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Harmony Baptist Church celebrated their 190th anniversary with an October Homecoming service. My mother, 98 at the time, was recognized as the oldest member. She’s hoping to win again in five years. 

Homecoming revived some fading memories, including Mama’s path to membership there. She grew up attending Bethlehem Baptist, a small congregation near her childhood home. Preacher Simon Anderson baptized her in the cold waters of Mock Springs, a popular swimming hole during her childhood as well as my own.

She and two cousins, Ruby and Alvin Hogsett, began attending Harmony also during their teen years. Alvin drove my grandfather’s old farm truck on the four mile trip. Bethlehem and Harmony were quarter-time churches then, with preaching only once a month. Mama says that prospects of meeting other young people appealed to the trio more than extra sermons.

On one of those Sundays, Ruby told Mama that George Joiner would be calling on her. Although my mother had only seen him from a distance, Ruby was convinced, saying he’d been looking her way. Daddy borrowed his father’s car that afternoon and introduced himself to his future mother-in-law. With her permission the young couple went to McVay’s Pharmacy in Cochran. McVay’s popular soda fountain featured a long bar with stools plus glass top tables and metal chairs. That first date began a Harmonyous relationship.             

Patricia Cross Williams, who was born into the Harmony family in the 1950s, has done a remarkable job of preserving church history. Something I realized from her presentation is the connection, continuous I believe, with the Mashburn family. Daniel Mashburn and his wife Elizabeth were two of the seven founding members. Generations later, Elaine Mashburn Free Peavy continues that admirable legacy.

Virgil and Edith Peavy were at Homecoming. Though somewhat younger than my mother, they are well into their senior years. They are the only ones of that age group still at Harmony who were there during my childhood. Mr. Virgil’s sincere prayers impressed me even as a young boy. It was obvious he and God kept in touch. And Miss Edith’s chocolate cakes were always among the delightful choices at church dinners.

Concrete picnic tables are long gone, as is the unpainted-block outhouse. The small cement baptismal pool is no longer there, nor the hand pump that was close by. Baptisms were usually held just after July revivals. I was nine when Brother Earl Troglin immersed me. Some folks say he didn’t hold me under long enough. 

Mrs. Ilene Mashburn, Elaine Peavy’s mother, was the first Sunday School teacher I remember. She used a felt board to teach us about Bible characters like Noah, Moses, and David. Miss Ilene held our attention by telling stories with zeal while creating colorful scenes on the big board. I can still picture Noah’s brown ark floating on blue water. 

David Dunaway and I would quietly tussle when it was time to quote scripture, competing for the rights to proclaim, “Jesus wept.” William Cross was the champion at Sword Drills. He’d flip pages with lightning speed then raise one foot, poised to step forward. As he was stepping across an imaginary line, I was usually wondering whether to look in the Old Testament or New.

Those are some of the fading memories that Homecoming brought to mind. I’m thankful for them all, but especially one before my time. I’m here and I’m blessed because a sixteen year old girl visited Harmony Baptist Church in 1942, and a lanky young man began looking her way.

I didn’t plan a series about “A Few Good Lines,” but the first two columns brought other sayings to mind. Today’s musings are a few of my favorite bank lines gleaned from 35 years as a country banker.

Marcus Everidge had a mischievous nature and an easy laugh. More than once he said with mock sincerity, “I’m going to tell you what a man told me after I did a lot of backhoe work for him. When I told him how much he owed, he said, ‘Marcus, even if I can’t pay you, I’ll still be your friend.’” 

Another quip, the source long forgotten, added an interesting slant to an old jewel. A father had expressed concern to his daughter about her boyfriend having an ambition deficiency. “Money won’t buy happiness,” his daughter stated defensively. “You’re right,” he agreed, “but neither will poverty.” I don’t know how that story ended. Love is blind much of the time, which no doubt benefits men more than women.

