Reflections on the White

In "A Pirate Looks at 40," a song by Jimmy Buffett that was on his 1974 album A1A, Buffett sings about a former drug smuggler who's looking back on the first 40 years of his life and wondering about the future.

"The cannons don't thunder, there's nothing to plunder, I'm an over-40 victim of fate," Buffett sings.

Buffett long has been a favorite among my group of college friends at Ouachita Baptist University in the late 1970s and early 1980s. On the first weekend of May, 15 of us gathered at Sportsman's Resort on the banks of the White River near Flippin. A few folks actually went trout fishing. There were hotly contested games of croquet on the mowed banks of the river. There was the Kentucky Derby to watch on television. Steaks were grilled, familiar stories were retold and we caught up on each other's lives. Fortunately, there isn't a single drug smuggler in the group, but I thought about "A Pirate Looks at 40" as we watched the river roll by.

As you might expect with a group this large, the full range of triumphs and tragedies have occurred in the almost 35 years since college graduation. One of our friends committed suicide at a young age. My freshman roommate then committed suicide years later. There have been divorces, lost jobs and even the loss of a child. There have been children adopted from other countries, children's graduations, marriages and grandkids for some. It's dawning on us that we've had more yesterdays than we'll have tomorrows, and that leads to reflective moments. For the most part, though, we were young again (in our minds at least) for one special weekend.

I had been in a reflective mood since the previous Thursday night when old friend Ron Fournier spoke at the Clinton School of Public Service about his new book, Love That Boy. Ron and I were colleagues at the Arkansas Democrat in the late 1980s, albeit colleagues separated by more than 1,000 miles. I was the newspaper's Washington correspondent, and Fournier was in the state Capitol bureau at Little Rock. Fournier, a Detroit native, began his journalism career at the Sentinel-Record in Hot Springs before moving to Little Rock. He left the Democrat to join the Little Rock bureau of The Associated Press. When Gov. Bill Clinton was elected president in 1992, Fournier moved with him to cover the White House for AP. He went on to cover not only Clinton but also Presidents George W. Bush and Barack Obama, winning the White House Correspondents' Association Merriman Smith Memorial Award four times.

Fournier, who's now among the nation's most recognized journalists, is senior political columnist for National Journal. His book is a deeply personal account of relating to a son with Asperger's. Fournier's son, Tyler, was in attendance at the Clinton School lecture. The book goes into detail about Tyler's meetings with Clinton, Bush and Obama. The title comes from what Bush told Fournier as he and his son left Bush's office: "Love that boy."

"Tyler and I inch toward the Green Room, in line with blow-dried TV anchors and stuffy columnists," Fournier writes of their meeting with Obama. "He's practicing his handshake and hello: 'It's a pleasure to meet you, Mr. President. It's a pleasure to meet you, Mr. President. It's a pleasure to meet you, Mr. President.' When the couple in front of us steps forward for their picture, my teenager with sky-blue eyes and a soft heart looks up at me and says, 'I hope I don't let you down, Dad.' What kind of father raises a son to worry about embarrassing his dad? I want to tell Tyler not to worry, that he'd never let me down. That there's nothing wrong with being different. That I actually am proud of what makes him special. But we are next in line to meet the president of the United States in a room filled with fellow strivers, and all I can think about is the real possibility that Tyler might embarrass himself. Or, God forbid, me."

Fournier's Clinton School lecture gave me plenty of food for thought the next day as I drove from Little Rock to Flippin. We have an empty nest at our home since the youngest of two sons is now a college freshman. What kind of job have I done as a father since our oldest son was born 23 years ago? It was the question I contemplated as I made the drive through the Ozark Mountains of Van Buren, Searcy and Marion counties. I stopped for several minutes to enjoy the view of the Buffalo River when I crossed it on Arkansas 14 near Cozahome. I stopped again after crossing Crooked Creek at Yellville, dreaming of past trips to catch smallmouth bass on the stream.

I was the last to arrive at our cabins on the White River, but supper had not yet been served. We built a fire in the riverside fire pit and visited until about 10 p.m., going to bed at the time we used to be going out in college. Some of those in our party were up before 6 a.m. Saturday, rising at the time they once came in. I've been blessed to attend the Kentucky Derby eight times through the years. It's one of my favorite annual events. But there's no place I would have rather been on Derby Day 2016 than in the Arkansas Ozarks with more than a dozen college friends.

We sat around the main cabin sipping coffee Sunday morning, and the conversation waned. It was time to go home. For the longest, not a word was said. No one made a move for the door. No one wanted this weekend on the banks of the White River to end. The cannons don't thunder, there's nothing to plunder. The friendships and memories live on.

------------v------------

Freelance columnist Rex Nelson is the director of corporate community relations for Simmons First National Corp. He's also the author of the Southern Fried blog at rexnelsonsouthernfried.com.

Editorial on 05/18/2016

Upcoming Events