By CLARA CARTRETTE

There’s a lot of satisfaction in writing a story and feeling that you’ve done it well. There’s more satisfaction when you know the story has great meaning to the person or persons you’ve written about.

Such was the case with Monday’s Lifestyle feature about Jessica Blackmon, a 22-year-old Hallsboro woman with disabilities who’s making a name for herself with horses.

She began riding for therapy, but now it’s her passion. She’s winning awards in Special Olympic equine events and has branched out into American Quarter Horse Association competition.

Jessica and Maureen Clark came in Monday and when I showed them a copy of the story, Jessica broke into a wide grin and her hands started shaking, characteristic of a lot of people with disabilities. Her big hug was my reward.

I have a special place in my heart for people with disabilities, especially children. And when I see them overcoming obstacles and leading normal and happy lives, it makes my heart sing.

I have been blessed to know many such people. The one I knew best was Randy Waddell, now deceased.

Born with Down’s Syndrome, Randy was once institutionalized but soon came back to Tabor City where he was one of the town’s most popular residents.

He loved people, and people loved him; his favorite thing to do was go to high school sports events and work at Doc Fowler’s restaurant and poolroom as long as it was open.
Mavis Carroll, now deceased, introduced me to her adopted son, Mark Butler. Because of Mark, Mavis championed causes for mentally retarded people in Columbus County. She was a jewel.

When I recently met up-and-coming artist Gail Watkins, she seemed so familiar. “I’m Mavis Carroll’s daughter,” she explained with a laugh. I knew I liked her right off for some reason.

She’s the daughter of a strong-willed woman who took a baby boy into her heart and home, even after doctors told her not to bother, that he would only be a “vegetable” in a crib the rest of his life.

I met Mavis and Mark Butler at a county commissioners’ meeting in the early 1980s. She was there to champion her favorite cause — having a Hope Hike to raise funds for mentally retarded children’s summer programs so they wouldn’t forget everything they had learned when they went back to school in the fall.

After briefly describing how Mark came into her life, she asked him to sing “Jesus Loves Me,” proving to me and others that love and affection had taken this little “vegetable” and turned him into much, much more. Mark took several small picture frames from Mavis and presented one to each commissioner. Then he came and stood in front of me, not saying a word but looking at me, who still had tears in my eyes from his vocal performance. It was if he wanted to say, “I want to give you one, but I don’t have any more.”

The next week, Mark Butler walked into my office and handed me a small gold picture frame. It was all I could do to thank him graciously and walk him to the lobby before I fell apart. That was so meaningful to me, and when I began reading the Bessie Anderson Stanley poem, I really did fall apart. It starts with “To laugh often and much; to win the respect of intelligent people and the affection of children…” and ends with “This is to have succeeded.”

I treasure that little picture frame and poem, and it has a place of honor in my office.

Mavis was a fast talker in more ways than one. She talked fast because she had a lot to say and was afraid she would run out of time before she ran out of words. She was a fast talker because she wanted to convince people that they should be as concerned about mentally retarded people as she was, and she usually got her way, and her donations, for the children.

Mark Butler is now living happily in a group home.

I love the Shrine Club and what it does for children with disabilities. I got involved with Shriners in the mid-1970s when a few members decided they would have a steel drum band, but before they could learn to play they had to build the drums.

I went to a tobacco barn in Nakina on a hot Sunday afternoon and joined a group of men I didn’t know while they beat on 55-gallon steel barrel tops with hammers. It looked like a lot of fun, but to be truthful, I never thought I would hear a legitimate “tune” come from the tops of those barrels.

I was wrong. Not only did they finish their drums and learn to play them, they were sought after to play in parades and ceremonials. And the band plays on.

Wilbur Ward, a welder who is now deceased, was the Shriner who came up with idea. He had seen an islander from Trinidad perform at a Myrtle Beach hotel.

I don’t remember the full story, but Mikey, the islander, came to Nakina to teach them how to make drums and play them.

As a result of my story, I was invited to the Shrine Club Christmas party. Columbus County children who were treated at Shrine Hospitals and their families were special guests.

