Howard C Langston

 Memories of my Grandfather

Howard Clarence Langston was my mother’s father, my maternal grandfather.  He was born on February 9, 1906, and lived to be 74 years old.  I was only 20 years old when he passed away, June 12, 1980.  Father’s Day was June 15 that year.  I’ll always remember how his funeral was so close to the day dedicated to fathers.  He died of a fatal stroke in his kitchen during the wee hours of the night after returning from the outhouse.  I would like my grandchildren to know a little about him and thus I am recording my fond memories of him. 

 He was born and raised in Strawberry Plains, Tennessee.  He was a carpenter.  He built houses including his own and the home for my mother and father when they were married. He gave them a corner of his property for their new home to start their lives together.  When I was born, we lived in that home.  That home, in fact, became rental property for approximately 60 years after my parents moved to Knoxville.   It was 810 square feet with 2 bedrooms and one bathroom on a lot slightly larger than a half-acre. We ultimately sold it in 2023. An aside story about that house is the fact that a thorny pasture field was all that separated it from my grandparents’ house.  When we were small my mother would lift us over the barbed-wire fence and send us off to my grandmother waiting on the other side of the pasture field.  They could both watch us safely depart and arrive for a welcoming visit with my grandmother.  As my grandmother told the story, when my sister, only 18 months older than myself, would encounter her first brier prick she would turn around and run back crying to our mother.  On the other hand, I would push through all the briers and arrive at my grandmother’s embrace with scratched up legs!    

My grandfather was a painter.  Even though he was color blind, he painted interiors and exteriors.  He would return home from a day of painting and go behind the garage to clean his paintbrushes.  The wall faced the wooded area of his property that no one sees.  There he would rinse the brush and paint the side of the garage until the brush came out clean.  There was a “mural” of colors on the back side of that garage.  He had built that particular garage for my mother to keep her car in.  She lived with them when my father was in the army in Korea.

He was limber.  I remember he could sit crisscross and then stand up on his knees and walk.  He challenged us to do the same. He always wore high back bib overalls. Every day he wore Liberty (Big Smith) denim overalls, except on Sundays. On Sundays he wore a shirt and pants and a Homberg style hat.  He always drove a Chevy pickup truck with a straight shift.  It had to be a Chevrolet, with a step side.   I remember riding to church sitting in the middle between my grandmother and him while he shifted gears.  I think his shifter was on the steering column.

He was a man of God.  He said grace before every meal.  He got up early to tend to the woodstove which heated the house.  In the early hours, he sat in the corner next to the stove reading his Bible every day.  He didn’t believe in modern luxuries.  They had no heat or air conditioning.  They had gotten indoor plumbing, but he refused to use the indoor toilet.  He always went to the outhouse, even if it was in the middle of the night.  He never wasted city water either. Water was a commodity that was costly and he treated it like gold.  His house was unique as it sat right on the county line between Sevier County and Jefferson County. He ate meals in Jefferson County and slept in Sevier County. 

He would sit down with an apple and pull out his pocketknife.  I was always in awe of how he carefully peeled the apple in one continuous spiral without breaking the peel.  He would then slice off pieces of the apple and eat them right off the knife’s blade.

He had a sense of humor.  He liked to tell us funny stories and make jokes which irritated my grandmother.  She fed him three square meals a day.  For breakfast, he always had two poached eggs and toast.  She prepared a hot lunch and then served the leftovers for dinner.  He would come home for lunch most of the time when he was painting.  Otherwise, he carried a metal lunchbox, the rectangular kind with the domed lid for the thermos.

On occasion, he took us to the local gas station, Underwood & Petty at 804 Asheville Hwy in Strawberry Plains, TN.  He would buy us a “dope” which was a grape soda in a glass bottle, and a moon pie.  The locals would gather there around the stove in a circle of straight-backed, cane-bottomed chairs.  They exchanged pleasantries and news, good and bad.  It was a place he would go to “hang out” in the afternoon after his workday was over.

Tammy Harvey

8/15/2026

My First Car

 

My First Car

My first car was not one I owned but rather one that my dad let me drive, a 1973 Chevrolet El Camino.   It was a company car he had purchased for a Public Relations representative to promote his health club business.  Mr. James Waller, a retiree from Pittsburgh Paint, drove it proudly around town handing out free passes to strangers who might come and try out the exercise program.  After trying it, the hope was for my dad to sell them memberships.   My dad had magnetic signs made to adorn each side of the vehicle to create a moving billboard.  “Continental Health Club located in Western Plaza” with a phone number and a muscleman symbol comprised the white signs with black lettering. 

