Cracking

  When I was in 6th grade, it was a big deal.  Not just for me, but for all of the boys in our class.  We had arrived at a point, where we at the end of elementary school before going on to junior high.  I have already discussed the honor of being a school patrol officer in the story "The Fight", but needless to say we were macho.

 We didn't even know what "macho" meant, but we knew we were big guys on campus.  We demanded respect from the younger kids, and we got it.  If not, they were reported to the administration.  Nobody wanted to go to the principal's office.  We had the power.  One of the boys in our class discovered knuckle cracking.  It was a macho thing.  In order to pass the test, you had to crack your knuckles.  We had heard rumors from older kids that cracking your knuckles would make them bigger.  Even though our parents may not want us to have bigger knuckles, we thought that we could be better patrolmen with bigger knuckles.  The younger kids would fear us, because we had bigger knuckles.

 And so, the knuckle cracking began in earnest.  We first started learning how to maximize the cracking of our knuckles at recess.  One guy had perfected the art of cracking, and we all learned how to do it the loudest.  If you cracked your finger joints, they just made small noises.  The knuckles were the loudest.  We moved on to doing it in the classroom.  

 The girls were grossed out by the boys cracking their knuckles.  They were too lady-like to do such a thing.  One or two girls tried to crack a knuckle, but the other girls shunned them, so they stopped.  It was a boy thing.  On one occasion, the boys were cracking during class.  The girls had complained to the teacher that it was gross.  Our teacher had just about enough of the chorus of knuckle cracking, so she stopped her teaching and said in a mad voice that the next boy to crack his knuckles would have to stay after school.  I was a patrol officer.  I was macho.  I cracked my knuckle.  The teacher asked who did it.  All of the kids pointed at me.  I tried to tell the teacher that it was an accident.  I had to stay after school.

 I still crack my knuckles, although not as many as I could at the height of my ability.  I once counted up to 30 separate joints to crack.  Fingers, wrists, toes, ankles, knees, back, jaw.  They were all subject to cracking at one point or another.  My knuckles never grew bigger, although some arthritis has set into some of the areas.  It isn't so much being macho anymore.  It is kind of a stress reliever.  The Village People said it best, "Macho Macho Man.  I've got to be a Macho Man."  I was.

Ski

  I might have shared this fact about me before, but I can't water ski.  It isn't that I don't know how so much, as it is that I can't.  There are a lot of reasons why I can't water ski.  First and foremost:  I can't swim.  My father tried to teach me how to swim early on.  He would be in a motel pool and get me to jump in.  He said he would catch me.  When I did, he would move away and expect me to save myself from drowning.  I almost drowned a lot.  It got to the point that I didn't trust him, so I gave up.  Later on, I took swimming lessons.  That didn't work either.  Instead, I almost drowned.  So, I gave up.  Another reason I never learned to water ski was that I was afraid that the jerk from the boat would dislocate my shoulders.  It might not have, but I had that worry.  My brother was a great water skier.  He could do tricks on skis.  One of his tricks was skiing while having his swim trunks go down to his ankles.  He said the others laughed and cheered.  He didn't know why until he let go of the rope.  That could have been me.

 However, there is a kind of skiing that I figured I could do.  Snow skiing.  I was in high school, and the youth from Kilbourne Park Baptist Church went on a trip to the Appalachian Ski Resort in North Carolina.  We were on a bus and went through a small country town on the way.  We waved at the folks on the street by saying, "Hi, Grits".  They waved back, because they couldn't hear what we were saying.  We laughed a lot at their expense.  

 When we got to the resort, there was snow on the ground and a lot of ice.  After we got our boots and skis, we headed over to the beginner's slope.  It was kind of small with a rope to carry you up to the top.  I was glad I had on gloves, because the rope was moving upward and would have given me blisters otherwise.  They told us how to slow down and stop by pointing the skis inward.  I couldn't do that, so I just fell down to stop.  I fell down a lot.  Then, I would get to the rope and go back up the hill.  The rope took off all the leather on my gloves by constant scraping.  Not fun.

 There were two other slopes at this resort.  The intermediate and the experienced.  You had to take a chairlift up to those.  Since I had managed to "ski" down the beginner's slope, it was onto more adventure.  The intermediate slope.  It was hard to time getting onto the chairlift.  It was moving at a pace which was a bit faster than normal.  Eventually, I found that jumping onto the seat would work.  Not the safest way, but I held on.  I looked down from the top of the slope and saw obstacles that I knew I couldn't ski around.  I saw people skiing from side to side, but my goal was to get down the slope without breaking a bone.  The quickest way was a straight line, so I proceeded to ski down the mountain and almost running into people along the way.  I sat down to stop and slid on my butt to the bottom of the slope.  With one run, I had "mastered" the intermediate slope.  A friend dared me to go to the slope for experienced skiers.  It was straight down with no obstacles.  Mostly ice.  I could see my life pass before my eyes, so I declined.  It was probably a wise move.  I might have been young and stupid, but I had to draw the line somewhere.

 I went inside to dry off next to the fireplace.  Another wise decision.  We got back on the bus and headed home.  We said goodbye to the "grits" on the town's sidewalk.  They waved back.  That was my foray into skiing.  I haven't done it since then, but at least I didn't drown.

Samson

  Back in high school, I did a lot of writing.  It was an escape from all of the things I was dealing with in life.  I wrote poetry, short stories and plays.  I even tried to write a novel, but I never got past the second chapter.  The novel was called "Carson Falls", and it was about an idyllic town in West Virginia that didn't know what happened on the other side of the mountain.  One day, the village idiot walked up to the top of the mountain and looked down to the other side.  He found that the world had been destroyed by a nuclear holocaust.  When he came down to the village and told the people what he saw, they didn't believe him.  It would have made a good book.

 Most of the poetry I wrote was about my awful life.  Very few friends.  Being suicidal.  Extremely dark stuff.  Some were songs that were recorded later on.  One in particular was a song called "Albert Frankenstein".  I was about me with horrible acne.  I showed it to my father, and he asked if I had written it about me.  Of course, I lied.  I did a lot of lying to my parents.  I think they knew the truth.  

 The fun stuff in my repertoire were the plays.  My best friend in high school was a guy named Richard.  He and I would save our lunch money and spend the time in the Flora library writing or playing chess in the New York Times.  He would take the news magazines and write funny captions to the pictures.  I would write one-act plays.  One series was called "Uncle Don".  He was the host of a children's TV show.  He was also a little crazy.  He would have guests on his show that were either Communists or activists.  Uncle Don was arrested and put into prison, but he still did a show from there using other inmates as guests.  When I joined Kilbourne Park Baptist Church, there was a family named Wise who sort of adopted me into their family.  I spent a lot of time with them.  Mr. Wise was an attorney in Columbia, and his whole name was A. Birge Wise.  I wrote a short play about him called "Birge for the Defense".  The hook for the play was the line:  "What's a Birge?"  We sat around the breakfast table and read the play.  Everyone liked it, except Mr. Wise thought I was making fun of him.  Maybe I was.  I just loved that family.  I also wrote a very bizarre play called "The End of the Moon".  Somebody at school had written a play called "The Beginning of the Sun", so I took that one and made everything the opposite of the other one.  It was kind of science fiction about the moon crashing into the Earth and killing everyone.

 One of my favorites was a series of short stories called "Captain Soul".  He was a superhero crime-fighter who wasn't very successful.  He was more interested in being cool.  He had a sidekick named Samson who was a six-foot chicken.  Samson couldn't speak, but all criminals would faint seeing this chicken.  Then, Captain Soul would come in and take credit for capturing the bad people.  As long as he would feed Samson, the relationship was good.  And no, I was not on drugs while writing it.  Although, it probably would be better for the readers if they were on drugs.

Rituals

  I am a very shy person.  For those who know me, that statement doesn't come as a surprise.  As far as I can remember, I have always been shy.  It may be one reason why I have never married.  I am afraid of relationships getting serious.  I have learned to put on a front around people I don't know.  And if I seem aloof to a person, it isn't that I am.  It is because I'm shy.  I am more comfortable being around myself than to be around others.  

 So, when the drama bug bit me in 1971, I was shocked just like everyone else.  I found that I could be someone else on a stage and be pretty good at it.  If I was on that stage as me, it was a whole different ballgame.  I had started public speaking in high school.  I learned how to speak before an audience.  The words came out of my mouth, but I tried to not make eye contact with the audience.  I didn't want to see them seeing me.  By being an actor, I had to maneuver around that fear.  I also came to find out that many other actors shared my fear.  The fear manifested itself in different ways.  It was the fear of messing up.  I found that to be true in the 4th grade, when I messed up my lines in a Christmas play at school.  Or, when I messed up my lines in a Christmas play at church in 1970.  It was also the fear of the audience not liking my performance.  It was also the fear of being on a stage, and people looking at me.  

 In 1972, I was given the male lead of a play at the last minute.  The other actor had left school just a few days before opening night.  I knew the lines, but I also knew that the play depended on me doing a good job.  It was the first time I had gotten a lead in a play. I cut my classes and crammed for it.  On opening night, I was sitting backstage in terror.  The other actors were supportive, but I had to perform.  I found a dark corner and prayed.  I asked God, "Please let me do a good job.  Please take away my fears.  Give me clarity of mind and may someone in the audience like what I do."  I felt a calmness come over me.  I went out on stage and did what I had to do.  I didn't get a particularly good review from the theatre critic of the local newspaper, but the next night was better.

