PineStraw Columns

Sweet Tea Chronicles

Searching for the Bull

By Jim Dodson

Purely on the impulse of an idle summer afternoon, I recently went looking for Miss Elizabeth Smith. Vaguely doing the math, I had this crazy, heat-addled notion that she might miraculously still be around, planning her next big trip to a mythic place. If so, I wanted to let her know how much she’d meant to me, how right she’d been about so many things, including her hunch that I would someday make my way home.

The last time I saw Miss Smith was on a broiling July afternoon in 1983.

Prior to meeting an old friend for lunch during a brief passage through my hometown, I’d ducked into the downtown branch of the Greensboro Public Library to cool off and get change for a parking meter. As the clerk made change, I happened to glance across the empty reference room and see Miss Elizabeth Smith with her small round head plugged into a large book.

It had been twelve years since I’d seen “The Bull,” as we all called her at my high school in Greensboro.

Comically short and squat, blind in one eye and a little deaf in both ears, a jolly spinster with a face only Winston Churchill’s mother or an English bulldog breeder could truly love, she’d taught freshman English and advanced composition at Greensboro Senior High for nigh on fifty years.

Ironically, my father had The Bull in one of the first classes she taught in the late 1930s. She was fresh from North Carolina Women’s College, as UNC-G was known in those days.

I had The Bull in the last class she taught at the same high school in 1970, my junior year, shortly before she headed for a well-earned retirement and a life of exotic travel.

Mentors and muses appear in all shapes and sizes. The word “Muse” comes from ancient Greek muein and simply means “to initiate somebody to the mysteries.”

To this day it remains a mystery to me — or possibly the work of some mirthful deity — that my father and I shared a writing muse who resembled Ferdinand the Bull, our very own Clio, an unlikely muse of writing, in sensible crepe-soled shoes.

Before English lit got a hold of him, my dad was a pretty fair high school athlete, a Golden Gloves boxer and second-string halfback on a football team that reached the state semi-finals. They lost the big game, but thanks to The Bull he left Greensboro High for the wider world with a first-string fondness for Elizabethan sonnets and a talent for limerick verse.

The Bull obviously saw something in him and encouraged its growth. During the Second World War, he haunted English libraries and returned to America with a heightened passion for poetry and language. He wrote an aviation column and wound up working for half a dozen large newspapers across the South, even owning a small weekly in Mississippi for a time.

“My circuit ride of Dixie,” was how he described these years of literary migration, invoking the language of an illustrious ancestor from Orange County who established a string of Methodist churches from Seagrove to Haw River after the Civil War, the rural polymath for whom Tate Street in Greensboro was named — the street, ironically, where one Elizabeth Smith, legendary spinster English teacher, inhabited a small house with a large porch for more than half a century.

My dad was pleased when he heard I was to have Miss Smith for my junior year’s advanced writing class, and appalled at the nickname generations of students had given her.

I pointed out to him that The Bull seemed sweetly oblivious to the indigniies we dished out. Mike Shoffner, for instance, used to pepper her blackboard with spitballs, sometimes even taking aim at The Bull’s perfectly round head

“That’s because Mike Shoffner is only slightly less intelligent than the baseball he throws,” was my dad’s assessment.

Up till then, I’d been mad for sports, too. I played baseball and football and golf and, though I loved to read and write, I rarely gave a thought about what mysteries and paths lay ahead.

During that year, though, The Bull introduced me to Ernest Hemingway’s passionate memoir, A Moveable Feast, and E.B. White’s incomparable essays about small town life in Maine, both of which captured my imagination like nothing before them. I also read the essays of Thoreau and Emerson, and discovered the poetry of Robert Frost. Though I didn’t quite realize it, a life was being transformed — a writer was being born.

She also took a short story I wrote about a summer spent with my rural grandfather and submitted it to the city’s annual student short-story writing competition.

When The Bull announced that my story had won first place in the O. Henry short story contest, the hoots of laughter and disbelief were raucous. Nobody could believe it, maybe least of all Mike Shoffner and me.

On the last day of class, The Bull asked me stay for a few minutes.

“I do believe, Mr. Dodson, you could make a very fine life in writing,” she told me. “I’m proud of what you’ve done and look forward to more in the future.”

Fighting embarrassment, I thanked her and asked what she was doing for the summer.

“Oh, I’m retiring,” she replied with a fractional smile that struck me as a little sad. But The Bull quickly rallied. “Come July I’m off to see the Incan temples in the Cuzco valley of Peru. What adventure! That’s what old spinster English teachers do, you know — we roam the ancient world looking for our former pupils!”

I didn’t see Elizabeth Smith again for a year. On the afternoon I graduated from high school, though, she showed up to watch several of her former charges graduate and handed me a present. It turned out to be a collection of E.B. White’s essays. That same day, my dad gave me Hemingway’s A Moveable Feast.

That was the first summer I worked as an intern at my father’s old newspaper. Three years later, I was the intern and wire boy there the night Richard Nixon resigned from the presidency. My writing life had begun.

So here it was, twelve years further on, a chance encounter on a hot afternoon in July 1983, and I was off on a circuit ride of my own — leaving my job as the Senior Writer of the largest magazine in the South for a similar post at the largest magazine in the North.

I walked over and politely asked, “Miss Smith?”

She rolled her good eye up at me. Then she tapped the table with a stubby finger.

“Oh, hello. Please sit down, young man. I’m in search of the ancient trade routes of the Phoenicians to Alexandria.”

So I sat. My muse continued scribbling notes in a notebook. I feared she had no clue who I was. She must have been 75 years old by then, I calculated on the spot. But she was still The Bull.

“So …are you taking a trip?” I ventured.

The Bull glanced at me and smiled: “This July I’m off to the sands of ancient Egypt — investigating the possibility of going overland from Alexandria to the Nile Delta then up the river to the pyramids at Giza and perhaps the temple of the harvest deity Ptah at Memphis. Herodotus followed that route, as you probably know.”

I didn’t know this, actually, despite all the classical lit and history I’d taken in college.

“Are you going alone?” I asked, a tad worriedly.

“Of course. Not to worry. The journey of life must be accomplished entirely on one’s own.”

She scribbled in her notebook again. The bindings were frayed and faded. Again, I waited.

“So where have you been lately?” she finally asked, as if only a day rather than a decade had passed since we last spoke.

“Atlanta,” I said, and added: “I’m moving to small-town New England to work for a magazine — probably because of the book of essays you gave me for graduation.”

“Bravo to you,” she declared. “I had every confidence you would make something useful of yourself.”

I asked if I might buy her lunch, suddenly forgetting my appointment with my friend.

“That would be lovely,” she said, “but another time perhaps. I’ve so terribly much to do before leaving for the ancient world.”

She smiled up at me and added, “But the next time you come home, let’s do have that lunch and catch up. I intend to keep up with your most promising writing career.”

I said goodbye and left, never knowing for sure if The Bull even knew who I was or what she’d meant to me.

But maybe that’s simply every good teacher’s fate — to initiate some green young soul to the mysteries of life and then politely vanish into an older world. Maybe that explains why every time July rolls around, I think about Miss Elizabeth Smith and other teachers I’ve loved.

It certainly explains why, in order to mark the 25th anniversary of that small unexpected reunion with my muse – and my recent homecoming to the South from a life in Maine, where my hilltop garden had Italian sunflowers from Katherine White’s fabled garden in Blue Hill — I drove up to Greensboro to scout around my hometown for any traces of The Bull.

The public library has since relocated from Green Street to an impressive block in the historic district. Miss Smith’s little house on Tate Street is long gone, too — swallowed up by her alma mater’s shiny new buildings.

I went to a café that was still where I remembered it being and ordered a glass of sweet tea and sat on the sidewalk watching college students pass on a warm summer afternoon.

After a while, I walked to the campus book store to try and find a copy of A Moveable Feast for my son’s approaching high school graduation and a book about Herodotus’ travels up the Nile Delta, just to be on the safe side in case I ever meet The Bull again. PS

Vine Wisdom

A Farewell Toast To Bob

By Robyn James

Just a couple weeks ago, the wine industry lost far and away the single most influential person in California wine: Robert Mondavi.

