Reading Jeri’s post about grits and black-eyed peas reminded me of a long ago trip through Arkansas, sellng the New York Times news service to other newspapers. My traveling companion, co-worker, Bill Higginbotham (now passed), teaching me the ropes. He was retired from the United Press, had been head of the European desk during WWII, was on Omaha Beach during D Day, was an “old boy”. He could talk normal, but sometimes he reverted. We were having breakfast in the Holiday Inn and he said “ya gotta have grits”. I wish you could hear the timber in his voice when he said it. Another event that I consider important in staying “blue” is that a martini at dinner was served in a paper cup.

A bit about Bill. His brother was a surgeon. He actually located him on Omaha beach in a medical tent. The brother (I am forgetting his first name) looks up, sees Bill and exclaims, “What the f… are you doing here?” Brother went on to become a major heart surgeon and worked with DeBakey on the first artificial heart. Both brothers died of heart problems.

His best friend, Bruce Munn, another UP retiree whom I also worked with, died while on the operating table getting open-heart surgery. My fondest memory of Bruce is a visit of his that I missed (I think I was out for lunch) after he totally retired. He left a message on my desk that said, “This mess in this office is a disgrace to journalism.” That he thought enough of me to insult, I cherish. I miss them both.

xx, Teal