Getting to know Billy Faulkner

OXFORD, Mississippi — There is no credible list of America’s greatest writers that does not have William Faulker in the top 10. Most would put him in the top five, while many others would list him No. 1. Yet, I knew very little about the man behind the words until I visited Oxford a couple of weeks ago for a conference and to document the story of a Fuller Center for Housing home dedication.

In my free time, my wife and I explored the college town and tried to get a feel for its atmosphere. I found it to be much more quaint than Athens, Georgia (home of my Georgia Bulldogs), and I can’t imagine how the hub of Oxford — the Square — can hold all the Ole Miss students and SEC football fans during the fall.

Faulkner’s home, meanwhile, was supposed to be just one stop on the list of things to see. It turned out to be the highlight as we learned more about the way he lived and his outlook on life.

As it turns out, he and I are a lot alike.

While he is on every list of great American authors, I also made the list of Possum Holler’s 10 greatest writers. Granted, Possum Holler’s population has been dwindling since it peaked at 243 back in the year 2000, but a list is a list.

He also wasn’t much for pretension and was not impressed with Hollywood even though he penned or assisted on a few screenplays when he needed the money. He could have moved to Beverly Hills or New York or London, but he preferred little ol’ Oxford. I live in Perry, Georgia, which has overgrown its infrastructure and has too many people, and I would prefer to live somewhere on the outskirts of Possum Holler, suburban Possum Holler if you will.

He started out well in school as a young boy, as did I, but he got bored with it later on and had to repeat the 11th and 12th grades. I didn’t have to repeat any grades, but I did find out that I was not supposed to have been promoted for my senior year — something I learned while accidentally breaking into the counselor’s office to double-check their record-keeping. He never graduated from college, nor did I. I’m holding out for an honorary doctorate.

But he did enjoy life on his terms. His historic home, Rowan Oak, is magnificently Southern but not over-the-top ostentatious. He enjoyed nature and purchased the 29 acres known as Bailey Woods between his home and the Ole Miss campus. He liked a good stiff drink. He was a bit of a smart-aleck and considered most folks to be pretty stupid. Well, at least we’re nothing alike there!

Finally, he didn’t care much about being remembered himself. He did care about the words he put down being immortal. He sold somewhere north of 10 million copies of his books during his lifetime and countless more since his death in 1962. Likewise, I’ve sold well over 27 copies of my books, and countless more after my tragic self-flying car death in 2042.

I could write a lot about Oxford — the food, the people, the lack of a decent airport nearby, the good-luck pedestrian crossings and 9 million roundabouts (or “crashabouts” as my wife calls them), but I think I’ll let the following pictures do the talking for me. After all, I’ve got a newly-purchased copy of “The Portable Faulkner” to read tonight.