The name is synonymous with Napa Valley, and surely no one ever has and ever will duplicate the effort he put forth to bring our business into a fine, new era.

In 1921, Robert’s father left his saloon in Minnesota and moved his family to Lodi, California, to break into the grape business. When Robert graduated from Stanford University and heard the Charles Krug winery in Napa was for sale, he convinced his father to buy it and to let him and his brother Peter run it.

In his autobiography, Harvests of Joy, he describes his first trip to Europe in 1962: “I explored some of the most prestigious wineries in the world. I toured their vineyards and cellars, talked with their winemakers and tasted their wines. Above all, I imbibed the spirit, the passion and the commitment that inspired the creation of truly great wines. While we had one basic approach for our red wines and another for our whites, their approach was far more subtle and sophisticated. They treated each variety of grape differently, and they had a distinct method and style for each type of wine they made. To my mind, the contrast was stark: We were treating wine as a business; the great European chateaus were treating wine as high art.”

Upon his return from Europe, Robert pushed Peter hard to agree to try producing fine wine at Charles Krug. In Peter’s mind, he pushed too hard. The brothers literally resorted to fisticuffs and Robert walked away from the winery for good, creating a family feud that would last for decades.

In 1966, at 52 years of age, he founded Robert Mondavi Winery and built the first new winery in Napa Valley since the 1930s. At that time, in big city restaurants, where there was a demand for quality and elegance, fine wine meant French, Italian or German; in most of America’s finest restaurants, you could not even find one California wine on the wine list. “I was convinced that we could create a substantial market in America for fine wines. The key was education. We had to teach people how to appreciate fine food and wine and the crafts and artistry behind them.”

And teach he did. Back in the 1980s, I had the good fortune to work for a wholesaler that represented Robert Mondavi wines. By that time, they were sought after and allocated to various fine restaurants. The winery paid for me to fly to California and attend seminars at their winery for a week. If I were to represent their brand, they were determined to teach me how. I learned more about wine in that week than I had in the previous year. At the crack of dawn, we were in the vineyards comparing soil compositions and growing techniques. Then, back inside to take marketing classes and into the dining room to taste different wines with different types of food. I vividly recall attending a tasting of seven identical Sauvignon Blancs that had simply been trellised differently. One night during the school, they treated us and the local community to an amazing Ella Fitzgerald concert on the lawn of the winery.

When their representatives would visit our relatively small market, they would bring bottles of the Great Growths of Bordeaux, along with their great Reserve Cabernets, and conduct blind, comparative tastings for our customers.

The fine California wine industry was launched and exploded under his vision and drive.

In 1979, he teamed with Baron Philippe Rothschild of Chateau Mouton to create Opus One in Napa Valley. Rothschild’s desire to partner with Mondavi validated the quality of California wine and ushered in a new era of foreign investment in California.

Here’s what Robert Parker of The Wine Advocate had to say about one of Mondavi’s great Cabernets: “I have drunk some memorable Reserve Cabernet Sauvignons from Robert Mondavi. It may not appear to be the case, but I am often at a loss for words when it comes to writing about truly profound wines. They seem to have their own stature, presence, and character that transcend the significance of mere words. That being said, Mondavi’s 1994 Cabernet Sauvignon Reserve is an exquisite wine. Tasting through Robert Mondavi’s portfolio continues to reinforce my impression that this winery is undeniably the spiritual and qualitative leader of that sector of the California wine industry dedicated to producing world-class wines. What is so admirable about the entire Mondavi operation is that they continue to push their wines to higher and higher qualitative levels. Their nearly obsessive pursuit of bottling the wines with no manipulation has led to the majority of Mondavi’s white wines being bottled without filtration — an extraordinary testament to their commitment to natural wines and superb quality.”

Mondavi coined the term “Fumé Blanc,” later copied by numerous California wineries. He felt his Sauvignon Blanc rivaled the Pouilly Fumés of France’s famous Loire Valley and so labeled it, “Fumé Blanc.”

Robert shared the wealth, becoming a generous philanthropist in his old age.

The Opus One venture coincided with the debut of the Napa Valley Wine Auction, which Mondavi was instrumental in creating. A single case of the debut vintage of Opus One sold at the inaugural auction for a breathtaking $24,000.

He spearheaded a drive to build Copia: The American Institute for Food, Wine and the Arts in downtown Napa and donated $20 million to get it off the ground. He also donated $35 million to the University of California at Davis, the largest private contribution in the history of the school.

When my son James was two years old in 1987, California was just releasing the 1985 vintage of Cabernet Sauvignons. I wanted to put back a case of the best from my son’s birth year for him to drink when he turned 21. The decision was easy: I purchased a case of Robert Mondavi Cabernet Sauvignon, 1985. On that special birthday, we cracked it open and James said, “Mom, this is the best wine I’ve ever tasted. I can taste the fruit and the wood.”

Six bottles still remain at rest in my cellar.

I regret that I never met Robert Mondavi, but I did have a fascinating lunch with his son and winemaker, Tim Mondavi, in 1992. I asked him to sign my bottle of Mondavi Reserve Cabernet, 1987, a wine I still treasure. He pulled out a gold pen and wrote, “Robyn, keep that wonderful spirit for great wine going! Tim Mondavi.”

That could only be the great spirit of his father, Robert Mondavi.

Here’s to you Bob — thanks for all you did.

Robyn James is a local oenophile and proprietor of The Wine Cellar and Tasting Room in Southern Pines. Contact her at winecellar@pinehurst.net.

Hitting Home

Hello, Hello, Hello

By Dale Nixon

The first time I remembered to carry my cell phone and to actually turn it on, I was shopping with my two daughters.

When I heard the strains to “When the Saints Go Marching In” coming from my purse, I panicked.

I knew it was my husband’s assigned ring tone. But I panicked anyway. I just went blank in the head (which I frequently do with new-fangled electronics.)

Both of my daughters were squealing, “Mama, it’s your phone! It’s your phone! Answer it! Answer it!”

So I did the only thing a blank-in-the-head, panic-stricken person would do: I lifted up my pocketbook and screamed at my purse, “Hello. Hello. HELLLLOOO?”

The girls howled with laughter. They were hysterical. For a brief moment I thought they were going to roll around on the floor.

It was embarrassing. That’s what it was: embarrassing.

That happened several years ago, but to this day one of the girls will ask, “Mama, have you talked to your pocketbook lately?”

Hah.

Bob Nixon, are you laughing? Well, don’t, because I’m going to tell a cell phone story on you.

When Bobby got his first cell phone, he purchased one with all the bells and whistles. What seemed to impress him the most was that his phone could take pictures.

He just didn’t know what kind of pictures he and his phone could take until we went out to dinner with friends.

Our lovely evening kept being interrupted by a “clicking” sound. We ceased all conversation to figure out where the disturbing sound was coming from. After much investigation, we realized the “clicking” sounds were coming from Bobby’s backside.

He had placed his cell phone in his hip pocket, was sitting on the camera key and was taking picture after picture of — well, you know — his backside.

Our friends howled with laughter. They were hysterical. For a brief moment, I thought they were going to roll around on the floor.

It was embarrassing. That’s what it was: embarrassing.

It took both of us a while to get comfortable with our phones and learn how to use them. I quit talking to my pocketbook and Bobby quit taking pictures of his backside.

I could make and receive a call and even check voice mail. Bobby became more proficient with his, learning one new bell or whistle at a time.

Just recently, Bobby announced it was time to get new cell phones because ours were out of date.

We’re going to have to start this cell phone learning process all over again.

Calculators, calendars, voice-mail, e-mail, picture messaging, instant messaging, text messaging, games, music, alarm clocks and much, much more.

A hundred-page instruction manual with symbols and words we don’t understand (neither the Spanish nor the English version). Programming ringer-tones, ring-back tones, speed-dial numbers and contacts.

