Posts on Denise White Parkinson

Foragers Afloat: the Arkansas Chronicles

Sun, 10 Mar 2024 00:00:00 +0000

by Denise White Parkinson

“The bird that would soar above the level plain of tradition and prejudice must have strong wings.” ~ Kate Chopin

“I’m hard to kill.” ~ Jase Le Trip

Chapter 1: The Mute

The number of people mucking out was low at first but grew exponentially. Every day more folks dropped off the map and/or gave themselves up to whatever happened next. According to scientists, the ongoing diaspora was one of many results of mass trauma. These were not missing persons, exactly; they simply did not want to be found.

Daughter of the White River, a documentary short film

Mon, 06 Nov 2017 00:00:00 +0000

Daughter of the White River from Michael Mueller Productions on Vimeo.

The Brothers Simpson

Mon, 17 Apr 2017 00:00:00 +0000

The Brothers Simpson

FADE IN:

1 EXT. SIMPSON ENTERPRISES LLC – DAY A retired couple, the MCCRACKENS, inspect a luxury RV. Their Cobra sports car is parked nearby. BRUCE SIMPSON closes the deal.

MR. MCCRACKEN Look here, son. My wife’s dragging me off on this trip. If you do as we agreed, then all’s good. If you don’t, there’s gonna be trouble. Here are the keys. BRUCE Mr. McCracken, your baby’s safer with me than a bug in a rug snug as a bee in your bonnet or a bur under your saddle blanket. I’ll drive her once a week for conditioning and keep her covered the rest. Y’all have a safe trip—enjoy the RV. See you in three weeks.

The River Sisters

Mon, 17 Apr 2017 00:00:00 +0000

Chapter 1: The River Sisters

Everyone in Skunk Holler remembers the River Sisters. Half the town locked their doors whenever they passed by, while the rest of us cheered them on (under our breath).

I rode my bike out to the old River Place one time on a dare. Coming down the levee road, I was surprised to see their long gray wooden houseboat set up on the muddy bank, rock-throwing distance to the water (this was before the government kicked out the folks living on the White River). I had pictured their home bobbing at the end of a towline.

Chapter 8: Snow on the Cedar

Sat, 25 Mar 2017 00:00:00 +0000

Snow on the Cedar

The Reunion marks the beginning of the Holidays, with Thanksgiving and Christmas and the New Year just around the corner. Camp Doughboy near DeWitt draws families from across Arkansas County, but Dad could remember the old Reunion ground, Camp Fagan, on the lower White River. Camp Fagan was named after a Confederate general; you can still dig up a musket ball on the riverbank there—even cannon balls. That part of the River was known as Indian Bay until a Civil War battle filled the water with dying soldiers and horses. Afterward folks renamed it Stinking Bay.

Chapter 9: Heroes and Villains

Sat, 25 Mar 2017 00:00:00 +0000

There was a flying ace, a fighter pilot who left Arkansas County to travel the world—Frank Tinker. He was a real-life war hero, a buddy of Dad’s. He used to buzz us out in the fields, zooming loud and low over the farm in his single engine Jenny, laughing. We heard he met a sad fate in a Little Rock hotel—shot and killed over a jealous woman. He was buried in DeWitt with “¿Quien Sabe?” (“Who knows?”) engraved on his tombstone. Folks tended to shy away from scandal, so his name went unspoken.

Chapter Seven: Sweet as Molasses

Wed, 15 Mar 2017 00:00:00 +0000

Autumn on the River is busy season. There’s the Reunion at the end of October, but before that comes the sorghum harvest and molasses-making. I was itching to see my first molasses-cooking party—LC said it lasts for days, with music and circle dances and a big spread. School lets out early, perking folks up.

Dad liked to broke his back cutting the 10-foot stalks, topped with tassels that have to be sawn off by hand. From sunup to sundown we piled green cane onto the hay wagon, falling asleep as soon as supper was over. My hands blistered and I got behind on the dishwashing—when we ran out of clean pots and pans Dad kept going. He switched to the Dutch oven and built a fire out in the yard.

Chapter Six: Run for the Roses

Mon, 11 Apr 2016 00:00:00 +0000

Back at the “dirt farm in Van” as Dad called it, work was plentiful. After bending a dozen nails and breaking a hoe, I was put in charge of the chickens and pond. “Just bring in some eggs and a few catfish or bream now and then,” Dad pleaded.

