a home on the mississippi


Think of the Mississippi Delta. Maybe you imagine cotton fields, sharecroppers and blues music.

It’s been all that. But for more than a century, the Delta has also been a magnet for immigrants. I was intrigued to learn about one immigrant group in particular: the Delta Chinese.

We went there and found family histories that are deeply entwined in the community. 

The Legacy Of The Mississippi Delta Chinese

Photos by Elissa Nadworny

The Disappearance of Bobby Dunbar

On August 23, 1912, four-year-old Bobby Dunbar (pictured, left) travelled with his parents and two siblings to Lake Swayze, Louisiana, for a picnic. Bobby became separated from his parents when he went off to explore the swamp, and simply vanished.

The Dunbar family were rich and influential, and for the next two days over 100 volunteers and 30 policemen combed the area for the missing boy. The short list of leads the police produced were fruitless, but Bobby’s parents continued to privately investigate his disappearance.

Eight months later, on a sunny May morning in Mississippi, a police officer flagged down a man and a young child walking along the road. The officer took the man for a vagrant, and didn’t believe his story that the boy -who looked around four or five years old - was his nephew, Bruce.

William Walter’s wasn’t a vagrant - he was a trained piano repairman, and he travelled by foot to his daily appointments. He insisted that the boys mother, Julia Anderson, had willingly given him Bruce to care for while she laboured on a nearby farm. His words fell on deaf ears. Walters was promptly arrested for kidnapping, and ‘Bruce’ (who the police officer suspected was actually the missing Bobby Dunbar) was taken into state custody. Lessie Dunbar immediately travelled to Mississippi to be reuinted with her son, amid much media fanfare.

Although reports vary, one nespaper stated that the newly rescued 'Bobby’ burst into tears when approached by Mrs Dunbar, and did not seem to recognize his siblings or any of his possessions when he returned to his house. Though he quickly adjusted to the Dunbar family, 'Bobby’ had no memory of his supposed abduction, nor of his trip to Lake Swayze. However, Lessie Dunbar was convinced the boy was her son due to similiar scars on his right foot, and moles on his hip.

William Walters was charged with a single count of child kidnapping and found guilty, despite the testimony of Julia Anderson who tearfully insisted 'Bobby’ was her son, and Walters was his paternal uncle. She admitted to having all her children out of wedlock, and that she had little money, and that was all it took; the judge sentenced Walters to life in prison, and Julia was ordered back to her home in Mississippi, where she was treated like an outcast.

Fortunately, Walters was released from prison after two years when his attorney convinced a judge to overturn his charge. The rescued Bobby Dunbar grew up well-to-do and eventually had four children. His granddaughter - who was fascinated about his disappearance - did a little genealogical research and noticed discrepencies in age between the missing Bobby and the recovered child. She also discovered a few members of the family who remembered Bobby’s disappearance, many of whom voiced their long held suspicion that the child recovered in Mississippi in 1913 wasnt their Bobby Dunbar.

It was only in 2006 that a DNA test was conducted on the recovered Bobby Dunbar’s son, and a cousin of the Dunbar family. The results were frighteningly clear; the child found in 1913 wasn’t Bobby Dunbar, but Bruce Anderson. The police had literally stolen another woman’s child, and imprisoned an innocent man for kidnapping. As a final sad reminder, the actual Bobby Dunbar has still never been found.

We’re working on a story from Rowan Oak, William Faulkner’s antebellum home in Oxford, Mississippi. We were skulking around outside, thinking we didn’t really have time to go in, tempting though it was. But the exuberant curator, Bill Griffith, caught us peeking and insisted we join him for a tour. I’m so glad we did! This is Faulkner’s writing room, and that’s his portable Underwood on a small table his mother gave him. Sometimes he’d move the whole setup outside to write outdoors under the trees. My other favorite thing in this room: the can of Scram Dog Repellent he used to keep ‘em away from his fancy climbing roses.

