This female basset is straight outta Broadmoor

Broadmoor Bureau Chief

Tilly is a European basset hound straight outta Broadmoor, the Gulfport, Miss., neighborhood where she has lived with us since August 2013.

She was born in Cleveland, Tenn., and will turn 5 years old next month.

This blog is named after her, a play on The Who song “Pictures of Lily,” but in the months I’ve been writing on the site, I’ve never had a post with nine pictures of Tilly until now.

The “Straight Outta Broadmoor” Tilly meme comes from an online generator to help promote the 2015 film “Straight Outta Compton,” which is about the Los Angeles gangsta rap group N.W.A.

I uploaded a 2014 Tilly photo, taken in her dog run, to the “Straight Outta” meme generator to make her look gangsta, which is out of her character.

This is the photo I used.

It looks like she was in attack-dog training, but it was her way of playing.

She has lots of energy, though her image is quite the opposite because of photos showing her sleeping or just resting on a leather couch in the back room of the house. It’s not our couch. It’s Tilly’s couch, and it has her own bed and covers.

The couch is for her daytime sleeping. Next to the couch is her crate for sleeping at night. Sometimes she chooses to watch the Hallmark Channel from either spot, but most of her time is spent stretched out on the couch.

April 14, 2018 at 3 p.m.

April 11, 2018 at 12:30 p.m.

June 21, 2017 at 6 p.m.

April 4, 2017 at 5 p.m.

Nov. 7, 2016 at 5 p.m.

Jan. 21, 2015 at 3 p.m.

Jan. 24, 2014 at 2 p.m.

If it weren’t for Patty, my wife, we wouldn’t have Tilly.  Patty loves bassets.

She got a basset named Molly for our daughter, Kristin, in 1989. Molly was a Christmas present for Kristin, who was 8 years old at the time, and Kristin was in college when Molly passed away in 2002.

Ever since, Patty wanted another basset and it took more than 10 years for that to happen.

Patty does everything for Tilly and that includes trips to the vet in Biloxi, trips to the vet in Mandeville, La., and an occasional trip to Dairy Queen in Gulfport for a vanilla ice cream cone.

I’ve got a feeling a cone will be Tilly’s birthday present.


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Make old Gulfport VA like Perkins Rowe in Baton Rouge

Broadmoor Bureau Chief

I thought of the old Gulfport VA property last week when I made a day trip to Baton Rouge, with Perkins Rowe my last stop before I went back home.

Perkins Rowe is a mixed-used development that the old Gulfport VA, now Centennial Plaza, should become.

I’d like the beachfront area on Highway 90 to become the best Coast hub for shopping, dining and movies once the Holiday Inn Resort, Centennial Plaza’s first major anchor tenant, becomes reality on the site that was a Veterans Administration medical center until it was shut down in 2005 because of Hurricane Katrina.

Ten historic Spanish Colonial Revival buildings, half going back to the 1920s, remain and two of them will become part of the Holiday Inn Resort.

Once the hotel is complete, developers should bring some Perkins Rowe flair to Centennial Plaza.

Here’s what I saw at Perkins Rowe and all these fine examples of quality photo journalism are mine.

Quite a landmark

Starbucks inside spacious B&N

Better looking than your Gulfport Cinemark

Lit well




The trip to Baton Rouge was my first since 1993, and if Centennial Plaza never becomes the Perkins Rowe of the Coast, I will know where to stop the next time I’m in Red Stick.

And I won’t wait another 25 years to go back.

Last week, I also made two stops on Government Street, which is north of Perkins Rowe and reminds me of Midtown Memphis.

One of the Government Street stops was for a cheeseburger, fries and root beer.


The other stop was to scout an old pizza joint.

Fleur de Lis Cocktail Lounge

I didn’t go inside Fleur de Lis, also known as The Pink Palace of Roman Pie, because I was on my way to Curbside, but now I can’t wait to try the pizza.

It’s been three weeks since my last pizza, so I’m revving up plans for the next Baton Rouge trip.


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In retirement, print work is a nightmare


Broadmoor Bureau Chief

I’ve been retired from my Sun Herald newspaper job in Gulfport, Miss., for more than a year, but I have work-related anxiety every night resulting from dreams of things going wrong at press time.

Some have to do with my computer locking up right before deadline in my work as a slot editor. Others are about page design in which I can never find an image to run with a story after hours of wasted searching.

Because of this, my teeth grind and my nerves wrack.  And once I sense calm, the feeling goes away. I hear an uptight editor yell at me to “SEND THE DAMN PAGE,” even though I’m dreaming that we have more than two hours before the presses start.

The bane of a sportswriter's existence in the 1980s. FLICKR
The bane of a sportswriter’s existence in the 1980s. FLICKR

I also have stressful dreams about covering sports, which I did for many years before moving to the editing side, and the sports dreams are about using a second-hand 20th-century Teleram Portabubble to transmit stories from  football, basketball and baseball games to my office during the 21st century.

The Portabubble was a portable computer and it haunts me more than 30 years after I last used one. I’m now jealous of sportswriters who have the pleasure of just emailing their stories.

The keyboard on a Portabubble was used to type a story and once the story was complete, a classic telephone handset was placed into acoustic couplers for delivery to the sports desk.

Sounds easy, but it wasn’t. I once shoved a handset so hard into the couplers that I might have damaged the Portabubble. All but the keys and the tiny screen were useless. The story would not bubble in unless I could reach a Teleram tech.

Good luck with that because it was 10:30 on a Wednesday night  in 1983 in the South Mississippi mini-metroplex of Wade-Hurley.

I ended up having to dictate my story to the frustration of the guy receiving the dictation.

A colleague the previous week also had to dictate because of a technical problem and then faced the embarrassment  of being summoned to the editor’s office two days later for a Portabubble demonstration.  The editor wanted to see what the sportswriter did wrong, but keep in mind the editor himself didn’t know how to use it. His point was to make the sportswriter look bad and feel worse.

Can’t blame the boss for expecting nothing but successful results from his investment, but the thing looked like it came from a pawn shop on Highway 49.

Somebody on eBay is trying to sell a Portabubble print ad right now for the ridiculous price of $14.95 plus shipping, but that may sound like a bargain to you if you’re nostalgic for pieces of crap.

My latest dream was about a night in which I went to distribution, on the first floor in back of the plant, to check the paper in my role as the slot editor. Copies of the paper roll into distribution from the second-floor pressroom starting at midnight and copies are gathered for carriers to bring to readers.

I check the paper for spelling in headlines, captions and other display type, and I end up missing a headline bust.

A pressroom guy ignores me about it, goes right to a distribution guy who knows nothing about editing and the pressroom guy tells the distribution guy, “Hey, there’s a misspelled headline. It’s supposed to be Ohio, not Ohi. Go ahead and fix that.”

Hey! WTH!

I go to the press guy and tell him, “That’s not distribution’s job. That’s my job. If you have any problems with headlines, you come to me and I’ll take care of them. I’m going to fix Ohi right now.”

I go back to my desk in the newsroom and get ready to use my computer to make the fix, but it turns out that my computer is frozen. It stays that way for 30 minutes, which is a lifetime when the pressroom is waiting for a remake.

Once my computer is unlocked, I make the correction and call the pressroom, and the press guy tells me, “We already have it. Distribution took care of it 25 minutes ago.”


There is a bright side to this tale: I don’t have to go to work today, tomorrow, next week or even next year.

The dark side? The next workplace nightmare is coming around 3 a.m.



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