His plan centered on a crop of fast-growing sorghum. We were going to turn it into molasses at the end of the season. Dad was already tallying jars to sell to the general store at nearby Ethel and at Ballard’s Mercantile. He had acquired a mule, so we planted a big garden too. I got used to eating greens, baby taters and double-yolker omelets. Most days I found time to sneak off and see what LC was up to.

Chapter Five: Summer of the Wolf

Sat, 26 Mar 2016 00:00:00 +0000

For the first time in a long while, I looked forward to going to school. Leaving the houseboat early, I walked through the May sunrise with firm resolve: there was a friend waiting on me.

The Dupslaffs knew all about L.C. Brown. “He’s the kid on Big Creek that got the wolf,” they chimed. “It’s got red eyes!” hollered the youngest. They described L.C. in voices tinged with awe. When we came in sight of the schoolyard, there he stood: tall and lanky, with a cowlick of black hair that poked up on one side. “Want to go squirrel hunting after school?” was all he said. I spent the rest of the day watching the hands on the wall clock circling slowly around.

Chapter Four: Back on the Bayou

Wed, 16 Mar 2016 00:00:00 +0000

Momma was buried with the baby in her arms at her kin’s plot in Van, a flyspeck in the Delta near St. Charles. Daddy and I went back to Skunk Holler to tend to his affairs. I wasn’t sure what that meant. He spent a lot of time sitting in his undershirt at the kitchen table, staring at piles of documents, chin in hand, and quit going to his job at the mill. When Monday came around and I had to go back to school, I learned right quick how things would be different from here on in.

Chapter Three: The Girl in the Graveyard

Mon, 14 Mar 2016 00:00:00 +0000

What is it about sixth grade that it’s the worst year of your life? I pondered this question throughout the long, dreary winter. Skunk Holler was cold and drab, and school was a hard road all of a sudden. The newborn infant said to be my brother (I figured it for a changeling) took up everybody’s time.

Momma stayed sickly after it was born. I couldn’t stand to hear the baby’s colicky cry; made my skin crawl. The day I came home with a report card full of D’s, Daddy said he’d had enough. He was taking me down to St. Charles for a second chance at sixth grade. Any other time, I would have killed to stay on Uncle Harold’s houseboat, but change school? I broke out in hives fretting about it. Momma slathered me with some nasty goo that didn’t even stop the itch. Maybe she was trying to run me off; her strategy worked, as I became too miserable not to leave.

Chapter Two: Freshwater Pearls

Sun, 13 Mar 2016 00:00:00 +0000

The summer after the River Sisters went away, I got sent down to St. Charles to stay with my great-uncle. My mother was expecting; she had the morning sickness so bad it was decided I would spend summer vacation on Uncle Harold’s houseboat.

I could hardly wait to get a hook in the water, and when daddy dropped me off, it felt like coming home. Nothing had changed since my last visit years before: Uncle Harold was just as skinny and bent, with wrinkly brown skin like deer leather. The White River was still green and endless, carrying the smell of a million growing things. Uncle Harold’s houseboat smelled like wet dog, pipe tobacco and fried fish, which we ate a lot. In other words, it was heaven.

Chapter One: The River Sisters

Thu, 10 Mar 2016 00:00:00 +0000

Everyone in Skunk Holler remembers the River Sisters. Half the town locked their doors whenever they passed by, while the rest of us cheered them on (under our breath).

I rode my bike out to the old River Place one time on a dare. Coming down the levee road, I was surprised to see their long gray wooden houseboat set up on the muddy bank, rock-throwing distance to the water (this was before the government kicked out the folks living on the river). I had pictured their home bobbing at the end of a towline.

DOGPATCH 4-EVER!

Mon, 16 Nov 2015 00:00:00 +0000

Families streamed into the park for a September event, and more are planned!

On dreary Mondays like today, when the world is chock full of bad news, it’s a comfort to remember that there are good folks doing good things, and some not so very far away.

In fact, just up the road a ways (Hwy 7 North, the Natural State’s Scenic Route) there’s a place that Arkansans of a certain age remember well. A place dedicated to fun and families. As a concept, first created in two dimensions by a cartoonist named Al Capp: Dogpatch, USA. A place we thought we had lost forever.

Morning in the Life of an Empath

Tue, 10 Nov 2015 00:00:00 +0000

beauty meets the beast daily!

It has to be Monday. Miles to go before I fully wake, start the day, the week, the endless rhythm of deadlines and moneymaking: a penultimate, wearying timeframe.

