Seaborn J. Crook was the town marshall in Jacksonville. His father was a Calhoun County circuit court clerk. His cousin was an Alabama state railroad commissioner. His killer was a probate judge, county treasurer, Census enumerator and colonel in the Confederacy’s 73rd Alabama. Read the full story
Down south of here, after the turnoff to Munford High School, through the traffic of Talladega and past the scantness of Winterboro is a place that never fails to invoke the old Anniston, the one that’s as much myth as it is historical lore. Read the full story
Seaborn J. Crook was the town marshall in Jacksonville. His father was a Calhoun County circuit court clerk. His cousin was an Alabama state railroad commissioner. His killer was a probate judge, county treasurer, Census enumerator and colonel in the Confederacy’s 73rd Alabama.
Down south of here, after the turnoff to Munford High School, through the traffic of Talladega and past the scantness of Winterboro is a place that never fails to invoke the old Anniston, the one that’s as much myth as it is historical lore.
The pain never really subsides. It’s always there, all these years later, Dennis Lachut says, lingering and haunting. Pain in his back, migraines in his head, dreams in his fitful sleep. Time offers scant relief. He’s tried to forget, to heal.
I’ve searched for Dennis Lachut for several years. He became my journalistic obsession. I knew he was a soldier, he’d been stationed at Fort Lewis, Wash., he was married and he’d survived a commuter plane crash in Anniston back in the summer of 1992.
Calhoun County’s column is engraved with the names of John Brooks (1882), Jack Brownlee (1894) and an unknown lynching from 1892. (It does not list the six blacks and their white teacher whose 1870 lynchings in Cross Plains, now Piedmont, are well documented.)
There’s a new Burger King going up in Golden Springs, Anniston’s over-the-mountain suburb. Everyone’s seen it. There’s a giant playground. There are trees and landscaping. I suspect there’s room inside for stacks of Whoppers. But what’s the deal with those signs?
Alabama’s new schools superintendent grew up in Sand Rock, accepted an academic scholarship to Jacksonville State University — where he met his wife at a Christmas party — taught at Saks and Pleasant Valley and sat in the principal’s chair at Kitty Stone Elementary before piloting Jacksonville’s schools.
America’s teachers are in open rebellion. They’re walking out of schools, marching on state Capitols, disrupting school calendars and demanding change. It is an astonishing sight. And it is glorious.
As Anniston prepares to kick off this weekend’s Alabama Cycling Classic, let’s not forget where, and with whom, the city’s recent effort to crown itself Bike City Alabama really started.
Seven years separated the burning of the Freedom Riders bus in Anniston and the assassination of Martin Luther King Jr. in Memphis. That’s it. Just seven years.
The category EF-4 tornado that decimated its Jackson, Tenn., campus didn’t break the place. Students were injured but none died. Instead, the tornado allowed Union to reinvent itself, not merely rebuild its campus. And that called for a celebration.
Eighteen minutes. That’s all it was. Anniston High School students participated Wednesday in an approved 18-minute protest against gun violence in America’s schools, and yet they’ve been vilified online as disrespectful punks who didn’t stay in their place.
ALEXANDRIA — The sprawling, hilly campus of Calhoun County Schools’ largest high school features no metal detectors or gated entrances. Its teachers aren’t armed. A bomb-sniffing dog doesn’t guard the front door. But a peek inside provides a glimpse of America’s educators in the era of Colum…
If I were writing a magazine story to satisfy those who think Anniston is America’s toxic-waste dump, I’d highlight our packs of five-legged dogs, the high rates of leukemia in Golden Springs and the local restaurants whose lunch specials tested positive for PCBs.
Each day, without fail, Lori Floyd’s office door opened and he walked in, large and occasionally loud. Sometimes it rained. Other days the sun baked the ground. But he never missed a day, week after week, for months on end.
When MLB teams gather in Arizona and Florida each spring, I’m captivated by the month Stengel and the team he managed, the minor league Toledo Mud Hens, spent in Anniston training for the 1930 season.
Teenagers, not adults, are leading America’s talk about guns. Not feckless Washington politicians. Not unhinged gun advocates. Not the police. It’s teenagers. And it’s happening everywhere, not only in grief-stricken south Florida, which makes me wonder: Is Calhoun County ready for this revolution?
In time, America may solve its opioid crisis, find political compromise on immigration, keep Social Security solvent, adequately fund Medicaid and Medicare, raise the global rankings of our public schools, feed the millions who still live in poverty and agree that man is negatively affecting…