Mom & Dad's 50th Anniversary

We celebrated my parents' 50th Anniversary in Chattanooga. It was one of those rare occasions when our whole family converges and chaos ensues.

Click the screen below for a slideshow/history lesson of the Troy/Warner story:



I also wrote a toast/poem for the event...

The Hermits of Pack Hill Road

Oh the Blue Ridge is a rough ridge
That attracts an ornery brood
And its brittle arms hold hidden charms
For the elderly, the tired and the rude.

Clear away the dust, and you’ll sigh in disgust
At the crotchety crew who pick this place as an abode
But the creekiest born from the pole to the horn
Are the Hermits of Pack Hill Road

Now it’s worth pointing out to those in doubt
They weren’t always so reclusive and unforgiving
Like soft clay they hardened away
in the fiery kiln of everyday living

Now Francie is the name of the duo’s dame
And she hails from a family that’s crazy as a coot
When she was a child, her sisters thought it would be wild
To send her headfirst down the coal chute!

Most kids would die, or at least lose an eye
From such brutal recklessness
But francie grew tougher, and pledged to play rougher
The next time life tested her heartiness

Ralph is the man in this 2-person clan
And he grew up in the sweltering swamp
Where pitchforking eels and shotgunning them as they squeal
Are what passes for a fun and jolly romp

On crawfish and brew - that gator-child grew
Into a handsome, and well-mannered gent
Drenched in sweat, he longed for a place not-so-wet
So to Tennessee he went!

Worlds collided - Francie was blindsided
By a daring dude’s most assertive ploy
Like a peacock flexing his plume, he marched across the room
And said “Hi, I’m Ralph Troy”

Out of the blue, the sparks of love flew
And Ralph and Francie tied the knot
Yes, cupid hit his mark, but this was no walk in the park
Only the beginning, of a long and twisted plot.

Like caviar from a Beluga, Francie was whisked from Chattanooga
To some backwater shanty in Slidell
She was too busy having kids, to see her life on the skids
And Ralph was oblivious – he grew up in this hell

The first sign of trouble, as they gazed across hurricane rubble
Was Francie saying, “this place really sucks”
“The weather is sticky, and the bugs are icky.”
To which Ralph would say, “but this is where I make the big bucks”

He was slower to sour having risen in political power
And he actually believed the cesspool could be cleaned
Depressed and distraught, Francie began to grow pot
Northward she longingly leaned

She kept her mind sharp, with photography and art
While her mate dealt with extortionists and moonburgers
(for the love of Pete)
He was beginning to tire, of life in the quagmire
Surely there’s a better way to make ends meet

So Ralph the Pollyanna was ready to leave Louisiana
Francie steered the couple for the hills
They hit the road with a bang - joined a motorcycle gang
But they needed a way to pay the bills

The mountains would have to wait, a new plan they did formulate
To the North Carolina coast they came
Ralph became a DJ, and a sailor by day
The coast guard would soon know him by name

Francie set her sight on the unfortunates’ plight
And said, “Ralph, Jesse Helms must be defeated”
They waged a campaign, they battled in vain
Where nature eventually succeeded.

After years at the beach, their mountains seemed out of reach
But Francie dreamed of them – around the clock
Ralph said, “enough with the rancor, pull up that anchor”
We’re moving to Blowing Rock

They created a home, or better yet - a pleasure dome
And freed themselves from things nittier and grittier
They still battle bugs, Francie still hands out drugs
But now, it’s so much prettier

Oh the Blue Ridge is a rough ridge
That attracts an ornery brood
And its brittle arms hold hidden charms
For the elderly, the tired and the rude.

Clear away the dust, and you’ll sigh in disgust
At the crotchety crew who pick this place as an abode
But the creekiest born from the pole to the horn
Are the Hermits of Pack Hill Road

Like a bulletproof ducky, I count myself lucky
For having a gene pool – so ironclad
Through occasional struggle and intermittent trouble
I wound up with the world’s greatest mom & dad.

So let’s raise a glass to this pair with such class
As to merit a crowd so revered
They brought us up right, and at the end of the night
Who cares that they’re so freaking weird?