Mike Bell addresses attendees of a 2024 Juneteenth celebration at Louida “Big Mamma” Willis Park in Decatur. Bell’s funeral is Saturday. FILE | WCMESSENGER
I know the Luke Combs song “When It Rains, It Pours” is objectively lame. But it was really hitting Wednesday — in multiple senses — as I fired up the word processor in our then internet-less newsroom, while the county was quite literally taking on water.
Weather alerts dinged and our police scanner was blaring out tones. I at least could see which way the wind was blowing thanks to the sideways rain whipping across Trinity Street.
While the internet outage was taking a wrench to our capacity to comfortably meet deadline — and I was fully aware of the mounting chaos outside our building — this moment, as I typed these words, is probably the calmest I’ve felt in the last few weeks.
Maybe I was just disassociating.
There was an officer-involved shooting in the Walmart parking lot that remains unsettlingly vague. That came just days after another fatal shooting. Then there were two fires that involved deaths, and the loss of a rodeo titan. And did you hear about 8 million dimes pinging down U.S. 81/287 on Tuesday? Then, with election day nearing, the Decatur community discovered its next lightning-rod issue: paid parking downtown on a private lot.
So here’s what’s keeping me calm. Taking all of those juicy topics — and ignoring them — to write about a man I’m going to miss: the late, great John Michael “Mike” Bell.
Mike Bell died last weekend. He was 74.
I recognized Mike mostly by his voice on the phone. He routinely called to see if we could include info for Wise County Coalition meetings, Juneteenth celebrations, and Martin Luther King Day observances in Update. There was something reassuring about seeing his name on the caller ID, and I’m glad he never emailed this stuff.
To me, he was a recurring character in the Messenger Cinematic Universe. His role was small, but impactful.
I probably interacted with him a total of eight hours in eight years here. But I’ve always admired him. He faced an uphill battle organizing these events. But he could personally speak to the power of progress.
Mike grew up in the Eastside community, starting his education in segregated schools. When Decatur ISD integrated, he and another late great community pillar, Martin Woodruff, became friends. They shared the story at the coalition’s annual MLK Jr. event every year.
While some events and meetings — buried deep in the Update and our news briefs — didn’t always draw a crowd, I don’t think that ever caused Mike to question whether it was worth standing out in the heat in June to help with the DJ or to set up tablecloths for all the casserole dishes at Louida “Big Mamma” Willis Park, just in case they did.
Mike was a constant. He kept showing up because it mattered — to him, to the community, and to the legacy he carried forward. He didn’t ask for headlines. He just called the newsroom, kindly asking, “help us get the word out” with his unmistakable drawl.
In a week filled with sirens, smoke, headlines, texting and calling to badger officials and the pressure of internet outages, I really wish I could hear his voice one more time — even if it was just to jot down info for a coalition meeting coming up in a few weeks.
I miss it already.
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