 After that, I prayed the same prayer before every performance I did.  Before every play.  Before every time I had to do public speaking as me.  Before every movie or TV role.  My acting and public speaking talents are God-given to me.  He knows how I can use my life experiences to be a better actor or public speaker.  Prayer works.

 Even though I pray before going out on stage, there is the human side of doubt and that brings me to stage fright.  I have always been afraid of going out there.  For example, I don't like to eat a full meal before going on stage, because I get sick to my stomach with fear.  I am a nervous wreck.  So, there are rituals I do before making an entrance.  These rituals have evolved over time, and I have added some along the way.  I use the same makeup towel.  It may or may not have ever been washed.  Let me just say that it can stand up on its own.  I do exercises before going on stage.  I do vocal exercises, where I make noises that make no sense.  I also recite the alphabet forwards and backwards.  I do physical exercises by tensing and relaxing muscles.  I try and get the stress out of my body by moving around my legs, fingers and shoulders.  To get energy going, I jump up and down.  A woman at a church thought I was being charismatic, but the director assured her that I was just warming up.  Then, I get in a place away from everyone else and run through the first couple of lines to myself and say my prayer.  When I go out on stage, all of that fear is channeled into energy.  My talents kick in.  After the play is over, I go backstage to take off my makeup.  I use the same remover--Merle Norman cold cream.  It is part of my ritual.  

 I will get praise from my acting work.  People will tell me how great I was.  If they saw me backstage before that performance, they would see this guy who is a mess.  My mother used to tell me how shocked she was to see me on stage that first time.  Who was this shy person?  I ask the same question.  I am an actor.  I know how to be an actor.  I know all of the mechanics on what to do on stage.  I am not me.  If one sees me out in public, I may be acting still.  That's what I do.

Redeemed

  I grew up in a Christian home.  Thanks to my father's job, I met a lot of giants of the faith, and they knew me by my first name.  I can't remember a time growing up that I didn't go to church.  I accepted Christ as my savior in 1964.  I was baptized by my father.  The concept of "Once Saved, Always Saved" was the key to my life going forward.  

 During my junior high school days, I was bullied a lot by my fellow students.  Every day.  Mostly physical abuse but also mental.  I was told I was a loser.  I got picked last for all recess events.  Even up to the 1980's, I was picked last for sports.  In the late 1960's, despite having psychiatric counseling, I sank into deep depression.  By 1969, I had tried to kill myself six times.  In 1970, my parents and I joined another church.  I met some kids who changed my life.  They taught me love and acceptance.  Two things that I had not gotten from my peers at school.  I started coming out of my shell and began smiling again.  I also took Drama classes at Columbia College and discovered I might have a talent in acting.  After all, I pretended a lot to escape the horrors of bullying, so acting was an extension of that.  I could be someone else.

 I went on to college.  I found that I could excel in Speech and Drama.  During my sophomore year at Anderson College, I got several awards and people applauded.  Two more things I hadn't gotten before.  I found that applause was a drug.  I craved applause, and I got it.  Unfortunately, I also craved other stuff too.  The big five:  Smoking, Alcohol, Drugs, Pornography and Cussing like a Sailor.  I discovered smoking, when I was 14.  Pornography:  when I was 8.  Drugs: when I was 18.  Alcohol: when I was 20. Cussing: when I was 16.   I led a lot of secret lives, but according to my faith, I was saved.  

 The college trip to Europe was eye-opening.  I saw many things like poverty and danger.  I also understood what it was like to be needed by others.  I then transferred to PC and majored in Drama.  I also got involved in activism and student government.  The applause continued.  I took a year off after college to save for graduate school at a seminary that my parents had attended.  My goal was to teach Theatre in a Christian college somewhere.  Despite some at the seminary trying to get me kicked out for not being conservative enough, I graduated as the first student ever to major in Christian Drama/Communications.  I was one of four Christian dramatists in the country at that time.  I got offers from several schools to teach, but they all wanted me to sign a paper agreeing with ten principles.  I couldn't do it, and those doors started to close.  I stayed in Fort Worth an extra year, because I was in love.  That door closed, too.  I was also drinking heavily during this time, consuming a six pack of beer and a quart of vodka a day.

 I moved back to Columbia and stayed with my parents to become their caregiver while working in jobs.  I had worked in retail in Ft. Worth and Columbia previously, but I found that I had success in retail.  Everything I touched was a success.  Awards started coming again.  I also developed some Bible-character monologues, which I presented in churches and camps.  I wrote a series of puppet shows that we took on mission trips to Philadelphia and Tennessee.  I stopped smoking and drinking in 1984.  I had a short relapse in 1999 but then stopped for good.  I stopped doing drugs in 1981, although I got high at a concert in 1997 and saw a UFO in the sky.  I then stopped for good.  The other two things continued.

 I was also acting in movies and TV.  I worked with a lot of great people like Burt Lancaster, Kris Kristofferson, Gary Oldman, and Dennis Hopper.  I met a lot of famous people like Charlton Heston, George Clooney, Jack Palance, Halle Berry, Susan Clark and many more.  I met musicians like Roger McGuinn, BB King, Micky Dolenz, Gary Lewis, Jim Sonefeld and more.  I wrote songs for a band called The Cobbwebs, and we had some success in Europe.  

 My retail life was coming to an end.  Despite my successes and awards, I hadn't gotten a raise in four years.  A friend invited me to move to Greenville, and I jumped at the chance.  I didn't have a job, but I could start a new life.  That ended a year later.  I moved back to Columbia with some money but no job.  I stayed in motels for six months, until that money ran out.  I became severely depressed again and tried to kill myself by hanging.  As I was about to pass out, I heard an audible voice tell me:  "Stop!  I have more for you to do."  That was followed in my head by the hymn "I Surrender All".  "All to Jesus, I surrender.  All to him I freely give."  I began to loosen the sheet from my neck and started crying.  At that moment, the other two vices didn't seem important anymore.  

 The next day, I became officially homeless.  I went to see someone at church but just cried throughout the meeting.  I no longer had a car (it blew up).  I didn't have a job.  I slept in a shelter and then on the street.  Every night, before I tried to sleep, I prayed to God to deliver me out of this hell.  He told me to affirm Proverbs 3:5-6.  "Trust in the Lord with all your heart and lean not unto your own understanding.  In all your ways, acknowledge Him, and He will direct your paths."  Those became my life verses.  One day, I was rescued off of the street by some very kind people.  I started getting help for my physical and mental needs.

 In 2012, another group took over my recovery with some in depth mental treatment.  God showed me what I was to do next by being an advocate for bus riders in the Columbia area.  He stood by me, while we got a lot of things accomplished for the good of the riders.  He held my hand, when I needed Him.  I learned about unconditional love.  No matter what I had done in the past, that was gone.  I could be a force for good.  I was redeemed by the grace of God.  In 2009, I lost everything.  In 2009, I gained everything.  I was just going through the motions.  Now, I am a new creation.  I used to have an ego as big as all outdoors.  Now, none of that matters.  I can look back on my laurels with a smile.  I can look forward knowing what does matter.  God spared my life on many occasions.  I was just too stupid to see it, until now.  "Jesus loves me.  This I know.  'Cause the Bible tells me so."  I sang those words, when I was a child.  I understand them now.  Redeemed.  It is an amazing feeling.  

 

Museums

  In 2020, my church was planning a trip to Washington, D.C. as part of our Seniors travel.  We had taken a trip to see the Ark in Kentucky a few years before, so this would be the next big trip for us.  I really wanted to go, because I had not toured Washington since 1964, even though I had been there other times but just not to tour.  The trip was called off, when the pandemic hit.

 Two years later, it was announced that we were going to try again.  One thing that I was dreading was taking a tour bus.  It wasn't because of the comfort of the bus, but rather it was going to be a long ride.  Having been on trips with these folks before, I knew we would have to stop several times along the way to go to the restroom.  That was the nature of going with seniors.  Rest Stops!  So, I decided to get prepared.  I started recording a bunch of music onto an MP3 player.  I got some stuff off of the internet as well as my vast cd collection.  Everything from Jazz to Disco to Rock to Soundtracks to Folk.  Bob Dylan, Steppenwolf, Village People, Chicago, Kiss, James Bond, The Beatles, Woodstock, Prince, The Who, The Bee Gees, Led Zeppelin, The Rolling Stones, Pink Floyd and so much more.  It took me several months to get it together.  I also got some cheap noise-cancelling headphones for the trip.  I was ready.

 When we got the itinerary, it showed that we would leave the church at 6am on Thursday, but we had to be at the church at 5:30 to load up.  Much too early for me.  I started training my body a week ahead of time to wake up at 4am.  I also knew I would have to call an Uber to get me there, since the buses didn't run that early.  Back in 2020, I had bought a couple of pieces of Luggage that were from the Presidential days.  I got a hanging bag that had the seal of the National Security Council from the George W. Bush administration and a computer bag with the seal of Air Force One from the Bill Clinton administration.  They were originals.  I thought it would be cool to impress the hotel workers.  When I boarded the tour bus, I went toward the back to sit and found that the bus was equipped with a restroom.  The only stop we were going to make along the way would be for lunch.

 As the bus pulled away, the first thing on my player was the soundtrack to "A Star Is Born" from the 70's.  It was great!  We went through Richmond on the way.  I was there last in 2008 for a family reunion and saw some familiar places from the highway.  We stopped for lunch about an hour outside of Washington.  We had a little over 40 people on our trip, so we had to go to a few different restaurants to be able to get back to the bus within an hour.  Easy Peasy!  