Listen for our story Monday, Feb. 13th, on All Things Considered.



On 22 October, 1966, Robert Sims, his wife, Helen, and their 12-year-old daughter, Joy, were at home listening to a college football game between Florida State University and Mississippi State. The couple had two older teenage daughters, Jeanie and Judy, who were both out babysitting.

Jeanie arrived home that night at around 23:00 and was horrified to discover that her parents and younger sister, Joy, had been brutally murdered. All three had been bound and their mouths stuffed with stockings. Robert and Helen had been blindfolded and shot dead while Joy was raped and stabbed six times before being shot in the head. Helen was miraculously still clinging to life but fell into a coma before she could give any information as to who could have done such a thing to a family who had seemingly no enemies.

Among a few suspects were a teenage couple who had stood out to authorities but they were never named due to never being made official suspects but authorities recall them acting quite odd and being strangely obsessed with the investigation. The case still remains unsolved today.


We hadn’t planned to visit William Faulkner’s home on our visit to Mississippi. We didn’t think we had enough time. But really, the temptation was too great: It seemed sacrilegious to leave Oxford without making even a brief pilgrimage.

So before we headed out to the Mississippi Delta, we stopped by Rowan Oak, the stately antebellum mansion Faulkner bought for $6,000 in 1930. He had just published The Sound and the Fury.

Producer Elissa Nadworny and I lingered outside, looking way up at the towering cedar trees that line the walkway to the pillared entrance. We were skulking around when the front door burst open and curator William Griffith spotted us. “Well, c'mon in!” he called. And in we went.

William Faulkner’s Home Illustrates His Impact On The South

Photos: Elissa Nadworny/NPR

3 Classic Novels Daria would absolutely Love

Throughout the series its not uncommon to see Daria reading novels of high literary merit. Here are 3 books that I personally believe Daria would love.

1) As I lay Dying

As I lay Dying by WIlliam Faulkner is the story of Addie Bundren’s death and her families quest to carry her dead body from their rural farm home all the way to Jefferson , Mississippi. The non-embalmed body begins to decay on their travels and its revealed that Addie’s dying wish of being buried in Jefferson is purely just a way for her to torture her family.

Daria would love this book for many reasons, the playful literary style, the deep symbolic nature of the subject matter, the dark tone, and of course the unique and disgustingly macabre story. It’s an interesting read for anyone interested please note that it is an extremely difficult read.

2) The Stranger

For many The Stranger by Albert Camus is one of the quintessential existentialism novels. Meursault, the main character, is a French Algerian man who does not cry at his mothers funeral. Days later he kills a man. The book follows Meursault before and after the murder and his inevitable death sentence. As Albert Camus wrote, “in our society any man who does not weep at his mother’s funeral runs the risk of being sentenced to death.’ I only meant that the hero of my book is condemned because he does not play the game.”

Meursault in a way would probably be relatable for Daria. I also would  like to believe that Daria is a fan of existentialist ideas.

3) The Sun also Rises

The Sun Also Rises is one of Hemingway’s most popular literally works but more then anything this is more of a place holder for all of Ernest Hemingway’s impressive stories and short stories. It’s not hard to believe that Daria would greatly appreciate the works of Ernest Hemingway with his straight to the point nature and his expertly crafted use of syntax.

What classic Novels do you think Daria would enjoy? With Daria’s love for reading I am definitely sure there are many more.

Originally posted by antisocialclimbers

Fannie Lou Hamer (October 6, 1917 – March 14, 1977) was an American voting rights activist, civil rights leader, and philanthropist.

Hamer is best known for championing black voting rights, especially in her home state of Mississippi, one of many hotbeds for racially motivated voter suppression. She worked with the Student Nonviolent Coordinating Committee to drive black voter registration, despite encountering violence and threats from white supremacists who often worked to intimidate or violently attack blacks attempting to vote.  

