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Life and Death in Southern SummerSouth Carolina governor, Mark Sanford, left Columbia, South Carolina Friday June 19, 2009 in a South Carolina Law Enforcement Division (SLED) Suburban. He drove to Columbia Metropolitan Airport and left the black SUV in the airport parking lot. There was no contact from Sanford until early Wednesday morning, June 24, 2009. During the weekend, SLED confirmed that Sanford’s whereabouts were unknown. There was much speculation as it was Father’s Day weekend and Jenny Sanford said she had no idea where her husband, Mark Sanford, was. None of Sanford’s staff knew where he was either. Sanford had vanished from his position as chief executive of the state of South Carolina for five days. Later in the weekend his staff claimed that the governor went hiking on the Appalachian Trail. Sanford, however, was nowhere near the Appalachian Trail and nowhere near telling the truth about his escapades.
Sanford held a news conference that afternoon in Columbia, South Carolina. He apologized to everyone he could think of, including his wife, Jenny, and their children. He said that he’d done wrong and begged forgiveness then blurted out that he’d “crossed the line” with another woman in Argentina. The next afternoon, Thursday, June 25th, a news alert stated that pop singer Michael Jackson, was rushed to the emergency room at UCLA Medical Center. Cardiac arrest was the suspected cause. At approximately 5:24 PM Eastern Standard time, it was announced that Michael Jackson was indeed dead. We changed the lyrics to Jimmy Buffet’s Margaritaville to reflect our beloved governor’s excursion to Argentina by substituting ”Argentinaville” for Margaritaville. Little did we know that there was trouble brewing a few miles up the road near Gaffney, South Carolina. As we laughed about “Appalachian Trail Naked Hiking” and Sanford, a stone cold maniac gunned down the two lane blacktops that snaked around and through peach orchards. The warm laughter died and the terror began. Saturday June 27, 2009 Hot, sticky, black, stillness swallowed this small southern town. He’d smiled and joked with the lady as he asked her about the hay for sale on her farm. She told the stranger he’d have to talk to her husband because she had to go into town. The tall stranger grinned and followed her to the front door of her house. She did remember that he was tall and the truck he drove was tan or brown or gold with a sticker on the bumper. Now it was dark and a crowd gathered across town while sheriff’s deputies strung yellow crime-scene tape around the yard and house. (To Be Continued) ![Reblog this post [with Zemanta]](http://img.zemanta.com/reblog_e.png?x-id=c67234ed-48d9-4f42-acf6-99c2041b74b7) You must be logged in to post a comment. |
Jim Clyburn Fish Fry 2009
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