And what the heck is Wallpaper?

It’s going to be embarrassing. That’s what it’s going to be: embarrassing. PS

Freelance writer Dale Nixon resides in Concord, N. C., but enjoys a slice of heaven (disguised as a condominium) in the Village of Pinehurst. You may contact her at dalenixon@carolina.rr.com.

The Art of Eating

The Joy of Getting Grilled

By Mariah Fong

?Summer is here with a smoky invitation to kick back, throw off your shoes and turn up those grills. Instead of plain old burgers, get wild with Chef Fiona McKenzie’s six secrets to grilling. She is an instructor at Sandhills Community College and also teaches a continuing education class on the art of grilling meat. Whether you use gas or coals, here’s Chef Fiona’s recipe for memorable grilling.

1.?Selection of the proper cut of meat or variety of fish is the first step to grilling success. Choose tender cuts of meat from the ribs, short loin or sirloin — i.e., t-bone, ribeye or porterhouse. Bone-in cuts are great for grilling because the bone prevents shrinkage and holds in the juices. Firm and oilier fish do best on the grill, but delicate fish can be prepared in a “hand rack”- which can be found at Cook’s Choice in Southern Pines. Tip: Before grilling, trim excess fat and grizzle to prevent flare ups and charring, and pound out uneven pieces of meat so they will cook more evenly.

2.?Seasoning is all about creativity. You can turn an ordinary steak into a “Bobby Flay throwdown” with seasonings and spices that tenderize and preserve food. Flavored salts and oils are basic ways to add flavor, but marinades and “rubs” incorporate more intricate flavors. Marinades are comprised of any combination of three main ingredients: an acid, oil and aromatics (herbs, spices, vegetables). There are more interesting acids beyond lemon juice and vinegar, including wine, tomatoes, pineapple juice, or beer. Evenly coat the items to be marinated and refrigerate for several hours. A dry rub is a mixture of salt, chopped herbs and spices or other aromatics like lemon zest. The rub can be left on while cooking to form a crust. A wet rub is the addition of oil to form a paste that saturates the item to be grilled. Tip: Don’t let excess oil from the marinade or wet rub dip into the flame, producing a flare-up that might char the meat. Pat it dry a bit before throwing it on the grill.

3.?Preparing the grill before each use is very important in order to prevent sticking and transferring burnt flavors. Scour the rods with a wire brush. Roll a non-flammable towel tied with butcher’s twine. Drizzle vegetable oil that has a high smoke point like canola or peanut oil on the towel. Using tongs, rub the rods with the oiled towel to lubricate and clean them while preheating the grill.

4.?Making nice grill marks is not necessary, but they look really professional. First heat your grill up and find your hot zone. Carefully place your hand one to two inches from the grate. If you can leave it there for 1 second, the heat is considered high. If you can leave it there for two seconds. it is medium-high heat. Place the food on the grill with one corner pointing to 1 o’clock. Let the food stay on this angle a few minutes until it releases easily. Watch the color change. Using tongs, rotate the same point toward 5 o’clock, creating a crosshatch. Do not flip it over yet. This side will be your presentation side, so do not play with it or burn it. Wait a few minutes until this grill mark is made; then you can flip it and allow it to cook to your desired doneness. Tip: Keep the grill lid closed during cooking as this helps the meat cook evenly and controls flare ups.

5.?Is it done yet? There are several ways to determine if meat is properly cooked, all involving your senses. Color changes occur and are especially easy to see with fish, which becomes opaque. The true test is touch. Proteins become firmer the longer they cook. Touch the meat with your finger and feel the resistance. The softer and easier to press, the less cooked it is. A great way to practice or double-check is by touching the flesh at the base of your thumb while your hand is relaxed, which indicates rare. Now place your index finger to your thumb; this is medium-rare. Continue with each finger and notice the difference. As you reach your pinkie, the flesh under your thumb is very firm like a well-done steak. Practice and soon you will have it memorized by touch. Remember that the food continues to cook a little longer even after it has been taken off the grill. This is called “carryover cooking.” Tip: Never cut into a steak to check if it is done because all the juices and flavor run out. Chicken is the only exception; still, make only a small cut if you are unsure, or use a meat thermometer.

6.?As meat cooks, the juices all converge in the center. Allow the meat to rest on a platter or cutting board to redistribute the juices for about 5-10 minutes. Top it off with a homemade compound butter, your favorite salsa, or classical sauce.

Know Your Labels

Grass-fed Under this label cattle are fed only grass. Nutritionally the cattle are lower in saturated fat and higher in nutrients and have lower rates of E. coli and mad cow disease. From a cooking point of view, it gets tough if cooked beyond medium-rare. This label does not address issues like pesticides, hormones or antibiotics, only the diet of the animal.

Free-range mainly applies to chickens and has no standard for beef. As the name implies, the animal had access to the outdoors.

Organic is one of the strictest labels. The animal must be raised without hormones, antibiotics, genetically modified feed, or animal byproducts — only organic feed.

Prime is the highest quality in the USDA grading system, based on marbling and aging. Only 2-3% of all beef is labeled prime which is primarily found in specialty shops. It is known for its beautiful marbling.
Choice is the next best in the grading system and still has a good amount of marbling. It can be found in many grocery stores, at a more affordable price.

Select is the leanest and has very little marbling. If it is cooked beyond medium-rare, it will become very tough.

A special thanks to The Fresh Market for providing gorgeous ingredients for the photo shoot, the ideal place to find high quality steaks and fish for all your grilling needs. We’re grateful to the Sandhills Community College Culinary Arts Department for letting us use their beautiful kitchen and equipment.

Bourbon & Brown Sugar Marinade

Yields about 1 cup, enough for 11/2 – 2 pounds of meat
1/2 cup soy sauce
1/4 cup bourbon
1/4 cup packed, dark brown sugar
1 tbs Dijon mustard
1 tsp. chili flakes
1/4 cup pineapple juice

Whisk all ingredients together, making sure the sugar dissolves. Cover meat evenly with the marinade and refrigerate for 1-12 hours. Remember that sugar burns, so shake most of the marinade off before placing meat on the grill.

Mariah Fong is our staff foodie.

Southwords

Bullit & Me

By Jay St. John

Not long ago, I went to see a movie called The Bucket List, starring Jack Nicholson and Morgan Freeman. The premise is a fairly simple one: Everyone should make a list of things they want to do before they “kick the bucket” and then go do them. In the story, both the Nicholson and Freeman characters faced terminal illnesses. They meet unexpectedly while essentially waiting to die in the hospital, and form an unlikely friendship around the notion of a Bucket List.

After the movie, thinking about another movie I’ve always loved, I admitted to my wife that I had never owned a new car. As a teen, see, I was never much of a car guy. I always owned used wheels: a rattling Corvair, a second-hand Volkswagen, a classic MGB and a gently broken-in Saab.

But after seeing The Bucket List, it occurred to me that everyone ought to have a Bucket List, regardless of age. They give a person the chance to say, “I don’t want to have regrets,” or “I have some unfinished business to attend to.” They certainly don’t have to involve spending money or purchasing things. They can just as easily be about healing a broken relationship or mending a fence. Random acts of kindness are also perfect for a Bucket List. They surely involve the head. More often than not, I suspect they also involve the heart, too.

Anyway, after watching Nicholson and Freeman give new meaning to their lives with their Bucket Lists, I decided a new car was really the only thing on my List. I’ll never forget what my wife said.

She laughed and said, “You should get it.”

Besides, I already knew the new car I wanted. That’s because the other movie I was thinking about was Bullitt, the 1968 cop classic starring Steve McQueen. I was twenty when the movie came out. The film features one of the great car chase sequences in movie history, involving Bullitt’s Highland green Mustang roaring wildly over the hilly streets of San Francisco after a black Dodge Charger carrying a pair of hit men.

There have been plenty of other great cinematic car chases, of course. I’ll give you the French Connection, Ronin, and one of Mat Damon’s Bourne movies. Ironically, I’ll bet not even many serious film buffs are aware that Bill Hickman was the same stuntman who drove one of the cars in Bullitt and The French Connection.