Mr. John Short Williams, a fine gentleman and excellent farmer, gets credit for a memorable quote during my banking days. He had a military background and was sturdily built. Even in his senior years he looked capable of riding the range with John Wayne.

As he was leaving the bank one Friday, I walked outside with him to visit a bit. A young fellow strolled past and mentioned, in a rather carefree manner, having an overdue loan he’d catch up later. Mr. John smiled, then told me about a man he made a personal loan to who began avoiding him.

He eventually went to the man’s house and told him he wanted his money. When the fellow said he didn’t have it, Mr. John said he wasn’t leaving without it. The man smugly responded, “You can’t get blood out of a turnip.” Mr. John said, “No, but I can get the turnip.” That jogged the fellow’s memory about a stash of cash.

That story amused me because I wasn’t good at collecting, especially when folks were having a tough time. When I first joined the bank, President Luke Couch gave me a long list of past dues to work. I’d call them every week, then Luke and I would discuss them.

One day Luke politely suggested I might need to change my collection approach. A married couple had been dealing with health issues and kept falling further behind on their payments. It seemed to me they were doing the best they could, so I mostly listened. After several months the man came in to see Luke. Thankfully they worked out a plan, but I wished he hadn’t told my boss how much his wife enjoyed my calls.   

James Reuben Akin, a friend and fellow church member, had a keen sense of humor and multiple clever sayings. My favorite bank line of his was, “I came into this world with nothing and I’ve managed to hold on to most of it.”

We’ll wrap this column up by citing Wimpy, a lovable character in the Popeye cartoons. Wimpy’s most-beloved quote is, “I’ll gladly pay you Tuesday for a hamburger today.” His intentions were clearly suspect, but the entertainment value of a good line is surely worth more than the price of a hamburger. 

And when Tuesday came around and Wimpy couldn’t be found, there’s one thing I am certain could be said of him. Even if he didn’t pay you, he’d still be your friend.   

While I was writing “A Few Good Lines,” other sayings came to mind. Today’s selections don’t have a common theme. They’re just an assortment of random things.

John Offenberg, one of Unadilla’s finest, has enough good lines to fill a column. One of  my favorites is from several years back. Our paths had not crossed in a while, which John cleverly acknowledged. “Neil,” he said with a big grin, “I haven’t seen you since Moby Dick was a minnow.”

Marian Bowen had a good line for almost any situation. “The best way to become a sweet old lady,” she would say, “is to be a sweet young lady.” Another of her sayings also applied to behavior. “You couldn’t please him with a pleasing stick,” she’d opine. My wife sometimes pretends she’s looking for a pleasing stick. I have no idea why. 

Audrey Bowen, one of Daddy’s sisters, had a lot of worthwhile sayings. One of them was, “Nobody ever plans to become an alcoholic.” It’s thought provoking, plus the last word can be omitted for playing fill in the blank. Another bit of her sage advice was, “It’s only a bargain if you need it.” I should have that inscribed on my wallet. About six months ago I bought a battery operated tiller because it was a deal. So far I’ve spent more time putting it together than tilling.   

The word “tiller” reminded me of a story my father enjoyed sharing. It’s off topic but I enjoy side roads. Daddy would tell about a man who married a lady named Tillie. She died and he married her twin sister Millie. Millie died and was buried near Tillie, separated by a space reserved for their husband.

As the grieving man stood beside Millie’s coffin, he whispered to the undertaker. “When I die,” he said, “bury me between Millie and Tillie, but lean me just a little bit toward Tillie.”

Daddy had a few good lines he heard from his father which he passed down. One was, “Never date a girl you’d be ashamed to marry.”  Another was, “If someone cusses a lot while they’re working, they may not know what they’re doing.”   

Cooper Taylor, a longtime friend, has the same jolly outlook at age 94 as when we met 45 years ago. He sold credit life insurance to banks all over Georgia and would stop by Bank of Dooly several times each year. I knew Cooper for a decade or so before meeting his lovely wife at a bank convention.