 We got to downtown Washington around 3pm and headed toward the Smithsonian.  A couple of us wanted to go to the Washington Monument, but we were told that there were no more timed tickets.  The Smithsonian was cool.  American History in a nutshell.  I was looking forward to seeing the Entertainment section with memorabilia from TV and the movies.  That part was closed for renovations, which made me very disappointed.  After a couple of hours there, we boarded the bus and went for supper at a sports bar near the Potomac.  Breakfast and Dinner were included in the trip, so they knew we were coming.  The food was good.  We then headed to the hotel to check in.  It was located in Arlington near the Pentagon and Reagan Airport.  

 The next morning, I went down to breakfast and found about 200 middle school and high school students in line for breakfast.  The middle schoolers were from Indiana and the high schoolers from Chicago.  I talked to one of the chaperones, and they told me they had flown in the night before.  I hoped it was a charter plane and not commercial.  Imagine working on a plane with that many kids.  I asked the chaperone where they were going.  She told me the Spy Museum and Arlington National Cemetery.  I asked if I could go with them, but she said no.  

 Our first stop was the Bible Museum.  My hip was hurting from all the walking the day before, but I trudged on.  This museum was beautiful.  There were frescoes on the walls and ceilings made of Tiffany glass.  The exhibits were too many to take in with the time we had, but we saw a lot of old Bibles and some multimedia presentations.  It came time for lunch.  They had a restaurant in the museum.  One thing I realized was that the air was warm inside the museum, even though it wasn't cold outside.  I started getting faint while waiting in line to get my food order in.  I needed to get to a restroom to put cold water on my face.  I got out of line and looked for a chair to sit down.  I then stood back up to look for a way to the restroom.  I realized I couldn't make it, and I fell.  Thankfully, our tour director saw I was having trouble, and he caught me as I was going down.  I hit my elbow on the floor but not my head.  A woman came over and put her purse under my head, and they called for help from the museum staff.  They asked me if I had hit my head, and I said no.  After getting back up in a chair, they brought me some ice and water.  The tour director took me to the restroom, and I started to feel better.  I had some french fries and felt I could continue.  

 Most of us left the Bible Museum, although a few people in our tour stayed.  Some of the folks wanted to go to the Holocaust Museum.  That sounded too depressing to me, so I went with others back to the Smithsonian.  The tour director wanted to stay with me to make sure I was okay.  He was nice, but I had other plans.  A friend's husband was a record collector, and they were going to a used record store near the Capitol.  I asked if I could go too.  They had gone on to the Natural History Museum, and I was to meet them there.  I asked several locals where it was, and each person said it was next door or across the street.  I finally found it, and I hooked up with my friends.  We were going to ride the Metro over there, and I had to be reeducated how to get a Metro Card.  

 When we got to the address, we didn't see the record store.  I went into a bank and asked someone, but she didn't know.  We found a bookstore.  I asked the workers where the record store was.  They didn't know either.  It turned out that the store had closed during the pandemic and had been replaced by a gaming store.  We then found that the Metro train didn't go back to the Smithsonian stop, where we were to meet our tour bus to go to dinner.  We took it as far as we could and began to walk.  My hip was killing me, but I had to keep going.  We walked through a downtown mall and found ourselves in an unknown place.  We were never going to make it back in time, so I told my friend that we should get an Uber.  She had never done that before, so I walked her through it.  The Uber came, and we hopped in to get to the restaurant.  

 It was after 5pm on a Friday in downtown Washington.  Traffic was very heavy, but our Uber driver must had one time driven in NASCAR.  He flew through the city streets, and we got to the restaurant before the tour bus did.  It was beautiful Italian restaurant with autographed pictures of patrons on the walls.  I saw a Frank Sinatra signed picture that would have looked great in my apartment, but it probably had an alarm on it.  I chowed down on the food, since I hadn't had much to eat all day.  

 We left the restaurant and did a tour of the monuments by night.  We went to the World War II Memorial; the Lincoln Memorial (where I stood on the spot where Dr. King had given his "I Have a Dream" speech; the Vietnam Wall (which was very emotional for me, because I had been in the Anti-War Movement back then); and the Korean War Memorial.  I was glad that a friend suggested I bring a winter coat for this portion of the tour.  I needed it.  We then drove by the White House from two blocks away.  It was as close as we could see it.  We also saw a small motorcade drive fast past us.  It was probably the White House Chief of Staff.  I was exhausted, when we got back to the hotel.  It was overall a good day.

 We left the hotel Saturday morning at 8:30 to head back to Columbia.  We had all thought we really needed one more day of touring up there, but we were glad we went.  I listened to music all the way back.  We stopped twice.  Once for gas and the other for lunch.  We got back around 5pm.  I took an Uber home.  It was an amazing trip, even though I did have that health problem.  One thing that was a takeaway from the trip was that buildings don't believe in air conditioning.  If they had, it could have been better for me.  When are we going back?  I still have a lot of music I haven't listened to.

  

Soni

  Way back in another life, I did a program for 8th grade History students called "The Charleston Tea Party".  It was produced by ETV's instructional service.  I played the evil Mr. Lindsay who bought tea before the Revolutionary War and brought it into Charleston.  I, along with two other evil men, had to dump the tea into the harbor.  It was based on an actual event in South Carolina's history.  One of the actors in our merry band of evilness was a guy named Mark Shelley.  He went on to work for Lexington County Hospital and directed all of those award-winning commercials for them.  

 Mark has directed other projects including music videos.  He put out a call for folks to participate in a Christmas music video being done by Jim "Soni" Sonefeld which was being shot at the Town Theatre in downtown Columbia.  I told him that I would do it.  After all, I wanted to work with Mark again.  It had been over 40 years since our being evil.  I also wanted to work with Jim.  He had written a book about his journey from alcohol and drugs to being a Christian and wanting to help others.  

 Back in that other life, there was a friendly rivalry amongst bands in the 90's around Columbia.  The rivalry got to jealousy, when Hootie and the Blowfish hit it big.  Jim was their drummer, and he wrote "Hold My Hand".  As we, The Cobbwebs, were sending our music out to record companies to listen to, we were hoping that somebody would release a song that either had the same lyrics or tunes as ours.  Then, we could sue the pants off of them, since everything was copyrighted. The trick was that a song had to have eight measures the same in order to sue.  A song by the Blowfish came out that was seven measures the same as one of our songs, but there was nothing we could do.

 The music video was being shot on a Sunday.  We had to wear colors that looked like Christmas.  I had a red cardigan sweater that my father gave me back in the 70's that I might have worn once.  I was surprised that it would still fit me.  My job in the video was to decorate a tree with a woman.  There were other people there doing Christmas things like preparing ornaments and passing out cookies.  We did take after take.  After three hours, it was done.  

 I had only been to the Town Theatre once before.  Back in the 4th grade, my best friend was a boy named Tom Phillips.  His mother was in a play there, and we were backstage or outside in the parking lot.  Our love was "The Man from U.N.C.L.E.", so we pretended to be Napoleon and Illya while waiting for his mother to be done.  I have to say that I have an aversion to community theatre.  I know that good work can come from that, but it is not for me.  Why?  Because so often you get a cast together, and some "actors" want to use it to show their friends how good they are.  Usually, they aren't.  I care too much about the Theatre, and I don't want to ever be someone who says "Look what I can do".  Theatre shouldn't be a status thing.  

 While I was working under the hot lights, I started sweating a lot.  I had to take a break and get hydrated again.  During the break, I talked to Jim and told him about our similar journeys with alcohol and drugs, and how we both were better on the other side of that.  I also said that we had a mutual friend.  When he asked who, and I told him, he asked how I knew that guy.  I said he was the brother of the former lead singer of The Cobbwebs.  Jim sort of chuckled.  He knew us.  It was from those days long ago in another life.  

 I saw the finished product a couple of weeks later.  It is called "It's Love".  It looked like I was in it twice:  once a bit out of focus decorating the tree and once setting a poinsettia down on the stage.  I didn't get paid for the video.  Nobody did.  It was a volunteer project.  I did get to talk with a humble guy who has made boatloads of money, and he is very grateful that he is still around.  He and I both. 

Chicago

  I love music.  I always have.  My mother used to play music, as we ate dinner.  Her favorite music to play were Broadway showtunes like Camelot, South Pacific, My Fair Lady, and The King and I.  When The Beatles played on The Ed Sullivan Show, it was my mother who told me to watch it that night.  I was hooked.  I came to love other singers including The Rolling Stones, The Monkees, Peter Frampton, Bob Dylan, The Who, Prince, Willie Nelson, Madonna, The Carpenters, Suzi Quatro, The Carter Family, The Cobbwebs, The Allman Brothers Band, Wet Willie, Goose Creek Symphony, Elton John, Canned Heat, James Taylor, and many more.  One band that stood out during the early 70's to me was Chicago.

 Back in 1970, when I was going through some tough times and wanted to end it all, a group of young people at Kilbourne Park Baptist Church accepted me for who I was.  We would listen to records.  One band in particular was Chicago and their second album.  It is a classic.  Every song on that album speaks to me in one way or another.  I bought every album that Chicago put out up until Terry Kath's death.  He was their lead singer.  Their music was the best during the 1970's.  Even when I got into disco, I would come back to Chicago.  They worked on the soundtrack for one of my favorite films from that period called "Electra Glide in Blue".  Listen to Terry Kath sing the song "Tell Me" from that film.  It will change your life.  It did me.