For my money, nothing tops the Bullitt chase scenes, or for that matter the movie itself, probably because the movie has a strong supporting cast. McQueen plays tough-talking police lieutenant Frank Bullitt, with Don Gordon as his partner. The spectacular Jacqueline Bisset is Bullitt’s love interest. Robert Vaughn plays the wonderfully oily district attorney. Simon Oakland is Bullitt’s boss, and the great Robert Duvall has a small part as a taxi driver.

Those same movie buffs may remember that McQueen and Vaughn appeared earlier together in the Sixties as two of the Magnificent Seven. Vaughn is the only surviving actor of the original seven. Yul Brenner, Steve McQueen, Charles Bronson, James Coburn, Horst Bucholz, and Brad Dexter have all passed on.

I hope they had their Bucket Lists. I suddenly had mine.

A few days after seeing The Bucket List, I was driving past Bill Smith Ford when I happened to glance over and see something amazing.

Outside, sitting directly in front of the showroom , was a dark green Mustang — all shiny and new and very familiar.

If you can believe it, the car was a 2008 version of the same legendary car Steve Mc Queen drove in Bullitt back in 1968, and it was even called “The Bullitt Mustang”!

I went straight into the showroom and met Tommy Freeman, who smiled when I mentioned the car. He offered me a seat.

Tommy switched on his computer, and all of a sudden I was hearing the unforgettable throaty rumble of Steve McQueen’s famous Mustang. Tommy explained that Ford had manufactured just 7000 tribute models of the legendary car — one of which just happened to be sitting outside his showroom door.

Naturally, I asked to take this dream car for a test spin, minus the San Francisco hills. Tommy enthusiastically agreed, perhaps sensing this was not going to be a tough sell.

I got in the car and took a deep breath. Rich black interior. Highland green paint job. Sleek aluminum dash. A classic five-speed short-throw shift on the floor, with 315 horses under the hood and no identifying exterior markings whatsoever. When I cranked her up, why, those dual exhausts rumbled like an old friend. I couldn’t have been more excited.

Tommy asked if I wanted to take it from zero to sixty I laughed and declined the offer. But the car drove just great, handled beautifully, sounded even better, and for one brief moment made me feel a little bit like my film hero, Steve McQueen.

During the test drive, in fact, Tommy even said something to this effect, prompting me to tell him to relax — he already had the sale.

“Maybe I could at least be Steve McQueen’s father,” I added.

Tommy laughed. That same day, I traded in my used Avalon for The Bullitt car.

A few days later, I was at my office at the school where I work when four parents came up to tell me someone had taken my parking space.

I was pleased to inform them the Mustang was mine. Then I told them about The Bucket List of One — Steve McQueen’s Bullitt car. None of these folks was even born, mind you, when the movie first hit the theaters. But some had recently seen The Bucket List.

I marched them outside, fired up my new car, and let them admire the throaty rumble of my new Bucket List car. They got a big kick out of that.

The next day, I found a DVD copy of Bullitt lying on my desk, courtesy of one of the parents. PS

Jay St. John, who lives in Southern Pines, is the Headmaster of Episcopal Day School.

New Books in July

By Kay L. Grismer and Angie Tally for The Country Bookshop

Chosen Forever by Susan Richards (Soho Press $23). When Richards adopted an abused horse rescued by the local SPCA, she didn’t know how Lay Me Down’s loving nature would touch her heart — and change her life — as she reveals in this sequel to Chosen by a Horse. Richards will be at The Country Bookshop on Wednesday, July 9, at 4 pm.

The Forger’s Spell by Edward Dolnick (Harper $26.95). As riveting as a WWII thriller, The Forger’s Spell is the true story of Jan Vermeer and “the world’s most famous art forger”—a small-time Dutch painter who perpetrated the greatest art hoax of the 20th century on his mark, Hermann Goering. From the Edgar Award-winning author of The Rescue Artist.

Love as a Way of Life: The Seven Secrets Behind Every Language of Love by Gary Chapman (Doubleday $19.95). In The Five Love Languages, Chapman brought to light the different ways people express love. In this work, he reveals that cultivating a personal, meaningful language of love begins with placing love at the center of life.

Math Doesn’t Suck by Danica McKellar (Plume $15). In this fun and accessible guide, McKellar, a TV actress and summa cum laude in mathematics from UCLA, gives girls and their parents the tools they need to master the math concepts that confuse middle-schoolers most. The book features hip, real-world examples, step-by-step instruction, and engaging stories of Danica’s own childhood struggles in math (and TV stardom).

Moscow Rules by Daniel Silva (Putnam $26.95). The death of a journalist leads Gabriel Allon to a new Moscow, awash in oil wealth and bulletproof Bentleys, where a former KGB colonel-turned-arms dealer is about to deliver Russia’s most sophisticated weapons to al-Qaeda unless Allon can stop him.

My Sister, My Love by Joyce Carol Oates (Ecco $25.95). Inspired by an unsolved true crime, Oates tells the story of a murder through the eyes of the 19-year-old “survivor” of a family torn apart by intense media scrutiny. Part investigation, part mystery, part elegy for the narrator’s murdered 6-year-old ice-skating champion sister, and part exposé of the pretensions of upper-middle-class suburbia, Oates’s new novel has received starred reviews from major publications.

Palace Council by Stephen L. Carter (Knopf $26.95). The acclaimed author of New England White, called a “whodunit with conscience,” returns with a gripping political thriller set in the era of Watergate and Vietnam. The novel, already hailed by critics, follows a young writer whose investigation into a decades-old murder takes him from the wealthy drawing rooms of New York through the shady corners of radical politics all the way to the Oval Office and President Nixon himself.

The Savior by Eugene Drucker (Simon & Schuster $14). A young German violinist must perform for inmates of a labor camp during the final weeks of WWII as part of an experiment in reviving hope in those who have lost it. As he bears witness to the camp’s atrocities, his horror toward the perpetrators and their crime begins to fade, revealing his own culpability.

The Secret Scripture by Sebastian Barry (Viking $24.95). In Barry’s epic story of love, betrayal, and unavoidable tragedy, a doctor helps a 100-year-old patient in a mental hospital revisit her past in conflict-besieged County Sligo, Ireland.

Time is a River by Mary Alice Monroe (Pocket Books $25). A woman travels to a mountain sanctuary near Asheville, North Carolina, where she begins her recovery from breast cancer. There, she discovers the long lost journal of a well-known fly-fisherwoman from the 1920s—an account which draws her back into the world. Monroe, author of Sweetgrass and The Beach House, will be at The Country Bookshop on Thursday, July 17, at 4 p.m.

Childrens Bookshelf

American Adventure by Michael Garland (Penguin $15.99). “Dear Reader, This book is a puzzle. A hide and seek game. A cross-country trip. You’ll be glad that you came.” Curious adventure-seekers are invited to join a young boy on his trip to a number of historic and significant American history sites as he follows a trail of notes and clues leading up to a spectacular fireworks display. Along the way are seek-and-find challenges including spotting American Presidents’ likenesses, finding camouflaged letters that spell out a holiday message, and keeping track of coins depicted on each page which add up to a significant number. Patriotic fun for ages 6-10.

Dolphin Song by Lauren St. John (Penguin $16.99). This companion book to Lauren St. John’s wildly popular White Giraffe finds Martine, an 11-year-old South African girl who has mystical powers over animals, and her class on a ten day cruise to study marine life off the coast of Mozambique. The trip takes a surprising turn when six students, tossed overboard during a terrible storm, are brought to shore by a pod of helpful dolphins and must survive on their island home while trying to find a way to get their animal saviors back to deep water after they become beached. Ages 9-12.