“This is my first wife, Lib,” he said to Jane and me with a big grin and no explanation. Several conventions passed with similar greetings. “You all remember my first wife, Lib,” he would cheerfully say. We finally learned that Lib was his one and only, which is proof of her exceptional patience.

A few months ago Cooper and I did some catching up over the phone. When I asked how his first wife is doing, he said, “Lib’s doing great! The only problem Lib has is who she’s married to.” 

It’s easy to lose touch with old friends, but good lines they’ve shared come to mind now and then. Lines first heard in early spring are treasured more in winter, warm reminders of friends not seen since Moby Dick was just a minnow. 

The Class of 1970 is widely regarded as the brightest and best of all who passed through the halls of Unadilla High School. That’s not just my opinion. I took a poll at our October reunion. It’s a blessing when you feel that way about your classmates.

Fifty-five years after graduation our favorite memories remain fresh. They are also increasingly subject to embellishment, further enhancing recollections of yesteryears. 

Pinehurst Elementary gave me the basics, then I transferred to Unadilla for the fourth grade. It only took one recess to make new friends. I was pretty fast back then, and a game of tag helped cement my acceptance.

Stories from our teenage years now remind me of God’s mercy. When I hear of youthful tragedies, I realize that could have been the outcome on many occasions. I believe the prayers of our parents helped, even when we were unaware. Luck may have played a role at times, but I’m convinced divine intervention deserves much of the credit.

We only had nine of our class attend the outdoor picnic, all of them boys. Another joined us who had repeated the eighth grade because his father, Unadilla’s principal and football coach, suggested it. Bland was headed to the ninth-grade classroom when his dad turned him around.

Bland was an exceptional athlete, and Coach Brooks wanted him to mature another year before high school. I shared at our reunion that I offered to stay back with him for the sake of the Blue Devils’ athletic program. Coach said if I repeated the eighth grade three times he thought I could make the B-Team. I joined the F.F.A. String Band instead.

Smitty, Don, David, Joe, Robbie, Thomas, and Wayne Godfrey were there. We were all glad to see each other, but the one we most enjoyed spending time with was Johnny Moore.

Johnny has been dealing with cancer for several years. The treatment options are all used up. Pound for pound he’s one of the toughest guys I’ve ever known, but also one of the best. No one is more loved or respected among our group. 

As he and Marcia visited with old friends a lot of stories began, “Do you remember the time Johnny…….” Rather than bemoaning his current situation, he helped us laugh about lighthearted moments of long ago. Even at this late hour he has the same quick wit and mischievous smile we’ve known since childhood.

Don offered an uplifting prayer as we gathered around Johnny and Marcia. Our friend is confident where he’s headed, an assurance that’s reflected in his attitude.

He was in their car when I went to Marcia’s side to say goodbye. She got out and said Johnny wanted to tell me something. “Thank you for making it easy,” he said. I’m grateful for that tender moment, but the truth is Johnny made it easy for us. That’s the kind of guy he is. 

Old stories with happy endings reminded me of God’s past mercies. And the warm smile of a friend with challenging circumstances reminded me those mercies are new every morning.  

The Class of 1970 may not have really been the brightest and best of all who have graduated from Unadilla High School, but one thing I can say with certainty. It’s a blessing when you feel that way about your classmates.

Over the years I’ve heard a few good lines. Here’s a sampling of some that come to mind. 

Mr. Donald Peavy was retired from farming when I met him in 1976. He was a loyal customer of Rooney Bowen Chevrolet and bought a blue Chevette while I was working there. He’d stop by occasionally, usually to get his car worked on. Our friendly banter was mostly of a nonsensical nature. Sometimes after an especially funny moment he’d ask with enthusiasm, “Don’t it feel good to laugh?”

It’s easy to picture Mr. Donald’s big grin as he posed that rhetorical question. Almost 50 years later I warmly remember those long-ago chats. I don’t recall anything in particular we ever talked about, but I hope I never forget how good it feels to laugh.