 I have seen Chicago twice in concert.  Each time was wonderful.  I knew all of the songs and sang right along with them.  So, when I saw in 2022 that they were going to do a live zoom chat with their fans to promote their new album, I just had to participate.  They were going to answer questions from people on the call.  I wanted to tell them what an influence their music had been on my life, but I thought they probably get that all the time.  The three original members on the call was Robert Lamm, Jimmy Pankow and Lee Loughnane.  They are the only three still participating in Chicago.  Most of the comments were how great they are.  I wanted to ask a more musical question, so I asked them about their band coming out after Blood, Sweat & Tears.  Both had horn sections.  Was there competition between the two bands?  The moderator asked my question to these superstars.  They answered it in a long discussion about the two bands managed by the same person and record label.  It was a fascinating discussion on the business of music.  My question was the only one the moderator asked of the three.  There were hundreds of fans on the zoom call.  They answered MY question!!  These same people who contributed to me turning my life toward a positive outlook.  They answered ONLY MY QUESTION!!!  The rest of the hour was spent talking about their new songs.  One thing I have learned in talking to musicians over the years:  don't tell them how great they are, but rather ask them about their craft.  They are much more willing to talk about that.  Now, I have given away my secret.  You want to know another secret on how to talk to celebrities?  I will keep that one to myself.

50+1

  Back in 2020, some plans started to come to life for our 50th high school reunion that was to be held in 2021.  I am not really enthusiastic about reunions.  I am not a big fan of family reunions, because I feel like I have to impress my relatives.  The same holds true with high school and college reunions.  One thing that really scares me is not remembering people, because I don't want to be embarrassed.

 I went to the 30th high school reunion on a dare.  It was okay.  The 50th seemed different.  I was thinking about going, because I may never see these people again (except for Facebook), and many of them I had known since kindergarten. During the plans, they sent out a form as to what liquor you wanted there.  I took offense at the question.  I knew many of my friends drank, but I didn't.  I have an alcohol problem.  I didn't want that temptation.  Some other people questioned the timing of the reunion because of Covid.  So, the 50th reunion of the AC Flora class of 1971 was postponed.

 The planners were insistent on having it at some point, so it was decided that we would have it in the Fall of 2022.  It would be called the 50+1 reunion.  It would be at the Forest Lake Country Club in Forest Acres and the cost would be $75 per person.  I thought that the price was a little too much for me, and I was having second thoughts about going.  Out of the blue, a friend from those days contacted me and said he would pay for me to go.  He wasn't going to be able to go, because he lived far away, but he wanted me to go as a birthday present to me from him.  Gratefulness doesn't begin to describe how I felt about this huge gesture.

 They said that there wouldn't be any substantial food and suggested we eat before we went.  I looked at restaurants nearby, but most were too expensive.  One looked good, but they said their dining room wasn't open.  You would have to eat outside, so I ate downtown before taking the bus out there.  When I got to that restaurant, I found that the dining room was open.  Thanks for nothing.  I also looked on a map to see how far the country club was from the nearest bus stop.  It didn't seem too far.  It was.  On my walk there, many Lexus cars passed me.  It was hot, and I was sweating a lot.  By the time I got to the club, I was very wet.  I went into a restroom at the club to dry off.  They had the best paper napkins I had ever seen.  Very plush.  I stole five of them.

 We had over 500 people in our graduating class.  A little over 100 of them have died or moved very far away.  They said we had around 250 show up.  There was an area of drinking in the ballroom, and they had tables for those of us who would rather not mingle.  I hooked up with my old friend Tommy and his wife along with another friend named Dixie and her husband.  We had a table.  As it turned out, they did have food at the event. Chicken wings and hors d'oveurs.  I had several people who came up to me to say they were glad I was there.  One of my oldest friends there named Hank told his wife about how we were related.  I had never put that together before, even though I had known him since we were 5.  

 I had planned to leave the reunion after they took our group picture, but I was enjoying it too much.  One of my classmates had said she wanted to talk with me.  She pulled me aside and told me how proud she was of me being sober.  She told me about her experiences in getting sober.  I was touched.  Another classmate told me how glad she was that I had come.  I told her that I felt some classmates might be surprised that I was still alive.  She sort of stepped back from me and then hugged me.  My life has not been a bed of roses, and I think some were surprised I was there.  

 Tommy said he would take me home, as my plan was to get an Uber.  One wish that I had about the evening was that each person would have thirty seconds to a minute to get in front of the group and tell what they did or had done in their lives.  We have some people who are well-known in the community, but others are not.  It would have been nice for folks to brag about themselves.  Maybe at the next reunion.  I think they are planning a 55th in 2026.  Hopefully, most of us will still be around.  And, maybe I'll go to that one.  I'm kind of looking forward to my college reunion next. I'll have to rent a car.

Glaucoma

  About two years after my eye surgery that gave me back my vision, I was seeing things kind of blurry out of one eye.  I went back to the doctor, and they found some fluid was building up in that eye.  They recommended laser surgery to take care of it.  The doctor who had performed the original surgery had died, so I had a new team.  My original doctor had done my surgery for free, but the new one said he couldn't do that.  I didn't have any insurance, so I had to find the money.  A friend from church said that he and some others would take care of it for me.  There are good people in this world.

 I went for the procedure which was quick and painless.  I could see great again out of both eyes.  When I went back for a checkup, they found that I had early onset glaucoma.  It was not uncommon for this to be a side effect of the two surgeries.  They told me that I would need to take eye drops every night before going to bed.  More eyedrops?!?!  I hated putting eyedrops in before and after my surgery, but at least I had experience.  These drops had to be refrigerated before opening the bottle.  Then, it didn't matter.

 At first, I had a hard time remembering to put them in.  Later on, it became a habit.  Now, I do it religiously before going to sleep.  Every six months, I would go for a checkup.  The doctors found that my eyes had not gotten better nor worse.  There is a spot in the lower right quadrant of both eyes that is dark from the glaucoma.  Everything else is great!  I see 20/20 now.  Not since the 4th grade, when I got my first pair of glasses, has my vision been so good.  I will probably have to do the drops the rest of my life, or until the doctor feels I don't need them anymore. 

 One irony about all of this is about the Theatre.  When I was acting, one of my drama mentors told me that I would have to get contacts to in order to see on stage.  I was blind as a bat without my glasses.  I would have to memorize where stuff was on stage in order not to bump into things.  I had to count steps from one spot to another on stage.  Sometimes, I could cheat and wear glasses on stage, if it fit my character.  Now, I can see without glasses, but my stamina is so bad after being homeless and having pneumonia for six months, I can't do an acting job that I would be proud of.  So, I can see but can't act, unless I do something I have written and know where to take a break in breathing.  And so it goes.

Pets

  I have had a variety of pets over my life.  The first one was Brownie the Cocker Spaniel.  He was our dog, when I was 5.  Brownie was just a puppy, but he enjoyed biting me and chewing on my teddy bear.  He and I just didn't get along.  When we moved from our rental house to a real house, we gave Brownie to our next-door neighbors.  I saw Brownie a couple of years later, and he had grown to a monster dog.  He didn't recognize me.  It was just as well.  I am not a dog person, even though the golden Labrador retriever that was owned by the Dean of Students at PC adopted me.  That was different.

 I have also had turtles, fish, rabbits and chicks.  Most of the turtles were small, and we could keep them inside in a water dish.  We had a patio grill in our backyard.  We didn't use it except for a couple of times.  Daddy wasn't a good griller.  There was charcoal residue in the grill.  I kept one larger turtle in the grill.  He ate some charcoal and died.  I had a white rabbit, and he suffered the same fate.  The chicks were from Easter.  They didn't live long.  I also had a parakeet and kept him in a cage inside the house.  One day, my Mother told me that I needed to clean the cage.  I didn't know you could just slide out the bottom of the cage.  I took the cage outside and opened the door of the cage.  The parakeet flew away.

 I had goldfish.  I fed them every day.  For some reason, some committed suicide by jumping out of the bowl.  Maybe they didn't like the food.  When I was in college, my roommate and I went to a store and bought two goldfish.  We named them Pablo and Bernie.  The water at PC had some impurities in it.  The store had these drops that would clean the water.  The directions said one drop per gallon of water, but we figured that they could use two drops, since the water was bad.  Pablo and Bernie died overnight due to lack of oxygen or were poisoned.  We had a funeral for them and flushed them down the toilet.

 It wasn't until I worked at Rich's in the early 2000's that I received another pet.  The store bought a bunch of Beta fishes as a contest for each department to take care of them.  The fish that lived the longest won a prize.  We all got small fish bowls and one fish per department.  I fed my fish every morning, when I came to work.  He seemed a little lazy, so I found a small Winnie the Pooh stuffed bear that was about two inches high, and I put the bear next to the bowl.  The fish fell in love with Winnie.  It would just stare at Winnie all day.  If I moved Winnie away from the bowl, the fish would get really upset and swim around the bowl.  When I put Winnie back, the fish would calm down and just stare at the bear.  When the contest was over, I took the fish home with me, but I had to leave Winnie.  I did find a plastic version of Winnie as a substitute.  It wasn't really the same, so I thought maybe I could put Winnie in the bowl with the fish to keep him company.  I fashioned a paperclip to hang onto Winnie and hung him on the inside of the bowl.  The fish ate the metal off of the paperclip and died.  I went to the pet store to get a couple of other Betas.  They ate each other, so I gave up.