The Mysterious Benedict Society by Trenton Lee Stewart (Little Brown $6.99). “Are you a gifted child looking for special opportunities?” This was the headline of a newspaper ad answered by 11-year-old Reynie Muldoon. After a series of tests within tests, puzzles within puzzles, mental and physical challenges, Reynie finds himself teamed up with three other orphans and the mysterious Mr. Benedict. Working together using each member’s special talents and abilities, the four members of the Mysterious Benedict Society go undercover at the Learning Institute for the Very Enlightened to try to free the world from the control of the Institute’s brilliant founder. Fans of Roald Dahl, Lemony Snicket and Cornelia Funke will dive headfirst into this wild ride of an adventure. Selected as the E.B. White Read-Aloud Award Winner for 2008. Ages 10-14.

?June 29 - July 6
n108th NORTH AND SOUTH AMATEUR CHAMPIONSHIP. Played on Pinehurst No. 2 and No. 4. For more information on Format, Sign Up or other related data, please call the Pinehurst Tournament Office at (800)795-4653, ext. 3, or (910)235-8140.

July 3 - 25

nART EXHIBIT. Featured artists: Sandhills Photography Club. Exhibit is on display through July, call for schedule. Campbell House Galleries, 482 E. Connecticut Ave., Southern Pines. (910)692-4356.

July 3

nMOVIE - Patton. 7:30 p.m. FREE! Drama, 2 hr. 51 min. The story of General George S Patton, Jr. during the World War II phase of the controversial American general's career. The Sunrise Theater, 250 NW Broad Street, Southern Pines, (910) 692-3611.

July 4

nnANNUAL ABERDEEN JULY 4th CELEBRATION. Free. Festivities include games, prizes, food, live music and fireworks. Aberdeen Lake Park. (910)944-1115.

nnCARTHAGE JULY 4th PARADE. Hours: 11 a.m. Free. Traditional parade with floats, cars, color guard, music and food. Monroe Street, Downtown Carthage. (910)947-3900.

nnJULY 4th CELEBRATION IN THE VILLAGE OF PINEHURST. The Annual Pet Parade returns at 9 a.m., followed immediately at 10 a.m. with the Village Community Parade, featuring the Kazoo Band, Golf Cart Brigade, Fire Trucks and Uncle Sam. Village of Pinehurst. (910)295-7462.

nMOORE COUNTY CONCERT BAND. 5 p.m. Free. The Cardinal Ballroom, Carolina Hotel at Pinehurst Resort. (910)295-9023.

nnPINEHURST 4th OF JULY CELEBRATION WITH FIREWORKS. Begins at 5 p.m. Celebration includes entertainment, food and fireworks at 9 p.m. Entrance and parking are free, food will be available for purchase. The Fair Barn, Pinehurst Harness Track, Route 5, Pinehurst. (910)295-2817.

July 4-6

nBEST OF OUR STATE WEEKEND AT PINEHURST RESORT. Call for details and reservations. (800)ITS-GOLF.

July 6

nSUMMER ON THE PORCH MUSIC SERIES. Featuring Bill & Libby Hicks to opening for Grasscats, Gates open at 5:30 p.m. Opening acts take the stage at 6:15 p.m. and headliners at 7 p.m. Tickets are $9/adult, children under 12 are admitted free. Postmaster’s House, South Street, Aberdeen.

July 7

nPIT CHICKS CLINIC. Mondays from 5-7p.m., June through August. Includes on course instruction and club fitting. Beginners Welcome! The Pit Golf Links, 410 Pit Link Lane, Hwy 5, Aberdeen. Contact Janie at (910)944-1600 for details.

July 7 - 11

nMOVIE: priceless. Weekdays at 7:30. Foreign/Comedy • PG-13. 1 hr. 44 min. Starring: Audrey Tautou, Gad Elmaleh. In the south of France, Jean, a shy young bartender, is mistaken for a millionaire by a beautiful, scheming opportunist named Irene. The Sunrise Theater, 250 NW Broad Street, Southern Pines, (910) 692-3611.

July 10 - 12

nPINEHURST JUNIOR CLASSIC TENNIS TOURNAMENT. Free for spectators. Tournament Director Adam Crocker, (910)295-2817.

July 11

nGallery Opening for Sandhills Photography Club, Campbell House Galleries, 6-8 p.m., 482 E. Connecticut Ave., Southern Pines. Exhibit runs from July 3-25, 9 a.m. – 5 p.m., weekdays. Information: 910-692-4356 or www.artscouncil-moore.org.

nJAZZY FRIDAYS. 7-10 p.m. Event held rain or shine. Live jazz music, hors d'oeuvres. Admission is $5/person. Cypress Bend Vineyards & Winery, Riverton Road in Wagram. (910)369-0411

nPINEHURST RESORT'S TOUR AND TEA. 10 a.m.-noon. Discover the stories of Pinehurst's history and enjoy the traditions of classic high tea at one of America's Historic Landmarks. $25/person. Space is limited, please call for reservations. (910)235-8415.

nMOVIE: Ferris Bueller’s Day Off. 9 p.m. The film that made Matthew Broderick a household name still makes us want to twist and shout. One of the best teenage movies ever. Theater in the Museum Park, a 2,700-capacity open-air theater. 2110 Blue Ridge Road, Raleigh, North Carolina. Tickets for all concerts can be purchased on-line or by calling the Museum Box Office at (919) 715-5923. ncartmuseum.org.

July 12

n7th ANNUAL SUNRISE BLUES CRAWL. Annual event that showcases Southern Pines venues that have the Blues. Begins with Otis Taylor at 7:30p.m. at the Sunrise Theatre, and continues on to intimate bars and clubs downtown, all within walking distance. Sunrise Theatre, 250 NW Broad St., Southern Pines. For more information call the office at (910)692-8501 or www.sunrisetheater.com.

nConcert - BeauSoleil avec Michael Doucet. 8 p.m. NC Museum of Art Concert Series, Theater in the Museum Park, a 2,700-capacity open-air theater. 2110 Blue Ridge Road, Raleigh, North Carolina. Tickets for all concerts can be purchased on-line or by calling the Museum Box Office at (919) 715-5923. ncartmuseum.org.

July 13 - 20

n106th NORTH AND SOUTH WOMEN'S AMATEUR CHAMPIONSHIP. Played on Pinehurst No. 2 and No. 8. For more information on Format, Sign Up or other related data, please call the Pinehurst Tournament Office at (800)795-4653, ext. 3, or (910)235-8140.

July 14

nSCC JAZZ BAND OUTDOOR CONCERT. 6:30 p.m. Free. Bring a lawn chair and picnic if you wish. In the event of rain concert moves to Owens Auditorium. Sandhills Community College, Airport Rd., Pinehurst. (910)695-3829.

July 14 - 17

nMOVIE - There Will Be Blood. Weekdays at 7:30. Drama • R. 2 hr. 38 min. Starring: Daniel Day-Lewis, Mary Elizabeth Barrett, Paul Dano, Dillon Freasier, Christine Olejniczak. An epic tale of family, faith, power and oil set on the incendiary frontier of California's turn-of-the-century petroleum boom. The Sunrise Theater, 250 NW Broad Street, Southern Pines, (910) 692-3611.

July 18

nMOVIE: The 400 Blows. 9 p.m. The timeless and semiautobiographical coming-of-age story that stands as the first and perhaps most enduring masterpiece from the most famous founding father of the French New Wave, François Truffaut. Theater in the Museum Park, a 2,700-capacity open-air theater. 2110 Blue Ridge Road, Raleigh, North Carolina. Tickets for all concerts can be purchased on-line or by calling the Museum Box Office at (919) 715-5923. ncartmuseum.org.

July 18 - 23

nMOVIE - Atonement. Weekdays at 7:30, Saturdays & Sundays at 2:30 and 7:30. Drama • R. 2 hr. 2 min. Starring: James McAvoy, Keira Knightley, Saoirse Ronan, Brenda Blethyn, Vanessa Redgrave. In 1935, 13-year-old fledgling writer Briony Tallis (Saoirse Ronan) and her family live a life of wealth and privilege in their enormous mansion. The Sunrise Theater, 250 NW Broad Street, Southern Pines, (910) 692-3611.