Hamer brought the issue to the national spotlight during the 1964 Democratic National Convention, pointedly calling out Mississippi’s all-white delegation. Hamer’s eventual, televised testimony of the struggle was so powerful that President Lyndon Johnson called an impromptu press conference to get it off the air. 

Artist not listed

Badass Black Women History Month:
Celebrating 28 Black Women Who Said,
“Fuck it, I’ll Do It!”

Day 10: Fannie Lou Hamer

Fannie. Motherfuckin’ Lou. Hamer. Are y’all even ready for this? You’re not, but that’s ok, cuz Fannie wouldn’t have waited for you anyway.

Fannie was born in Mississippi in 1917. She started picking cotton for a sharecropper with her family when she was only 6. By the age of 13, she could pick between 200-300 pounds of cotton DAILY. (Can I just reiterate that this was in 1924?) When the plantation owner discovered she was literate, they made her the plantation’s record keeper. She would work on the plantation for another 18 years until she was inspired to become an activist by the gross abuses she faced. 

You see, in 1961, Fannie had to have surgery to remove a tumor. Without her consent, doctors performed a forced hysterectomy as part of Mississippi’s forced sterilization plan to lower the number of blacks in the state. This was incredibly common at the time and Fannie created the phrase "Mississippi appendectomy" to bring attention to the fact that the government was sterilizing black women without their permission. Hamer did not let this stop her; it only energized her. She adopted two impoverished girls and became an avid activist. She would go on to fight for voting rights. She was beaten in jail cells, arrested constantly, and saw her friends murdered for using “whites only” facilities. Through it all, she never even thought about leaving her home of Mississippi or stopping her work. 

In 1964, she was made the Vice-Chair of the Mississippi Freedom Democratic Party. In this position, she was sent to the Democratic Convention to explain her struggles as a black voter. Her testimony brought the room to tears. Her words were so powerful, that Lyndon B. Johnson (who called her an “illiterate woman”) demanded an emergency press conference to take network TV attention away from her. 

Fannie persisted. She kept talking and her unedited speech was aired all over late night TV channels, bringing in tons of support. She would later go on to start grassroots Head Start programs for children and would continue the work of Martin Luther King, Jr.’s Poor Peoples Campaign. 

Her tombstone reads: I am sick and tired of being sick and tired.

Imagine Meeting Mary for the First Time - Part Two

Originally posted by out-in-the-open

Author’s Note: Here it is! Part two! I’m still behind on the season, so I don’t know what shady shit Mary does but I know she does it. Tumblr spoils a lot, but all I know is that she works more with the BMOL. I’ve not seen the finale so I can’t wait to see how that rips my heart apart. - Haley xx 

Part One

The past few months was hell when it came to interacting with Mary. She was being shady with Dean and Sam about her actions anyways, but when it came to you asking her where she’s been or when she’ll come back, she ignored you; like you didn’t exist.

Your brothers thought that Mary being in their lives again was making your life a living hell. But it wasn’t. The fact that she acted like you weren’t there was; Mary didn’t look at you, didn’t speak to you. You were invisible to her at all times. You weren’t looking for another mom, you had a great one back home in Mississippi. You weren’t looking for a friend either. You were looking to be friendly for the sake of your brothers. Her sons.

When Mary brought back food to the Bunker, you were surprised she brought some for you as well. A sack of burgers and two cases of beer slid across the table towards you and Sam. You and Dean dug in while Mary explained what she had been doing. 

She’s been working with the British Men of Letters.

You watched Sam drop the burger he was unwrapping and shift around in his seat. Toni the so-called rogue member of British Men of Letters was the one who tortured Sam. 

Dean and Mary were arguing when you stood up. “What the hell is wrong with you?” you asked her. “You think bringing food and beer would soften the blow that you’re fucking with the Brits?”

“Y/N,” Sam said, grabbing your arm, trying to pull you down to your seat. 