 Fast forward to 2018.  Being a HUD apartment, we aren't supposed to have pets inside.  Some feral cats started coming around the apartment.  My next-door neighbor and I began to feed them.  She named the black cat "Princess Charlotte" after a girl named Charlotte who lived at the complex.  I named the grey cat "Mittens", because he had white paws.  Charlotte died in her apartment, so the female cat just became "Princess".  The two cats were best friends.  Princess had been fixed by her previous owner.  Mittens was a tomcat.  He would get into fights but would never win.  He would come back with tears in his fur, but he was a good boy.  Princess adopted me, and I loved on her.  We would give them breakfast every morning and a treat in the afternoon.  We also had a third cat called "Little Bit", but she got sick and died.  One day, Mittens developed a respiratory infection.  He went into the woods and never returned.  Princess went through a grieving process with me over the loss of Mittens.  My neighbor let Princess come into her apartment to get warm.  Princess became confused and ran under my neighbor's bed.  She stayed under there for two days.  We finally got her out with some tuna, but she was really scared.   Then one day, some more cats showed up.  We named the orange tabby "Morris" who turned out to be a bully.  He and Princess didn't get along.  Morris liked to steal other cats' food.  We also had "Oreo" come around.  He liked to hiss at me.  And, there were some unnamed kittens from time to time.  A woman in our complex had a cat named "Mufasa".  He was a little shy, but would try to make friends with the others.  Princess became my number one cat.  It amazes me how much an animal can cheer me up, as I would do the same for her.  I finally figured out how to care for an animal in a good way, and how much they can sense love.

Clint

  Clint Bryson was a friend of mine.  We met at church back in 1980 in the Singles Sunday School Department.  He worked for ETV as a camerman. He also would be on one of our TV cameras during the service.  If you saw a pretty girl in the congregation, you knew Clint was on that camera.  Clint usually stood next to me in the choir, as we both sang bass.  We sort of looked alike, as we both were thin and wore glasses.  One day, he and I were standing around in a hallway, and a woman came up to me.  She pointed at Clint and asked what my brother did for a living.  I knew she meant Clint, but I told her of my real brother's occupation was working in public relations and on political campaigns.  Her eyes got big.  I could tell she was thinking that Clint had a lucrative career, but he didn't dress like it.  I told Clint about what I had said, and we had a good laugh over it.  We never told that woman any differently.

 He and I helped coach the First Baptist girls' softball team along with another guy.  He would handle one of the bases.  My job was to heckle the opposing team.  It worked out well, except for the times that the umpire would tell me to shut up.  We also went on mission trips for the church.  One of our trips to Philadelphia, he described the town as "Fithydelphia".  It kind of was, but he took us to a mall downtown, where I was exposed to some cool music by Philly Cream and other groups.  When he and I went on a mission trip to Puerto Rico, we stayed in the same hotel room.  Clint was very protective of his age.  He never said how old he was.  One night, I just asked him how old he was.  He asked me how old I was, and I told him.  He replied that he was ten years older than me.  I was shocked.  He made me promise not to tell anyone of his secret.  I never did.

 As time will do, we drifted apart.  He and I started going to other churches.  I would see him taking pictures at events for the Irmo newspaper from time to time, but that was about it.  In May of 2022, I was invited to go out to eat with some friends, and Clint was there.  He looked frail.  I went up to say hello.  He was cordial, but I wasn't sure that he remembered me.  A week later, Clint died from pneumonia.  I went to his memorial service at the church that he had joined many years before.  They talked about his love for baseball and softball.  The service was outside next to the ballfield.  They were talking about naming first base for Clint.  I suggested that they name the whole field for him, and they thought that was a great idea.  They were also talking about having him buried at the Fort Jackson National Cemetery, as Clint was a veteran, but there was a lot of red tape involved to do so.  He didn't have any family left.

 About a week later, I went to the James Taylor concert in Columbia.  He was very good, although he didn't sing "You've Got a Friend".  This was the second time I had seen JT.  It was his first show on his tour, and they said he had spent several days in Columbia rehearsing for the show.  I really wished that I had known that ahead of time.  A high school friend from years ago knew I was going, and she offered to take me home afterwards.  As we were heading home, she asked how I knew Clint.  She had seen my tribute to him on Facebook.  As it turned out, she knew him from working with him at ETV.  I told her about us wanting to have him buried at Ft. Jackson.  As it also turned out, she was involved in getting unclaimed veterans to be buried there.  She had no idea what the plan was.  It was fortuitous that the subject even came up in the car.  

 You just never know how a contact will lead to something else.  I believe God puts people in our paths, but we have to listen and be receptive.  I could have taken an Uber home from that show.  I didn't, and it worked out for the good.  Thanks, Jean.

Chats

  So, I thought I would do some more name-dropping in this story.  When I got my first computer in the late 90's, I was psyched.  I found that I could talk to people all over the world in real-time without having to pay long distance phone charges.  It was a blast.  I also found out that between email and chat rooms, I had a whole new group of friends that I didn't know I had.  Plus, celebrities were out there to talk to.

 I have already written about chatting with Hugh Hefner one night.  You can find that story further back called "Hef".  One thing I have learned about chatting with celebrities is don't tell them how great they are.  They are there for a reason, and that reason is to answer some concrete questions about their lives.  Treating them like people, and not like idols, makes for a better conversation.  To chat with Hef about Marilyn Monroe and old movies was much more interesting that asking him about how to get invited to the Playboy mansion.  One side note though, I was invited to the mansion in Los Angeles many moons ago.  I was a winner in a contest.  I couldn't go, because I had to pay for my own airfare.  Oh well.

 One night, I came upon Max Gail.  He had played on the TV show "Barney Miller".  We talked about acting and the joys of stage versus film.  We chatted on more than one occasion.  We swapped stories about people that we had worked with, and he gave me some tips on acting on television.  He was a nice guy.

 Another night, I ran across Fess Parker who played on the TV show "Daniel Boone".  He was great to talk to.  Fess wanted to talk about his winery in California, so I humored him with that.  Then, I moved the conversation to his acting.  I told him about something that my 8th grade Science teacher had said about seeing jet contrails in the sky during a Daniel Boone episode.  Fess said that the show was filmed fast, and they didn't have time to wait for jets flying by to do a scene.  We laughed about that.  His acting tip to me was to be real.  Well, yeah.  I told him that I was sad that his wine wasn't sold near me.  I didn't drink alcohol at that time, but I was trying to be nice.  He said that they sold it at Morganelli's off Forest Drive.  I thanked him, but I never bought a bottle.  I guess they would be worth something now.  Fess died in 2010.  

 April 2022 provided me with a shocking chat.  It was Bob Dylan.  I had been to his concert in Columbia a couple of weeks before.  I had seen him in concert four times, which ties the most with Paul McCartney of the number of concerts I had been to by a single artist.  Bob contacted me on Facebook.  He told me that he had seen a post of mine about the show and wanted to reach out to me as a fan.  He said he wasn't on tour and had some time to chat with the fans.  I checked his tour schedule, and he actually had time to talk with us.  Being skeptical, I asked him a couple of questions that only he would know, and he answered them correctly.  It WAS Bob Dylan.  I told him that I had seen him four times, but this last show was probably the most meaningful.  He sang a new song called "Crossing the Rubicon", and I just cried.  It was like he was saying goodbye.  It was quite emotional.  We chatted a few times that week about various things.  I told him about my songwriting, and we talked about the mechanics of writing a good song.  He was very approachable.  We still keep in touch.

 I have had a few other chats on the computer including my friend Ginger Lynn Allen and a few authors.  Incidentally, the authors generally want you to complement their work, more than getting into the weeds of their writing styles.  I guess everyone needs some praise once in a while.  

Yoko

  I have been accused over the years of name-dropping.  Maybe the reason was to impress people.  When I was living at Oliver Gospel Mission, it was a way to stay alive.  Guys didn't want to beat me up, because I met Halle Berry.  I told them a lot of stories about the famous people I had come in contact with.  Frankly, I have met or had contact with a lot of famous people from movies, TV, literature, music, sports, politics, and other areas of life.  I don't mean to brag here about this part of my life.  It is just a fact.

 Back in 1981, after John Lennon was killed, I wrote a one-man play on the night that John died.  The play consisted of several characters walking into a diner in NYC and hearing the news of that tragedy.  I had wanted to incorporate some music from Lennon in the play, but I needed to get approval from Yoko Ono to do it.  I got her private address from my friend Fred who knew her.  I got a message back from her representative that I couldn't use the music.  It was too soon after that night, and Yoko was in mourning.  I went ahead with the one-act play without the music and performed it a couple of times.  The play went on my shelf, and I never revived it.  

 A company called Eagle Eyewear was putting out three frames of the kind that John Lennon wore.  The frames were endorsed by Yoko.  When they were released to the general public, the waiting time was eight months because of the demand, and the retail cost was running up to almost $200 per frame.  There was no way I could pay that.  I wrote to Yoko and asked her if there was anything she could do.  She sent an order form for the frames to me, and I ordered two pair at cost ($30/each).  I got the frames within ten days of my order thanks to Yoko.  We began a relationship.

 I would send her Christmas cards, and she would send me signed cards back.  The first one was from Yoko and her son Sean.  Later, they would just be signed by Yoko.  I never got the goodie box of stuff that she would send Fred like calendars, cd's, tapes or unreleased music, and other stuff, but I would always get a card.  Fred told me that the next time he was going to NYC that he would take me to the Dakota, where Yoko lived and meet her.  She had what was called "the prize closet" in her apartment where visitors could pick anything out of there that they wanted.  That trip never happened.  Fred did give me some stuff that he had gotten from the closet from the time that John was still alive, and he had been with both of them.  One was a card that said "War is Over" that still had John's DNA on it.  I ended up selling it for big bucks, when I needed money to pay my rent back in the 2000's.  I even had her personal phone number, but I never called it.  The phone was later disconnected.

