Roy Exum: This Is Why I Write

Wednesday, February 13, 2019
Roy Exum

Roy Exum

It’s obvious that I love to tell stories and who would have ever guessed I would grow to loving it so much that today I hope it never stops. My closest guess it’s been about 10 years since I started posting a story on Chattanoogan.com and, in the loose way my dear friend and proprietor John Wilson and I laugh together about contracts, job descriptions, and such folly, neither of us ever thought it would become a daily event so that’s been a big part of the fun.

At most newspapers back when I was coming along “the lead columnist” would write no more than four stories a week. Then again, great writers didn’t need the dosage of constant self-psychiatry as badly as I do. To me it is part of my day – I am infatuated with so many things on my horizon – and I’ve said a hundred times when the day ever comes that I have nothing I want to write, call for the hearse.

Some days ago I received a wonderful email From a Mr. Thomas: “During the eighteen hundreds there was comic-type philosopher named Henry Wheeler Shaw, who was known as ‘Josh Billings.’ I have a book of his sayings, published in 1913, given to my father and then on to me. On the subject of your column today (where I wrote that accusing the Governor of Virginia of racism is poppycock), I offer one of his sayings – which, of course, needs to be re-written for today.

(Sayeth Josh Billings) “I have no RESPECT for any man, indeed I would not believe him on oath, who would impose on a little child, cheat a poor negro, be unkind to his mother, or tell on a woman.”

Oh my gracious mercy, I love this! My writer then added, “This should be applicable to women, as well.”

But what dropped me to my knees was his last sentence: “I first read this when I was sixteen years old and it has been one of my guides since then. I am now eighty four.”

* * *

That, in a thimble, is why I write every day. I love my role as a story teller but every so often, there becomes a glitch. I have a wonderful legion who reads me every day and I share in their laughter in the story, not so much as how it is written or how it is told, but in the warmth that is best described as the delight two or more close friends might share in a delicious tale in the morning warmth of a coffee shop.

The ‘glitch,’ as it may be best described, comes on those rare mornings when, by circumstance or otherwise, I am missing from Chattanoogan.com’s lineup. I am quickly inundated by my Internet “family” who demands, “Where are you … where was your story today?” You have no idea how flattering that is, and how humbled I am by it, until the next day, and the next. “Where are you, I want my ‘fix.’ Write some more …”

By the fifth day, my closest friends join in the song yet their verse is more pointed: “How bad is the infection? What hospital are you in? What can I do? … Okay, I’m playing it down but I am praying it up! Get well.” Believe it or not, by then any surgery is over. I’m on the way back home with a pocket full of new antibiotics and another story I’m eager to share, a joke I want to tell, or an idea or two that just may work.

All of this is to say – don’t fret. After today I’m merely taking a week’s vacation and I’ll be back by this time next week. This is nothing more than a bump in the road, a splash in the puddle. I’ll be back by next week, Scout’s honor.

My great friend in Dallas and I share stories all the time and this one’s a dandy. It was written by a veterinarian, his name or location unknown, but he was witness to a marvelous sermon that came from a wolfhound named Belker and was delivered by a six-year-old saint-in-waiting, Shane.

* * *

WHAT BELKER TAUGHT SHANE BEFORE HE DIED

Being a veterinarian, I had been called to examine a ten-year-old Irish Wolfhound named Belker. The dog's owners, Ron, his wife Lisa, and their little boy Shane, were all very attached to Belker, and they were hoping for a miracle.

I examined Belker and found he was dying of cancer.

I told the family we couldn't do anything for Belker, and offered to perform the euthanasia procedure for the old dog in their home.

As we made arrangements, Ron and Lisa told me they thought it would be good for six-year-old Shane to observe the procedure as they felt that Shane might learn something from the experience.

The next day, I felt the familiar catch in my throat as Belker's family surrounded him.

Shane seemed so calm, petting the old dog for the last time, that I wondered if he understood what was going on. Within a few minutes, Belker slipped peacefully away.

The little boy seemed to accept Belker's transition without any difficulty or confusion.

We sat together for a while after Belker's Death, wondering aloud about the sad act that animal lives are shorter than human lives. Shane, who had been listening quietly, piped up, "I know why."

Startled, we all turned to him.

What came out of his mouth next stunned me. I'd never heard a more comforting explanation. It has changed the way I try and live.

He said, "People are born so that they can learn how to live a good life -- like loving everybody all the time and being nice, right?"

The six-year-old continued, "Well, dogs already know how to do that, so they don't have to stay as long."

Remember, if a dog was the teacher you would learn things like:

* -- When loved ones come home, always run to greet them;

* -- Never pass up the opportunity to go for a joyride;

* -- Allow the experience of fresh air and the wind in your face to be pure Ecstasy;

* -- Take naps;

* -- Stretch before rising;

* -- Run, romp, and play daily;

* -- Thrive on attention and let people touch you;