“No, Sam,” you huffed, pulling your arm out of his grasp. “They hurt you. And anyone who loves you would understand not to get involved with them,” you spat in her direction. 

“You don’t know anything about what they’re doing,” Mary said, leaning across the table. “And you don’t know anything about me and my boys.”

You rolled your eyes. “I’ve known your entire life story since I was seventeen. I could fucking recite it in my sleep. It’s you that doesn’t know anything about your boys. You don’t know that Sam prefers salad over burgers or the brand of beer that Dean likes. You’ve been dead for thirty-four years, and now that you’ve shown us that you don’t care about your boys,” you said, adding finger quotes, “it’s about time you’ve left.”

You pushed away from the table and left the room. 

There was no way you were going to let Mary hurt Sam even more with this. She might be Dean and Sam’s mother, but she wasn’t their mom. That woman’s been dead since 1982.


Ramona Blue by Julie Murphy

Ramona was only five years old when Hurricane Katrina changed her life forever. Since then, it’s been Ramona and her family against the world. One of only two out lesbians in her small town and standing over six feet tall with unmistakable blue hair, Ramona knows she’s destined for something bigger than the trailer she calls home in Eulogy, Mississippi. But juggling multiple jobs, her flaky mom, and her well-meaning but ineffectual dad forces her to be the responsible adult of the family. Now, with her sister, Hattie, pregnant, her responsibilities weigh more heavily than ever.

The return of her childhood friend Freddie brings a welcome distraction. Ramona’s friendship with the former competitive swimmer picks up exactly where it left off, and soon he’s talked her into joining him for laps at the pool.

As Ramona falls more in love with swimming, her feelings for Freddie begin to shift as well, and she must decide if knowing who she is is more important than figuring out who she might become.

Disclaimer: I received a free copy via Edelweiss for review purposes.

Ramona was just a child when Hurricane Katrina uprooted her life. Ever since, it’s been Ramona and her family against the world. Being one of the only two lesbians in her small town, standing over six feet tall, and with bright blue hair, Ramona feels like she’s outgrowing the trailer she’s come to call home. But with a flaky mom and an overworked father, and between juggling her two jobs, Ramona feels the weight of responsibility. Especially now that her sister Hattie has fallen pregnant. The return of a childhood friend, Freddie, is a welcome distraction. As Ramona’s love for swimming grows, her feelings for Freddie begin to shift.

I really enjoyed Ramona Blue. It’s a fantastic, well-developed YA contemporary with lots of talking points and issues. There are so many things I enjoyed. Firstly, the sibling relationship between Ramona and Hattie. I loved (and I mean loved) their relationship. I’m a sucker for well-developed sibling relationships, and I loved how Ramona knew Hattie better than anyone and vice versa. Hattie was a bit selfish, and I really enjoyed the exploration of the dependency and responsibility between the two. And on top of this, I thought that the familial relationship was very well done. Whilst I wasn’t a fan of Ramona’s mother, I really loved her father; I particularly enjoyed the loving and supporting figure her father was.

Additionally, I thought that exploration and the genuine look at poverty was very well done. It’s definitely something I would like to see more of in YA fiction, because I do think it’s lacking. And I think that this also ties in with the supporting familial relationship because it’s rare that we get a look at poverty and supporting families, because there is quite often this assumption that poverty means neglectful parents and that’s definitely not always the case. So yeah, that’s definitely something I really enjoyed about Ramona Blue (yes–her mother was flaky, but her father was a stable and reliable parental figure and that’s who she lived with).

I loved the exploration of sexuality and how it’s fluid, and how Ramona was the only one to define her identity:

“I was so scared that by having sex with Freddie, I would lose part of myself-part of my identity. Instead, I’ve embraced another facet of myself. Life isn’t always written in the stars. Fate is mine to pen. I choose guys. I always choose girls. I choose people. But most of all: I choose.”