Rooney Bowen, my cousin and dear friend, was also my employer for five years. He had several good lines, including one I’ve tried to live by. Rooney was involved in state politics, first as a representative then as a senator. I’ve forgotten the details, but some controversial matter was being debated. To my young eyes it looked as if he should tread lightly, an approach I politely suggested. Rooney countered with what I consider sage advice. “Stay with the one what brung you to the dance.” 

In case heaven has access to Joiner’s Corner, I should apologize to my late English teacher, Mrs. Sadie Collins. She taught English and Spanish at Unadilla High School for decades and would no doubt gently scold me for not rephrasing some of today’s quotes. I believe humor, however, should not be held captive by rules of grammar.  

When Jane and I moved to Vienna in December of 1975, Mr. Emmett “Pa” Stephens was among the senior citizens I enjoyed getting to know. He was a constant source of good lines, many of them made up on the spot. One that I occasionally borrow is from the latter part of his life. He was probably in his eighties when I first greeted him with, “You’re looking good, Pa.” His smiling response would always be, “Looks never has been my problem.” 

James Woodward was another of the mischievous characters I met soon after becoming a resident of Vienna. He was quick witted and had an arsenal of comedic lines. Perhaps, though, his most memorable saying blended humor and humility. If asked how he was doing, James would pleasantly reply, “Better than I deserve.”

A former schoolmate at Unadilla High, William Sparrow, has used that same response for a long time. William sometimes adds a noteworthy tag. “And I thank my Lord and Savior Jesus Christ.” That addendum is a good reminder to give thanks for our blessings and to acknowledge the source.    

I guess we’ve all heard a few good lines. Some stick with us while others fade in time. I enjoy revisiting old sayings, but the deepest pleasure comes from remembering the folks who said them. Good lines, I’ve found, usually come from good people. 

Mrs. Collins is likely to mention this column when we meet in the hereafter. She will acknowledge my use of direct quotes is acceptable, but with a hint of a smile probably suggest it was an opportunity to encourage proper grammar. “Yes, mam,” I’ll answer with the respect that great teachers deserve, “but don’t it feel good to laugh?”

Tidbits of humor are frequently shared in our men’s Sunday School class at Vienna First Baptist. Here are a few examples. If you want to hear more we meet at ten o’clock. Viewer discretion is advised.

David Chancy, Dean of Georgia’s Aerial Applicators according to Joiner’s Corner’s Research Department, was quoted during a discussion on mistakes. “One time I thought I was wrong,” David had said to a young Richard Hall long ago, “but I found out I was mistaken.”

I’ll have ample opportunities to use that line. Several years back my wife sweetly informed me, “You like to be right.” With a disarming smile she graciously added, “Most of the time you are right, but not always.”  

She may be on to something. I have occasionally defended positions which are contrary to facts. If I can master the art of doing that while keeping a straight face I may go into politics. That strategy works for both parties and can take you to the top.  

The aforementioned Richard Hall, who represents half of our teaching team, shared another memorable quote during a lesson about consistency in our Christian walk. Richard said, “It’s like that old saying – You can’t ride two horses with one butt.”

That old saying was new to me, but it sure hit home. Many times I’ve tried to straddle two horses. Richard’s comment reminds me of what Jesus said in Matthew 6:24: “No man can serve two masters; for either he will hate the one, and love the other: or he will hold to the one and despise the other. Ye cannot serve God and mammon.”

 Unless you’re a circus performer, riding two horses is a bad idea. Yet it’s tempting in multiple aspects of life. Procrastination is one example of how it works in spiritual matters. Rather than saying no to God, it seems more palatable to delay. 

I grew up attending Harmony Baptist Church, a rural congregation in a white-clapboard building just a mile from our home. One of the Sunday night invitation hymns was “Oh Why Not Tonight?” It’s tempting to answer by riding two horses, ignoring the fact that can’t last forever.     

