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Columns

  • Jack Harris: My father, my hero

    By Susan Smith
    Guest columnist
    I walk into my Dad’s office and I see the numerous plaques and awards hanging seamlessly on the walls. Then I look at the man behind them all who wouldn’t brag or boast or take credit for any of them.
    Today, I wanted to let everyone know how proud I am of my hero, Deputy Chief Jack Harris, who is retiring after 29 years from the Elizabethtown Police Department.
    The final few weeks have brought back so many memories as we browse through photographs and letters of thanks throughout his career.

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  • Community met the BRAC challenge, too

    By Col. Rick Schwartz

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  • Kentucky Speedway fails to impress

    The race started at 7:30 p.m. Saturday. Leaving Elizabethtown at 1 p.m. should provide plenty of time to reach the Kentucky Speedway and NASCAR’s Sprint Cup debut in the Bluegrass State.

    At 2:15 p.m., we were 19 miles from the track on Interstate 71.

    That’s more than five hours before the white flag.

    At 8:45 p.m. — 75 minutes after the race began — we pulled into the main road leading to the track, still three miles away. That’s 16 miles in 6 1/2 hours. That’s a snail’s pace, not a NASCAR race.

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  • America's resolve can be seen in twisted steel

    Draped in the stars and stripes, it received a police escort accompanied by dozens of patriots on motorcycles.
    Firefighters erected another huge flag to serve as a welcoming banner.
    Community leaders and everyday folks gathered in humid July conditions to welcome its arrival.
    It is a piece of steel.
    Yet it’s also so much more.
    A fractured part of the World Trade Center’s metal skeleton rests in Radcliff awaiting an opportunity to become the centerpiece of a grand memorial that will serve as a landmark to liberty.

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  • My stuff is not junk; it's my stuff

    “You’ll find you’ve brought too much stuff.”

    The words were softly spoken — almost as if to himself — by a retired pastor, a resident of my parents’ retirement community. He seemed to know by observation and personal experience that we take too much stuff with us.

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  • Kids tour the world at Towne Mall

    Fun depends on your point of view. It’s the latest lesson from a first-of-summer visit by the grandchildren.
    Funtopia, Blazer’s, local parks and elementary school playgrounds are popular destinations when the kids visit Grandpa and Gigi. You might expect that list.
    But tops among the tourism attractions for the under 4-foot crowd in our family is Towne Mall.

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  • Recognizing business potential outside Fort Knox

    On the doorstep of Fort Knox, a massive piece of property sits dormant, waiting for an opportunity to serve the community and capitalize on the needs and wants of military and civil service personnel pouring out of the Wilson Road gate daily.
    At least, that’s what Red Davis thought two generations ago when he developed Redmar Plaza. The Radcliff shopping center, now virtually vacant, still bears the name crafted from his first name and the first syllable of his wife’s, Martha.

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  • The puzzlement of parenting our parents

    As I walked away from the emergency room, I felt a heaviness for my friends who had just brought in their elderly father. They were rightly concerned about his health issues.

    But their dad wasn’t. In fact, he was angry that his adult children had insisted on admitting him to the hospital.

    There he rested on the gurney, pouting because he wasn’t home. His lower lip was turned up, childlike, which enhanced the scowl on his face as he weakly waved me away.

    It’s not easy parenting parents.

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  • Gifts from my father

    By DEBORAH SMITH
    For The News-Enterprise
    Growing up, I always knew that I was protected and loved. Those special times that he and I shared always will remain in my heart to be cherished.
    And, there are the wonderful gifts that he has given me over the years.

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  • Reflecting images from a previous generation

    The door to my grandparents’ house on Red Hill Road never was locked.

    As kids, most visits began with a race from the car to the front porch. The first to arrive would fling open the screen door, turn the knob and bound inside – announcing your presence with a burst of energy.

    My grandmother – Dad’s mom – was there without fail to welcome us.

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