Whilst I enjoyed the romance, and it was sweet and well-developed, it definitely wasn’t the focal point of the story, and so was probably the aspect I least enjoyed. Nevertheless, it’s still a sweet romance, and Ramona Blue is still a book I would recommend to YA romance fans too.

It’s not quite a 5-star read for me, but it’s pretty close. I would definitely recommend Ramona Blue to fans of realistic fiction and contemporary romance.

Rating: ★★★★☆


Leigh Occhi was just thirteen years old when she disappeared from her home in Mississippi on 27 August 1992. , Vickie, Leigh’s mother, left for work while Leigh remained home alone. It was the first time Leigh was to be left home alone all day.

At 8:30 am Hurricane Andrew was passing overhead and due to Leigh’s fear of storms, Vickie decided to call home to check on her but the call went unanswered. When her second call received no response, Vickie decided to return home. Once there, she found the garage door wide open, the light on and the front door unlocked. Inside, she called out for Leigh and as she turned into the hallway, she immediately saw the blood that covered the walls and floor. Vickie screamed and ran straight to Leigh’s bedroom where she found a bloody nightgown and bra in the laundry basket. Frantically, Vickie searched the house for her daughter before eventually calling the police at 9:00 am to report Leigh missing. Immediately, two officers were dispatched and realising the urgency of the situation, called for backup. 

The only things missing from the home were a pair of Leigh’s shoes, a few underclothes, a sleeping bag and her reading glasses.

Though police found no signs of forced entry, they could tell that the amount of blood present meant that someone, likely Leigh, had sustained a serious injury. Blood trailed through the hallway, into the kitchen and towards the back door; while further blood was found on the bathroom counter and sink. It was apparent a clean up had been attempted but the cloth used had not left behind. Inside Leigh’s bedroom, additional blood was found on the floor and door frame - the latter even contained hair strands. Lead Detective Bart Aguirre explained that it seemed Leigh had sustained a serious head injury before being laid out on the floor long enough for her blood to soak her bedroom carpet.

30 miles away, an employee at a McDonald’s drive-thru in Booneville recognised Leigh inside a vehicle being driven by a black male. Detectives later managed to locate the driver but he presented the girl he had been with that day and she was not Leigh Occhi and so he was cleared of all suspicions. 

Two weeks after Leigh’s disappearance, an anonymous envelope postmarked from Booneville arrived at Vickie’s home. Inside was Leigh’s missing glasses.

No one knows who sent the envelope, why it was addressed to Leigh’s step-father despite him no longer living at the home or how the sender came to be in possession of the item. Many believe this points to Leigh having been kidnapped and potentially murdered but with no evidence to back this up, such as her body, others remain hopeful that one day, Leigh will return home, alive and well.

If you have any information regarding this case, no matter how small or seemingly insignificant, please get in contact with the relevant authorities.

A black businessman in white Mississippi

Robert K. Wier (1886-1974) kept track of his membership dues in this copy of the constitution and bylaws of the Journeymen Barbers’ International Union. Wier’s barbershop was the first African American-owned business on Main Street in Starkville, Mississippi (home of Mississippi State).

This undated photograph shows Wier’s barbershop in Starkville.

In 1977, Wier’s wife, educator and community leader Sadye Hunter Wier, worked with historian John Marszalek to publish A Black Businessman in White Mississippi, a book about her husband’s life.

One Mississipi

(Request: hello 🙋🏽 can I request an imagine based on “One Mississippi” by Zara Larsson)

Note: Enjoy!

Warning: angst, swearing, getting drunk and high, smut!

One Mississippi, you’re here
Lovin’ me with your whole heart
And two Mississippi, we scream
To watch each other fall apart
Three Mississippi, you’re gone
Sayin’ that you’re done, you don’t want it no more
And four Mississippi, you’re home
Like nothin’ ever happened at all

You were woken from your slumber by a hand roaming your body. You knew who it was immediately, Daryl. He had spent another night out with his brother, getting drunk and high and now at 4am he thinks it’s okay to wake you up. His lips found the soft skin at your neck as he lightly bit at it.