One more Sunday School quote I’ll mention today was shared by yours truly during a discussion on the benefits of memorizing scripture. I acknowledged my faltering memory, and told them I’d asked my doctor if anything could be done. He said, “Just try to forget about it.” 

That’s a partly fictional story, but there’s no need to be alarmed. We have an exceptionally astute group of men who know when something is said in jest.        

The main thing today’s quotes have in common is they were part of our Bible study discussions. Humor, I believe, can sometimes enhance serious lessons, but you’re welcome to stop by one Sunday and see for yourself. If you disagree I’ll gladly apologize, but I may cite my friend David Chancy. “One time I thought I was wrong, but I found out I was mistaken.”

It was probably a year or so back when my mother suggested consequences might be an interesting column topic. In July she mentioned it again, soberly adding she’s still bothered by mistakes made in parenting my late brother Jimmy. 

Her point was that present-day regrets are consequences of long-ago actions. I told her what I believe to be true. She did the best she knew how at the time. 

Jimmy was a wonderful son, loving brother, and good friend to many, but he got off to an early start in testing the boundaries of patience. He told one of his grammar-school teachers Mama wouldn’t buy him a notebook. And he preceded Opie Taylor in claiming to have brushed his teeth with a toothbrush that remained miraculously dry.    

Late in life, despite having diabetes, Jimmy would discreetly fill up on sweets then say he didn’t want any supper. At first Mama thought he was trying to lose weight, but milkshake cups left in his truck showed otherwise. It’s hard to fix what you can’t understand, but he wasn’t the first to travel that road. It’s been happening since Bible times.    

There are countless biblical examples of misguided decisions which led to adverse consequences. Samson was a warrior without equal until he got clipped by Delilah. Adam and Eve ate their way out of a perfect home. The people in Noah’s day were flooded with regrets. Moses was denied entrance into the Promised Land for striking a rock. The list is long of cases where poor choices led to painful consequences. And we all have some personal experiences, ranging from insignificant to life altering.  

On a better note, however, there are also consequences of good decisions. It’s not often we think of consequences in a positive sense, but maybe we should. Instead of rehashing troubling matters, perhaps we should focus on beneficial outcomes, including those where other people deserve the credit. 

I’ve enjoyed the consequences of having godly parents, of growing up near both sets of grandparents, of never going to bed hungry or having to sleep in a vehicle instead of a bed. I’ve enjoyed the consequences of having friends who inspire me, of living in a country that despite its problems remains a land of opportunity, of enjoying cherished freedoms because of the sacrifices of others. Those are just thought starters. Feel free to make your own list. 

I’m going to try to be more deliberate in making choices which lead toward favorable consequences, not just for me but for others who are affected. And I’m going to make a better effort of learning from mistakes without dwelling on them too long. 

The most important decision my brother ever made was largely a consequence of good parenting, and it came with eternal rewards. If he could send a message south he’d probably laugh and tell our mother that heaven’s milkshakes remind him of Carver’s Country Store. And with a huge grin he’d likely point his finger at her and use one of his favorite lines. “You need to put a smile on that face!” 

Jimmy would no doubt heartily agree with what I believe to be true. Mama did the best she knew how at the time.

During my teenage years I wrote a few songs. All of the evidence is thankfully gone. They weren’t awful for a kid with a Silvertone guitar ordered from Sears & Roebuck, but too elementary to pass along. 

There’s only one from which I remember any lines. It must have been my favorite. “I got pots and pans and a dog named Fang, trailer and guitar and a woman who swings. They call me the gypsy, and maybe I am. I just keep traveling on, just kind of hanging round, don’t plan to ever settle down.” I don’t know what inspired those whimsical lyrics. Maybe it was the gypsies who used to occasionally come by our farm.

