Stories by Steve
Notice anything different about me? Nah, you wouldn't. Not in this thumbnail photo. But trust me - you wouldn't guess it even if I stood a couple of feet away and turned at all angles. I've tried it with lots of people, and they're always clueless.
OK, Moore County. You wanted live theater? You're looking at live theater. Puh-leeze don't fail to support it this time.
What's Chechnya to us? Or we to Chechnya? When I worked in Russia back in the mid-1990s, I was very much aware of the anxiety Russians felt toward that seethingly rebellious province in the Caucasus mountain region. But until a couple of weeks ago, I never dreamed that we over here in America would ever have any reason to worry about that obscure land, about which most of us know little and care even less.
When it comes to developments like last week's horrendous events in Boston, where do today's young people get their news? The answer might surprise you.
"Have youse decided yet?" the friendly, middle-aged blonde waitress asked as daughter Kate and I sat looking at our menus.
I'm proud to be a North Carolinian OK? And back in the 1980s and early '90s, I was proud to be a resident of Rowan County. That's why it is doubly irksome that somebody has come along and done something so idiotic that it ends up as material for late-night comics and makes me feel almost embarrassed to have any connection to either of those places.
Louie Scribner misses the days when kids "were totally self-entertaining" - when "we were told to 'go play outside' and we did just that."
As soon as I saw Glenn M. Sides' "Balancing Act" photograph on our front page of Feb. 15, showing a young woman walking on the railroad track near the Southern Pines depot, I knew from experience that The Pilot would get some grief.
Jack Mahan, now of Pinehurst, remembers the day back in the 1950s when, as a high school student ushering at a Washington Senators season opener, he looked down from his perch behind the dugout in Griffith Stadium to see a middle-aged gentleman walking up some steps.
Since I'm writing this on Presidents Day, a rather silly, manufactured holiday, I hereby ask what might be a rather silly question of our readers:
Two weeks ago, I mentioned some of the many gender barriers that have fallen in my lifetime, capped with the recent decision to allow American women the dubious honor of being accepted into combat.
As I walked across the UNC-Chapel Hill campus last Thursday, headed from lunch in Lenoir Hall to my car in the Bell Tower parking deck, I paused at something I had never noticed before.
Last week’s announcement ending the U.S. military's policy against women in combat set me to thinking about how much progress we have made toward sexual equality just in my lifetime.
In nearby Hoke County, where veteran Pilot photographer Glenn M. Sides grew up, folks would look at an ominous sky and remark, "Looks like it's comin' up a cloud."
On my first day as a North Carolinian (Lord, can it really be almost 40 years ago?), I went to the supermarket for a few things.
Here are a few things I hope - but don't necessarily expect - to see in 2013:
The date stopped me in my tracks: “121212.” Cue that spooky theme music from “The Twilight Zone.”
Every time I see a TV commercial for, say, Norfolk Southern ("one line, infinite possibilities") or BASF ("we create chemistry for a sustainable future"), I ask the same question.
The fate of the original longleaf pine forests that once graced southern Moore County and much of the coastal Southeast is the stuff of tragedy and shame.
J ust a few of the things for which I give thanks at this season: Wife Brenda, sons Jacob and Ben, daughter Kate, daughter-in-law Donna, cousins Mike and Patrick, and all the other special people whose relationships enrich my life.
Pinebluff people, I have found over the years, tend to be pretty sensible. OK, so that's a generalization. And all generalizations, someone once said, are false - including that one.
As I sat near the back of UNC's Memorial Hall a week ago today, I was surprised - even annoyed - to find tears trickling down my cheeks.
You may be just what we’re looking for to help us round out our offering of columnists on The Pilot’s opinion pages.
Somebody once tried to tell me that the word NEWS originated from the fact that it informed people about what was going on in the North, East, West and South.
Don't worry. I'm not launching a new series of "Russia and Me" columns, though it may seem like it. We're still a local paper.
Muslim countries are much in the news lately. I’ve lived in only one of them in my long and checkered life, and it didn’t exactly count.
Our coastline is such a priceless heritage. If we don’t take good care of it, we will — and should — be answerable to heaven itself.
This is a reprint of a column that originally appeared July 10, 2000.
In 1895, the year James Walker Tufts was busy founding Pinehurst, the Lumiere brothers were doing something else rather innovative over in France: inventing movies.
Weymouth, a community treasure, has many historic ties to The Pilot.
Did you know our president said capitalism doesn't work? Or that he took Michelle to several flag-burning ceremonies?
Today, my family and I live in a 55-year-old house on Weymouth Road between two avenues named Connecticut and Indiana. Southern Pines has other avenues called Massachusetts, Pennsylvania, New Hampshire, Vermont, Illinois, Wisconsin, Iowa, Michigan, New York, Rhode Island, New Jersey, Delaware, Maine and the little-known, truncated Ohio. I had always imagined that these street names, so improbable for a small Southern town, were bestowed by Yankee transplants homesick for their home states. Wrong.
Somebody asked why, in last week's post-Aurora column about guns, I mentioned "bullfrogs" along with rabbits and deer and other creatures I've shot in my time.
Let me get this said up front, OK? I think I've said it before, but let me say it again.
Supreme Court justices must hate cases like Alvarez v. United States. Their hearts tell them one thing, their heads something else. And they have to go with their heads.
I 'm not sure how long I can make this stick. Not long, probably - as I'm sure readers will delight in reminding me later. But here goes.
Suppose the government said you could worship as you chose, as long as you did so in an out-of-the-way church that no one could see from the main drag.
It’s time for another “why I love Southern Pines” column, again thumbed into my iPhone as I sit on a bench near North West Broad Street.
The Sandhills/Moore Coalition for Human Care, tucked away where Indiana Avenue dead-ends in a remote corner of West Southern Pines, is about the last place many of us would happen to pass by on our way somewhere else.
A collection of reader responses on this topic appears on page B2.
Are political cartoons on The Pilot's Opinion pages worth the trouble?
Want to know some of the blessings fracking could bring to North Carolina and northern Moore County? Look at another place with "north" in its name: North Dakota.
A funny thing happened as I was interviewing Rep. Renee Ellmers the other day.
Web commenter Bentpan really let us have it the other day. Appending one of many comments to the end of The Pilot's Friday editorial expressing opposition to Amendment One, Bentpan wrote: "I notice no one at The Pilot taking credit for this opinion piece. Don't blame them. What a steaming pile of left-wing propaganda."
It's been a month since a guy named Eric Fehrnstrom achieved his 15 minutes of fame - or infamy - with his much-mocked "Etch A Sketch" remark.
This is reprinted from Sunday's edition of The Salisbury Post.
For a long time, even after I had the privilege of interviewing them in the mid-1960s, I assumed that “Lester Flatt” and “Earl Scruggs” were made-up names.
What has happened to the America I used to know? That, in so many words, is the question with which my good friend and former Pilot colleague Tom Bryant wrapped up a well-written column that appeared in this space a month ago.
I don’t know how long it’s been since I looked anything up in an actual encyclopedia — unless Wikipedia counts, which it shouldn’t. Still, I couldn’t help feeling a bit of a jolt at last week’s announcement that the venerable Encyclopedia Britannica.
I'm sitting in Great Clips, thumb-typing this on my iPhone as I wait for Claudette to cut my hair. With the job she does, she's always worth the wait.