 Back around 2007, I was running out of money.  I had not gotten a raise from Macy's for four years despite selling an average of a million dollars per year.  I was begging for money from friends.  One was Yoko.  I had always wanted to open up a record and music memorabilia store, and I thought I could live there as well as work there.  So, I asked Yoko for $50,000 to get that off of the ground.  She could afford it.  After all, she had helped Fred with his store back in the day.  Fred had a stroke and had to give up his store.  Instead of getting the money, Yoko cut me off completely.  I was told that I could no longer write to her.  She didn't send me any more cards.  I was persona non grata to her.  

 In 2015, Fred was hit by a car and killed in Little Rock, Arkansas.  He and I had planned to open a store in Columbia together.  I would supply the merchandise, and he would get the financing from Yoko.  She just couldn't know that I was partnering with Fred, because of my being cut-off from her.  After he died, I had to write a letter to Yoko about what had happened.  It was one of the hardest letters I had to write.  Yoko and Fred were very close.  I got a letter back from her attorney asking about the things that she had sent to Fred, especially the tape of the unreleased music.  I wrote back and told him about Fred's storage locker, but I didn't know where it was in Little Rock.  They made some inquiries and found that the owner of the place where it was had destroyed the contents.  Problem solved.

 In the Spring of 2022, I was on Facebook and got a message from Yoko.  I was skeptical at first, but I asked her a couple of questions that only she would know the answers.  They were right.  We had a nice conversation online.  We chatted about Fred and how sad she was still that he was gone.  I then apologized to her about my asking for money from her.  That was the one thing you weren't supposed to do.  She apologized for cutting me off from her life.  We agreed that life was too short to hold grudges. She and I have been corresponding some since then.  Maybe, I'll send her a Christmas card this year.

Arboretum

  Back in 2020, the First Baptist Seniors were supposed to go to the North Carolina Arboretum in Asheville for the day.  Then, the pandemic hit, and we had to put it off until May 2022.  The date was set.  Unfortunately, a big rainstorm was headed for that way, so we planned to have a one-hour window to visit it before the rains came.  We boarded our church bus and headed up towards Asheville.

 As is often the case with so many women on the bus, we had to stop for a rest break.  We pulled into a gas station and convenience store out in the middle of nowhere.  It was just off of the interstate with a church across the street and a graveyard next to the store.  The store had two restrooms, and the women used both of them to speed up the line.  The employee at the store remarked that she was so glad to see us, because she was very bored.  I wanted to buy some candy, but the prices were outrageous.  Because we had to stop, we lost the window before the storm.

 We got up to the Arboretum, and it was pouring down rain.  I had brought an umbrella, but many people didn't.  I walked around some of the gardens under the umbrella and took a couple of pictures.  However, one could not experience the full expanse of the area because of the rain.  We went to a restaurant on site that sold mostly sandwiches.  They didn't take cash.  Only credit cards.  The manager told us thar he believed the rain would be over with by 12:30, but we had another place to go and couldn't wait.  We boarded the bus at 12:30, and the rain stopped.

 Our next place to go was the Asheville Outlet Mall which was near the Arboretum.  By now, the sun was out, and the humidity was dreadful.  Steam rose from the cement.  The mall was full of name brand stores, but no bargain prices.  I was looking for a pair of shoes at the Nike store.  The prices were just like a regular store.  They had a bookstore with some good prices, but the books were titles you never heard of.  As we were leaving, some people had been to the Sporting Goods and Hardware store and gotten a grab bag costing $5 of miscellaneous stuff.  I wished I had gone in there.  

 We left there and headed home.  Just outside of Asheville, the traffic stopped on the interstate.  We could see flashing lights off in the distance that indicated police, fire and ambulances were there.  The cars in our three lanes just creeped along.  As we got closer, we saw it was a pretty bad car wreck.  But, much to our surprise, the wreck was in the opposite lanes heading the other way toward Asheville.  All of the cars in our three lanes were rubberneckers.  I felt bad for the injured, as I felt they thought they were in a zoo.  Too many gawkers.

 We stopped again at another gas station and store heading back.  This one was outside of Clinton, where I spent two glorious years going to Presbyterian College.  Once again, the women lined up for the restrooms.  Once again, the candy prices were too much to pay.  We saw a fish restaurant nearby that looked pretty good, but we had to get home.  Despite the rain, it was a good trip.  Sometimes, it is just good to get away.  Next time, I'll take my own candy. 

Tom

  When God calls, you need to listen.  I did, when He called me to help other people who couldn't help themselves.  I do this not for my own glory, but to serve the Lord.  That was my calling, when I took on the Midlands Transit Riders Association.  One day, I saw that a friend needed help.  I answered the call.

 I knew Tom Worrell from high school.  We were in the same graduating class.  Granted, there were literally hundreds of people in my class, but Tom kind of stood out.  He was a good guy.  After we graduated, I had lost touch with him.  Then came Facebook.  We reconnected along with others in my high school class.  We followed Tom, as he lost his wife.  He moved to the Philippines to help others.  His children were grown, and he wanted to do good.  He settled in a town on the island of Cebu.  The island had a great tourist reputation much like Acapulco in Mexico, but once you got away from the hotels and tourists, it was a third world place.  He made friends easily with the locals and used his talents for good.

 One day, Tom got sick.  He developed serious circulatory problems in his legs.  He lost the ability to walk, and he had to have his neighbors help him to get up.  Most of the time, Tom stayed in bed.  He lost a lot of weight.  His neighbors cooked and cleaned for him.  Tom posted on Facebook that he needed some medical care.  The nearest decent hospital was four hours away by ambulance.  He had been there a few times.  They gave him some antibiotics and sent him home.  Many people were praying that he would get better.  As an answer to prayer, he found a retired doctor in his town who had been vascular surgeon.  Even though the doctor couldn't operate anymore, he helped Tom.  He posted that he wanted to go to Guam and be treated by American doctors.  He was too ill and weak to travel to the States by airplane.  He needed money and help to get to Guam by a medical transport plane.

 My high school class raised the money for the flight, but he needed the necessary paperwork and transport to get to Manila for the flight to Guam.  I knew some people and knew how government worked.  Even though Tom had his legal residence in North Carolina, he grew up in South Carolina and had family there.  I first contacted Senator Lindsey Graham's office in Washington.  He had enormous power and could call the US Embassy in Manila to cut through the red tape and get Tom out.  His office in Columbia called me, and I talked to an aide to the Senator.  He referred me to the State Department.  I contacted State, and they told me that Tom would have to fill out some forms.  I explained to them that Tom barely had Wi-Fi and didn't have a printer.  They kept telling me that he needed to fill out some forms.  I asked if they could contact their embassy in Manila.  They said no, not without Tom filling out the forms.  I then contacted Senator Tim Scott's office, but they didn't respond.  Next was Representative Jim Clyburn.  He was the third highest ranking member of the House.  I got a call back from an aide of his who asked if Tom lived in Clyburn's district.  I told him not now, but he grew up there.  His aide referred me to the State Department.  

 Frustration set in.  I was getting nowhere.  I contacted the White House.  I got an email back from them thanking me for contacting them and suggested I get a Covid booster shot (no lie).  Since Tom was a NC resident, I contacted both Senators and his House representative.  The only one who got back to me was Senator Burr's office.  They told me that they would have the Senator contact the Embassy and see if they could cut through the red tape and get Tom to Guam.  A few days later, I got an email from Tom thanking me for contacting the Senator.  He told me that somebody from the embassy called him.  It was someone that a private citizen would never get to speak to.  I assumed it was the Ambassador or their aide.

 I also knew that Tom needed help in other ways like transportation.  I emailed Samaritan's Purse and Franklin Graham to see if they could help.  They told me that they didn't help individuals just groups.  I also contacted the International Red Cross and got the same answer.  I then thought of the Southern Baptist International Mission Board.  I knew they had missionaries on Tom's island.  I gave them Tom's address, and the headquarters sent two of their people to see Tom.  

 The embassy cut through some red tape and got Tom to the airport, where a medical transport plane was waiting.  At the departure gate, the Filipino officials asked to see his Covid vaccination card.  It wasn't complete.  Tom had gotten only one shot, before he got sick. His work Visa had expired, too.  He was in a wheelchair and in obvious physical distress.  The officials wouldn't let him get past their checkpoint to get to the plane.  The embassy folks tried to talk to the locals, but they were adamant.  Without the proper paperwork, Tom couldn't board the plane.  He was turned away and sent home to get the paperwork he needed.  

 Time was running out for Tom.  He had wanted to get to Guam to be treated.  He was even resigned to the fact that the doctors might have to amputate one or both of his legs.  Another high school friend named Ray was also trying to get Tom out.  We felt the more people to impress upon others that he needed to leave, the better.  I had a couple of others lined up to plead Tom's case, including a friend who won a Nobel Peace Prize.  After a couple of weeks, I got a message that Tom had died.  His neighbors and the two missionaries were there for him.  The infection and the red tape killed Tom.  He was cremated.

Cove

  There was a place in the mountains of North Carolina that I had always wanted to see.  The Cove.  It was right outside of Asheville, and very close to a place where I spent most of my summers--Ridgecrest Baptist Conference Center.  The Cove was envisioned by Billy Graham to be a place to train and uplift people.  I had heard that it was beautiful up there, so I jumped at the chance to go for an overnight stay with my church group of Seniors.  They had motel rooms on the property in the midst of the mountains.  There were signs around the property to beware of bears.  It was right before Christmas, and the area was beautifully decorated.