By the time I inherited the car to drive, Mr. Waller had passed away, and the position was never filled again.  After all, no one could have filled the shoes of Mr. Waller, who my dad had recognized as everyone’s grandfather and a personable promoter.  I was in high school when I began driving the 1973 El Camino.  I started driving when I turned 16 in 1976.  I “learned” to drive when my dad took me to the local West Town mall in the El Camino on a Sunday morning when the mall was closed.  The parking lot was absolutely bare.  He had me turn left and right a few times then said “okay, drive me home now”.   I was terrified.  I later went on to take a driver’s education class in high school.

The summer of 1977 I drove it to my first job as a summer day camp attendant for Knox County.  It was a pilot program where parents could drop their children off with me at Bluegrass Elementary School.  We had access to board games and a kickball field.  I had kids from kindergarten through 5^th grade to entertain, without a bathroom, from 10 am-3pm!   I remember driving up to the school in the El Camino with Waylon Jenning’s “Luckenbach, Texas” playing on the radio.  I suppose I removed the magnetic promo signs at this point.  My dream job, or so I thought, was to work at Cracker Barrel in the summer of 1978.  I did accomplish that goal but hated being a waitress and only lasted 3 weeks.  Instead, I found a job at Captain D’s fast-food restaurant where I worked as cashier and drive-through attendant.  During my first quarter of college in fall of 1978, I commuted 8 miles to campus and drove this vehicle back and forth daily.  This is when I fell in love with it.  It was so light in the back and would absolutely fly and steering it only required one finger.  I always took the backroads, and thinking back I wonder why I never ended up in the cow pasture!  Those rural roads were narrow and had no shoulders and were curvy and hilly.  I surpassed the speed limit everyday going to my classes.  After that initial quarter at college, however, I chose to move to a campus dormitory because commuting/parking was not ideal, and I wanted to receive the full college experience of independent living.

Back at home in the summer of 1979, driving the El Camino, I worked at Shores Market on Northshore drive, ironically, I took the same road I took to get to campus.  The market was a convenience store with a deli/food counter and gas station.  I sold a lot of cigarettes and beer and made a lot of sandwiches and fried chicken & potato wedges.  I learned to make change, check id’s and watch a man drain the hose of the gas pump into his car every time after the pump cut off.  Funny how certain memories stick with you.  In the fall of 1980, I took part in a co-op program and was hired to work at Powell Manufacturing Company in Bennettsville, SC.  My Dad and I drove there in the El Camino; he got me settled in and flew home.  I rented a room from a lady, Margaret Rogers, and experienced the culture shock of a lifetime.  I lived across the street from a tobacco field in Marlboro County.  I worked as a draftsman for Powell, making changes to their blueprints.  Powell was a manufacturer of tobacco harvesting equipment.  I was born and raised in Knoxville, TN and living in Bennettsville was an education in itself, but that is a story for another day.  The co-op position, however, confirmed to me that agricultural engineering was the right choice of curriculum for me.

Because I spent the fall and spring of 1980 in Bennettsville, I had to attend college classes in the summer of 1980.  Now I was living with my parents in a home on the lake which was 16 miles from campus.  They had moved while I was in Bennettsville in the spring of 1980.   I despised going to summer school but still enjoyed “flying” the El Camino down those rural roads.  It had an exceptional air conditioner!  I only spent two quarters as a co-op student and in fall 1981 I was back on campus again.  It is worth mentioning, however, that in the spring of 1980 on my second 10-week stay in Bennettsville, my dad insisted that I take his BMW 530i to Bennettsville instead of the El Camino.  I did so, but being naïve I did not know I was driving a luxury car.  In this little town of 8,774 people, with a black population of 48.6%, this choice of vehicle being driven by a 20-year-old young lady brought quite the attention to it.  

The El Camino was a sparkly emerald, green color with a bench seat and essentially was a 2-door car with a truck bed on the back and a 350hp, V-8 engine. There was a white pleather-looking snap-on cover that I could use to hide the truck bed.  I drove it home from Bennettsville at Christmas of 1980.  By now, I really considered it mine, since it was my dedicated ride.  I paid my car insurance.  I took pride in it and kept it washed and waxed.  In the summer of 1981 when I worked for Digenova’s Pizza, a local pizza place owned by Dan Digenova, he talked me into putting a Holley carburetor on it.  When it needed tires, he advised me to put retreads on it. 