Promotional media, print media, social media, you, me, Medea –ripe nuggets of ambivalently valuable reality hang in the balance. But before I even get to work, I must navigate a minefield of ignorance.

Radio Days

Tue, 27 Oct 2015 00:00:00 +0000

KUHS 97.9 FM Hot Springs Community Radio

Today I drove downtown listening to local radio: KUHS FM, Hot Springs’ new solar-powered community station. The rain’s been coming down for days with no discernible effect on the transmission, which makes solar power even more impressive.

A mellow DJ was spinning some ‘80s tunes, including the B-52s’ “Channel Z” and the German version of “99 Luft Balloons.” After a bit, the DJ addressed the listening audience:

Poetry Night, 9.30.2015

Tue, 06 Oct 2015 00:00:00 +0000

I was invited to be the featured poet at Hot Springs Wednesday Night Poetry venue downtown, hosted by founder Bud Kenny at Kollective Coffee + Tea. Here is the first fragment I have been able to upload, will post the longer vid tomorrow. Thanks and praise to artist Julie Williams for filming this poetry written during researching and writing Daughter of the White River!

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=g2o6anVhcgo

On the Town

Mon, 21 Sep 2015 00:00:00 +0000

A violation @ Carpenter Dam & Malvern Ave.

I may no longer live in Hot Springs, nor Garland County for that matter, but I did for seven years, and I still work there every weekday and go there nearly every weekend. So today’s view was jarring, to say the least.

Malvern Avenue is getting a close shave for some odd reason, considering two sudden and pathetic attempts at what will probably be called “in-fill” development by the powers-that-be.

A Treasure Comes Home

Thu, 20 Aug 2015 00:00:00 +0000

Giving Trees

Sat, 15 Aug 2015 00:00:00 +0000

600 oak trees at the nation’s 9-11 Memorial wear memorial “tree necklaces” designed by Ann Mayle

Hot Springs entrepreneur overcomes tragedy and loss to create lasting, living memorials.

By Denise White Parkinson

memorial marker at Helen Spence’s cedar tree

Meeting Ann Mayle (MAY-lee) is a singular experience: her zest for life and abiding faith are outshone only by her smile. From a vintage high-rise overlooking Lake Hamilton, the Hot Springs entrepreneur recounts a journey that has brought her home to Arkansas roots.

The Edification of Iron Gulch

Fri, 07 Aug 2015 00:00:00 +0000

…how a small Southern town made a big noise.

By Denise White Parkinson

Suggins children of Arkansas in their natural habitat

Cast of Characters:

Jean Petite: Art School grad arriving in Iron Gulch to open the town’s first Art Center

Colonel Crackerfrakkin: Evil slumlord and owner of the local mining industry

Mrs. Crackerfrakkin: Wicked wife of the Colonel; fancies herself an interior decorator

Natalie Canerday: An Arkansas Natural

Tue, 04 Aug 2015 00:00:00 +0000

By Denise White Parkinson

Actress Natalie Canerday

Natalie Canerday—stage and screen actress, comedienne, postmodern Southern Belle—is not so much elusive as just plain busy. Catching up with the divine Ms. Nat is a gratifying experience; only do not attempt to find her on Facebook, Twitter, or via email. “I don’t own a computer,” she confesses, grinning.

Ms. Canerday is therefore best appreciated in person, old-school, where her flashing dark eyes and smoky-molasses drawl can be fully enjoyed. Over the past two years, she has completed three films, a television pilot, two webisodes and a play about iconic Arkansas photographer Mike Disfarmer. Earlier this summer, she joined an ensemble cast for the Rep’s production of August, Osage County.

Helen of the White River: a play in three acts based on the life of Helen Spence, 1912-1934

Thu, 16 Jul 2015 00:00:00 +0000

Helen of the White River

A play in three acts based on the life of Helen Ruth Spence, 1912-1934

by Denise White Parkinson

adapted from my book

CHARACTERS:

Spirit of Hattie Caraway, first female Senator elected in the U.S.

Helen Spence, a girl from the White River Delta

Jasper, a tow-headed country boy

LC Brown and John Black, elderly men LC Brown as a child (played by same actor as Jasper)

The Eleventh Hour

Sun, 12 Jul 2015 00:00:00 +0000

Buzzy in Cherry Creek

Dear Sir or Madam:

I am writing to state my opposition to the project proposed by Clean Line Energy Partners, LLC (“CLEP”), which has failed to meet criteria required for the Department of Energy (“DOE”) to participate in the Plains & Eastern transmission project (“Project”) under Section 1222 of the 2005 Energy Policy Act.