 We checked in and had some time to relax before dinner.  We were there to see a concert by a Christian group called Selah. They didn't have TVs in the rooms, but they had free WIFI, so I could keep up with things on my phone.  I went over to the conference building and looked at the Billy Graham memorabilia.  I also went into the gift shop but didn't buy anything.  The line waiting to get into the dining hall was long.  We weren't the only church group for the concert.  They had a roaring fire in the fireplace which made the waiting area pretty warm.  I had not brought my water bottle along, because I didn't think I needed it.

 I was talking to some friends about my record collection, when I felt faint.  All of the benches had other people sitting on them, so I tried to sit on a trashcan.  I collapsed on my knees next to the can and outside the restrooms.  The next thing I knew, there was a woman standing over me along with some from my group.  I didn't know this woman, but it turned out that she was from Hickory, NC and was an EMT.  She was with her church group and had been summoned out of the restroom by a friend of hers.  She was very nice and knew what to do.  A nurse was called from The Cove, and the two of them worked on me to bring me back from fainting.  They eventually got me to sit in a chair and then to stand.  They asked me when the last time was I had eaten anything.  I said around 4pm and a pack of crackers.  The Cove called 911, and two EMTs showed up.  They took me to a corner of the room away from everyone else.  My BP was normal.  I explained that I had these events sometimes, when I get overheated.  They wanted to take me to the hospital, but I declined.  I didn't know how I would get back to The Cove.

 They gave some water to me, and I felt strong enough to get something to eat in the dining room, but I didn't have much appetite.  Some friends convinced me that I should go back to my room and skip the concert.  They tried to get a staff member from The Cove to escort me back to my room which was about 1/4 mile away.  There was a shuttle bus that I could ride, but no one from The Cove would accept to take me.  A friend from my group volunteered instead.  He and I rode the shuttle back and made sure I got to my room okay.  I collapsed in the bed and slept.  There was a pillow on the bed that was very comfortable and made it easy for me to sleep.

 The next morning, I felt so much better.  I walked over in the cool air to get breakfast.  My appetite was back.  I asked a couple of staff people who made the pillow.  No one knew.  In my younger days, I would have stolen it but not now.  After we checked out, we went to a chapel on the grounds.  I told one of the volunteers about the time in 1963, when Billy Graham had invited my parents and me for dinner at his home in Montreat, and my father declining because of leading a conference at Ridgecrest.  And then, my father introducing me to Billy Graham the next summer at the Southern Baptist Convention in Atlantic City, NJ by saying that this introduction got him "out of the doghouse".  They laughed.  I was looking up at a giant.  The Cove's volunteer thought that was a neat story.  

 We headed back to Columbia on our tour bus.   Two friends invited me to lunch at a restaurant in Columbia, and I ate some salty food.  I felt so much better.  I was talking to a neighbor after getting back home.  He suggested I try Liquid IV for dehydration.  It really works.  Thanks, Jim.

Famous

  In November of 2021, I was asked to be in a commercial for the Comet bus system here in Columbia.  I agreed.  I was to go downtown to the Transit Station and be interviewed on camera about why I ride the bus.  There was a public relations/advertising firm handling the project, and the interviewer was the same person as the one who interviewed me about the Alex Trebek picture.  She was now working for this firm, and I felt comfortable with her.  I wasn't the only person being interviewed that morning, but I seemed to have more experience than the others.  It was cold and rainy that day, and I had on my raincoat, which was also a trench coat.  They wanted me to wear it during the interview, although one lapel kept popping up.  The still photographer there was an old friend from the MTRA days.  We had a good laugh over my April Fool's story earlier about "Barbara".  

 The interviews were being done on a stationary bus toward the back.  Emily had told me what she was going to ask, but she also wanted the answers to be somewhat spontaneous.  She asked me what I liked about riding the bus, and I said that it provided independence for me and allowed me to get from point A to point B easily.  They used that in the commercial.  

 After the interviews were over, I told them that I didn't have anything else to do for the day, so they asked if I could ride with them and be some more spots.  Of course.  So, we went to the zoo and did a commercial there about a mother and two children going to the zoo.  Some of us did background work walking behind the family.  They had to do several takes, because one of the children didn't look excited enough.  We then went to the airport for another shot to show that the bus serves the airport.  On route to the airport, they wanted a shot of me and another guy talking on the bus.  There would be no sound for this.  So, I leaned over to the guy to improvise a conversation, and I asked him what was the meaning of life?  He was taken aback by my question, but he handled it very well.  Our "conversation" got on a commercial.  We also did an interaction with others on the bus.  We talked about voting.  Again, there wasn't any sound.  There was a voiceover in the ad.  

 We got to the airport, and they were going to shoot a spot of a couple getting off of the bus and heading to the terminal.  Then, they did another shot of them coming out of the terminal and back on the bus.  At one point, they were sitting on the bus with their luggage in the aisle.  I pointed out that the luggage couldn't be in the aisle, because it was against regulations.  It had to be realistic, so they moved the couple to another part of the bus, so that their luggage could be easily stored under the seat.  The folks arranged for us to have a free lunch at the airport.  First class all the way.

 We left the airport that afternoon and headed back downtown.  There was going to be a shot at a hospital of two nurses getting off of the bus, and we were in the background sitting in a bus shelter.  I was getting kind of tired.  There was one more site to go at a grocery store, but I asked if I could leave.  I was paid for my time with a Visa gift card, and I headed back to the transit station to catch the bus home.

 When I got on the bus, a woman asked me if I was famous?  She said she had seen me at the hospital, doing the commercial, and she wanted to know if I was famous.  She looked kind of excited about it, so I told her that I was famous, just to quiet her down.  It was the opposite reaction I was looking for.  She yelled out to everyone on the bus that I was "famous".  She then went on to announce that there was a "famous person on the bus".  Nobody asked me for my autograph, though.  

 The commercials came out in March, 2022.  They were on TV and online.  I think you can go to YouTube to see them.  My picture, along with others, is also being used for print ads and will be on posters around town at bus shelters.  So, yes, I am famous.  Autographs will be available in the lobby.

Barbara

  My mother had a great sense of humor.  She loved Alan King, Monty Python, the early George Carlin, and many more.  I used to read funny books to her in the kitchen, while she was cooking.  I read the newspaper comics to her, when she could no longer read due to the macular degeneration.  She loved to laugh.  She taught me how humor could get you through the day, when things didn't seem so good.  I developed a very dry sense of humor.  Sometimes, people didn't get my humor and thought I was being serious.  Such was the time in 2021 on April Fool's Day.

 I had thought about what I would write on Facebook for that day.  I knew I wanted to concoct a story that wasn't true, but what?  I have been single all of my life.  There are several reasons why I have never married.  Trust issues.  Commitment issues.  Too much fun being single.  Career being more important.  Hurt issues.  I have been in love several times throughout my life, but I just couldn't commit.  So, I thought that would be my prank.

 I looked through Google stock photos and found a woman, who looked to be in her forties.  She wore glasses and was sitting outside on a deck of a house, and she was looking over some papers.  She looked like a schoolteacher.  She was the one.  I named her Barbara after a girl who lived across the street from me back in elementary school.  I liked Barbara, but her family moved away, and I was very sad to say goodbye to her.  So, this fictional "Barbara" taught middle school and lived in Shandon.  I wrote that she and I had met during the pandemic.  Her house was on the bus line, and I would visit her as often as I could.  She invited me to go to her church, and I was looking forward for her to go to my church.  We were in love, and I asked her to marry me.  She said yes.  We had not set a wedding date because of the pandemic.  I went into great detail about "Barbara".

 So, I posted the story on Facebook.  There were all these people congratulating me on my upcoming marriage.  These people thought I was serious.  I was getting comments like "It's never too late" or "She looks like a nice person".  People were very happy for me.  During my story, I had put in little clues as to why it was fake, such as her house was on the bus line, but there isn't a bus that goes through "her" neighborhood.  Of course, most of my Facebook friends don't ride the bus, so I could understand them missing that clue.  Another clue was why didn't "Barbara" drive me home?  She had a car.  There were a handful of friends who realized the story was fake, but the majority did not.

 I let the joke continue all through April Fool's Day.  The congratulatory messages kept coming.  So, I started responding to the messages with "April Fool's".  Some people saw that response, but others didn't.  The next day, I wrote an apology message to my friends that the story was fiction.  There was no "Barbara".  I didn't know who that woman was in the picture.  There was not going to be a wedding.  I apologized to those who I had duped.  My humor got the best of me, and of them.  The moral of my story is to think about the day, when something is posted.  And maybe, I'm just kidding.  

Alex

  Back in early 2020, I wanted to get Alex Trebek's autograph.  I knew he was ill, and I thought it would be good to get it before he died (obviously).  I emailed Jeopardy and was told that Alex doesn't like to do things via email, but I could write to him by sending a letter to his Jeopardy address.  One curse about writing everything on the computer is that you forget how to write in longhand.  It is almost unreadable, even for me.  After all, I took a handwriting course in 4th grade summer school, because it was so bad.  Now, it was almost impossible.

 I got out pen and paper and wrote to Alex.  I tried to write an inspirational letter to him, as I knew he was going through a lot.  I told him my story of suffering from depression and becoming homeless.  I told him about praying to God to rescue me from that situation, and that He prepared me for the next chapter of my life which was to help others whether through encouraging others or through the bus system.  I told him how encouraging he was in helping people through their struggles with cancer.  I also asked for an autographed picture.

