Go George My daughter Cornelia’s husband, George Wallace, was interviewed last Sunday on national television. I don’t know why it is that Yankee Tv reporters who interview George seem to have one aim in life: to discredit or try to trip up or embarrass George somehow. They never succeed. Maybe they just sit in their little cubicles and don’t realize how folks out in the boon docks feel about George. You'd think they’d quit trying devious questions because all they ever get is straight forward answers which, to my mind, makes the interviewer wind up with egg on his face. It leaves George smelling like a rose! Anyway, George's in terviewer last Sunday was at it again, trying to take up an old worn-out rumor with this question, “How much does your brother, Gerald Wallace, have to do with running the state of Alabama?’’ And George replied, with no hemming, hawing, or wasted words, “About as much as you do.” How’s that for clearing the air! Cornelia was there and she said George’s answer broke up everybody in the sound room, guests and cameramen alike. That's a pretty good indication that thousands of tv watchers reacted the same way. Atta boy, George! Uncle Charlie Well, poor ole ‘Uncle Charlie’ Porter of Elba, aged 121, is gone and I’m sure all in Elba remember him fondly. The last time I saw, ‘Uncle Charlie’? was in Elba at “Cornelia Wallace Day.” He was all spruced up in new denim overalls, sitting up front and proud as punch to be a part of the celebration. Thoughts of Uncle Charlie are just pure nostalgia. I remember when his wife, long since gone, used to pick wild blue muscadines for us and Mama made the best nectar from them. It always seemed that *Uncle Charlie” preferred to associate with white people rather than his own race. Maybe being born back in the days of slavery made him feel that way. He used to call the Whitmans, the Kimmeys, and the Folsoms ‘‘his folks.’’ We'll all miss seeing him make his way to town every morning (somebody always stopped and gave him a ride for his daily jug of ‘‘city water,”’ Furry Memories The January thaw is here, but I’m ready for winter to behave like it ought to with a few more chills. Actually, it’s because I have a coat I want to wear. A long while back during the depression, when the children were babies, we were living in Elba. Nobody had any fancy clothes to speak of. Well, sir, a fast-talking coat salesman came to town selling gorgeous mink coats. I wanted one so badly, I just cashed a War-Bond and bought it. And it was a terrific bargain, just $40. Now $40 for a sure nuff mink even then was a bonanza! I loved that coat so much I wore it constantly. I used to put