Some folks were hesitant to do business with them, but Daddy knew a few by name and was acquainted with multiple generations in one family. They would drive down from South Carolina and stop by about once a year, offering to paint the rusty tin on our shelter or selling off-brand shop equipment.

Daddy only had the shelter painted once that I recall. They quoted a high price but kept dropping, finally getting down to almost nothing. He didn’t expect the silver coloring to last past a big rain, but figured a temporary shine was worth a few dollars.

We still have a couple of pieces of shop equipment he bought from the gypsies – a hydraulic press and a free-standing drill. He enjoyed trading with them, as had his father before him. Daddy would get updates on some of their family members he’d met through the years, then they’d be gone again.

Or maybe that song evolved from a more personal experience. I’m not sure why a group of us boys went to Cordele, but curiosity led us to a house on US 41 with a sign advertising palm readings. A lovely young lady in the yard made stopping seem like a grand idea, Cupid’s arrow, however, fell flat when she took us to her grandmother. 

Not wanting to be impolite, nor confess my true motivation, I paid the three dollars asked. The rest of the fellows decided one reading by an elderly woman was enough. The knowing lady, however, sensed a hint of interest from my buddy Joe Sanders. And thus began the negotiations. 

They bargained back and forth until settling on a one-dollar fee. Despite the price differential, Joe and I had similar futures foretold. He too would meet someone special and would also experience an impactful yet still-undefined event. I guess it was a lesson in economics, but it’s hard to put a price on a good story. 

It’s possible that song came from watching Sonny and Cher on TV. Cher wasn’t a gypsy but played the role well. Her natural mystique, however, has faded from too many look-young surgeries. I’m not sure how much of the original packaging is left.

I never had a real desire to roam the country. My own bed has always suited me better than a covered wagon. But on many summer nights our front-porch swing cradled the fleeting fantasies of youth. I would strum my guitar and share wistful thoughts with an understanding audience of crickets and fireflies. Sometimes the dog listened too.           

Time has long erased what inspired that gypsy song, for make-believe adventures can only last so long. In my heart I still believe what I’ve always known. Wherever life may take us, there’s no place quite like home.  

In the original “Rambling Thoughts” column I noted that theme might be revisited. Carroll Pitts posted a nice comment suggesting it become a regular series. No one has objected, so I’m considering that a mandate. 

Apparently I’ve misunderstood the term mandate as used in politics for a long time. Thinking it indicated an overwhelming victory, I found it amusing when Presidents of both parties proclaimed mandates even with slim margins. I recently learned it may refer to the authority of a simple majority, so a one-vote mandate led to this second round of rambling thoughts.

Kilts – Ronnie and Sandra Cape went to Scotland in June. He announced in our men’s Sunday School class he bought a kilt for me. Ronnie believes it would help on high attendance Sunday. He may be right. Shannon Akin says I could have done the album cover for “Skinny Legs and All.”

Why a man would willingly don a kilt I do not understand. I saw King Charles on TV wearing one. It was the first time I noticed how much he favors his mother. 

Bagpipe players add a tender note to funerals, but I believe they could come up with a better outfit. A skirt by any other name is still a skirt.

Rumble Strips – They have multiple names, including waker-uppers and drunk bumps, but we’ll go with rumble strips. I appreciate being alerted when a stop sign is near. Those carved in the middle of the road and on the sides, however, seem of questionable value.

I sometimes drive GA 230 from Unadilla to where it dead ends into the Pinehurst-Hawkinsville Highway. The centerline has been scored so heavily the grass needs mowing. And the gouged edges serve little purpose. A few more inches and the shoulder of the road should wake you up.

Online reports are conflicting as to how effective rumble strips are. Some places have paved over them due to noise that wakes sleeping babies or spooks the mules pulling Amish buggies. I’d love to see a comparison of wrecks on GA 230 before and after the notches were made. I’ll wager 1,000 Joiner’s Corner Points there’s no significant difference. If I’m wrong, could we at least not make them so deep?