 I mailed off my letter, hoping he could read it.  About a week later, I got a large envelope in the mail from Sony Pictures/Jeopardy.  I opened it to find a picture from Alex with a note written at the bottom.  It read:  "Dear Walter, I am so glad you turned your life around and became a positive force for others.  Well done!  Alex Trebek".  I was deeply moved by his words.  I put the photo up on the wall next to my bed, so I would see it before going to sleep as a reminder to do good.

 In November of 2020, Alex Trebek died of his cancer.  It was on a Sunday.  One of my friends who works for WLTX TV in Columbia posted on Facebook that Alex had died.  He asked if anyone had any contact with Alex, because they were going to do a story.  I told him about the inscribed picture that I had gotten earlier in the year.  A reporter called me and asked if she could come over and interview me.  I said yes.  Because of Covid, we were both wearing masks.  She talked with me about the picture and inscription.  They used my interview that night on the local news.  It was kind of funny to me, because WLTX was the only local TV station that the MTRA wasn't featured on, but I did get in the interview about my helping others in the community after being rescued off of the street.  Thanks, Emily, for the interview, and thanks, Alex, for caring.

Shoulda

  I had been getting these pop-up messages that I had to renew my computer's virus protection from a company I no longer used.  Some of the messages told me that I should renew the expired protection.  These pop-ups were annoying.  I would just delete the message and move on.  The constant barrage of these messages became very annoying, so one morning I clicked on the link.  My goal was to tell these people I no longer wanted their product.  It was early November, 2021.

 All of a sudden, my computer started making these awful sounds.  They were very loud.  I couldn't cut off my computer.  It wouldn't let me.  A phone number popped up and said it was Microsoft.  My computer had been infected with a virus, and I needed to call the number.  I panicked.  The noise caused me not to think clearly.  I called the number.  A woman on the other end identified herself as working for Microsoft.  I asked her how I could end that terrible noise, and she told me which buttons to push.  I did what she told me to do, and it stopped.  I thanked her, and she told me that she would transfer me to a technician who could rid my computer of the virus.

 A man came on the phone and started to walk me through how he was going to rid my computer of the virus.  He would need to "take over" the computer and needed my password.  I was not thinking clearly at this point, so I gave it to him.  My screen started going through a lot of steps.  I was seeing all of my files flash before my eyes.  It looked like a science fiction movie.  After a couple of hours of this, he told me that he had removed the virus.  He recommended a comprehensive virus protector and would transfer me to a man who could help me with that.  I was feeling suspicious, but I still was in panic mode.  

 Another man came on the phone and said he was with a company based in Charlotte.  He wanted to sell me the complete package for $1500.  I told him that I didn't have that kind of money.  He told me that there was a package for $750 and asked if I could afford that one.  I told him that I had a credit card.  He asked me to give him the credit card number.  I was reluctant to do that, so I told him that I would call the credit card company.  He wanted to stay on the line, while I did that.  I called the company, but they told me they couldn't authorize a large payment like that.  They seemed to know who that was.  I told the man that the credit card company wouldn't authorize the charge.  He asked me if my bank would do it.  I told him I didn't have enough in the bank to cover it.  He asked how much I could afford to spend, and I told him $437.  He said that would be good, and that I could pay the rest later.  I gave him my bank account number, and it went through.  Looking back on it, I know that was stupid, but he just made it so I was having a problem thinking straight.

 I had written down all of the information and phone numbers during this ordeal.  It had been going on for about six hours.  I was mentally exhausted.  Around 5:30 that afternoon, I got a phone call from a man claiming to be from my bank.  He identified himself as an account representative.  I asked him why he was calling now, after the bank had closed, and he said that he hadn't left the office yet.  While I had him on the phone, I looked up the number on my computer and found the number was to the branch in Kingstree, SC.  I asked him why he got the issue and not the Columbia office.  He said he didn't know, but he could help me.  While we were talking, I asked him how long he had been working at the Kingstree branch.  He told me that it had been three years.  I asked him if he had been to Charleston, which was about an hour away from there, and he said no.  I knew this was fake.  I thanked him for his call, but I would go to my bank in person the next day and take care of things.

 The next day, I took the bus out to my bank's branch to report the incident.  They told me that I had been scammed, and my financial data had been compromised.  I asked if they could put a hold on the $437, but they said no.  However, they could file a claim against the withdrawal, but that would take three months.  I had to change my account number and get a new debit card.  I also told them about the Kingstree call, and they told me that their security office would take care of that.  The crook had ghosted that phone number.  My bank was very nice in dealing with this massive problem that I had gotten myself into.  

 There was a computer repair store near my bank, so I went to them to ask them what I should do.  They also knew about the scam and told me to bring in my laptop that afternoon, which I did.  Their technician cleaned everything from my computer including malware that the crooks had placed on my computer.  I changed all of my passwords which was laborious.  I called my credit card company and asked them to close out my old account and issue me a new one.  They told me to call Equifax and put a freeze on my credit to avoid the crooks trying to open a new credit card in my name.  I also contacted the computer company in Charlotte and told them that someone was using their company to steal money from people.  I also filed a police report and contacted the Feds.  I didn't know how I would cope without $400 in my bank account, because I live on a fixed income.  Out of the blue, a friend called me.  I hadn't talked to him in several years.  He just wanted to see how I was doing.  I told him what had happened, and he asked what my mailing address was.  He sent me a check to cover the loss.  God had His hand in that.

 After talking to some people about that incident, I got advice from some.  I should have not called that "Microsoft" number but rather a real Microsoft number.  I should have taken the battery out of my laptop and taken it directly to a repair shop.  I should have not given my financial information to the crook.  Shoulda, Shoulda, Shoulda!  I'll know if it happens again.  This is a cautionary tale to anyone that it happens to.  Don't panic.  Just shoulda.

Martin

  Back in 1978, I was working in the Record Department at Sanger-Harris Department Store in Ft. Worth.  It was a dream job.  I could listen to music and sell it.  I listened to everything.  I had to, because people would come into the store and not know an artist.  They might not even know the song, but they could sing a little bit of it.  One time, a woman came in and said she wanted the song with a train whistle.  That was Willie Nelson's song.  I was also exposed to music I didn't normally listen to like Bob Wills and the Texas Playboys.  Good stuff.

 Around that time, there was a comedian that was gaining popularity.  His name was Steve Martin.  He had released a comedy album called "Let's Get Small".  It was hilarious.  We had an 8-track player in the department to play stuff on.  We had it in our rotation of tapes to play.  Steve's album got some criticism from some customers of some foul language, so I was told I could only play it at night.  No problem.  He released another album called "A Wild and Crazy Guy", and we played that at night, too.  Another big hit at the time was a band out of Saturday Night Live called The Blues Brothers.  We had a rockin' good time at night.  Our record distributor would provide us with posters and other promotional material for our department.  We were his number one account in sales.  One thing that he brought us was a life-size standee of Steve Martin that we stood up in the department to advertise his two lp's.  One night, it disappeared.  Our distributor was furious.  We could take home the posters, but that standee was special.  There were only a few of them made.  He wanted to know where it went.  Nobody knew.  It had gone into my car and into my apartment.  I still have it.  As far as I know, there are only two still in existence.  I have one and Steve Martin has the other one.

 So, it was announced that Steve Martin, Martin Short and Paul Shaffer were coming to the Township Auditorium in Columbia in 2020.  I had to go.  I knew Martin Short's work from his time on SCTV and in "Three Amigos" which also starred Steve and Chevy Chase.  Paul was David Letterman's band leader and had been on SNL.  It was going to be a perfect night.  I bought a ticket for the balcony, because that's where I like to sit.  

 Then Covid came.  Everything was cancelled or postponed.  I was crushed.  I got a refund for my ticket.  Then, it was announced in 2021 that the show had been rescheduled for the fall.  I had to go.  It was also announced that Paul wouldn't be with them, but his replacement would be Jeff Babko who was in Cleto and the Cletones.  They also were the house band for Jimmy Kimmel Live. They also had the Steep Canyon Rangers bluegrass band.  Being a member of The Township, I got to get my ticket a day before the general public.  I splurged and bought a third-row seat in the center.  It was way more than a balcony seat, but it was my only shot to see two of my comedy idols.  

 I sat next to a man and his wife from Florida.  We talked a lot about music, as it seems that he played with Lynyrd Skynyrd and Marshall Tucker back in the day.  I wish I could remember his name.  The show started.  I wish I had stood up to applaud, but I sat.  Steve made a joke about that great sitting ovation.  If I had stood up from the third row, he would have seen me and may have singled me out.  They were all great.  I had taken a picture on my phone of the standee to show him, if I was fortunate to see him after the show, but that didn't happen.  

 After the show, I walked up to Baptist Hospital to call a taxi to take me home.  I went inside of the hospital to tell them that I wasn't loitering.  I was just waiting on a cab.  I continued to wait.  After almost an hour, a security guard came outside and told me that he expected it could be at least another hour.  He asked me if I had ever used Uber.  I hadn't.  He told me what to do.  After I got in touch with them, an Uber car arrived within minutes.  I knew the security procedure to check for the license plate.  A couple of years before, a USC student had called an Uber and got into the wrong car.  She was murdered.  I paid upfront, and the man took me home.  I also cancelled the cab.  Uber was much cheaper than a cab.  It was a great night all around.