Born in Hattiesburg in the dark days of the Ford Administration, Frank graduated from Hattiesburg High in 1993 after exhausting both its educational opportunities and his mother. He earned a degree at Rhodes College in Memphis that we are assured is genuine; in any case, they knew him well enough by his junior year that we no longer had to wait in line at the Rendezvous.
Frank took his law degree from Mississippi College School of Law, and has since been arguing for money (as opposed out of pure spite and contrariness). Frank’s a fan of the Chicago Cubs, the New Orleans Saints, and (like all right-thinking people), the Alabama Crimson Tide. He enjoys peaty single malts, unusual beers, and takes an awful lot of rather good pictures. If you can’t find him, check behind that giant Nikon lens.
HADLEIGH, as luck would have it, overcame similar childhood barriers before breaking out into the world. We are uncertain what sort of additional snarky cleverness to write about her, since we are not her brother (that would be weird), but we can say this: she makes the aforementioned Farmer smile like we haven’t seen in years, and comes to this ready-made family with open arms and an open heart. And we love her for that, already.
It does, however, seem terribly unsporting NOT to deploy at least a little sillines, so WE WILL MAKE SOME THINGS UP.
Hadleigh was raised by a troupe of acrobats, which explains her frequent dramatic defenestrative exits, though we cannot say it necessarily excuses them. She left home early, and spent her formative years with a string of outfits — first with Ringling, then Cirque du Soleil, then that ugly episode with the Family Circus (stupid Dolly!), and finally duPont. After a dispute with the Teflon boys, she left to settle in Paris, intending to work on her already considerable memoirs. Sadly, her true calling lay elsewhere, and she spent the bulk of the early 1980s, unaccountably, apprenticed to a Puritan cobbler in Spain.
The Spanish Shoe Buckle War (1984-87, and criminally absent from all modern curricula) soured her on the trade, and she returned to the US wiser and better shod than ever. (She refuses to divulge her role in the conflict, and it’s probably best not to speculate based on the presence or absence of buckles on her modern shoes.)
From her new home in the Big Apple (not the city; a genetically engineered apple roughly the size of a Winnebago), Hadleigh busily plotted her next move. Should she run for office? Start a company? Invest in pork futures? Agitate for sausage reform? Dazzled by opportunities, she was easy pickins for a certain Dixie lawyer…