Author Archive

Stacey Norwood

Stacey Norwood

When it comes to the old arthouse two-step in Macon, Georgia, we like to do the damn thing. Say what you will, but no shortage of curious patronage or enthusiastic support for trying something new on stage or in studio seems to have stifled many aspiring artists over the years

• THE COLD CASE FILES • When the city fathers of Macon undertook the architecture and design of Rose Hill Cemetery in 1840, they envisioned a glorious “City of the Dead” that would “rob even the grave of its accustomed gloom.” And as good Christians are wont to do, these

Gloria Marable is quietly holding court in the Pink Room. A row of bewigged Styrofoam heads stare mutely back at her as she speculatively eyes the options she has chosen for the client sitting in the salon chair before her. Styling comb poised, the owner of Shh It’s a Wig

The little yellow “Poison Pills” hitting the streets of Central Georgia right now may not look much, but they contain a cocktail so lethal, local lawmen are urging illicit buyers to not even touch them. “If anyone comes into contact with these pills, please don’t handle them,” Macon-Bibb Sheriff David

“No matter how much MFs hate me, I gotta keep my eyes on the prize!! Ain’t nothing stopping me!!” – Arika “Lottie Dottie” Jarrell, March 26, 2014 Arika Jarrell never saw them coming. Long after the witching hour had passed on May 29, 2014, shots rang out from behind Jarrell’s

At 6:55 p.m. Monday evening, the makeshift funeral procession for Lori Williams began. As a  nondescript dark van pulled slowly down a longish gravel drive off Klopfer Road in Juliette, a tag on the front bumper reading “Monroe County Memorial Chapel” hinted at the vehicle’s grim cargo. The solemn and

At first glance, Teresa Dean is a striking woman. A flat, static photo of the 29-year-old in no way diminishes the glow of good health that fairly radiates from her lovely heart-shaped face, offset by wide-set crystal blue eyes, hair the color of Tupelo honey, a radiant smile, and cheekbones

I am approaching the open door of George’s Hole in the Wall Sports Bar on Columbus Road at high noon on a beautiful spring day, wondering what or who will greet me when I cross the threshold. Located just before the inevitably clogged intersection where Columbus toggles into Mercer University

Dear Mary, I guess it’s time I let you know where I am! I am in the hottest little town in America, known as Macon, Georgia, occupying a room in an attic, working nights as a bus-boy at a light-drinking establishment known as the Pig’n Whistle and spending my days

Heavy, they say, is the head that wears the crown. For Jerry Jerome Anderson, dubbed the “King of Cocaine” by Federal prosecutors 28 years ago in a Macon courtroom, Shakespeare’s famous words proved prophetic.        In 1989, after a prolonged (and some say infuriatingly cat-and-mouse) game of gotcha