From Midlothian to Montepelier, Randy enjoys his 15 minutes of fame
You know how people always ask on Monday, “How was your weekend?” Well, if you asked me that this week, I would have to say, “Fantastic.”
This weekend I got to do one thing I’ve never done before in my whole life, and one thing I’ve done only once—and both were excellent experiences. First, on Saturday morning, I rode in the annual Midlothian Village Parade, sitting high in a red 1963 Impala convertible with a mighty fine 409 engine owned by Dr. Jo Bohannon-Grant, whose Midlothian Dermatology was a sponsor of the parade. Dr. Jo is a longtime good friend and longtime reader of my now-defunct newspaper column.
Back in July, on the first Friday that my column did not appear in the Times-Dispatch, Dr. Jo called and said something to the effect of, “You didn’t get to tell your readers goodbye, but I can see that you at least get to wave to some of them from a good perch in the Midlothian parade.”
And that I did—from an excellent perch. Like most guys, I love the old cars, the ones beautifully preserved or restored, so it was a treat to occupy Bohannon-Grant’s Impala, especially when I was being chauffeured by Elvis! Win Grant, Dr. Jo’s husband, arrived to drive completely decked out in Elvis regalia, to the delight of the crowd.
Elvis, or “Welvis,” as Dr. Jo called him, got his share of attention, but I did have one woman yell to me, “Randy, you look much better in person”—oh, yeah, that was just my wife Barb. I think that was her way of telling me that I’ve been working so much in my new teaching job that she doesn’t see as much of me as she’d like.
I do believe the politicians in the parade got the most attention, though, as they walked the route shaking hands every step of the way while their supporters handed out stickers and buttons. Barb ended up wearing stickers for one Senate hopeful while her sister and brother-in-law, down from Charlottesville for my maiden ride-on-the-back-of-a-convertible-in-a-parade voyage, wore stickers for the opposing candidate. Someone told Barb and Betts that they certainly disagreed pleasantly, but that lady clearly never attended any of our family dinners.
Midlothian is such a nice little community—good schools, good people. Even though it’s on the other side of the world from Ginter Park, Barb and I go over there fairly regularly, usually to hunt down books we want to read at the Book Exchange. But sometimes that’s an excuse because we really just want to walk around Midlothian.
Saturday afternoon we headed out in the other direction, towards Montpelier, for the Gravely family music festival, Chickenstock, to raise money for Fanconia Anemia research. FA is one of those diseases you probably never heard of—I had not until I started attending Chickenstock. But it’s a bear, especially for children—a fatal blood disease that at some point demands a bone marrow transplant and often leads to leukemia or various carcinomas. The Gravely brothers—Phillip, Page and Martin—have been hosting three or four bands every year for the past five, on a stage at the edge of the woods on family property, inviting hundreds of friends as guests. The Gravelys have a special interest in FA because their friends, Kevin and Lorraine McQueen of Chesterfield, have a son with FA, Sean.
Last year and this, I got to perform onstage briefly with the Chickenstock House Band, picking and grinning and having the time of my life. All of us would-be guitar players live for a chance to get up on stage, you know, and when it’s for a good cause, so much the better. The professional groups this year included Staggers and Jags, The New Oldz and Flat Elvis.
So my memorable weekend started and ended with Elvis, in a fashion. And for all of you who yelled out to me in the parade or cheered me on at Chickenstock, I’d just like to say, “thank ya. Thank ya very much.”
See blog’s photo album for more pictures.