I went back to school for my senior year in the fall of 1981and graduated in December of 1982 with a bachelor’s degree in Agricultural Engineering.  I was only the third female at the University of Tennessee to receive  this degree.   I worked again in the summer of 1982 for Digenova’s Pizza and continued to work there after I graduated.  I searched for a job while driving El Camino to the pizza restaurant.  I ate pizza every day for months and never grew tired of it.  When I finally landed a job, in August, it was with the USDA- ARS in Florence, SC, just 40 miles south of Bennettsville!  At that point, I was expected to buy my own car, which I did.  I purchased a 1981 Toyota Corolla, 4-door, 5-speed stick shift in July of 1983 for $6500.  My dad refused to co-sign the loan for me (on principle) because my starting salary was so high, by his estimation.   My dad, in turn, sold the El Camino to Margaret Rogers’ daughter, Ellen in McColl, SC, just NE of Bennettsville.  Why didn’t I just buy El Camino from my dad?  I really don’t know.  It was never really my car, but for years I got to use it as if it were!  I drove to Florence, SC in my Toyota Corolla, as owner of my first car, and began my job there on August 21, 1983.

On August 28, 1983, in Florence, I met my husband to be.  We dated for a year and a half before marrying on May 25, 1985.  During our dating time, he found out my car loan interest rate was 12% because there was no co-signer, and immediately he paid off my car!

Tammy Harvey  8/2/2026  

A Tribute to Dolly

I was born and raised in East Tennessee and my family was from Jefferson County which is close to Sevierville where Dolly was born.  All my life, I have heard stories of Dolly and heard her music.  She was no stranger to me, in fact, it felt like she was a personal friend.

A Tribute to Dolly

The cabin was at the base of the mountain, the old homeplace,

Surrounded by fields of wildflowers with plenty of running space,

The winding road that led up there was just a metaphor,

For life’s journey that returns her to this old front door,

This old porch holds her memories of good times and bad,

Rich in love and family spirit, for that’s all she really had,

Neon moss covered the ground around the shaded yard,

Soft and cool to the touch, though life was pretty hard,

She could lie down on that moss and dream her wildest dream,

As the smoke rolled off the mountain top like enchanted steam,

The sky was the only limit for her, like a butterfly, she had wings,

She made the most of everyday and loved the simplest things,

Sometimes she sang “the sky is green and the grass is blue”,

But her motto remained, even then: “to thine own self be true”,

Her laughter was contagious and her generosity knew no bound,

A kind and gentle soul with the tenacity of a bluetick hound,

Dolly held onto what her mama taught her: “Love never fails”,

She may be gone from earth, but the wind hasn’t left her sails,

Her music lives on for all of us, as does her legacy of love,

And now with angel wings, she’s looking down from above.

Tammy Harvey

9/4/2026

Cloud Infatuation

 

Cloud Infatuation

Colossal, fluffy, cumulus clouds, aloft in the clear blue sky,

Billowing like comfy goose down, inducing a huge sigh,

Developing distinctive shapes only seen with imagination,

Lately, these massive clouds have been my infatuation,

Bright, white clouds sometimes with undersides dark and ominous,

Forecast our impending showers, amounts may look very voluminous,

Rainwater weighs heavily on clouds as it’s about to drop,

Yet the wind carries the cloud over and to another stop,

Someone in the distance benefits from the downpour,

Our essential rainfall is not threatening us anymore,

It is the thunderstorms of summer that unpredictably come and go,

Thunder rumbles loudly and lightning flashes to and fro,

One follows the other, and this fact makes me smile:

Light travels significantly faster than sound, 5 seconds is a mile,

Don’t forget to check the sky, there’s clouds that should be seen,

Take my advice, breathe a sigh, because it’s truly a glorious scene.

Tammy Harvey

7/10/2026

Fly the Friendly Skies

 

Distraction at Douglas International Airport

Normally when I fly from Raleigh, NC to my home state of Tennessee, I endure a brief layover in Charlotte which creates is a bit of a nightmare for me.  Inevitably, the connection time is too short for the next flight, especially if there is any delay in Raleigh.  Without fail, my connector flight is already boarding when I land in Charlotte.  I get off at gate E-32 and need to be at C-15 in 12 minutes, and it is a 15-minute walk!  I have found myself more than once running through the crowded hallways of Charlotte Douglas International dodging first one obstacle and then the next to avoid colliding with other passengers.  I generally have to check my luggage in Raleigh (free at the gate) because I know I cannot run with my bag in tow.  This airport is laid out like the spokes on a wheel.  The center hub is a food court area and each gate series A through E are the spokes.  To get to another gate series always requires a trek through the center hub.  I have missed more than one connector flight and have since paid closer attention to the layover time gap.  It is stressful to say the least.  There are no direct flights available from RDU (Raleigh) to TYS (Knoxville). 