The studies cited by CLEP in its updated application fail to prove there is an “actual or projected increase in demand for electric transmission capacity” satisfied by the Project. This is reinforced by the Project’s lack of subscription in the form of Power Purchase Agreements (“PPA”) or other contractual obligations. Most significantly, the entire process for this proposed project has been discriminatory from the outset.

Being Here

Tue, 16 Jun 2015 00:00:00 +0000

Casey made a birdhouse!

The nomadic life offers beguiling mysteries, but until one comes home, a full sense of homecoming remains unfelt. I never knew until now what home feels like, except for fleeting childhood memories of the White River and the old houseboat at Clarendon, our family’s summer place.

My great-grandfather’s houseboat made a cozy retreat, set up on the riverbank— a vacation home of fishing and campfires and cookouts. At least it was until the Corps of Engineers washed it away. The Corps exiled my family, the same as other families of River People. Our city place in Little Rock was a red-brick Craftsman bungalow with a shiny green roof made of row upon row of semicircular clay tiles. We lived there thru the best years of childhood. The roof being so spectacular against the red brick (especially after a string of Pine Bluff rentals), my sisters and I promptly made up a song that went “Nipple roof, nipple house, dum-da-dum-dum nipple house!” repeated endlessly.

History in the Making

Sat, 02 May 2015 00:00:00 +0000

On my day off from MidAmerica Science Museum, I drove to Stuttgart’s Museum of the Grand Prairie toting the last pieces of the puzzle: the exhibit “Delta Rediscovered: Arkansas County.” After putting together easels, setting it up with the help of the great folks at the Museum and touring the grounds, I am happy to report that Helen Spence has led us to a beautiful place. The Lost Archive of Dayton Bowers is home at last, among dear friends!

RECALLED TO LIFE

Tue, 07 Apr 2015 00:00:00 +0000

Today, driving out of the Ouachita hills to come to Little Rock and pick up the most important flashdrive of my life, I reflected on the wonderful folks I have gotten to know over the years, fellow lovers of Arkansas History.

The road back to the White River, my lost family history and the rediscovered photographs of the Arkansas Delta – it’s been a wild ride, thanks to my forever buddy LC Brown and our unsinkable muse, Helen Spence.

The Homecoming of Helen Spence

Wed, 01 Apr 2015 00:00:00 +0000

lower White River, bayou bridge, circa 1900, by Dayton Bowers

By Denise White Parkinson

I journeyed many miles through this topsy-turvy world of love and loss before I found I did not have to walk alone. When I sought out a wise old river-man I had heard about, I gained a buddy for life. LC Brown shared his story, taking me back to my lost ancestral home (well, houseboat) on the White River, haunted as it is by the ghost of Helen Ruth Spence. I listened wholeheartedly, marveling as something invisible took tangible form.

UNCLEAN

Mon, 16 Feb 2015 00:00:00 +0000

Unclean Line

Secretary of Energy U.S. Dept. of Energy 1000 Independence Avenue SW Washington, D.C. 20585

Dear Secretary Moniz:

I am writing to express my misgivings regarding the “Plains and Eastern Clean Line” project slated to sever the state of Arkansas for the benefit of a limited liability corporation (“Clean Line Energy Partners”) that possesses no track record or accountability. The company’s project to cut across the entirety of the Upper White River watershed, which makes up 3/5 of the state of Arkansas, poses the greatest threat to the Lower White River Delta since the Great Depression.

PET SOLUTIONS

Thu, 08 Jan 2015 00:00:00 +0000

Pet Solutions

By Denise White Parkinson

The bypass was doing its job. The concrete divider cupped the ass-end of town, siphoning travelers from highway to strip mall and back. Along the shoulder, a ditch lined with chain link held trash thrown from passing cars. The city’s tacky gray lint screen stretched for miles.

Or was it a seine net? The young woman wondered, gripping the steering wheel. Tractor-trailers thundered by as she took the nearest exit. “An in-seine net,” she punned, smiling down at her silent, shivering passenger. She had spotted the abandoned puppy on the bypass and saw no choice but to rescue it. After all, it was February—spiteful, hateful month. She made for home, somewhat exceeding the speed limit.

BLURRED LINES

Wed, 31 Dec 2014 00:00:00 +0000

a close shave

who will stand for the Natural State?

