Boyd: Harold Long was a Staple in Oxford, at The Beacon

By Scott Boyd

I was honored to help celebrate the life of Harold Long today….

I first met Harold Long in late September, 1993, just a few days before I was handed the keys to The Beacon office.

Harold, a staple at The Beacon, was a big fan of the Pittsburg Steelers and he was lucky enough to see them win six Super Bowls. Photo from Scott Boyd. 

Harold was a part of the deal. Really, he was part of the deal. Then owners, Jimmy Robbins and his step-mother, Nannie George Robbins, were adamant. “You can fire anybody you want, but if you tell us you’ll be getting rid of Harold then the deal is off the table.”

I thought the request was a little strange, but I found out fairly quickly why they were concerned. You see, Harold was to them, as he soon became to me. Family.

In 1993 he was 57. I was 35. He was the same age as my parents, but in many ways he seemed a lot younger.

I hope to make it to my 60th birthday next week, and I find myself saying goodbye to friends and family members much more frequently these days. I often think about that James Taylor song, “The Secret of Life,” and how he wrapped his thoughts up in a short verse…”The Secret of Life is enjoying the passage of time.” I believe in my heart that Harold Long left us with tremendous enjoyment of just about every minute he spent here.

No, it wasn’t always exactly as he may have wanted. But, I know his regrets were few. We talked about so much during our 25 years working together, even if it was usually me prodding him with questions.

We had conversations about what it was like growing up black in Noxubee County during a time when it was a whole lot harder than it is now. He told me of a time when a black man couldn’t walk down Jefferson Street wearing a white shirt. “You couldn’t even act proud back then,” he said. I asked him why he chose to stay in Noxubee County when so many of his friends were leaving. He said he loved Noxubee County and couldn’t stand the idea of living that far away from his parents. He told me stories about a legendary sheriff who was just doing what the powerful folks made him do. He talked about a visit he had in front of the drug store with that sheriff, many years later. “By that time he had become a friendly man – talked to me like I was a long lost friend,” he said. Harold said he hoped the old sheriff had come to realize in his old age how he had mistreated so many. If Harold held grudges or had a chip on his shoulder you couldn’t tell.

We talked about cars. Harold loved cars and often talked about an old Pontiac he owned as a young man and how much he missed that car.

We talked about all the businesses that once lined Jefferson Street, where you could buy a new Ford, Chevy, Pontiac, Kaiser-Frazier, or a new pair of Stacy Adams, or a nice hat. Where you could get your watch repaired by Glen Moser, or get your shoes re-soled by Jimmy Lindley. A time when there were no vacant storefronts, and a time when Saturdays meant the parking spaces downtown were full. He loved to remind me: “We’ve had some of it all here in this little town.”

We talked a lot about sports. A lot! The only team that we shared a mutual love for was the Noxubee Tigers. We attended a lot of games together. I’d get him in the stadium or the gymnasium and then I’d head to the sidelines. We got to see the Tigerettes win two state championships in basketball and the Tigers win an amazing five in football. We’re going to win another one this year.

Harold loved Mississippi State. He once mentioned that he’d never attended a game at Dudy Noble Field and I’ll never forget the time when I finally got the chance to take him.

He had a way of bragging about his teams in “sports lingo” and I think he appreciated that I knew the language he was speaking.

Harold was a big fan of the Pittsburg Steelers and he was lucky enough to see them win six Super Bowls. When he recalled “the immaculate reception,” I’d know he was bragging once again about Franco Harris’ shoestring grab off that Bradshaw deflected pass that saved the day in the ‘72 Divisional Championship game – and considered by many among the greatest football highlights ever.

He was a big fan of the Los Angeles Dodgers and he was lucky enough to see them win the World Series six times. If he said “my boy went yard last night at Chavez Ravine,” I’d know he was bragging about Yasiel Puig hitting a homerun at Dodger Stadium.

And, he was crazy about the Boston Celtics. In his lifetime he saw them win the championship an amazing 17 times. He could simply say “parquet” and you knew he was talking about the hallowed Boston Garden and that wooden parquet floor, with Larry Bird dishing some insane behind the back pass to Robert Parish and the monster dunk that followed.

During the past 25 years my St. Louis Cardinals have had great success and Harold was quick to offer congratulations when they won the World Series, even though, as he called them, “The Cards” broke his heart back in the 85 playoffs when Jack Clark launched one off Dodger reliever Tom Neidenfuer to help win the National League and send the Cardinals to the World Series. All I ever had to do to put him in his place was just mention the name “Neidenfuer.”

I’m going to miss talking to Harold about sports.

After his heart surgery in 2001, Harold wanted to work a little less and we agreed on a schedule that amounted to about three days a week. Sometimes a little more. Sometimes a little less. We worked side by side for many years every Friday assembling the Beacon Shopper, inserting by hand each and every advertising circular. None of those papers, including the Beacon every Wednesday, ever left that office without Harold having his hands on them all. I’ve done a little math and I figure, conservatively, he’s handled more than 12 million papers – and that’s just the past 25 years.