July 19

nnMUSIC/MOVIE COMBO: Paris Dreams, Followed by screenings of The Red Balloon and The White Mane. NC. 7 p.m. A midsummer Parisian Valentine for the young at heart. Theater in the Museum Park, a 2,700-capacity open-air theater. 2110 Blue Ridge Road, Raleigh, North Carolina. Tickets for all concerts can be purchased on-line or by calling the Museum Box Office at (919) 715-5923. ncartmuseum.org.

July 20

nSUMMER ON THE PORCH MUSIC SERIES. Featuring opening act Carolina Circus Clown and headliner Cowboy Envy. Gates open at 5:30 p.m. Opening acts take the stage at 6:15p.m. and headliners at 7 p.m. Tickets are $9/adult, children under 12 are admitted free. Postmaster's House, South Street, Aberdeen. Visit www.theroosterswife.org for more information.

July 21

nCOALITION GOLF CLASSIC. 8 a.m. Breakfast and Registration, 9 a.m. Shotgun start. Captain's Choice scramble format. 1:30p.m. lunch, awards, door prizes. Registration fee includes greens fees and cart, breakfast, lunch, and golf goody bag. Pre-registration is required and entries will be prioritized by date received. For more information call the Sandhills/Moore Coalition for Human Care, Inc. at (910) 693-1600. Complete tournament information and registration form are available online at www.coalitiongolf.com.

July 23 - 26

n2008 U.S. KIDS GOLF TEEN WORLD CHAMPIONSHIP. To be played on Pinehurst courses No. 2, No. 5 and No. 8. For more information call (800)487-4653 or visit www.uskidsgolf.com.

July 24 - 28

nMOVIE - No Country For Old Men. Weekdays at 7:30, Saturdays & Sundays at 2:30 and 7:30. Drama/Thriller • R, 2 hr. 2 min. Starring: Tommy Lee Jones, Javier Bardem, Josh Brolin, Beth Grant, Garret Dillahunt. Set in West Texas, a man on the run with a suitcase full of money is pursued by a number of individuals. The Sunrise Theater, 250 NW Broad Street, Southern Pines, (910) 692-3611.

July 25

n11th CAROLINAS PARENT-CHILD CHAMPIONSHIP. Longleaf Golf & Country Club, Southern Pines. Sponsored through the Carolinas Golf Association. Call (910)673-1000 or visit www.carolinasgolf.org for more information.

n42nd CAROLINAS FATHER-SON CHAMPIONSHIP. Sponsored through the Carolinas Golf Association. Call (910)673-1000 or visit www.carolinasgolf.org for more information.

nJAZZY FRIDAYS. 7-10 p.m. Event held rain or shine. Live jazz music, hors d’oeuvres. Admission is $5/person. Cypress Bend Vineyards & Winery, Riverton Road in Wagram. (910)369-0411

nMOVIE: I’m Not There. 9 p.m. The inscrutable object of obsession Bob Dylan is reimagined in the form of multiple characters played by Heath Ledger, Christian Bale, Richard Gere, and Cate Blanchett. “A preposterous idea that works brilliantly,” says music critic Anthony DeCurtis. Theater in the Museum Park, a 2,700-capacity open-air theater. 2110 Blue Ridge Road, Raleigh, North Carolina. Tickets for all concerts can be purchased on-line or by calling the Museum Box Office at (919) 715-5923. ncartmuseum.org.

July 26

nMOVIE: Hairspray. 9 p.m. The latest incarnation of the 1988 John Waters movie that inspired the popular BroadwayPure campy fun. Theater in the Museum Park, a 2,700-capacity open-air theater. 2110 Blue Ridge Road, Raleigh, North Carolina. Tickets for all concerts can be purchased on-line or by calling the Museum Box Office at (919) 715-5923. ncartmuseum.org.

July 28

nPot Luck and Show & Tell. Bring your favorite dish to share for a social hour. Also bring a photo, natural history quiz, etc. to share with the group. The Sandhills Natural History Society meets monthly at Weymouth Woods State Nature Preserve located in Southern Pines, North Carolina. Meetings are usually held on the 4th Monday of each month. Socializing begins at 7 p.m. and the program begins at 7:30 p.m.

July 30 - August 3

n2008 U.S. KIDS GOLF WORLD CHAMPIONSHIP AND WORLD CUP. The world's largest golf tournament for kids 4 to 12 years of age. To be played on Pinehurst courses No. 3, No. 5 and No. 8, as well as nearby Longleaf Country Club, Mid Pines, Talamore, Midland Country Club and Little River. For more information call (888)387-5437 or visit www.uskidsgolf.com.

July 31 - August 2

nnANNUAL ROBBINS FARMERS DAY FESTIVAL. Thursday 6-9p.m., Friday 6p.m.-midnight, Saturday 9 a.m.-midnight. Free festival, small fee for Rodeo, carnival rides and games. One of the largest horse parades on the East Coast. Enjoy country, bluegrass, gospel and beach music. Entertainment also includes Rodeo, fireworks, mule show, arts & crafts, and antique tractor show. Food vendors on site. Middleton Street, downtown Robbins. For more information call (910)464-1290 or visit www.robbinsfarmersday.com.

To add your event, please email us at pinestraw@thepilot.com.

Art Galleries

Art at The Market Place. Monday - Saturday, 10 a.m. - 3 p.m. 2160 Midland Rd., Pinehurst, 215-5963.

Artist Alley. Monday - Saturday, 11 a.m. - 5 p.m. 167 E. New Hampshire, Southern Pines, 692-6077. www.artistalley.net.

Broadhurst Gallery. Tuesday - Friday, 11 a.m. - 5 p.m., Saturday 1 p.m. - 4 p.m. and evenings by appointment. Pinehurst, 295-4817. broadhurstgallery.com

Cambell House Galleries. Monday - Friday from 9 a.m. - 5 p.m. 482 E. Conn. Ave., Southern Pines, 692-4356. www.artscouncil-moore.org

The Exchange Street Gallery. 12 noon - 3 p.m. Mon. - Sat. at 129 Exchange Street, Aberdeen, 944-3979.

Hollyhocks Art Gallery. Mon. - Sat. Open daily 10:30 a.m. and evenings. 905 Linden Road, Pinehurst. 255-0665 or www.janecasnellie.com.

Sky Art Gallery. Tues. - Sat. from 10 a.m. - 5 p.m. 602 Magnolia Drive, Aberdeen, 944-9440. www.skyartgallery.com

Vineland Fine Art Gallery. 10 a.m. - 5 p.m. Tuesday through Saturday. 290 SW Broad St. (next to Fifi’s) in Southern Pines. 692-9994.

Nature Centers

Sandhills Horticultural Gardens. 32 acres of gardens. The Sandhills Horticultural Gardens are handicapped-accessible. Daylight hours year-round, 695-3882.

Weymouth Woods Sandhills Nature Preserve. 898 acres. 1024 Ft. Bragg Road, Southern Pines, 692-2167.

Historical Sites

Bethesda Church and Cemetery. Guided tours for groups by appointment. 1020 Bethesda Road, Aberdeen, 944-1319.

Bryant House and McLendon Cabin. Second and fourth Sundays, 2 p.m. - 5 p.m. June - September. Tours by appointment, 692-2051 or 673-0908.

Carthage Historical Museum. Sundays 2 p.m - 5 p.m. or by appointment. Rockingham and Saunders Sts., Carthage, 947-2331.

House in the Horseshoe. Open year-round. Hours vary. 288 Alston House Road, 10 miles north of Carthage, Sanford, 947-2051.

Malcolm Blue Farm and Museum. Wed. - Sat. 1 - 4 p.m. or group tours can be arranged by appointment. 944-7558 or 603-2739.

North Carolina Literary Hall of Fame. 10 a.m. - 2 p.m., Mon. - Fri. Weymouth Center, 555 E. Conn. Ave., Southern Pines, 692-6261.

Shaw House Property. Tuesday - Friday, 1 - 4 p.m. Corner of Morganton Road and SW Broad Street, Southern Pines, 692-2051.

