Horse

  I loved watching westerns on TV.  Almost all of them involved riding horses.  The actors looked like they knew how to ride.  One secret about actors is that if the director asks you if you can ride a horse, you tell them that you can, even if you have never seen a horse before.  I expect that some of the actors in the westerns had no clue how to ride a horse before getting on one.

 When I was in high school, our church's youth group went to a horse farm outside of Columbia.  I don't think anybody in our group had ever ridden a horse.  The closest I had come was riding a mule down the Grand Canyon, when I was five.  Mules and horses are not the same thing.  Each of us was assigned a horse to ride.  There was a path that the owners said the horses would follow.  They had done this before.  We were given a quick lesson on how to ride a horse.  If you want the horse to slow down, you pulled back on the reins.  If you wanted the horse to go, he hit its sides with your feet.  If you wanted the horse to turn, you pulled the reins in the direction you wanted to go.  It seemed fairly simple.

 I got on my horse and off we went.  At first, everything went according to plan.  My horse sauntered along the path.  Then, it happened.  For some reason, my horse decided to walk a little faster.  He also decided to get off of the path and into some woods.  I was pulling back on the reins, but he didn't seem fazed by what I wanted him to do.  He was trying to knock me off by running under some limbs really fast.  It was getting a little dark, and I was having trouble ducking under the limbs.  He also enjoyed running through bushes.  I didn't share his enjoyment.  

 Eventually, one of the trainers saw my predicament and rode out to get my horse back on the trail.  He accused me of getting off of the trail on purpose.  I'm sure I heard my horse laugh under his breath.  When we got to the end of the trail, I dismounted and gave the horse a dirty look.  My butt was sore.  My legs were sore.  My head was sore.  I haven't ridden a horse since.  Years later, I had a girlfriend who loved horses.  She taught me a lot about them and what to look for in a horse.  If only she had been there the day I rode the horse with no name.

Telegram

  When I was a senior at A. C. Flora High School, I wrote a letter to the editor for our school newspaper questioning if there was such a thing as one's permanent record.  They had used those two words to threaten us from first grade.  Anything that we did wrong would go on our "permanent record".  I wanted to see mine.  My guidance counselor called me into her office and briefly showed me that there was such a thing.  My letter caused a stir at the school.

 When I got to college, I wrote some letters to the editor of our school newspaper concerning issues on campus.  I also wrote one to the local Anderson newspaper regarding water pollution at a park.  At PC, my letter writing got more intense.  In fact, it was like having a weekly column in our school's newspaper.  I caused a lot of trouble with some of my letters, especially with the administration and the football team.  The latter threatened to kill me, because of what I said, and I had to leave campus for a week or so.  Consequently, I failed two classes for missing the mid-term exams.

 As I was leaving to go to seminary, my father told me not to write anymore letters to the editor. I told him I would just concentrate on school and not write any letters.  I broke my promise to him after an incident in the news.  There was a story about a man who was holding some people hostage in his home.  He had a shotgun.  The police had negotiated with the man to let the hostages go.  They told him that he wouldn't be harmed.  He did what they said.  He gave up and came outside to be immediately arrested.  He was manhandled by the police and thrown in jail.  When I heard that story, I was appalled.  The police had broken their word to the man.  They had lied to him to get him to give up.  I had to write a letter.

 I wrote a letter to the Fort Worth Star-Telegram newspaper.  It was primarily about trusting the police.  It was about honesty and fairness.  Those are two things that I have tried to live my life by.  I was disgusted at what had happened to the man.  Today, he would have been treated as mentally ill.  In the 1970's, he was just a criminal.  The newspaper printed my letter.

 A few days later, I got an angry call from my father.  He was mad, because I had written a letter to the editor.  One of his friends in Fort Worth had seen my letter and had told him about it.  Despite the fact that my father was well-known by professors at the seminary, I was naive to think that 1000 miles between my father and me would keep the letter from being discovered by him.  No more letters.  Okay, no more letters, I said.  I kept my word, while I lived in Fort Worth.  Even with all of the persecution I suffered during my last semester at seminary, the only letters I wrote were to my parents.  Probably a good thing. 

Subscriptions

  When I was in 8th grade, my homeroom teacher was Mrs. Brown.  She taught chorus.  I remember that she was short and had very frizzy hair.  Our class competed with other classes on how many magazine subscriptions a student could sell.  The students with the most subscriptions could win prizes.  The class that sold the most won a big prize and the bragging rights that our class was better than the rest.

