By Andy Brack, editor and publisher  |  One hundred years ago yesterday, my great-grandfather, weakened by the flu, died of what’s believed to have been a ruptured appendix.  He was 38 years old.  The season’s cash crop, cotton, was about ready to pop in the fields.

Charles Columbus Brack left a 31-year-old widow and six children, aged 1 to 10.  They lived in rural middle Georgia in an unpainted house five miles from the nearest town.  It was only a mile from their Baptist church where a family reunion of sorts occurred yesterday. 

Tables in the church hall showcased just about every sort of Southern food – from fried chicken and roast beef to at least four kinds of beans, macaroni and cheese, potato salad, rice salad, and plain salad salad.  The dessert table was almost as long with the 16-layer chocolate cake being the talk of the room.