“Daryl” you said, your eyes still closed as you started to move his hand away.

“Hey baby” he whispered. You could smell the alcohol on his breath as his lips pressed against yours. As much as you wanted to push him away and tell him to leave, your body was melting under his touch. But then something clicked inside of you and you pushed him back.

“What the fuck (y/n)?”

“It’s four in the morning Daryl! I don’t wanna make out or fuck, I just wanna sleep. Maybe if you stop getting wasted every night we could have a decent relationship!” you said, angrily pulling the covers over your shoulder and leaning your head on the pillow.

“Maybe if you weren’t boring and came out with me we’d have some fun together!” he snapped back. You sat up and threw your pillow at him.

“Fun doesn’t mean going out and losing contact with your surroundings because you’re so high and drunk! If you wanna carry on going down the destructive path with your brother, then be my guest!”

“Why are you always mouthin’ off my brother too? What’s he ever done to you huh?”

“It’s not what he’s done to me, it’s you! He’s ruining you and us and you can’t even see it!”

“Screw this!” Daryl waved his hands in the air and got up from the bed. “We’re done, I don’t want this no more” he said, leaving your room as your anger bubbled inside of you. You angrily walked over to your bathroom and splashed some water on your face, trying to cool yourself down. You dried your face and looked in the mirror, telling yourself you didn’t need him anyway.

Why do I stay?
I know I should leave
Mascara fallin’ down my cheek
But you pull me in and make me forget
About the broken glass on our skin
We don’t get scared when the sirens come
A little fucked up ‘cause we think it’s fun
We kiss just to make up, we love just to break up
We head for disaster, but live for the danger

You had lost your job and all your friends. Daryl’s love was like a drug, and without it you couldn’t function properly. You turned up to his house, tears running down your face. You knew you shouldn’t be there, like any drug you need rehab, but you didn’t want it, you wanted him. He looked at you while you spoke, apologising for things that weren’t your fault, anything to have him back. Daryl pulled you into his arms and he dried your tears with his hands. You stayed in his arms for a while before you picked your head up and looked at him.

“Wanna do something fun?” you asked, a smirk spreading across your face.

“What you got in mind?” he asked, smiling at your words.

You grabbed his hand and led him out the front door, adrenaline starting to build up inside of you at the thought of being with Daryl.

When the shop alarm went off you and Daryl sprinted to the door, bags filled with alcohol swinging in your hands. You ran just behind him, your adrenaline coursing through your body as you heard the shop keeper shouting down the street. You started laughing as you and Daryl look back, but your heart beat sped up when you heard the police sirens.

“C’mon!” Daryl shouted over his shoulder at you. He made a sharp turn down an alley way and you followed him, nearly skidding to the ground when he made another sharp turn. You don’t know how long you had been running for, but your lungs were on fire and your adrenaline was starting to wear out. Daryl soon came to a halt outside his house, the police sirens sounded far now and he smiled, knowing you two had lost them. He pressed his back against the wall once you were inside and you did the same, both of you laughing while trying to catch your breath back.

“I don’t think I’ve ever felt that rush before” you panted, placing your bag of drinks on the floor.

“Seriously? Damn” Daryl said, picking up your bag as he headed over to the counter.

He started pouring the drinks into cups and you walked over to grab one.

“To a new rush!” he said, raising his glass in the air as you both downed your drinks.

You don’t know how many drinks you’d had. Maybe three or four? No wait, ten? You weren’t thinking straight as you and Daryl sat on the sofa, a roll up in one hand and a drink in the other. You looked over to him and he looked at you. You both starting cracking up, laughing at literally nothing. You sat up and reached over him to grab the roll up in his hand.

“Woah, are you sure you can handle all this?” he asked, pointing to the drink and then the roll up.

