I met Dave Parker in 1989. He was a member of the Oakland Athletics Major League Baseball Club. I had been a fan since the mid-1970s when Parker, representing the Pittsburgh Pirates, threw a strike from right field to home plate in the All-Star game to prevent a runner from scoring. I had seen a similar throw by a Pirates right fielder a few years earlier in the World Series from a guy by the name of Roberto Clemente. I immediately put Parker in the defensive class with Clemente.
Monthly Archives: June 2025
50th Legacy Celebration
Save the date: December 12, 2025
The Proclamation reading is at Macon City Hall, 700 Poplar Street, Macon, Georgia 30201. The Proclamation ceremony starts at 10:00 p.m. The Luncheon is at The Tubman African American Museum, 310 Cherry Street, Macon, Georgia 31201. It begins at Noon. The Luncheon tickets are $55.00 per patron.
The Middle Georgia Informer
Front Page Cover about celebrating Macon’s First Five Black Council Members
Well, well, I made the front cover of the May 2025 edition of my hometown newspaper, the Middle Georgia Informer. The story was about my mission to preserve the history of Black elected officials in Macon, Georgia. In December, Cascade Publishing House will host a luncheon to honor the memory of the first five Blacks elected to the Macon, Georgia City Council in 1974. Their service began in 1975.
Juneteenth Observance 2025
At the Tubman Museum in Macon, Georgia
Yesterday, during the Juneteenth observance at the Tubman African American Museum in Macon, Georgia, I discussed the historical context of freedom in Middle Georgia. To highlight African Americans’ resilience, I drew a compelling comparison with the Juneteenth celebrations in Galveston, Texas, in 1865.
Celebrating the Legacy
In an age when Black History is vanishing, I’m on a mission to preserve the legacy of the first five Blacks elected to the Macon, Georgia City Council. Click the Q-Code for ways to support the celebration of this historical event.
If Black History Matters and is worth preserving, share some of your resources to honor those who carried the torch in difficult times.
The Mansion on Artistry Way: Janelle’s Discovery
“I tried to warn you,” the reflection murmurs. “But you didn’t listen.”
Janelle’s pulse thunders in her ears. Pounding like a drum beat out of an African jungle, or a native war camp in the late 1800s.
“No. This isn’t right,” Janelle can hear herself say.
She squares her shoulders, forcing her breath into something steady, controlled.
The Mansion on Artistry Way: Janelle and the voice
Janelle stiffens. She knows this voice. She shouldn’t. How could she know this voice? But she knows the flow of the words rolling off the stranger’s tongue.
The floor shifts beneath her, tilting ever so slightly—not enough to move her, just enough to remind her that nothing is solid anymore.
Her fingers tighten around the key, but it is gone. And the door behind her? It is no longer there. The light flickers again, stronger this time, revealing the silhouette of a figure—not the stranger, but someone else, someone waiting.
The Mansion on Artistry Way: Janelle Returns
The basement stretches longer than she remembers, the darkness pressing in thicker now, hungrier. The stranger does not follow, yet she can feel his presence wrapping around her like a lingering shadow.
She stops before the door. Something about it is different now. The wood cracks open like veins, pulsing with something deeper beneath its surface. The doorknob is no longer brass; it gleams silver, smooth, expectant, waiting. Her heartbeat hammers against her ribs.
The Manison on Artistry Way: The Key
The basement air hangs thick with an unsettling quiet, pressing against Janelle’s skin like a living thing. The dark stranger’s words, twisted in half-truths and veiled warnings, still cling to her like cobwebs.
She swallows hard, forcing herself to steady her voice.
“What do you mean, it was never about me?”
The Mansion on Artistry Way: Janelle’s Fear
She forced herself to hold her ground.
“Who else?” she pressed.
The stranger’s gaze flickered to the journal still clutched in her hands.
“You already have your answers,” he murmured.
“You just don’t know how to read them yet.”
The pages in her grip fluttered open, but not to blank parchment. Not to Evelyn’s last words.