A recent post on our Scotty Fan Club page of friend Carey Barfield meeting an original member of the AVG (Frank Losonsky) reminded me of a story involving Carey and us three boys from a millennium ago. I would like to share it with you…

 

Background and Preface: The Robert Scott Fan Club, having begun in late 1974, has been taken from its hallowed halls of McKibben Lane Elementary School and relocated into Miller A Junior High School in the heart of Macon, Ga., a mere four blocks from the boyhood home of one Robert L. Scott, Jr. The boys have been “discovered” by the Junior High Newspaper, which ultimately leads them to the Sunday edition of the Macon Telegraph and News, whose pixelated coverage of us was in ‘living color’----But on this day, Thursday, October 14^th, 1976, Gerald Ford was President; Elvis had been to Macon just two months previous, and unbeknownst to the boys, Scotty was in town….

 

There was one time that I won’t ever forget. A man named Billy Adams was running for Congress one time, and somehow talked General Scott into making a speech for him at a fundraiser.

A fellow schoolmate and friend, Carey Barfield, informed us that his Dad was going and that it was a political fundraiser costing a whopping fifty American samolians to attend. After Guerry and Dave picked me up off of the floor, our joy and hopes of getting to see the General vanished as quickly as they had appeared.

We still had an outside chance to see him at one of our houses or maybe receive a phone call, but if he was going to be in Macon scrubbing toilets, the Robert L. Scott Fan Club needed to be there too! I mean, we were bonafied and fully credentialed. It was in the Macon paper, for crying out loud! Why Billy Adams “people” had not gotten in contact with us would remain a mystery forever. Did they not know that where Scotty goest, so goest the Fan Club?

Well, we all went home that afternoon mighty disappointed, knowing  good and well had we even the time to scour the entire neighborhood, there wasn’t $150 worth of Coca-Cola bottles under the porch, let alone yards to mow, to come up with that kind of scratch. None of us were having a Birthday, and Christmas was nowhere in sight. And while report cards were known to earn some spending money, straight A’s wouldn’t have netted that kind of money; as for me, I had better chances of being struck by lightning.

Back to Carey Barfield, a Great American Patriot. Carey had stood by most of that day at Central-Miller A Jr. High, watching as well as listening to our lament (my lament equated to whining). It was he who had told us of the General coming to town but he naturally assumed we would be there at the fundraiser. Like Carey said, “You guys are connected, where goest Scotty so goest you guys.”

 Well, he must have felt bad about our situation because as I understood it from Guerry later he went to his dad and asked if there was a way to come up with some tickets. I never did find out what Carey’s dad did for a living, and we sure hope he hadn’t shelled out 50 bucks a ticket for us to attend, but as fate had done several times before, Guerry would soon be calling me that afternoon (Guerry was always the one who got the call) and told me what had transpired with Carey and his dads assistance. Carey had called Guerry and said he had tickets for all of us! By unanimous vote, Carey Barfield was immediately awarded a lifetime membership into the R.L.S.F.C.A.

One little logistical problem was Transportation. At 14, we didn’t have learners’ licenses nor did we ride bicycles. We were in Junior High.

I was charged with coordinating transportation.

In my case, as in every other instance there was an emergency transportation requirement, it meant calling my granddad, “BIG” George. The man I was so appropriately named after. He was Big George, and I was Little George. He was always ready, willing, and able to carry us boys anywhere we needed to go. Although blind in one eye, nobody ever loved driving more than he did. The ongoing joke in the family was that the only thing he liked more than driving was attending funerals, so naturally when he got to drive to attend a funeral, he was beside himself. His car during most of my childhood was a 1962 Plymouth Valiant, which must have had 300,000 miles on it when he bought it, and I’m certain he put that many more on it. He taught us grandkids how to drive in that car, which had a push-button transmission. Riding with him, even if just to the store and back, was a life altering experience that would make a Christian out of the most destitute. But when you need transportation, beggars can’t be choosers, so one had to assume risk.

And so it came to pass that by 6:30 that evening, 4 ‘almost learners permit’ teenagers and Big George went to their first political fundraiser with the help of fate Carey and Mr. Barfield, his dad.

 We saw General Scott at the reception before the event started, and once he began his speech acknowledged our presence, calling us by name and having us stand up in front of a packed Grand Opera House, (the venue that previously premiered “God is my Co-Pilot”). All the “old folks” at the fundraiser politely applauded patted us on the backs and told us what find young men we were. What a night! They also has a special showing of “God is my co-pilot’, which was a lot better than having to stay up and watch it on late night cable.

I really don’t remember much after that. Billy Adams lost his bid for Congress during the election, and our heads were spinning for days afterwards. And that, Ladies and Gentlemen, was how our friend CAREY BARFIELD saved the day!