More than one of our always appreciated Alert Readers brought it to my attention that last week's HCP print edition failed to include my usual column on Page 4. You'll have that. After publishing roughly 2,000 newspaper, magazine and online columns in the past three-plus decades, I am neither fatigued nor void of material. Frankly, I've just been busy.

As it is written in Matthew 6:27: "And who of you by being worried can add a single hour to his life?"

I think those publicly denouncing Neil Clark's book most likely have employed their respective attorneys to comb through it, page by page. They're reading it – at least in my opinion. I have not read Clark's book. But I will soon. I ordered a copy on Amazon this week. It's tough to imagine that Neil Clark's final words – with his knowledge that these were indeed his final words – would be anything less than truthful to the best of his memory.

Knowing a long drive south to the Gulf of Mexico was on my evening itinerary, I thought, what the heck, I'll order a nice meal. After placing our respective orders, the lovely waitress at the Saltine Hogshead returned with portions of those respective orders. She then informed us that "We're out of gravy. We're also out of biscuits – and cornbread. Not to mention sweet potato casserole." For an old Ridgerunner like me, there's just something not quite right when you have to choke down mashed potatoes and chicken fried cube steak – sans gravy.

Hillsboro and Highland County have lost two more icons in the community in recent days. As it is with so many of life's inevitables, these losses are reminders of how precious our own time is, but also how much others have contributed to our respective memories. Maybe some even lended a helping hand to us somewhere along the journey. These men did.

For the last half-century, give or take, I've had the southern Ohio pleasure of watching the change of seasons. By the calendar, each year begins with winter's hangover from the previous year. The coldest season soon gives way to spring, which passes the seasonal baton to summer, which, much to my chagrin, seems to surrender far too soon to autumn, which similarly throws up a white flag to winter in late December. And so it goes. Year after year. Season after season.

For the last half-century, give or take, I've had the southern Ohio pleasure of watching the change of seasons. By the calendar, each year begins with winter's hangover from the previous year. The coldest season soon gives way to spring, which passes the seasonal baton to summer, which, much to my chagrin, seems to surrender far too soon to autumn, which similarly throws up a white flag to winter in late December. And so it goes. Year after year. Season after season.

More years ago than either Coach Veidt or I care to remember, I was a younger newspaperman and covered Whiteoak baseball. My initial recollection of Coach Veidt was this: His teams had discipline, they hustled, and they were coached on the fundamentals of baseball. I liked that.

Some of my more conservative friends may disagree – and that's fine. But I'll stand by this: If the U.S. Congress had more Rob Portmans and fewer Nancy D'Alesandro Pelosis (like me, a Baltimoron by birth), it would be an actual functioning body on behalf of the citizens of the United States of America. As it exists today, Congress is a disjointed, disunited, disorderly house. (Inquiring minds may want to look up that last one – lest you miss out on the intended humor.)

I met Clarence Graham in the summer of 1990 at a bar and restaurant in Washington Court House. Three area newspapers were meeting to discuss a weekly football tab for the now-defunct South Central Ohio League, that included Jim Horne's Hillsboro Indians and Otis Wagner's McClain Tigers. Former publisher Phil Roberts and I rode together from Hillsboro to Court House. Along the way, Phil told me that among all Brown Publishing publishers, he had the greatest respect for Clarence Graham's editorial judgment. As a young sports editor, I simply put that information in my memory bank in case I might need it later on. I did.

I met Clarence Graham in the summer of 1990 at a bar and restaurant in Washington Court House. Three area newspapers were meeting to discuss a weekly football tab for the now-defunct South Central Ohio League, that included Jim Horne's Hillsboro Indians and Otis Wagner's McClain Tigers. Former publisher Phil Roberts and I rode together from Hillsboro to Court House. Along the way, Phil told me that among all Brown Publishing publishers, he had the greatest respect for Clarence Graham's editorial judgment. As a young sports editor, I simply put that information in my memory bank in case I might need it later on. I did.

Joe Biden (er, JoeBama – pat. pending) recently said that his son, "Dr." Hunter Biden, was the smartest man he knows. Really? It seems that JoeBama needs to get out of his basement more often and meet a few people.

This evening, I asked some of our local law enforcement if their respective departments will be arresting anyone outside their home after 10 p.m. due to the DeWine curfew. My first reply was from Greenfield City Manager Todd Wilkin, who initially said "No." Then added, "I should've been more clear – absolutely not."

Godspeed, our friend, Bob Hottle. They just don't come any better.

Godspeed, our friend, Bob Hottle. They just don't come any better.