I thought I should write some kind of story, and I zoomed in on Timmy Cartrette. Not really knowing what to say to an 8-year-old boy in a wheelchair as a result of injuries when a vehicle backed over him, I introduced myself and asked, “Timmy, what do you want to do when you grow up?”

I will never forget the smile on his face and the confidence in his voice as he replied: “I’m going to be a contractor.” Those six words sold me on the Shrine Club and what they do to help crippled and burned children. Timmy didn’t say “I want to be a contractor,” or “I wish I could be a contractor.” His message was, “I’m going to be a contractor.” Right then and there I knew the Shrine Hospitals not only work on little bodies, but on little minds, instilling confidence that they can overcome obstacles to become what they want.

I followed Timmy as he overcame some of those obstacles. I covered the story when Dempsey Herring, then county parks and recreation director, taught Timmy to swim. Timmy “marched” in the Whiteville High School band, with someone pushing his wheelchair while he performed. Unfortunately, Timmy died in his early 20s.

I heard about Daniel Gore the day he was born prematurely, a very tiny baby. He underwent several surgeries the first year of his life and he was blind. I’ll never forget the first time I saw him; his aunt Elsie Faulk worked next door in the office supplies and his mother Diane brought him in. I touched him and talked baby talk to him and I think we bonded that day.

Every time I saw him I would touch him and he seemed to respond positively to my voice. As he grew older and I would see him around town, I would say, “Hey, Daniel,” and he would smile and answer, “Hey, Miss Clara.” He never had to ask whom he was talking to.

I watched several times as as Diane “walked” him into the office, holding his hands above his head. At times he would scream in protest but she patiently walked him in. That’s tough love; it would be so much easier to pick him up and carry him, but Daniel needed the developmental exercises.

As Daniel grew, he started to school. There was no teacher for the blind and the county school system could not find one to take the job.

During one of our many conversations I subtly hinted that Daniel would probably do well in a school for the blind.

“I just can’t send him off to school,” Diane said. “I just can’t.”

One year Daniel stole the show at the Very Special Arts Festival when he sang a song. All of the adults were crying before he finished.

Years passed and one day Diane told me that Daniel was going to the Governor Morehead School for the Blind in Raleigh. I was elated that Daniel would finally have his chance for a total education, but I knew it was a tough decision for Diane and her husband Danny.

Daniel is now 20 years old and will graduate from Morehead School next year. He has continued to sing and play the keyboard and guitar, and has recorded two CDs.

His parents pick him up every Friday and he spends weekends at home, playing and singing in church. And he always sings at the County Fair on Saturday night.

It pleases me that the Gores keep me up to date about what’s going on in Daniel’s life, and it pleased me as much as it did Daniel to write about his CD recordings.

These are but a few special people I’ve written about. Others who come to mind immediately are the elderly people. Last year I wrote about Leatta Stevens of Clarendon after her 107th birthday.

Two years ago I had a wonderful interview with Lizzie Cartrette of Beaverdam who, at 100 years old, was still cooking Sunday dinner for her family and was upset if they didn’t show up. Her obituary is in today’s paper.

I had the pleasure of covering Robert and Myrtle Soles’ 75th wedding anniversary the day they were honored in the General Assembly in Raleigh, and at their reception in Tabor City Baptist Church.

Just recently I wrote about Lula McGougan Mallard’s reunion with five of her 1936 first grade students.

Soon I’ll have the pleasure of printing a picture of her own 1915 first grade class. She couldn’t believe that I picked her out of the crowd.

I love the people I work with; I enjoy seeing their accomplishments as well as mine.

Nicole Cartrette is coming on like a storm trooper. And I’m complimented when a reader calls and mentions what a great story she wrote, then asks, “She is your daughter, isn’t she?”

I reply, “No, she’s not, but I’d be mighty proud to claim her.”

And I’m complimented even further when the reader replies, “Well, I have to call all those people and tell them I was wrong, that she’s not your daughter. I was positive that she was your daughter, the way she writes.”

I don’t claim to be excited about getting up every morning, but as soon as I’m dressed, I want to go to work. Where else but in a newspaper office can you find such opportunities to interact with the people — all kinds of people?

I’ve been doing this 45 years and three months, and I’ve never tired of people stories.

I’m asked all the time when I plan to retire and I say “Never! I’m afraid I might miss something.”