I had gone to see my Mother at Martha Franks in Laurens one Sunday afternoon. I tried to get up there every week to 10 days. As I got in my car to head home, I noticed that I didn't have much brake pressure. I continued on down the road and found all of the pressure had gone. I had no brakes.
Normally, I would drive home on the "old road", because I hate interstates. And besides, I like the scenery. But on this day, I realized that I needed to go on the interstate, because all of the town in between Laurens and Columbia had stop lights. I could get into an accident. So, off I went on I-26 with no brakes.
The good news was that I could take a steady speed. The bad news was that I didn't have enough gas to get home. I decided to drive as if it was snowing. I slowed into turns like I would with ice on the road. It was the summertime when this happened. Some drivers honked their horns at me, but I just yelled back that I didn't have any brakes. I started looking for a gas station off of the interstate and found one at the Newberry exit. I slowed to a crawl on the ramp and eased into the gas station. I opened the door and dragged my foot for it to stop. I felt like Fred Flintstone. Someone told me later that if I had shifted into neutral that the car would have been easier to stop. I filled up and eased out and onto the interstate again.
As I got closer to Columbia, I knew I had to get to a repair shop that was open on Sundays. I decided on Pep Boys on Decker near Columbia Mall. That meant that I had to get on I-20 before getting to Columbia. The exit is a long curving one, so I slowed to another crawl to take the curve. More cars honked at me, but I had no brakes. Some drivers saluted me with one finger. I waved back. I was fortunate that this was a Sunday afternoon, and traffic was light.
I got up to the Two Notch exit and slowed to the traffic light at the end of the ramp. No cars were coming, so I turned right onto Two Notch. I got up to the Decker Road turn that I had to take to the left. The light was green, so I proceeded on to Pep Boys. In order to get into their parking lot, I had to go down a hill. I was just creeping along and got to a parking space. I went in and told them what had happened that afternoon. They were amazed I was still alive. I had learned how to drive in ice and snow, when I lived in Fort Worth, so those memories helped me get back home. They fixed the leak in the break line, and all was well. It was a scary day, and I had to go to the bathroom big time, when I got home.
Friday, August 9, 2019
Thursday, August 1, 2019
Macy's
Macy's bought out Rich's during my tenure there. The main change was the name and some of the merchandise. Basically, it stayed the store. We still went to Atlanta for vendor meetings, just like we did at Rich's. Those trips were fun, when we got to rarely stay over. Most of the time, we had to go there and back in one day. Those were the zombie trips. Leaving at like 4am to get there for the start of the meeting, and then getting back home around 10pm. One nice thing we usually did was to stop at a place called Social Circle to eat at a Southern-style restaurant outside of Atlanta. I went with my supervisor on one trip. She was African-American. We stopped at a housing development and had the real estate agent show us around. We just thought it would be fun to have the agent think we were a couple. We got some interesting looks. Another trip was for Electronics. I went to the meetings, and my then supervisor (different one) went out to clubs instead. When he picked me up at the end of the meeting, I had to tell him what it was all about, so it would appear that he had gone too. He also drove very fast going back to Columbia, and we made it in under three hours. But, the real difference that I saw between Rich's and Macy's was that Rich's was run more like a family business, while Macy's was run more like a corporate business.
One day, I was in Housewares just after the company change. A woman came up to my register to buy something. She asked me if I had seen any change since Rich's had become Macy's. With a straight face, I told her there had been one major change. All of the employees were required to watch the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade on TV and then report about it the next day to our store manager. The woman's mouth dropped open in shock. Her husband walked up, and she told him what I had said. He looked at me in shock, and I told him it was true. They went away in horror that a company would make us do that. Oh the humanity! I would like to apologize to that couple, whoever they were, for my joke on them. We didn't really have to watch the parade, but it was encouraged.
One day, I was in Housewares just after the company change. A woman came up to my register to buy something. She asked me if I had seen any change since Rich's had become Macy's. With a straight face, I told her there had been one major change. All of the employees were required to watch the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade on TV and then report about it the next day to our store manager. The woman's mouth dropped open in shock. Her husband walked up, and she told him what I had said. He looked at me in shock, and I told him it was true. They went away in horror that a company would make us do that. Oh the humanity! I would like to apologize to that couple, whoever they were, for my joke on them. We didn't really have to watch the parade, but it was encouraged.
Saturday, July 20, 2019
9/11
Our store was opening at 9am for a sale on September 11, 2001. I had just gotten by register open and had straightened my department. Ready for the day. My friend Thom, who worked in Rugs next to my department, came in and said that he had heard on the radio that a plane had hit the World Trade Center in New York. He and I talked about it for a minute, and both of us had decided it must have been a small plane. Maybe the pilot had a heart attack. He said it might be on TV.
I walked across our floor to the break room and cut on the TV. I saw the big hole in the side of the building and thought that could not have been a small plane, judging from the damage and the smoke. As I was watching CNN, I saw the second plane crash into the second tower. I saw it live. I was shocked and horrified. I knew immediately that we were under attack.
