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Cochran, Collins (CE) Wynn, Eddie Sykes, Don Wynn 
Sometimes I feel like I am trying to sail around the world solo when I sit down to put together the next issue of Lee's Traveller. Then, I have to remind myself that all of this is my idea, I volunteered for it, and all of my staff are also volunteers. No one is paying us so if we continue to do it, it is our problem not anyone else's.Then, that rare moment comes around that makes it all worth while. It usually happens about once a month and I guess that is what makes all this worth while. This week it happened twice.I got two phone calls in the last week that I would have never received if it were not for the work I do with the Traveller. One was from a teacher, who shall remain nameless by request, who called to talk to me about a story. The gist of her call was that sometimes she looked back at what she did at Lee and wondered if she had really made a difference in our world or our lives. By reading some of the things that have been written by you, I think she sees that she has. I think it made her feel good.The other was from another former Lee teacher, but I was out of town and did not get to talk to her. Mrs. Kephart called and left me a message saying that she was visiting in Memphis and wanted to talk to me about some of the articles in the Traveller. I tried to call her back when I got back home, but she had returned to Huntsville and I don't have her number there. Some of you must have it and I would love for you to e-mail it to me so I can call and talk to her.Which leads me to another story. A former commander from my Air Force days was killed last month when he crashed his experimental aircraft about 200 feet short of the runway in Omaha. He had trusted me and put a lot of faith in me when I served under him and without his acceptance I would have never been able to take the job in England that I did for four years.His death was not the point. This comment is about what one of his friends did. At the funeral, his friend took out a letter he had written to his fallen comrade and read it to the people sitting in the church. When he finished it and put it back in his pocket, he stated that in all the years he had never written a letter to his friend. It was only in his death that he did so. He never felt there would come a time when he couldn't just talk to him.I have written a lot about a lot of people and things from my Lee days. I thought I might see if any of you would like to write an open letter to someone from those times and let it be printed here. It does not have to be a living person. You might not even want to use your name or their name. But if there is anyone that you want to tell something to, then I would be proud to let the Traveller be your voice. Consider it.
As a writer I sometimes get inspired with an idea for a story without any problems. Like the comic strip I saw in today’s paper, I feel like I don’t just have writer’s block, I’ve got the whole Lego set! But a writer writes and ideas come from many different sources. This week I wanted to do a Christmas story and encourage others of you to do the same. We are running out of time for this year’s holiday season.When I finished reading the paper today, I sat aside the Fred’s Dollar Store color insert, and told myself that somewhere in the 24 pages there was something that would inspire me. I used the Fred’s ad because that most represents the type of store that I would have had to go to and shop based on my financial situation during those high school days.I looked through it, at the clothes, toys, and smellums. I looked at things that I might have bought my mother, grandmother, and even my older brother. I saw a few things that they (as my family) would have made a fuss over and brag to me how much they liked them only to have the items get stuffed into a drawer until they could magically disappear some day when I was not around.It took me three times through looking hard for that inspiration. The toys were not the kind of toys we played with. The electronics did not exist. The tool kits for the cars cost more than the Bomb, my ’53 Ford, was worth. The gallon of antifreeze looked out of place in the Christmas gifts, and I laughed at the idea that back in 1964 my radiator would not hold antifreeze overnight without most of it leaking out. The key to the story was hidden well.On the forth time through I finally found what I knew was calling me. That’s a pun, because the thing that I saw was an ad for a telephone. It was nothing like the phone in my house or even your’s back then, but the black phone reminded me of a Christmas story.I remember being over at my Aunt Helen’s and Uncle Claude’s house one Christmas eve. With me were my mother, grandmother, and my sister-in-law Linda. My brother Don’s absence was ever present. This was a tough Christmas for many of the family, especially Linda and Mother, because Don was in the Navy and he was stationed overseas and away from home for the first time during the Christmas holidays. Many of you are former military, were married to military, or are now parents of military members and know how upsetting the Christmas time is for that group. Before I go any further it would not be proper for me to not say how proud and grateful I am for the service personnel that are now overseas and will miss being with their families this Christmas. God bless all of you and thank you from the bottom of my heart. I know how it feels, for I walked in those footsteps myself.But, back to the story at hand. On that night, we were all missing Don being with us. I was perhaps the one who missed him the least, but even then it did not seem right to not have my brother with me for Christmas. There was a little Christmas “spirits” being consumed, and my uncle had been into the spirits for a long time and was feeling the effects. As the evening continued, he decided to do something special for Mom and Linda.While I was setting there he asked them what Don’s phone number was. Of course no one had a number for a man in the Navy who might be on a ship or in a plane on patrol. This did not deter Uncle Claude; he was determined to get a call through to Don. I guess my uncle was known as a man who could pull strings.You remember that we didn’t direct dial long distance calls back then. We had to talk to an operator, tell her that we wanted to place a long distance call, give them the number and then hang up the phone. She did all the necessary work and about 15 minutes later would call back and say she had the party on the line.Uncle Claude walked over to his phone, picked it up and dialed, and I listened to his conversation with the operator. I still to this day remember and laugh about what I heard on my end.His side of the conversation went as follows:“Operator, I want to place a long distance phone call.”“I want to talk to Don Towery in Iceland.”“No, Iceland!”(Long pause)“Honey, that ain’t no city…that’s a state!”Needless to say, we didn’t get to talk to Don that night, but like a line out of “A Christmas Story,” or “Christmas Vacation” the words “Honey, that ain’t no city…that’s a state!” will always remind me of that memorable Christmas night with my family.
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