Recently, I flew to Knoxville via Charlotte from RDU and had plenty of time to walk to my new gate.  I leisurely looked around at all the airport merchandise.  I even had the luxury of going to the bathroom as well as getting a slice of pizza and a drink.  This was too good to be true.  When I sat down at my boarding gate, I only had 20 minutes to wait.  I began looking at my phone.  I became engrossed in reading the details of a medical report of a heart test I had done.   The boarding began.  I was in the last group, group 9, so I knew it was still going to be a while.  I glanced up when they called group 6.  There were plenty of people still waiting for boarding.  I looked back down because on the other flight, the time between 6 and 9 was a long wait.  I didn’t realize that I was on a smaller plane now that boarded much more quickly.  When I looked up again the jetway door was closed, even though people were standing at the desk.  It turns out, these people were being held there and possibly were going to be taken off the flight.  I panicked and ran over to the desk attendant.  I said I was in group 9.  He said he called group 9 three times, why didn’t I respond?  I said I was looking down and didn’t hear.  I pleaded to get on.  He said he would have to check with the boarding attendant that was on the plane checking for seats.  I couldn’t believe this was happening.  After having plenty of time on my hands, I just sat still while my plane was being boarded?  There was no running this time and yet I was going to miss my flight?   I was a fool.  Normally, I am on pins and needles to get in line to board.  My phone was a distraction and my interest in my medical report took priority.  I was so upset with myself.  Then the attendant emerged from the jetway. I looked at her with anticipation.  They changed my seat assignment but allowed me to board!  Whew.  Charlotte Douglas International Airport just seems to be a stressor, no matter what the circumstances.    I have even had to spend overnight in a Charlotte hotel (without compensation) because of a power outage at McGee Tyson Airport during one of my trips, but that’s a story for another day!  “Fly the Friendly Skies”

Tammy Harvey

7/29/2026

Serenade

 

Serenade

In my backyard,

A frog,

Under the light of the moon,

Sat singing,

An unfamiliar tune,

He serenaded me,

In my slumber,

A lullaby,

A peaceful number,

Musically intriguing,

He caught my attention,

A music box of nature,

Beyond my comprehension,

Listening intently,

Not missing a single note,

I envisioned his plump, inflated throat,

Such a little one, but,

With impact nonetheless,

I don’t know about his mate,

But I’m sure she was impressed.

Tammy Harvey

6/22/2026

Mind Blown

 

Mind-blowing Encounter

The emoji where the top of the head is exploding, the symbol of “mind-blown”, is the only way I can describe what happened to me at a restaurant last evening.  As most of you know, my number in life is 333, everything I do seems to be related to the number 3.  It is described best in my profile for this blog.  Hence, the website name for this blog is threethirtythreepoetry.blogspot.com.  Last evening, I met a friend at a local restaurant for dinner and trivia.  I arrived first and got a table, and the server brought me water and a menu, but I let her know I was waiting for someone.  She checked on me again when my friend was a little late.  After getting my friend’s drink order and then giving us time to look at the menu, she returned to take our order.  My friend looked up and immediately noticed that the server was wearing a “333” necklace and commented on it.  The young girl shared that the number had been a significant one in her life and that things seemed to occur in 3’s in her life.  I told her it was also my number.  She proceeded to say that she was born at 3:33 and I shrieked “me too!”.  I asked, “am or pm?” and she said pm to which I screamed “me too!”.  It was as if I had met myself only about 40 years younger.  I actually had never met someone else with my passion for the number 333.  She shared that she always wore the necklace, never taking it off, not even to shower.  It was an Amazon purchase, and I told her I had purchased a “333” ring from Amazon.  My mind was absolutely blown.  It was like an incredible coincidence.  Her name was Dakota and I left her a tip of…you guessed it $3.33, just because, and my friend left a larger tip to compensate for mine.  Is this a coincidence?  I’m not sure I believe in coincidences.  It was sure a memorable evening.  If it had not been for my friend, however, I wonder if I would have eventually noticed it?

Tammy Harvey

8/5/2026