My mind’s been running back through old times more than normal here lately. A publisher from North Carolina stumbled across this column some time back and asked me to write a book about LaGrange and celebrate some of my hometown’s heroes.

I hope she’s ready for a long book.

First, we’ll have to tell you about Grandma, the best cook this side or the other side of the Chattahoochee before the angels came on October 4, 2003.

Coca-cola Mike has been “wrote up” pretty regularly, too, so I’ll have to save a paragraph or two for him. By the way, he wrote me the other day and told me he ran into one of my former girlfriends at Jim Bob’s where he, Larry, and the other folks from church ate last Sunday evening. He seemed to think that she lucked out by not grabbing me while she could. I’d have to see her before I could say I agree with that. I think if a person with poor eyesight saw me while the lights were turned down low they’d think I looked pretty good for my age and weight. That’s just my way of thinking, so I wouldn’t put money on it or anything. I may have to get Coca-cola Mike to look her up and see if she wants to be in the book.

The boys down at the Y have laid claim to a chapter, too. The Y - with Ken Carter and Bubba Hill and the rest of the fellas as witnesses - is about the only place left on earth where I can show off my bad shoulders, weak knees, and quickly-fading long-range three-point shot. But I won’t tell all that. As always, I’ll put on the makeup and make sure the lights shine down on me from the best angles. You’ve come to expect that.

Ol’ Doosey - with his webbed hand, missing teeth, and attitude problem - didn’t get much ink in the last book. But he’ll get a place in the next one because he had a big part in making me what I am, which some say isn’t very much.

But there’s more: There’s Preacher Miller, whose raspy, booming voice I can still hear shaking the rafters at the Church of Christ on Murphy Avenue as well as shaking the car windows on those long, grueling journeys over two-lane roads all over the country.

Then there’s Bathtub Stevie and Mr. Steve Sauter from down at the Y and Georgia Steve and me, Texas Steve.

There’s Gus from down at the Y who sat and told me one of the best love stories you’d ever want to hear. And there’s Daddy’s love story, too, as he captured the heart of one of the sweetest ladies in the world.

There’s the mystery of Kyle Clinkscales - ah, that story will have to take its special place - along with the visit the amazing blonde and I had in the living room of his special parents just a year or so before Kyle’s dad died.

I can’t tell all the stories right here, not all at once, but they’re all stories that need to be told again … and when their memories fade, it’ll be nice to hear them told again and maybe again.

Give me a year or two, and I hope you’ll be holding the hardback, coffee-table book in your hand. You’ll have to read every word because you might find yourself somewhere in it - that is, if you’re one of the lucky ones who hails from the best city in the world.

I’m talking about the good city just west of the Chattahoochee.

We call her LaGrange.

(Note: Send any stories relating to La Grange heroes for consideration in this book. Anything and everything will be appreciated! E-mail steven.bowen@redoakisd.org, or write P.O. Box 2125, Red Oak, Texas 75154.)