The Big Lie vs. the Natural State

by Denise White Parkinson

Three years ago, my husband and I found the perfect place to call home. As longtime renters, we knew a good deal when we saw it: a vintage A-frame house in our price range, with 10 acres, woodsy, on the outskirts of Hot Springs and (miraculously) in our son’s school district. There were even some cute little chicken coops on the property—our dream of farm-fresh eggs was finally within reach. So we made an offer. But the property owner, who had moved out-of-state, regretfully informed us that a high-voltage transmission line was planned to run straight across the acreage; did we still want to buy the property? My husband searched out the information online and there it was: a planned Entergy transmission corridor, 100 feet wide, stretching for miles past the base of Mount Riante. The map showed it cutting the property in half, plowing right through the chicken coops. We withdrew our offer. We are still renters searching for our “forever home,” as folks are wont to say. Recently, I heard the transmission line was finally being cut. So yesterday I drove to Mount Riante to see for myself. I headed out of Hot Springs on (formerly scenic) Highway 7 South to find a huge swath littered with ground-up wood chips and bark stretching as far as the eye could see. Where there was once thick green forest and secluded properties, now there is a naked, empty corridor. In places, the scar comes within a few feet of homes. Thanks to eminent domain, more than a picturesque view has been lost. Property value vanished too, along with the million or so oaks and pines. Entergy’s so-called “Woodson” line through Ouachita Mountain forest may be a foregone conclusion, but the prospect of a much bigger transmission line looms for families living across the northern tier of Arkansas. This proposed high-voltage transmission line is not like Entergy’s. For one thing, it would be twice as wide (200 feet of passageway taken by eminent domain) and hundreds of miles long. It would cut the Natural State clean in half. Ironically, that’s the name of the proposed transmission line: the “Clean Line.” Unlike Entergy’s line, the “Clean Line” would merely use Arkansas as a conduit to carry electricity across the entire state. The “Clean Line” would originate along the north Texas panhandle, crossing Oklahoma before carving countless Natural State watersheds in half. Its final destination would be Tennessee’s TVA. The company that launched this unprecedented plan is not a public utility like Entergy. Instead, it is a privately-held venture capital group of wealthy investors. Even the company name—“Plains and Eastern”—is a misnomer; “Plains and Watershed” being more accurate. The Ozark Mountains are home to a savvy strain of Arkansan unafraid to stand up against threats to the Natural State. Sometimes these hill-country heroes lose the battle, as in the case of Cargill Corporation’s factory hog farm upstream from the Buffalo National River. Sometimes they win: the volunteer group “Save the Ozarks” announced a major victory this week in the years-long battle to stop yet another high-voltage transmission line through Ozark watersheds. That transmission line was proposed by Southwestern Electric Power Company of Louisiana, aka Swepco. If the name Swepco sounds familiar, these are the same folks that saddled Arkansas with the Hempstead Coal-Fired Power plant. The coal-fired plant prevailed, despite a hard-fought legal battle against the project. But at least Arkansans can rejoice this New Year at Swepco’s withdrawal of the planned “Shipe Road to Kings River” transmission line. The 60-mile line was supposed to run from Benton County to Carroll County, Arkansas. However, after much public outcry, the company has deemed the line “not needed.” The plan was withdrawn only after Swepco had already taken and clear-cut countless acres of forest via eminent domain. Swepco’s corridor to nowhere leaves behind ugly, useless metal poles standing amidst private property. Swepco’s needless land-grab also destroyed portions of a popular safari park, resulting in deaths of animals due to stress. I called a friend in Tennessee, a longtime environmental activist. I wanted to hear his take on the “clean line.” At first, he didn’t want to talk specifics and rambled on about a group called Beyond Coal, saying the organization has been stacking Sierra Clubs nationwide with paid staff. He described the staffers as Ivy League-spawned policy wonks. “Beyond Coal is controlled by big investors,” he explained. “It’s causing volunteers and local environmentalists to be pushed aside.” When pressed for his opinion of the Clean Line project, he responded with the Sierra Club party line. “It’s a great idea, because it will result in wind energy that will replace coal-fired plants,” he said. When I pointed out no wind farms yet exist to power the proposed Clean Line, he got a little agitated. “Sierra Club is looking at the big picture,” he snapped. “Clean Line is just one little segment of a bigger energy plan.” I persisted: How can Clean Line be a little segment if it cuts Arkansas in HALF? Exasperated, he replied, “Look, as far as the Sierra Club is concerned, the Plains and Eastern Clean Line is a great plan, okay?” I never did get his personal opinion on the whole mess. This daunting conversation brought to mind something a friend confided several years ago. I was interviewing the state’s leading environmentalist for a magazine article. I had interviewed her before, as she was something of a shining star in Arkansas—a true “bioneer.” Her name was Nao (pronounced “now”) and, like most everyone that knew her, I adored and admired her. From her witty blog, GreenAR by the Day, to her inspiring work on behalf of sustainability groups and Audubon, Nao was a force of nature. She walked the walk, whether raising her own chickens and bees, wild-crafting herbs and native plants, or bicycling all over Little Rock instead of driving a car. A font of information on all things green, Nao was a great interview subject. So when she suddenly asked if she could tell me something off the record, I stopped taking notes and listened. “I want to tell you the real reason I’m going back to school to become an environmental lawyer,” Nao began. (She’d resigned from her position at Audubon after the settlement involving Swepco’s Hempstead Coal-Fired power plant.) “Arkansas was winning the court battle against Swepco,” she explained. “But the national Sierra Club sent their legal team in from the coast and ordered us to stop fighting the coal-fired plant. They cut a deal with Swepco because they consider Arkansas expendable.” I sat in stunned silence as Nao added, with a bitter laugh: “The Sierra Club calls Arkansas a flyover state. But when I pass the bar, I plan to fight on behalf of Arkansas. I won’t be the one to sell out.” Her words come back to me now, along with her trademark lisp that I always found enchanting. Spring 2015 would have marked Nao Ueda’s graduation from law school and the beginning of an important career by a dedicated public servant—except for the fact that Nao is gone. She was found dead in her home less than a year ago. Her off-the-record message can finally be shared. It is, moreover, the only explanation I have found for the stance of Arkansas Sierra Club toward the planned Clean Line. The local Sierra Club chapter not only supports this proposed 700-mile-long path of destruction across Natural State watersheds and forests, it approves Clean Line’s unprecedented eminent domain land-grab. The tragic and inexplicable death of my friend can never be accounted for, in my very humble opinion. But perhaps that is simply because (like the blatant apologists for the Plains and Eastern Clean Line) I am fated to see the Big Picture. In this case, the big picture only requires you, dear reader, to imagine a 700-mile-long clear cut that is twice as wide as what you see in these photographs I took yesterday in my hometown.

