My brother Max and I were eating lunch at Parker’s Restaurant in east Dalton. He had advised we should wait until close to the 1 p.m. hour, explaining the working crowd would be finishing up and leaving some tables open. It’s good meat-and-three food, and not just the scuffed boots and ball-cap crowd know about it.
Late summer and on into fall it’s been a blessing spending more time with my next-youngest brother. We’ve been working around his house, getting it squared away for an eventual insurance inspection — not for resale, but so we can hire a new property insurance company. I know rates have gone up on everything insurable, but extend a courtesy and let us know in advance, why don’t you? Be good neighbors (no, it’s not that company).
Interestingly, we were sitting at the same table by the window as our visit a couple of weeks before. All the waitresses know Max, and he seems to be a “hail fellow well met” at all the restaurants he recommends. Suddenly the glass door opened with the help of a winter gust, and in walked an aged man stooped over who was using a cane. His well-worn baseball cap heralded his combat résumé, and he was followed by a younger man with him.
“It’s a Vietnam veteran,” I said out loud, and the room turned to look. He smiled and sat down at the table next to us, and I reached out and squeezed his frail shoulder and said, “I’m glad you made it back — thanks for going when many chose not to.” He nodded thanks.
Max whispered, “He’s blind.”
A couple of days later, Charles Oliver of the Daily Citizen emailed to inform me a man named Dan Epps wanted to talk. After contacting Mr. Epps, he told me about a neighbor he thought I’d like to interview who had been wounded in Vietnam. In fact, he was blinded when an RPG (rocket-propelled grenade) exploded.
“Wait a minute,” I said, and began to describe the veteran in the restaurant. Yep, it was the same guy. And then just last week I was at the Dalton branch of Bank OZK and asked the clerk if she grew up in town. She did, and I asked if she knew this veteran. Just all her life, she replied. Then she gave me the name of another man who knew him before and after Vietnam. Long story short, you’ll hopefully read this veteran’s story soon.
Believe it or not, stuff like this happens a lot. I’m no longer incredulous, just continually amazed. Whether it’s coincidence, serendipity or providence, I don’t actually know (but lean toward the latter). However, consider the following.
In late August, I interviewed 99-year-old World War II veteran Howard Touchstone of Rome. Less than 10 days later, he died, yet his story about visiting Pearl Harbor on the 80th anniversary of the attack was able to be told. Around this time last year, the wartime Christmas memories of Burley Davis, age 100 of Ellijay, were published in the Times-Courier and Daily Citizen. He, too, passed away before his story appeared in print. And yet something arranged for their stories to be shared after their time on this terrestrial orb came to an end.
There were other “coincidences” as well. Through the death of a friend, I got to meet his father, former Daily Citizen publisher George Clarke, 97. Teresa and I not only have an endearing friendship with George, but we’ve also heard some of his remarkable stories — as have you as readers.
Another old friend and family physician, Don Thomas, passed in 2024. Primarily through his daughters and sons telling his story, we learned not only humorous anecdotes but also of his faith journey that impacted thousands as a doctor, state legislator and Gideon.
Through interviews over the phone about their remembrances of the Temple Beth El synagogue in Dalton, I got to know people I may never actually meet in person. I still touch base occasionally with one who has become a “phone friend,” and we’ll spread the word when the city begins a transformative project at the synagogue site. Maybe we can meet for real at the dedication.
Lest you think we only cover male veterans, consider Trinka Bunch Fletcher’s story of just over a year ago. When many “draft dodgers” were avoiding the war in Vietnam, she bartered with the Army to go there as a nurse and then later cared for astronauts in the space program. A friend of the Millican family, Judy Alderman, pointed out Fletcher’s accomplishments as a story idea and has also helped with articles about Prater’s Mill and other history. My cousin, Melanie Chapman, has also been a great help in this area.
Another lady, Janice Blanchard of Ellijay, shared with both newspapers the fascinating story of her father, Jack Stanley, who served in the clandestine “Ghost Army” of World War II. Another interesting slice of history was shared by Harold Brock when he recalled from his school days how male and female teachers helped navigate the difficult seas of integration in Dalton half a century ago.
There were also animal stories. A villa maintenance man at Jekyll Island shared how he spit in a bear’s face, and our good friends in ministry, Mary Jo Cockburn and Marti Burgess of Ellijay, told us the true tale of a kitten who hitchhiked 10 miles from one home to another.
And then this from reader Lynn Lyles of Chatsworth in regard to a recent Christmas column: “This past June I attended the funeral of my third cousin, who was 10 years younger than me. We were not close, but spoke on the phone often. She passed because of cancer. Imagine our surprise when she had requested ‘Silent Night’ in German sang at her funeral. A young lady — I believe a member of the church where she and I grew up — performed a very beautiful a cappella version beside her gravesite.”
Wow. Of course, there were more stories in 2024. And it makes one look forward to 2025, when Lord willing, we’ll still be around to hear and write stories — and maybe even get a book off the press (prayers appreciated in that latter regard!).
Mark Millican is a former staff writer for the Daily Citizen.