Humor Columnist



















Meet the Columnist

Columnist, Sheila Moss, is humor writer from  Tennessee. She writes  a weekly human interest column about daily life and the funny things that happen to everyone.

   She has written for  the Daily News of Kingsport,   Griffin Journal, Oakridge Now, Atlanta Woman Magazine, Aberdeen Examiner, Angleton Advocate,  and Smyrna AM, a supplement of the Murfreesboro Daily News Journal. She has been published by Voyageur Press, McGraw Hill, and the good folks at Guidepost Books.  Her articles have appeared in numerous anthologies and other publications, both in print and online.

    She is a former board member and past  Editor of  the, website of  the National Society of Newspaper Columnists, the oldest and largest professional organization for columnists. She is the Web Editor of Southern
  and  a founder of the Southern Humorists writers' organization. She is writer, editor, and webmaster of

    To carry her weekly column in your newspaper, or to republish an article, please contact her. It's that easy. 

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Times Long Ago...

Times Long Ago

A Memoir

My earliest memory is the end of World War II when I was about 3 years old. (Yes, I'm that old.) It was a traumatic time with people actually celebrating in the streets. Church bells were ringing and people weeping because it meant their sons and husbands would be coming home from war -- alive.. 

I grew up in a small town in North Carolina in a big old Victorian house that had been divided up into apartments. I barely remember the upstairs apartment as we later moved downstairs and eventually to the best apartment in the house. It had wallpaper and a linoleum rug! It even had a bathroom in the corner of the kitchen so we didn't have to go across the back porch anymore to the old restroom. 

Daddy rode a big black bicycle to work at a game room where he hung out and learned to shoot pool. We were not supposed to say he worked in a "pool room." We had to call it a "billiards parlor." I suppose it was considered a second-class sort of job. He made enough to pay the bills, though, and to bring home comic books, candy bars and soda pop. 

We wanted a car, but daddy didn't know how to drive. My uncle taught him on the runway of the small local airport where he couldn't run into anything. I suppose airplanes didn't count. The entire family rode in the back seat and "helped him" learn. Then he bought an old 38 Oldsmobile that a farmer had used to haul hay. After hosing the mud out and putting in a back seat, it was our chariot until we could afford something better. 

We had kerosene stove in the living room that provided heat in the winter. In the summer we raised the windows to keep cool as no one had air conditioning in those days. The old house and yard was shaded by trees, including a peach tree that never had peaches and a walnut tree that produced a lot of nuts to crack with a hammer. 

I walked three blocks to school. (Yes, uphill both ways.) I wore plaid skirts that my mother made on her treadle sewing machine. The old school had radiators to keep us warm. It was there that I learned about books and reading. Across from the school, there was a library where children could get a library card and check out three books at a time. I probably read the entire children's section. 

Television came along and we got a black and white set to keep up with "modern times." We only received one channel with a lot of snow, test patterns, and technical difficulties, but I no longer had to go across the street to watch Howdy Doody at my friend's house. Most shows in the early days were of the variety type, and we watched everything that came on. Daddy liked wrestling, and my sister and I named our kittens after our favorite wrestlers, like Gorgeous George and Bobby Managoff. 

In the summer we played hopscotch and jump rope or climbed the lattice work on the porch. We sometimes rode our bicycles to the playground several blocks away. On Saturday we paid a dime to go to the movies to watch Roy Rogers and then came home and played cowboys and Indians with cap pistols that popped like firecrackers. Like other kids then, I owned a BB gun. I never shot out my eye out in case you are wondering. On Sunday, mom sent us across the street to Sunday school at the First Baptist Church with a dime for the offering plate. 

Mom and Dad are both gone now and the old house was torn down years ago. All that is left is the memories of times long ago -- misty memories of the things that made me who I am today. 

Copyright 2015 Sheila Moss

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