The Observer picked up a copy of the Batesville Daily Guard in our office the other day, and saw a large and momentous headline: “Van Atkins to close.” The article explained that the last two Van Atkins stores in operation, one that had done business in downtown Batesville for 51 years and another at Monticello, were closing their doors for good. The Observer was saddened, though a little surprised, too, to find that there were a still a couple of Van Atkinses around. The heyday of the locally owned, family owned department store passed years ago, about the time the big discounters began opening up on the outskirts, and all the downtowns started dying.
But at one time, in a big part of Arkansas, shopping at Van Atkins was part of growing up. There were 13 Van Atkins stores at the peak. According to the Guard, the first one opened at Walnut Ridge in 1949, under the ownership of O.M. Atkins, Guy Moseley and Earl Vanhook. The Batesville store, opening in 1953, was the fourth in the chain, following Pocahontas and Newport. Searcy, the one The Observer was most familiar with, wouldn’t have been far behind. Or Wynne. This northeastern quadrant was what The Observer always thought of as Van Atkins territory, not realizing that the chain had expanded into western and southern Arkansas — Harrison, Russellville, Malvern, Monticello, El Dorado.
So now Van Atkins has gone to the same place as the locally owned newspapers, the mom-and-pop cafes, the downtown movie theaters, the old-timey drug stores with soda fountains. You can’t get there from here.
Like baseball, basketball demands the accompaniment of a beer and a hot dog, so when The Observer went to Alltel Arena to observe some hoops, he hit the concession stand first thing. It was a nice dog, too, but we discovered a deficiency at the condiment table — no relish. Mustard was there, of course. Ketchup, mayonnaise, tomatoes, pickle slices, onions (the stringy slices, not chopped, which is the only way you can put onions on a hot dog). Some of this, we assume, was for the benefit of hamburger eaters. Surely nobody ever put mayo on a hot dog. But a lot of people, including The Observer, relish relish.
Are the concessionaires at Alltel taking advice from Bill Valentine, a longtime opponent of relish at Ray Winder Field? They shouldn’t. The visitors to the new Clinton Library will be sophisticated, intelligent people, and if they decide to watch some basketball while they’re in town — or baseball, in the summer — they’ll expect relish.
The Observer was denied a second beer, probably a good thing. One of the teams playing was Ouachita, and the Tigers had drawn a number of Baptist preachers to Alltel. “They drank us dry before the half,” the beer man said.
The eighth grade American history class was talking about revolution. (Not revolting — this generation’s parents never knew Abbie Hoffman.) Mrs. Buford, as she is known to her students, asked her students if anyone knew what revolution was.
It was a sign of these times, perhaps, that one boy raised his hand and offered this. “I don’t know what it is, but it’s in the Bible.”
Whereupon another child stood to correct him. “That’s Revelations,” she said.
About those beer-drinking preachers. That’s from the Bible, too. “And Jotham ran away, and fled, and went to Beer, and dwelt there …” Judges 9:21. (Or was it Revolution 9:21?)
The Observer attended the dedication of the sculpture at the front of the Clinton Presidential Center on Sunday, the largest of six new pieces installed in the River Market area. The sculpture was draped and the roar of the cars overhead on Interstate 30 was drowning out the speakers, so people talked among themselves during the ceremony. One woman teased her friends, telling them the sculpture to be unveiled was an enormous bat. It did appear that way, but it is, of course, a landing eagle, its wings swept up and back. Another woman, seeing Jennings Osborne in the crowd, sagely predicted that he would be revealed as the purchaser of the monumental piece selected for the Clinton library entry. Why? we wondered. His support for Republicans is up in lights. That’s his style, she explained: “Mine’s bigger than yours.” She was right. About his being the benefactor.
The Observer came into the office on Tuesday morning, not quite bright-eyed or bushy tailed thanks to Daylight Savings Time jetlag, to find our colleague Benji Hardy conked out asleep in yet another colleague's office, Benji having pulled an all-nighter to bring you, Dear Reader, this week's cover story.
Rep. Justin Harris blames DHS for the fallout related to his adoption of three young girls, but sources familiar with the situation contradict his story and paint a troubling picture of the adoption process and the girls' time in the Harris household.
he Observer has our regrets, just like everybody else. For example: last week, Yours Truly published a cover story on the increasingly ugly fight over Eureka Springs' Ordinance 2223, which is designed to protect a bunch of groups — including LGBTQ people — from discrimination in housing, employment, accommodations, cake buying, browsing, drinking, gut stuffery, knickknack purchasing, general cavorting, funny postcard mailing and all the other stuff one tends to get up to in the weirdest, friendliest, most magical little town in the Ozarks.
Little Rock police responding to a disturbance call near Eighth and Sherman Streets about 12:40 a.m. killed a man with a long gun, Police Chief Kenton Buckner said in an early morning meeting with reporters.
Crystal Bridges Museum of American Art is installing Sol Lewitt's 70-foot eye-crosser "Wall Drawing 880: Loopy Doopy," waves of complementary orange and green, on the outside of the Twentieth Century Gallery bridge. You can glimpse painters working on it from Eleven, the museum's restaurant, museum spokeswoman Beth Bobbitt said
Ted Suhl, the former operator of residential and out-patient mental health services, has lost a second bid to get a new trial on his conviction for paying bribes to influence state Human Services Department policies. Set for sentencing Thursday, Suhl faces a government request for a sentence up to almost 20 years. He argues for no more than 33 months.
The Observer will be moving soon. Not out of The Observatory, thank God, as we're sure it will take the wagon from the 20 Mule Team Borax box to get us away from there after 14 years of accumulation, plus a team of seasoned Aussie wildlife wranglers to herd our pair of surly wildcats into a crate. No, just out of the office we've been in at the Fortress of Employment for going on five years, which is bad enough. We're moving to the other side of the building here in a few months.
What with the big, clear-the-decks Road Trip issue last week — which we're sure you stuffed immediately in your motorcar's glove box, turtle hull or catchall, for when you get a hankerin' to gallivant — The Observer has had two glorious weeks to Observe since the last time we conversed.