Art – Dr. Jim Denison offers a daily email in which he gives a Christian perspective on current events. He often covers topics that don’t make headlines. On May 14th he mentioned a painting which sold at a Christies’ auction for $37.8 million dollars. It had a black rectangular bottom half with a similarly-shaped dark-red top.

It looked like a preschooler had not stayed within the lines. The deceased artist was famous so maybe it was an investment, but it reminded me of two art sales that are beyond baffling.

In 2019 a banana, held in place with duct tape, sold for $120,000. That seemed steep until November 2024 when Sotheby’s auctioned a duct-taped banana for $6.2 million. I have two theories. Perhaps it’s a game played by megarich gamblers where the winner loses. Or maybe it’s a way to shift funds to an untaxed affiliate plus get a tax deduction when the banana rots. I know nothing about art, but I know old bananas don’t rise in value. They lose a peel.

That’s enough rambling thoughts for today, but I’ll probably share some more later. I never realized how empowering a mandate can be. I’m just hoping Carroll doesn’t ask for a recount.   

Jane made a trip to her hometown of Thomasville in January. She and her brother went there to spend time with their sister. I was a tad envious when I learned they had a visit with Little Miss Sunbeam.    

In the 1950s I was quite smitten by the gorgeous little blonde featured on Sunbeam Bread wrappers. I wondered if she was real, and would have traded a Superman comic book for a game of Spin the Bottle. 

I only played Spin the Bottle once. We were at an old farmhouse on my Uncle Murray’s property that a group of ladies converted into the Community Clubhouse. They met there for fellowship and educational programs. Mrs. Carolyn Cromer, Dooly County’s Home Demonstration Agent, covered subjects such as sewing and canning. The ladies also shared clandestine tips, like how to add five dollars to the grocery check for a secret stash of cash.    

A kid’s party was held there one night. I don’t remember the occasion, but recall playing a couple of games. We began with Pin the Tail on the Donkey. After that we sat in a circle on the floor and took turns spinning a Coke bottle. When the bottle eventually pointed toward me I bolted toward the door, thrilled at getting to run around the house in the dark with a girl well above my cuteness scale. We were supposed to hold hands but she outran me. I realized too late my shoelace wasn’t really untied.    

Jane, Rick, and Ellen parked in front of their childhood home on Jefferson Street and headed toward the door. The current owners were in the midst of a major renovation of what will be a guest house. It’s a good thing I wasn’t there. My heart may have stopped when greeted by Little Miss Sunbeam. She and her husband gave them a guided tour.

There’s a lot of information about that iconic character. An artist sketch of an unidentified girl playing in a New York park is thought by some to be the origin. There are, however, other theories. One picture I found online shows a Mississippi lass whose family believes she inspired the artwork. There’s a definite resemblance and the timing seems right.  

Another aspect of the story includes Patty Michaels, a notable child model. She was hired by Sunbeam Bakeries in 1955 to bring Little Miss Sunbeam to life. At age five her photo reportedly appeared on breadwrappers in the New York area. Michaels, who went on to have a successful acting and singing career, died in 2010 at age 60. I don’t know the details.

Multiple young girls portrayed Little Miss Sunbeam for various events, some vying for the title in pageants. Countless others no doubt enjoyed playing pretend with friends or wistfully dreaming in front of their mirrors. I’m not sure who inspired that original depiction, but Flowers Baking Company in Thomasville had an official, real-life version. 

Peggy Flowers Rich is who my wife remembers as Little Miss Sunbeam. She was the smiling blonde with curly hair riding the floats in Thomasville’s annual Rose Parade. Based on the hospitality recently extended to Jane and her siblings, I’d say the sweetness she once personified stayed with her after the parades all ended.

Little Miss Sunbeam is all grown up now, and we’re both past the age of playing Spin the Bottle. If, however, that opportunity had come along during childhood, there’s one thing I’m sure of. Before we reached the door, the laces to my shoes would have been tied with double knots.