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Today, I am disappointed with myself. Coming off a very active May 13 - not an unlucky day, by any stretch of the imagination - and working a seven-hour shift covering the Presbyterian College Commencement on May 14, I hit the wall.

We interrupt our regularly-schedule column rotation to bring you this special edition of Franklin’s Corner – appearing in the same location since the last century.
After reading this, you’re going to ask yourself, “What’s so special about this? He ain’t gonna win no column award with this-un.”
And you’re probably right. The only reason I’m here is because one of the columnists scheduled begged off this week and I said to myself, “You know, the faithful readers are missing me. I need to throw them a bone.”

His name is carved in stone.

His name is on the interstate.

His parents are fixtures on the community service and public events scene.

The more Ted Cruz talks, the smarter Donald Trump looks.
Cruz wants the police to patrol/target “Muslim neighborhoods” in the United States. Anyone wearing an “I’m a radical Islamic” t-shirt or an “I’m with Muhammad” t-shirt would be arrested and sent straight to Gitmo, which is in Cuba, where President Obama watched a baseball game, which got all the GOP panties in a wad.

Pat Conroy has died, and I must write.

It is so totally inconvenient. It's been a long week. I'm sitting here with a mug of tea that is guaranteed to put me to sleep. I should be in the other room watching Criminal Minds. I've just come back from a dinner with interesting people, brought together by an interesting situation, a place where Pat would love to hold court. I'm body and brain tired. I just HAVE TO put these few thoughts down on what passes for paper in these digital times we live in. Pat Conroy was my college commencement speaker.

Faithful readers will remember in last week’s column I discussed my recent absence from this space. I don’t remember what lie I gave as the reason (guess I’m not a faithful reader), but, during my sabbatical the potential column topics piled up on my writing desk.
Yes, I have a writing desk. Wanna make something of it?
I’m going to try to get caught up. Unfortunately, some of my notes don’t make much sense.

Around the same time I named Vic MacDonald as the editor, there was a string of several weeks without a Franklin’s Corner for you to read and be amused by. The two actions, while not related, led to widespread speculation I had retired.
To be clear, I haven’t retired and, at this point, I don’t have any concrete plans to do so. My retirement is closer than it’s ever been, but so is yours. For the time being, you have me here to help bring you the best darn newspaper in Clinton. Sorry.
Let’s move on.

I came back to the newspaper business in 2011. For five years, I had been a teacher at Newberry High School. I almost went to Ninety Six, after finishing PACE, but a friend who was the assistant principal at NHS called to ask if I had signed a contract. I hadn’t - I became, instead, a Bulldog instructor.