Tufts Archives. Mon. - Fri. 9:30 a.m. - 5 p.m., Sat. 9:30 a.m. - 12:30 p.m. Located in the Given Memorial Library, Pinehurst, 295-3642.

Union Station. Circa 1905 Victorian, listed in the National Register, designed by T.B. Creel. 8 a.m. - 5 p.m. Downtown Aberdeen, 944-5902.

Mondays

Sandhills Photography Club - Second Monday of the month. 7 p.m. Christ Fellowship Church, Southern Pines. www.sandhillsphotoclub.org.

Moore County Concert Band - The band is always looking for new members. Rehearsals are at 6:30 at Sandhills Community College. 295-9023.

The Golf Capital Chorus is looking for new members. Rehearsals, 7 - 9 p.m., Community Presbyterian Church, Pinehurst. 692-5930.

Duffie Dancers Round Dance Club. 7 - 9 p.m. The cuer is Lucille Hensley. Old West End Gym, West End. Max and Frances Lamberti at 673-1623.

Tuesdays

Sandhills Quilters Guild. 9:30 to noon every third Tuesday of the month. Senior Enrichment Center, 8040 Hwy. 15-501 (Carthage exit north of Traffic Circle). Liz Early, 215-5960.

Toastmasters Club of the Sandhills meets the first three Tuesdays of every month, 7 p.m., Sandhills Community College, Van Dusen Hall. 215-0262 or www.freetoasthost.us.

Line dance classes, $10 for four one-hour classes. V.F.W., 615 S. Page St., Southern Pines, 692-8878.

Group Ballroom Dance lessons, 7 p.m., Pinehurst Ballroom Dance Studio, Pinehurst Executive Center, Claudia Ann, 295-3003.

Mint Juleps Club. Shag Dance Lessons. Beginner class at 6:30 p.m. Intermediate class at 7:30 p.m. 246-2223.

Maness Pottery and Music Barn features bluegrass, country, and gospel picking and singing around 6 p.m. every Tuesday night. 948-4897.

Wednesdays

Women of Wisdom. A Women’s Spiritual and Self-Discovery Support Group. 6:30 - 8 p.m at Yoga in the Sandhills. Call 692-5593.

Sandhills Striders Running Club. New club to promote running. Open to all ages and abilities. Sundays, Pinehurst, in front of Dugan’s Pub, 5:30 p.m.

WOW: The Wine Cellar. Over 15 varieties of wine by the half or full glass. 5 - 9 p.m. 241 NE Broad St., Southern Pines. 692-3066.

Ballroom Dance for newcomers. 7 p.m., Fred Astaire Dance Studio. 585-2572. Pinehurst. www.sanfordballroomdance.com.

Karaoke at The Commons Sports Page Bar & Grill, 9:30 p.m.

Thursdays

The Sandhills Songwriters Guild. Easy’s Sports Bar and Grill. (910) 215 - 0346.

Deep River Coffee Company. Live Music Thursdays. 6:30 p.m. to 9:30 p.m. Booked acts and open-mic night. 948-4040. Downtown Robbins.

Chess (all levels)1 - 3 p.m. Douglass Center, Southern Pines Recreation and Parks Department, 692-7376.

Local chapter of Sweet Adelines International, New members welcome. 7 - 9 p.m., Brownson Presbyterian Church, Southern Pines. 255-1081.

The Moore Philharmonic Orchestra, Adults and student musicians are welcome. Rehearsals - 6:30 p.m. Southern Middle School. 944-3452.

Yellow Rockers Square Dance Club, Plus level, 8 - 10 p.m., Old West End Gym, 949-2001.

Live Music by New Buffalo Thunder at The Jefferson Inn. 150 W. New Hampshire Ave., Southern Pines. 8 - 11 p.m. 692-9911.

Fridays

Church Women United of Moore County. An ecumenical group of Christian women. All are welcome. 10 a.m. the first Friday of each month. Emmanuel Episcopal Church Library, Southern Pines. 281-0129.

WOF: The Wine Cellar. Over 15 varieties of wine by the half or full glass. 5 - 9 p.m. 241 Broad St., Southern Pines. 692-3066.

Saturdays

Live Music, Flynne’s Coffee Bar. 7:30 p.m. - 10 p.m., 115 NE Broad Street, Downtown Southern Pines, 693-1999.

Dance in Carthage with the Carolina Pines Ballroom dancers the second Saturday each month. 7 - 8 p.m. 692-5280.

Live Music. Potter’s Cafe from 7 to 11 p.m. 944 - 1250.

Live Music. 8 p.m. Shucker’s Oyster Bar, Southern Pines, 695-1000.

Live Music. O’Donnell’s Pub, Southern Pines, 695-1915.

Sundays

Mint Juleps Club. Beginner Ballroom Dance Lessons. 4 - 5 p.m. 246-2223.

Model A Square Dance Club, 6 - 8:30 p.m. Old West End Gym. 673-5183.

Sandhills Striders Running Club. Open to all ages and abilities. Sundays, Southern Pines Reservoir Park, 8 a.m. 528-2302.

Notes from a Life in Golf

By Lee Pace

The postman brought a new little treasure the other day: A Moleskine notebook. Talk about the widget on your Blackberry all you want. For me, the technology on this little gem is unsurpassed. One hundred and ninety-two lined pages, perfect bound, ribbon placeholder, tidy 3 1/2 by 5 inch size that will fit perfectly into any pocket. Supposedly these black books were used decades ago for Hemingway’s ideas and Picasso’s sketches.

For me, it’s time to start another golf journal.

For ten years I have made copious notes about all elements of my golf game. I note scores and stats from every round, swing keys that worked and problem shots that haunt my handicap. I’ll note interesting people and places I find along my travels. It makes for good reading after a bad round (funny how the tendency that ravaged your scores a decade ago is still Private Enemy No. 1 today) or killing time on a tarmac.

A notation from March 2000 after a round with Peggy Kirk Bell in Florida (we were taking a dutiful break from interviews for her autobiography) reminds me of my sloppiness at the top of the backswing. The Grande Dame of Sandhills golf said that I should practice with a dime placed between the bases of my thumbs and not let it slide out at the top of the swing.

I had the good fortune of a 10-minute “mini-lesson” with noted swing guru David Leadbetter on a writers’ junket to Barton Creek in Austin in 2002, and he noted my penchant for getting crimped at the top of the backswing and not making a good extension with my arms. “Stretch your right hand as far from your body as you can go on your backswing,” he said. “That way you won’t get jammed and you’ll have a much better angle to move into impact.”

Eric Alpenfels at Pinehurst has been the de facto curator of my golf swing since I first attended a golf school at the resort in early 1991, and I’ve visited him once or twice a year for a tune-up all along. Body stability has been a thread in our sessions; if next week I hit a couple irons a little chubby or a little skinny, I can go back to my journal and find snippets of our conversations about lateral movement off the ball (leading to fat shots) and lifting the upper body (thin shots).

My journal provides rules for hitting good golf shots. If I follow my rules, I hit the ball well. It’s really no more complicated than that.

I am also reminded of the art of focusing on every shot. In 2002 I double-bogeyed the final hole of qualifying in a Durham tournament; my journal entry referenced my mind lingering on a rules discussion from the previous hole as I was standing at address on my tee shot on 18. Predictably, the ball flew into the gunk off the tee. “Tom Watson says to give yourself a trigger—a touch of the nose, a flick of the belt bucket—before every shot, and from that point think of going into a dark, quiet room,” I wrote in the aftermath.

The back cover of the journal has a pocket glued inside it, and this covey is perfect for the occasional tip I’ll find worth clipping from a golf magazine. I have Watson pictured at address with a straight, athletic-looking back (no rounding or slouching allowed). I have Byron Nelson envisioning brushing his side with his right elbow on the downswing (wonderful cure for the shanks). And my short game has benefited much from Jim McLean’s idea of using a gap wedge (mine is a 52-degree) on nearly all chip shots; McLean notes it’s a perfect “50/50” club—that most chips with a gap wedge will travel half the distance in the air and half along the ground.