Hunkering Down in Parkinsaw

Sat, 15 Nov 2014 00:00:00 +0000

] lower White River, bayou bridge, circa 1900, by Dayton Bowers

Waking up to a frosty November morning is pure-D pleasure, when the house has heat and there is coffee brewing. I am working on a story about the most important photographic find in Arkansas history. I do not make that claim lightly. The lost archives of Dayton Bowers, who lived and worked in DeWitt (Arkansas County) from the 1880s through the 1920s provide a visual record of the growth of the Delta. Similar to the discovery of Cleburne County’s Depression-era portrait photographer, Mike DisFarmer, this discovery is equally significant for its scope: streetscapes and photographs of daily life in Arkansas County were Dayton Bowers’ forte. Too bad that Central Arkansas Library System mislabeled the archive, donated by my friend and writing partner, historian LC Brown, making it unavailable to us for the past 5 years. Thank God for the internet, as I chanced to see fellow historian Jim Prange’s pic of one of the archive photos and immediately contacted Central Arkansas Library System to set up a viewing. Now, I am writing about this priceless treasure trove, and finally Mr. Brown will get credit for his generosity–no thanks to the Central AR Library System!

Come see me at Tales From the South, Tuesday, Oct. 21

Fri, 17 Oct 2014 00:00:00 +0000

Tales From the South live taping

Tuesday, October 21, Historic Arkansas Museum, 200 E. 3rd St., Little Rock.

The schedule for the night is: * Doors open at 5pm * Dinner is served from 5pm-7pm. Dinner purchased separately from admission; food by Southern Salt Company Food Truck. Complimentary wine by HAM.

* Live music by Brad and Amy Williams from 6pm-7pm

This show is $10.00 admission and open to the public. All guests (except writers) MUST purchase a ticket before the show (and as soon as possible). Seating is very limited, and we tend to sell out 2-3 days before each show, so be sure to invite lots of people and to tell them to go to the website (www.talesfromthesouth.com) to purchase their tickets. The direct link for tickets for this show is: www.hamtales.eventbrite.com Tickets are non-refundable.