It was during those Fridays that we had the opportunity to have some of our best discussions. Some years ago after the flat screen tv’s came out we got one for the office and mounted it out in front of our work stations, so on Friday we could watch ballgames and old westerns as we worked through stack after stack of papers and inserts. It was also during those Fridays that Harold introduced me to “The Bold and The Beautiful,” and we would raise our eyebrows in unison as Brooke and Ridge portrayed living in ways that was only imaginable to us. I used to tell Harold, “I can’t believe you’ve got me watching this mess.” He would hoot and sneer at some of their, should we say, “predicaments.” I’d always tell him, “You can watch this show once every six months and keep up with everything that’s happened over the past 30 years.” When it would get really crazy I’d look over at Harold and he would be shaking his head and saying “they sure know how to mess up a good show.”

I’ll never be able to watch “The Bold and the Beautiful” again.

As most of you know, Harold had been honored by the Mississippi Press Association as the state’s longest-serving newspaper employee. At the time of his death he had worked at The Beacon for 62 years, far longer than any other newspaper employee in the state. He was proud of that fact. On the occasion of his sixtieth anniversary at the paper, Rep. Carl Mickens pushed through a proclamation down at the Mississippi House of Representatives honoring Harold for his achievement. Several years ago the Press Association wanted to honor him with a plaque at the annual convention on the Coast. I told him about it and said I was making plans to take him. He said he didn’t think so. Said he’d never been the Coast and really wasn’t too excited about going. I called Ruth and asked her to put the pressure on him. The awards banquet and their stay at the Beau Rivage was something that he would talk about for years. The Press Association asked me to get up and say a few words about Harold. I remember I started it out something like this: “When I bought the Beacon in 1993 I became the owner of an old building, with old equipment, and an air conditioning system that had been salvaged from the old Dreamland Theater. I quickly found out that Harold Long was the only thing at the Beacon that worked.”

A newspaper office is not always a fun place to work. Deadlines, mad readers, irate subscribers who walked all the way to the mailbox that morning and their paper wasn’t there. Harold had a way of staying out of the line of fire. We rarely talked politics and even when I would ask him his opinion about how we should handle a story, he would remind me of my responsibilities. But, I think he loved being around the paper, and being among the first to know the news. I think he understood how valuable a newspaper is to a community and how important it is for future generations that history be recorded.

For many people in our community, Harold was the face of the newspaper. He often came in the office with a subscription renewal that someone had given him at the grocery store, or a news item hand-scribbled on a piece of notebook paper. When you combine his years at The Beacon and Ruth’s long connection with the Morris clinic, their family had some connection with just about everyone in Noxubee County. Our post on Facebook last weekend about his death drew more comments than any other single post we’ve ever made.

Harold had all the right qualities that it takes to hold a newspaper job that many years. Organized. Ability to fix stuff. Careful with his words. Interested in others. And, a little bit of swagger. Maybe confidence is a better word. I saw it on occasion. On one of my visits with him in 2001 shortly after his heart surgery at the hospital in Meridian, I suggested to Ruth that she looked tired. “Why don’t you go home and get some rest and I’ll stay here with him for awhile.” She quickly let me know that wasn’t going to happen. She recounted how she had heard a couple of the nurses commenting on how good looking Harold was. “I’m not going anywhere,” she said. I looked at Harold and he was looking straight at me with those eyes opened wide. Then came the wink.

Over the past 25 years there have been many controversial stories in our community. We haven’t backed down from any of them. I told Harold back in 1993 that I planned to be aggressive and not knowingly allow anything to get swept under the rug. He understood that and never, ever tried to get me to back off a single story. I’m sure he caught some heat. Several times when he’d mention something he had heard I’d tell him I didn’t expect him to defend me, only hoped he wouldn’t criticize me behind my back. “If I’ve made a mistake I hope you’ll tell me,” I told him. Never once has anyone told me about something critical Harold had said. I know he didn’t always agree. But, he was loyal. And, yes, he was dependable. Can you really ask for anything more than that?

Harold was very private in many ways. But, probably one of his greatest traits was his ability to check his problems at the door. If he had worries, and you know everybody does, we never knew it.

Over the years Harold had established his “work space” at the Beacon office. I stopped and looked around the other day, knowing that he’d never be back and was just overwhelmed with sadness. His old cotton gloves tucked neatly inside each other. All his pictures taped to the cabinets and the wall. All the tools of his trade, exactly where he left them the day before he left us. I know there are more tears to come, but the days are close when we will all rejoice at the memories he gave us for so long. I will celebrate our friendship the rest of my days and remember all those great times.

Maybe Gladys Knight said it best…

“Memories may be beautiful, and yet – what’s too painful to remember we simply choose to forget. So, it’s the laughter we will remember, whenever we remember the way we were.”