“I’m not new to this part you know” you said, grabbing it from his hand and taking a long puff, watching as the fire burnt the paper down.

“Shit” he said, as he watched the smoke escape your lips in a thick cloud.

As soon as all the smoke was gone his lips were on yours, both of you fighting for dominance. When Daryl’s tongue entered your mouth, you lifted your leg and straddled him, running your hands through his hair as his hands roamed under your shirt and over your body.

You moaned at his touch and soon your jeans and panties were off and so were his jeans and boxers. You slowly lowered yourself onto him and he leaned his head back against the sofa, your tight walls feeling amazing around him. You leaned your hands on the back of the sofa while you moved your body up and down, making sure to rock your hips the way he liked it. He soon grabbed your ass in his hands and started biting at your neck, leaving dark bruises as a sign of you being his. The session soon sped up as Daryl took control, snapping his hips upwards into you as he grunted from the pleasure. You leaned down to kiss his neck and you soon reached your highs, the both of you panting as you climbed off of him and leaned back on the sofa. You grabbed the beer from the table and took a swig before closing your eyes and leaning your head on his shoulder.

Like you said before, his love was a drug to you, and you were overdosing on it too often.


Good grief. I can’t imagine how anyone in Texas or Arizona would own a black car. It’s 90° here. The temperature has to be worse in those states though they probably don’t have the humidity we have at latitude 45.

My filthy black Camry has been parked outside all day. When I opened the door the escaping heat took away my breath.

I got in my car to clean it. We took the dogs to the park this morning. They left the with 20 pounds of fine Mississippi River sand in their coats. At home they exited my car with just 10 pounds of embedded sand. My car’s back seat ate the rest.

Sheila bought a cordless vacuum today. I wanted to try it on the car. After a short while I stopped using it because the amount of sand and dog hair was just too much. The little device whined “uncle.” I’ll still have to get out the Shop Vac for the car.

This little vacuum is awesome around the house. It’s wonderful at sucking up dust and small amounts of hair (both the dog kind and the red kind). First world problems indeed but I hate unwinding and winding the long cords on my vacuum cleaners.

Bob! You have more that one vacuum cleaner?

Don’t you? There’s the Shop Vac wet/dry vacuum in the garage. Upstairs there is a vacuum cleaner for the bedrooms. My FIL gave me a vacuum he didn’t use so that one is on the main floor for the wood floors. Then there’s a small vacuum in the basement to clean the dryer’s lint trap. Oh you can laugh but my lint trap is excruciatingly clean and there’s no dust around the dryer.


Live with Regis and hounds: Doo Dah Parade takes over Ocean City

It was hard to tell who the thousands of people lining the streets and boardwalk were waiting to see during the city’s 32nd annual Doo Dah Parade Saturday afternoon: television personality Regis Philbin or the hundreds of basset hounds.

Philbin was honored as the grand marshal of the parade, which celebrates the end of income tax season and also kicks off Ocean City’s season of special events.

But for the past 19 years, the BoardWaddle, the main fundraiser for the Tri-State Basset Hound Rescue, has anchored the parade with its hounds – dressed in multicolored outfits – waddling down Asbury Avenue and eventually the boardwalk.

“Regis is cute,” said Amanda Parylak, of Northeast Philadelphia, as she sat on the boardwalk greeting as many hounds as she could. “But not as cute as these dogs.”

Philbin, who rode in a pink Ford Thunderbird, smiled and waved to people as he passed by.

“With Ocean City’s reputation, he fits right in,” said Amelia McGarvey, of Margate. “I look forward to this parade every season.”

The hounds, nearly 500 strong, were not shy about approaching anyone for a pat on the head or a scratch on the back.

In 2016, the Tri-State Basset Hound Rescue rescued 242 bassets from states including Alabama, Oklahoma, and Mississippi, placing the pups into loving homes across the United States.