 Mrs. Brown selected me as the keeper of the records.  I had everyone's name on a tally sheet, and I had to notate the subscriptions sold.  It seemed like an easy task, but I just couldn't get it right.  Kids were screaming at me, saying that I cheated them out of prizes.  Mrs. Brown scolded me for doing a bad job.  I was very embarrassed.  

 During this time, I was getting beat up every day by the boys in our school.  This screw-up by me just made things worse.  Most of the girls in our class stopped speaking to me.  They had been the only support for me, as the boys beat me up.  Now, everyone hated me.  I had been a standout in chorus, but Mrs. Brown didn't seem to like me anymore.  It was a huge scandal.  I tried to rectify the tallies, but the assignment was just too overwhelming.  I realized that I would never grow up to be an accountant.  

 There was one girl who stood up for me, when all of my world was crumbling around me.  Her name was Gayle Anderson.  She recognized that I had talents in other areas besides accounting.  She suggested I go into English and the Arts.  Writing was my escape from all of this trouble.  It still is.

Lenny

  I had a suitemate at Anderson College named Lenny Farmer. His real first name was "Walter", which may be why we became friends originally.  He was a year older than me, but we were in the same Freshman class.  He was into music, as I was, so we would compare songs that we liked.  I played "The Pusher" by Steppenwolf for him.  He liked the message of the song but not the profanity.  He told me he wouldn't listen to it in the car.  He gave me an album by The Mothers of Invention called "Absolutely Free", and I fell in love with it.  I had never heard Frank Zappa before, but I really got into it.

 As I wrote about earlier, Lenny was in the school choir.  He asked me one afternoon if I would help him move a piano onto the stage of the auditorium for chapel the next morning.  When we got there, a play rehearsal was going on.  We sat in the back of the auditorium to wait until they got finished.  A student came up to us and asked if we wanted to be in the play.  Lenny said no, but I said yes.  Even though I had done some acting before I got to college, I was planning to major in English and become the next great writer.  My life changed that day, and I changed my major to Speech and Drama.  

 Lenny and I were nominated for Who's Who in American Junior Colleges our sophomore year.  They took our pictures to be in the college's yearbook.  Everyone knew he and I were best friends, so they positioned the single pictures so that we were next to one another.  By now, Lenny was the president of the choir, and I was "Joe College" in Theatre.  He had an apartment off campus, and I spent a lot of time there.  When we graduated from Anderson, we were both named to the prestigious "Denmark Society", and we stood next to one another for that group picture.

 After graduation, we sort of split up due to our change in venues, but we kept in touch.  As I was planning to be a famous actor, he went into the ministry.  Lenny graduated from Southern Seminary and later Southwestern Seminary, where I went.  As time went on, he was pastoring a church in Saluda, SC.  I was working at Belk in Columbia Mall, and he came by to take me to lunch.  He told me that he wanted to start a television ministry in Saluda, and he wanted me to help him.  I told him that I really wasn't qualified, as I had taken only one course in Radio and Televison at Southwestern.  I did give him some suggestions on people he could contact.  I don't think that ministry ever happened in Saluda.

 He served several churches ending up in Tennessee with his wife and family. He became a die-hard sports fan of the University of Tennessee, and he would rib me about liking the University of South Carolina.  If one team won over the other, we would send each other emails laughing about the game.  He had a great sense of humor.  Lenny was like a brother to me.  He died on June 1st, 2025 of heart problems.  I couldn't believe it, when I heard the news.   He had tried to retire from the ministry, but you can really never retire.  I will miss our laughs.  He loved the Lord and served Him to his last breath.  

 God puts people in our paths all the time.  Some change the course of your life.  Lenny was that person for me.  

Mentors

  What is a mentor?  In my mind, a mentor is someone who is an influence on your life and makes you better in whatever field you are in.  He or she catapults you into a place where you didn't think you could go and helps you along the way to achieve a desired goal.  They are your counselor and your motivator.  They teach you things from their own experiences and using those to get better at something you are trying to accomplish.  I have had several mentors who took the time to show me a new approach to an old concept.  Here are a few:

 John Brusack was the merchandise manager at Belk, when I became a buyer.  He showed me how to be creative in my buying items for our store.  He taught me about time management, because I was feeling overwhelmed by the work.  He taught me about how to supervise my employees in my departments and treat them as human beings.  He taught me how to manage my inventories and to fight for advertising space.  He also taught me how to sway customers toward our products subliminally.  Even though I had been in retail for about ten years before meeting him, and I thought I knew a lot of that, he was the guiding force to make me the best buyer in the store.

