In a small town like Thomasville, Alabama, folks talk more about the people than the place. You hear it in the way they tell stories about my grandfather, Johnny Mac, who worked at WJDB. His voice wasn’t just heard over the radio—it carried across the streets, football fields, and churchyards, stitching the town together with humor and personality. There’s hardly a week that goes by where someone doesn’t stop by Marcus & Beatty to tell me a story about my dad, about growing up wild, playing football, or running the neighborhood as boys do. There’s a certain pride in those stories—a sense of belonging to something bigger than yourself.
That’s what small towns do to you. They root you in something deeper. In my time in Sylacauga, our neighbors Ware and Annette Gaston were the kind of people who didn’t need to share your blood to treat you like family. Mr. Ware taught me about the soil, the land that we lived on—planting strawberries and watermelons, tomatoes and everything in between. He even went as far as to craft me my own set of tools, fitting the handles of a shovel and rake to my size. Ms. Annette, God bless her, would strap on roller skates at sixty-something, gripping a pole Mr. Ware had made just to keep her upright while she skated alongside us. They loved me and my family like we were their own, giving us life lessons without ever asking for a thing in return.
It’s moments like these that taught me about people. They taught me how to find common ground and how to treat everyone like they belong. In small towns, you might disagree with your neighbor, but there’s no room for disdain—you need each other. There’s an unspoken bond between you, forged by the shared life you lead. My grandfather, with his voice on the radio, was like a bridge connecting people, amplifying their stories and their struggles. That’s what we want to do here at Marcus & Beatty—not through the airwaves, but through how we treat people, how we connect.
That’s the beauty of our Jamboree events. It’s not just about the music or the food, though those are fine enough reasons to come together. It’s about the people—folks from all walks of life who might not cross paths otherwise. I’ve seen a former pastor sharing stories with members of a hardcore band, their differences fading into the background as kids run laughing through the parking lot. Locals swap stories with students and transplants who’ve found their way into our little corner of the world. There’s a magic in that—watching people, no matter where they’re from, find a way to connect, even if just for a night.
My family taught me about connection, about how to listen and find something you share with the next person, even if they seem like a stranger. It’s what we aim to do at Marcus & Beatty every day. Yes, we’re young and we have big dreams—national dreams, if we’re being honest—but we’ll never lose sight of where we come from. We want to grow, but not at the expense of the community that made us.
That’s something you come to understand living in the South, in towns like Thomasville and Sylacauga. Young people might leave in search of bigger things, bigger cities, but the road home is never as far as it seems. Because at the end of the day, there’s something comforting about knowing your neighbors, about trusting that the people around you will be there when you need them.
In a world that seems to be moving faster and faster, places like Thomasville, Sylacauga, and our own little shop at Marcus & Beatty remind us that sometimes, slowing down is the best thing you can do. These towns, these stories—they keep you grounded, connected, and, most importantly, they keep you home.