It’s the 100th anniversary of the start of Prohibition, and the Prohibition-themed difference between Anniston and every other Calhoun County city is this: Anniston is wedded to booze. Read the full story
It’s an east Alabama success story, a still-evolving tale of what can happen, not what’s impossible, in small cities with limited budgets and political hindrances. Read the full story
Council unrest is Anniston’s norovirus, a constant affliction. It spreads and sickens. Small-town politics are notoriously mean, but they’re different here, and they have been for a generation, at least. Read the full story
2020’s arrival also ushered in this argument: Never before has our slice of east Alabama experienced two decades as equally tumultuous and expansive as the last 20 years. Read the full story
It’s an east Alabama success story, a still-evolving tale of what can happen, not what’s impossible, in small cities with limited budgets and political hindrances.
Council unrest is Anniston’s norovirus, a constant affliction. It spreads and sickens. Small-town politics are notoriously mean, but they’re different here, and they have been for a generation, at least.
2020’s arrival also ushered in this argument: Never before has our slice of east Alabama experienced two decades as equally tumultuous and expansive as the last 20 years.
Downtown Anniston isn’t dead, far from it. Shh, haters. But c’mon. It’s not downtown Gadsden, which it should resemble, and it’s never going to be downtown Homewood or Birmingham’s Five Points South. Those latter two comparisons are patently unfair.
When you write to someone who’s been in prison for nearly a year and has two-and-a-half years to go, what do you say? Nothing sounds right. Everything seems trite, stupid, unfeeling, condescending, awful.
In the span of a few December days, two-fifths of the Anniston City Council has either faced jail time or at least pondered the possibility. So much for happy holidays.
No African American has ever been elected to the Calhoun County Board of Education. What that says about diversity in Alabama is astonishing, says Phillip Tutor.
Prosecutor Scott Lloyd wanted Ben Little to serve 90 days in the slammer for two misdemeanor ethics convictions. Lloyd said in court Thursday that Little, Anniston’s Ward 3 councilman, has shown “no remorse” for his crime. Well, duh.
A few days ago, Charles E. Smith presented Councilman Ben Little a jail inmate Halloween costume during a typically combative Anniston City Council meeting. It wasn’t in jest, either. “I wanted it to be theatrical,” Smith said.
“Jack, you are worst (sic) than a joke.” Ben Little, Anniston’s enigma, wrote that sentence Wednesday in an email to Anniston Mayor Jack Draper. It was 8:11 a.m. So much for early morning niceties.
Five of Calhoun County’s 11 public high schools are playing in this year’s semifinals. All five are playing here in the county — Anniston at Jacksonville, Wellborn at Piedmont and Oxford at home against Pinson Valley, the lone interloper.
On Fridays, Principal Jeanna Chandler’s staff at Wellborn Elementary School hauls out the Rubbermaid totes. Usually there are two, one reserved for car-riding students, another for those who take the bus.
If you want a fair-minded view of the fastest-growing population in Alabama, don’t look to Russellville or Albertville or Fort Payne. Look at Oxford.
Anniston’s poverty rate is 29.5 percent; 5.57 percent of Annistonians — 1,213 people — live in public housing. Spin that any way you wish and it’s still awful, a clear indication of Anniston’s health a decade removed from the Great Recession and 20 years after the closure of Fort McClellan.
Montgomery's new mayor regularly makes comments that any Anniston mayoral candidate could borrow for their campaign, comments that sound as if Montgomery’s mayor was discussing the Model City, not Alabama’s capital city.
Anniston has lived alongside Oxford for more than a century, and never have the neighbors been closer in population size than they are today.
It comes as no surprise that administrators spent so much time Wednesday at a student town hall meeting fielding questions about a proposed new on-campus dining hall and accompanying “mandatory commuter meal plan.”
Anniston chews up mayors, turning what should be an attractive political gig into a four-year marathon of frustration, much of it self-induced. Why? And why does anyone want the job?
There were times, Lynn Fendlason remembers now, when she would bewitch her sixth-grade classmates at DeArmanville Junior High with retellings of ghost stories from Kathryn Tucker Windham, the celebrated Alabama storyteller.
Ben Little, Anniston’s most polarizing politician, the man so often considered by his critics as tinder that ignites City Hall disharmony, may run for mayor next summer.
I never met T.J. Summers. Never shook his hand. Never debated politics with him over coffee. Never heard his telling of a life lived remarkably, a life of immigration and war and patriotism and family and Saks, his adopted home.