 Skelly Warren was my drama director during my senior year at Presbyterian College.  At the time, I didn't care for him very much.  He was filling in for Dr. Rains who was on sabbatical.  Skelly was much more of a disciplinarian which was hard for a bunch of free-spirited drama students.  The one thing I learned from him was concentrating on a role and not being distracted by what was going on around you.  During rehearsals, he would stand next to me and shout random things into my ear to try and make me break my character.  At first, he just would make me laugh at what he was saying.  It was almost like a drill sergeant yelling at me.  As time went on, I saw what he was doing.  He made me a better actor.

 Grady Nutt was a Christian comedian, who you might have seen on "Hee Haw".  I met him, when I was in high school at Ridgecrest Baptist Assembly in North Carolina.  He was there to speak to the youth on prayer.  I had been taught to always bow your head and shut your eyes, when you pray.  He spoke about praying everywhere like in your car or walking down the street.  He said that you didn't have to close your eyes to talk to God.  He really changed my life in the way I looked at prayer and worship.  

 James Dickey was a well-known poet and novelist.  I first met him, when I was in high school.  My senior English teacher was a good friend of his, and she took us to meet him at the University of South Carolina, where he taught.  One of our mutual friends was a high school classmate of mine named David Havird.  He had seen some of my poetry and told me not to "force my rhymes".  Jim taught me to write poetry with imagery and word pictures.  He changed my outlook on my writing.  I would still rhyme, if I was writing a song, but it would make sense to do so.  My mother was a poet and writer, so it was in my blood. Jim encouraged me to write what I felt and tell a story along the way.

 There have been other mentors in my life like Catherine Eaker, Burt Lancaster, J. D. Grey, Phil Barrett, Tom Bolton, Everett Vivian, Paula Brooks, Paul Talmadge, Baxter Wynn, Nezza Howard, and others who have played a part in where I am now.  The two lessons I have learned from all of my mentors are:

 1.  You can't do things by yourself.  You need help.

 2.  You don't know everything.  Others know more than you. 

Health

   My mother recorded some health issues I had growing up in my Baby Book.  It ended with the 4th grade.  Here is what she wrote:

 Walter is allergic.  Had rash until special sugar was put in formula.  Has always had rash from eating chocolate.  Has had asthma attacks.  Is allergic to cold, damp air.

 Walter is high-strung.  Is afraid of something.  Bites fingernails, and in the fourth grade grew afraid to sleep in the dark.  Had not been so before, to our knowledge.

 Had is tonsils removed when he was just a baby--about 2.

 Had hernia operation about 3--Dr. R. M. Willoughby in New Orleans.

 Had severe case of measles with much hard coughing just before hernia was found.

 Had chicken pox.  Still has scars.

 Had Pneumonia--age 8--was in hospital.  Dr. says he is allergic to penicillin and must not have it anymore--it broke him out in a rash all over his body.  Had high fever.

 Neighbor boy stepped on his right thumb and broke it.  Dr. David Holler fixed it.  Slipped out of place.  Hospital again.  Surgery.  This time it stayed and healed.

 Had hair-line break in bone of elbow--left arm, at age 8.  Abscess developed.  Had to be lanced by doctor in Lynchburg, VA, as we were at Eagle Eyrie, Baptist encampment. (it was actually my right elbow)

 Is nearsighted.  Had to put on glasses in the 4th grade, age 9.  Could not see the board.

 Will need his teeth straightened.

 Tires easily--needs sleep--and has a poor appetite.  

Sayings (part two)

  As I wrote earlier, my mother kept a baby book for me.  In it, there are some pictures of me from day one, as well as letters, articles, and memorabilia.  One of the things she kept was a group of funny or inspired words I said from early on.  Here is another group:

 Just after I started talking, my mother took me to Heflin, Alabama to visit my grandparents.  En route, I looked at my mother's wrist and said sadly, "Daddy--tick-tock; Mommy--tick-tock; Johnny--tick-tock; Baby--no tick-tock!"  My mother bought a 10-cent watch in Heflin for me.

 On my 6th birthday, I went to Sunday School in Columbia, where my birthday was recognized with singing and a prayer for me by a teacher.  I came out of Sunday School angry and burst out:  "Mother, that teacher prayed I'd grow up to be a good Christian! She ought to know we're not Christians--we're Baptists!"

 Shortly after my hernia surgery and post-operative check-up, my father and I were at the New Orleans airport.  While we were waiting there, an announcement boomed out on the loudspeakers:  "Come to Flight Deck to check operations!"  I looked at my father, dismayed, and said, "But, Dr. Willoughby just checked my operation!"

 My Aunt Frankie died the same year as my grandfather.  I said, "Isn't it nice that Granddaddy can take care of Aunt Frankie now that they are together again?"  I was 6.