8/16/2013
Thus far I am happy to sit quiet with coffee and pen this day…to listen to the steady pelting of rain and the occasional gust of wind that seems hell bent on brushing away each wayward branch from the forehead of the horizon before me. Even though it is a false start to autumn, I am grateful for the premature segue as it feeds my soul. With a freshly sharpened bouquet of pencils and such glorious intrusions from this awkward weather– I ease into another chapter in my life. The end of summer brings another production and the onslaught of academic endeavors and I am once again thrust to the helm of scholarly and creative pursuits. It suits me and I find the carnival of intellectual gymnastics brings a chaotic peace to my existence.
This morning I have already viewed the making of the book trailer for The Thin Gray Line, and confirm it will do justice to the story of Charley’s murder. These past few months have been hard on the soul to find balance between desire and destiny…obligation and avoidance…fear and fortitude. For once completely outside the incestuous box of creation, it was difficult to observe my work with absolute objectivity and equnimity. Because this is such a public and private tragedy… it made it hard to find proper boundaries for promotion. I felt paralyzed by seen and unseen responsibilities that blinded and hindered me unnecessarily. But this last month has brought all sorts of revelations and wonderful connections and lifted me from a haze of misguided obligations. All that was unclear is gone now and blessed by virtue of a recent contact; I again appreciate and acknowledge the peripheral impact Charley had on other’s lives. Finally outside the shell of introspection and this all-consuming fear of consequence –I am indebted by experience to grant and promote others their right to equal emotional remedy. You see, I knew that the entire community suffered right along with the immediate family- academically understood that others were deeply touched and scarred by the shift in their personal cannons because of Charley’s demise…I just forgot about how this book might be of help to heal those wounds as opposed to only re-opening them. Thanks to several concerned citizens, It has become clear to me that this book is essential to moving everything forward and what an injustice it would be to walk softly amongst the tenured living when the dead have done all they can to be heard. So, odd as it may sound…I will no longer take the perceived higher road of contrived silence, having learned that its mission was false. I wrote the book to speak for those who can no longer speak for themselves and balance the scales of injustice- not to avoid it so that others could remain comfortable with their beliefs. While one might interpret the soft sell approach to be the sign of observant reverence – it has become obvious that 47 years of soft-shelled everything has garnered the victims nothing!
Four people were murdered in your town and the surrounding countryside in the months between July and October of 1966. Four murders have been hidden and both socially and legally tolerated for 47 years.
To walk the path of tolerance-is to walk the path of acceptance and while that is oft times a good thing… it is not always the best thing. Acceptance implies surrender, but true surrender implies it only agrees to submissive delay- while it vows to fight another day! Surrender honors immediate bias and places collective welfare above ambitious challenge. Again, most times that is best. But what happens when collective welfare denigrates into collective lethargy when that is not the desired outcome? What if collective welfare lies fallow in the field and is not used to generate anything else? It becomes little more than foolish fodder- true and horrific waste. It is no longer ballast-but dead weight. If it does not generate action and evolution- it is but a personal accommodation of anerexic achievement and little more. After hearing about certain unsavory activities, I now see that the afore was perhaps the wrong approach. Blind honor can sometimes lead to self-reproach.
So after more than half a year of intellectual cocooning- the time has come to set a new course. Charley’s Death Certificate has not been changed and if it has not happened thus far with respectful patience– than it shall have to do so with calculated abandon. Quiet observance has not lead to effectual conveyance and that is no longer an acceptable set of terms for me.
Today’s blog is to remind all VALDOSTANS that the time has come to collectively wake up the dead and tell all above and below that the period of mourning is over. We can no longer count on the conscience of the damned to confess and tell their tale-we must pound the pavement with sandwich boards of our own and shout from the hilltops the name and intent of this book, until all have heard about what happened to Charley Covington that fateful night out on the Clyattville-Nankin Road.
End game…time to make a move Valdosta!
Buy the book.
Review it.
Share it.
I know where you live Grim. Want me to mail you a copy so you can better help Valdosta come to grip with what you have done?
Dear readers, what happened to Charley needs to be heard by anyone and everyone williong to stop and listen. It could have been your father… your brother… your sister… your mother that suffered the same. What Charley and his family experienced needs to be validated and what needs to happen to those who have gotten away with MURDER for 47 years, requires catalyst for their remedy and that it the mission of this book. Help me move this forward and back into the sunlight of justice!
THE THIN GRAY LINE by TA Powell
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