Wild rumpus athens ga2/18/2023 ![]() ![]() The publication covers politics, art, theater, movies, books, food, local comics, and advice columns in Athens and surrounding areas. Publishing under the banner "Colorbearer of Athens, Georgia," Flagpole covers local events like the Wild Rumpus Halloween Parade, AthFest Music Fest, and the Athens Twilight Criterium. It was founded by Jared Bailey and Dennis Greenia in 1987 and is currently edited and published by Pete McCommons, who joined the publication in 1993. Athens is known in Georgia and nationally as the home of the University of Georgia. And perched above is a scarlet-trimmed, debonair velvet hat.Flagpole Magazine, often abbreviated to simply Flagpole, is an American alternative newsweekly that focuses on the cultural, liberal scene of Athens, Georgia, and its surrounding communities. There, snoozing as pleasantly as you please, is my dog. It hasn’t been my ideal Halloween, and it’s with a heavy heart that I creak open the door and shuffle through my kitchen, prepared to face the empty crate. Biting back tears, I head back toward the dimly glowing street lights, trying to console myself with hope of a morning search or some neighborhood posters. I know that I will only get disoriented if I attempt to traipse deeper into the trees. With a dismaying shudder I realize that I have also lost track of UGLA. I take several steps in each direction, straining my eyes for a glimpse of the red hat. What should I say now? Could it truly be an old forgotten burial site in need of discovery? Is this guy crazy? I force my head back up to ask more. I glance at the ground, half-expecting a skeletal hand to emerge. ![]() Otherwise, well…anything might happen.” My mouth has suddenly turned to cotton, but I nod as agreeably as possible, hoping I can convince the stranger that I will heed his warning. Too long they’ve been silent.” He almost chuckles with a wry grin. Full of souls forgotten, deprived of respectable burial. Ain’t no coincidence all them raised dirt patches. I manage to stutter, “the….cause?” It seems the man hardly blinks as he answers: “Those that lie here struggle to properly rest. The hairs at the back of my scalp begin to prickle. ![]() ![]() “Best be careful in these parts, unless you aim to help the cause,” drawls the man. I marvel at the detail of his costume as I gaze back at the African-American gentleman, wondering if he is fresh from a party or maybe a product of my imagination. The trees rustle to my left and I veer swiftly, shocked when I see not the dog but a man, ornately dressed in antebellum garb, his head topped with a velvet hat trimmed smartly in scarlet. Athens Train Trestle by Nicolas Henderson. I can’t help but think, as I trudge over the uneven dirt, how very much like a graveyard this back lot seems. I break into a jog as I approach the woods behind our neighborhood, and the bulldog glances back with an uncharacteristic howl as he bounds into the trees. I take off after the dog, who ignores my shouts and trots ahead. How could the dog have managed to get out of the house, or even out of his crate? And where is he going? I look ahead to his large shadow and catch an eerie gleam of his eyes through the darkness. Suddenly, I see an impossible figure: UGLA. All this college town has is a “haunted” sorority, and even that is said to bring marital fortune. I miss the odd stories, voodoo rumors, and mysterious sightings. I feel a twinge of detachment as I compare the atmosphere of Athens with the rich culture and folklore of Louisiana. I head out to ramble and my thoughts do the same. He’s a good dog, but tonight I opt to avoid the chance he might try to break away and chase after a princess-clad toddler. Acquired recently after the move from New Orleans, I’d named my bulldog with the convergence of old and new towns in mind. “Sorry, pal, not this time” I mutter as I pass UGLA, nestled in his crate. I trudge up the walk and back into my house for a quick shoe change. Maybe there will be some cute trick or treaters I can admire. With a disappointed sigh, I step from the car and stare out at the misty autumn night. I don’t feel like I know anyone well enough to call for a ride, and I live just decently on the outskirts to make it a nuisance to come fetch me. It is my first year in Athens and all I’ve heard about is this awesome “Wild Rumpus” event, and I can’t even make it down town. My fickle Honda has refused to start again, and on Halloween of all nights. “Why…” I groan with a futile pound on the dashboard. Ghost story from Athens, Georgia of a mysterious cemetery and (of course) a Georgia bulldog. ![]()
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