My jottings are not all about the nuances of the swing, however.

Sometimes I’ll note the beauty of the scenery, like the jaw-dropping vision from the third hole at Royal Dornoch in Scotland in October 1999: “Black clouds to the west, hanging over snow-capped mountains. Deep blue sky above. Sunlight to the east, slicing through a grayish blanket of clouds. Little pillows of clouds higher in the eastern sky, dark in color underneath and peach-pink on top where caught by the early sunlight. Whitish mist hanging over the highlands to the north. Unbelievable.”

I’ll note the culinary treats discovered along the way: the “stovies” at the Jigger Inn in St. Andrews (sort of like corned beef hash); the terrific relish on the hot dogs at Paul’s Place, just off I-40 headed toward the riches of Coastal golf; the pan-seared trout at the Esceola Lodge in Linville, where they harvest the fish from a lake beside a Donald Ross-designed treasure; the authentic jerk chicken from a shack just down the road from the White Witch Golf Club in Jamaica.

It’s appropriate that I start a new journal in 2008, given my opportunity to write about golf monthly on these pages of PineStraw. My thoughts, observations and experiences will be more important now to commit to memory and eventually wrap into an interesting missive for the Sandhills golf community.

“If you’re interested in it, it will interest other golfers,” editor Jim Dodson said in his introductory charge.

Let’s get busy. I have many blank pages to fill. PS

Lee Pace, an award-winning sports writer, is a longtime resident of Chapel Hill and is the official historian of Pinehurst Resort.

Summer of the Ivory Bill

By Tom Bryant

Every now and then, just as the lemmings head for the sea, I’ve got to find me a black water river to wet a South Carolina jig. This urge comes naturally, since my maternal grandfather, Austin Fore, instilled it in me.

Our favorite haunt was his old fishing camp located on the Little Pee Dee River pretty close to Gallivant’s Ferry. If you’ve ever traveled to Myrtle Beach on Highway 501, you’ve crossed the river at the ferry. When your car rumbled over the bridge, you were only 10 or 12 miles, as the crow flies, from the old fishing camp where I spent some of my happiest time as a youth.

The summers were mine in those days. I had yet to get a job. “Let him have some fun, Evelyn,” my granddad would say to my mother. “He’s got the rest of his life to be responsible and work. Let him come fishing this summer with me. I’ll teach him a few things. And besides, I need a paddler.”

That was my last Tom Sawyer summer, filled with idyllic days fishing, paddling and observing nature in its almost pristine form. There was one early evening when we were slowly drifting back toward camp. As Granddaddy had promised, he had taught me to paddle, and I was in the stern of the boat, keeping her in line with the bank so he could toss his jig under the low hanging alders. We had a boatload of fish, and I had put my rod down and was enjoying the slow drift, moving the paddle back and forth propelling the boat from side to side without making any noise. He taught me well. “There’s nothing, son, that’ll run off a fish more than a fool with a paddle. You don’t have to splash and turn the river into a froth to move a boat. It’s all in letting the water do the work.”

A bird flew over the river and landed in a huge cypress. He was slowly pecking on the side of a dead branch. Unlike a regular woodpecker, his efforts knocked bark down as if he were swinging an ax. My granddad whispered back to me as he slowly boated his rod, “Just be real quiet and watch.” The woodpecker was big, probably a little bigger than a crow. I marveled at how much the bird looked like the movie cartoon character, Woody Woodpecker. He hung to the side of the dead branch almost upside down, his white beak slowly pounding on the tree. When we were right under him, he dropped off the branch and soared away, beating his wings in a way that kind of loped him across the swamp.

“Son,” my granddad said, “You’ve seen what few men will ever see again, an ivory-billed woodpecker. They used to frequent this swamp, in fair numbers. This is the first one I’ve seen in years. Maybe it’s a good sign and they’re coming back. Who knows? Anyway, you saw him and I bet you won’t forget him.”

That fall, my granddad had his second heart attack, a bad one. “One more like this,” the doctors said, “and we’ll not be able to help. He’s got to watch his diet and stay away from strenuous activity.”

After that great summer, I saw my granddad only at holidays and when he would visit occasionally. A few years earlier, our family had moved to Pinebluff. My dad was working all the time supporting a family of four kids, and he spent most of his waking hours at the ice plant in Aberdeen. He was the superintendent, and during peach season all of his time was dedicated to his job.

Fortunately for me, Pinebluff was made for kids. My parents couldn’t have picked a better town for us to grow up in. There was only one problem. I loved to fish, and the only fishing water I had access to was Pinebluff Lake where we swam and hung out all summer. The lake was great for that kind of entertainment; but for fishing, I could have caught as many casting on Highway One. I put my fishing equipment aside and concentrated on baseball.

One early summer evening, Dad and I were sitting on our front porch. I was in the swing, and he was kicked back in a rocker. My sisters and brother had gone to bed, and Mother was in the kitchen doing the supper dishes. Later on, Dad was going in to work to check on the night shift, and I was just enjoying this time with him. It was quiet with just a little breeze whispering through the pines, and lightning bugs flashed here and there.

“What are you up to tomorrow, Sport?” he asked as he lit a cigarette.

“We don’t have a ball game, so I think I’ll get up early and try fishing down at the lake, for whatever good that’ll do me. I’ve fished every corner of that pond and haven’t caught a thing but a couple turtles.”

Why don’t you and your buddies look into Drowning Creek?” my dad suggested. “Now, don’t go down there. Just talk to some of the adults in Pinebluff about the fishing. I know Mr. Mills would know all about it. He knows everything about this area. Your grandfather always said that the Lumber River is a great place to fish. Remember, he and your Uncle Hubert fished up around Whiteville that time and caught a cooler full of redbreast. Drowning Creek is actually the headwaters of the Lumber, so there’s bound to be good fishing.”

The next morning that’s exactly what I did. Johnny Mills was a good friend, a year or two younger than me, but we still hung out together. His dad was the mayor and was the go-to guy for information about almost anything concerning Pinebluff.

“I don’t want you boys to go down to that creek without an adult,” Mr. Mills said, “It’s a good fishing spot but loaded with big ol’ cottonmouths. Later on this week, I’ll drive you all down there and we’ll check it out.”

And that’s how Johnny and I became acquainted with Drowning Creek. In a couple years when we grew a little bigger, the creek became one of our favorite destinations. Sterling Carrington and a few other boys from the southern part of the county actually made a swimming hole at Blue’s Bridge. No swimming for me. I could just picture all those hungry cottonmouths. But the fast flowing water became my special fishing hole.

The summer before my senior year in college, my grandfather had his third heart attack while fishing the Little Pee Dee. The doctors were right. This one took him away. After the funeral, Mother and I drove down to his fishing camp. The rest of the family stayed at the farm to help greet visitors. When we arrived, Mother went inside and I wandered down to the dock where my granddad kept his boat.

The boat still had his tackle box and two or three bait casting rods in it. I got in to retrieve his fishing gear so I could store it in the cabin. This boat was a brand new one that I hadn’t seen before, so I climbed back in the stern, sat down, and grabbed a paddle. The river flowed quickly, creating a small eddy, moving the boat slowly side to side on its ropes. I turned the seat so I could lean back and see upstream. There was a great big sand bar that thrust out in the water at the bend of the river, and a giant cypress grew right at the edge. The sun was at its highest point, and all the animals and birds were hunting shade.

There was a flicker of white in the very top branches of the cypress, and I wondered what bird was moving at this time of day. After a minute or so, the bird soared across the river and turned toward the bend. There was a lot of white showing on its wings, and it had the unmistakable flight of a big woodpecker. It slowly flew around the bend and out of sight. And I remembered that great summer when my granddad taught me to paddle and we were deep enough in the swamp to see the ivory-bill. PS

Tom Bryant, former advertising director of The Pilot, is a lifelong outdoorsman and PineStraw’s new Sporting Life columnist.