Dr. Cole, Richton, and Reminiscing

I wrote this article not long after the passing of a Richton icon, Dr. E.H. Cole. It was published in the Richton Dispatch. Hope you enjoy!


Doctor Cole, Richton, and Reminiscing

“Sit down James Wilbah. What seems to be the mattah?” Dr. Cole
had always referred to me by my full name and always with that
distinct Southern accent. It was the type of accent that turned “er” into
“ah”. It was the type of accent that made you think of small towns
upstate, close to Memphis, the Delta, the “old south” as opposed to
the “rural south”. It was the type of accent that many Hollywood
actors have attempted and butchered over the years. Think of Carroll
O’Connor in “In The Heat of the Night”, Nicolas Cage in “Con Air”…so
many others. In order to perfect that particular Southern accent, you
had to embody the old-school Southern gentleman that was Dr.
Edwin H. Cole.

We all have memories of Dr. Cole that would fill volumes of books.
Mine are probably not much different than others yet are special to
me. Although I do not remember that fateful afternoon in July of 1967,
I am told that Dr. Cole was the first person to ever lay eyes on me.
From the time he delivered me until the last time I saw him in his
office, he was “my doctor”. Sure, we all see those “other” doctors
from time to time; but for many of us, Dr. Cole was the go-to guy.
Growing up in Richton, you tended to favor either Dr. Moak or Dr.
Cole…sometimes both depending on how busy the clinic was.

A few months after Hurricane Katrina, I lay spiking a fever in the ER
of one of the hospitals in Hattiesburg. For most of the night, the
young doctor who attended me rushed in and out, checking charts
and ordering tests, asking questions, and giving me concerned looks.
Eventually I was released with a couple of prescriptions and the usual
instructions to see my family doctor if my problems persisted. There
was no diagnosis.

The next day, still feverish and now beginning to feel pain in my
stomach, I went to see Dr. Cole. After roughly fifteen minutes, he
confidently told me the problem and what he intended to do about it.
When I gave him a puzzled look and questioned his diagnosis, he
laughed and explained it again…I had never heard of anyone having
that particular condition…he had only seen it a time or two himself.
Needless to say, after a couple of days on a new prescription, the
problem was solved. There is something to be said for experience
and intuition.

Growing up as the son of a nurse, I could often be found at the
hospital. I remember visiting Mom while she was at work and seeing
Dr. Cole there; hearing stories or jokes, or overhearing him speaking
into his recorder and saying “End of dictation. Sign my name.” Years
ago, we ran cattle on some land adjacent to the Cole’s place. I have
sat on the tailgate of my Daddy’s pickup many times while he and Dr.
Cole discussed cattle, broken fences, and life in general.

There were some things about Dr. Cole that never seemed to
change. I only remember seeing him drive one of three vehicles…the
blue station-wagon from the hospital, the conversion van, or my
favorite: that old beat up VW bug. Everywhere you met him, he was
the same; and in today’s times that means something. It’s sad to note
that we are quickly losing that generation of men and women.

The world we live in is getting faster and faster and it seems we are
pushing ourselves harder than ever before. A slower time and more
laid-back existence for many of us has become only a memory. Are
you of the generation who can remember the night Cash Supply
burned? How the flames could be seen from one end of town to the
other? How about Grit Papers? Dr. Roddy? TWL? Pratt’s? Carley’s?
Do you remember when we left our doors unlocked? Our windows
open on summer nights? Do you remember when we had a Chevy
dealership in town?

The streets of Richton used to get so quiet at night that the
occasional eighteen-wheeler passing through was the only traffic at
all. The smell of fresh-cut grass wafting through the house by the pull
of an attic fan was comforting. Waking up to the sounds of log truck
engines and the chatter of men at daylight coming across the street
from “Rex’s” was the norm.

We walked barefoot to the pool in the summer. We all knew
“Johnson’s Trail” like the back of our hand. We knew if we were bad
in class, the news would reach our parents long before we were
finished at the office. The worst problem we faced at our school was
when it would be “rolled” during the week of Halloween.
The “good old days” as they are called are long-gone. Our children
look at us like we are from Mars when we reminisce and tell them
how things used to be. I am sure it is much the same way we once
looked at our own parents.

One by one, we are losing people in our community who were the
cornerstones of the way of life that we have come to love. I once
heard a man say he believed in giving flowers while the recipient was
still alive to enjoy them. To that end we should cherish and enjoy
those people who have helped to forge the community that we enjoy.
While we have no other choice but to keep up with the world today as
we know it, we can look back fondly on our heritage.

You won’t find a Jack Holifield at AutoZone…there is no Warren
Strickland at Rite Aid, and sadly no Dr. Moak or Dr. Cole at the big
hospitals. If there were a school around today with a “Miss Moser” at
the helm, I would enroll my kids immediately. I never knew the history
of our town until I read Miss Josie’s book. It’s been a very long time
since I had a greasy chili-laden burger from “Cooley’s”. Was not
“Steven’s” the closet thing to a Wal-Mart any of us had ever seen?

To those of you who have made a difference in our town and in our
lives, I say “Thank you and God bless you” and you most certainly
know who you are: so many teachers, business-people,
administrators and church leaders…so many common everyday
people...so many unforgettable characters.

Rest in peace Dr. Cole. We will miss you.

It seems only fitting to end this essay with this phrase: End of
dictation. Sign my name.