great loss with Legrand and Lib Welch, who had worked so hard together to build a growing, thriving business. Knowing these two, and their courage and determination, they will be back stronger than ever.

Nuts Off The King’s Tree

LaVerne Williamson has a cement pond in his backyard at Hebron and Hound T, in his  nightly excursions through the countryside, will stop for a cool drink at LaVerne’s swimming pool.

I owe LaVerne a debt of gratitude because he puts large amounts of fluoride in the water. I’ve got the only cat in Sandy Bay with no cavities, which is great. Dr. Cottingham, the virtuous vet, would have about as much luck filling a cat’s tooth as he would an inside straight.

The other day I spent several frustrating minutes trying to call Ed Allen in Greeleyville. The operator finally came on the line and informed me that the reason for the delay was the earthquake in Guatamala.

So it follows that if we ever had an earthquake in Greeleyville you can forget about trying to call anybody over there.

And while we’re on the subject of Greeleyville, I resent the insinuation concerning yours truly and the Greeleyville inferno. I don’t care what the scuttlebut is, I didn’t flick my Bic in Greeleyville!

And did you see the fight on the tube between Muhamed Alic and whatsisname? The telecast lasted two hours and the fight less than five rounds. I’ve seen more violence on Let’s Make A Deal.

I’ve always heard that Clarendon County has many of the characteristics of hell. And they must have the climate that goes along with it, too, because Tommy Ham from New Zion set his tobacco for the third week in February. I bet he’s the first in the Pee Dee. I also hope he’s got as many tobacco plants as he’s got guts because he’s going to need them.

As I write this column, Lib Welch, is still expecting that young’un. I think the reason for the delay is the sign somebody hung up in the maternity ward at the hospital in Kingstree: No children allowed.