I ran back to my department and told Thom what I had seen. He went to get a radio. I ran to the store manager's office and told her what had happened. She cut on her radio and told me to get back to the TV. Every time something new happened, I went back to report to our manager. I saw the towers collapse. I could not believe my eyes. I saw President Bush get on Air Force One. He wanted to get back to Washington, but I am glad he didn't. No one knew how bad it was. No one knew what was going to be attacked next. There was a story on TV about people seeing smoke rising from an area near the Pentagon. News came soon that a plane had hit the Pentagon. People in DC were running for their lives. I was running back to the office and then back to the break room. Our manager told me that I was not to tell others, but someone on the radio said that the Columbia area had been locked down. Was Fort Jackson next? After all, it was the largest Army training facility in the world. What about Shaw Air Force Base? It was only 30 miles away. We were scared.
Then, we heard about another plane crashing in Pennsylvania that was heading for Washington. How many more? All flights were grounded, and those in the air had to land wherever they could. Our store had opened for a sale, but we didn't have any customers. No one dared to go outside. We were in a mall. Would that be attacked, too?
Our store manager was on the phone with other stores in Columbia and around our region. We decided that it would be in everyone's best interest to close early, because we had no business, and employees needed to be home with their families. So, the decision was made to close at 4pm. I was in the process of closing some registers, when a woman came up to me and said she wanted to buy something. I told her we were closing, and she had to come back tomorrow. She asked why we were closing, and I asked her had she not heard the news about the attacks? She said, "What attacks?". I told her to go home and cut on the TV. We were closing. I thought that was scary that she knew nothing about it. She was glad she got a parking place close to the store. Wonder why?
So we closed, and everyone went home. I was glued to the TV in my apartment in utter shock. The next day, I was off and went to the post office to mail off something. My eyes caught the eyes of my favorite postal clerk there. We knew what each was thinking about the events of the day before, and we both started crying. People were lining up to give blood. There was a wave of patriotism sweeping over our country.
As a post script to that time, I had a friend who lived in Queens. He was making breakfast in his kitchen that awful day and watched the planes hit both towers across the bay from his house. Little did he know that his brother, who worked for the NYPD, was going into one of those towers. When that tower collapsed, his brother was killed. After that, my friend sunk into deep depression. He had seen his brother die, even though he didn't know it at the time. A few years later, my friend killed himself over the grief. I spoke to a New York firefighter years later, and I told him about my friend and his brother. He said that there were similar stories of relatives killing themselves over their loved ones perishing that day. So sad.
I walked across our floor to the break room and cut on the TV. I saw the big hole in the side of the building and thought that could not have been a small plane, judging from the damage and the smoke. As I was watching CNN, I saw the second plane crash into the second tower. I saw it live. I was shocked and horrified. I knew immediately that we were under attack.
I ran back to my department and told Thom what I had seen. He went to get a radio. I ran to the store manager's office and told her what had happened. She cut on her radio and told me to get back to the TV. Every time something new happened, I went back to report to our manager. I saw the towers collapse. I could not believe my eyes. I saw President Bush get on Air Force One. He wanted to get back to Washington, but I am glad he didn't. No one knew how bad it was. No one knew what was going to be attacked next. There was a story on TV about people seeing smoke rising from an area near the Pentagon. News came soon that a plane had hit the Pentagon. People in DC were running for their lives. I was running back to the office and then back to the break room. Our manager told me that I was not to tell others, but someone on the radio said that the Columbia area had been locked down. Was Fort Jackson next? After all, it was the largest Army training facility in the world. What about Shaw Air Force Base? It was only 30 miles away. We were scared.
Then, we heard about another plane crashing in Pennsylvania that was heading for Washington. How many more? All flights were grounded, and those in the air had to land wherever they could. Our store had opened for a sale, but we didn't have any customers. No one dared to go outside. We were in a mall. Would that be attacked, too?
Our store manager was on the phone with other stores in Columbia and around our region. We decided that it would be in everyone's best interest to close early, because we had no business, and employees needed to be home with their families. So, the decision was made to close at 4pm. I was in the process of closing some registers, when a woman came up to me and said she wanted to buy something. I told her we were closing, and she had to come back tomorrow. She asked why we were closing, and I asked her had she not heard the news about the attacks? She said, "What attacks?". I told her to go home and cut on the TV. We were closing. I thought that was scary that she knew nothing about it. She was glad she got a parking place close to the store. Wonder why?
So we closed, and everyone went home. I was glued to the TV in my apartment in utter shock. The next day, I was off and went to the post office to mail off something. My eyes caught the eyes of my favorite postal clerk there. We knew what each was thinking about the events of the day before, and we both started crying. People were lining up to give blood. There was a wave of patriotism sweeping over our country.
As a post script to that time, I had a friend who lived in Queens. He was making breakfast in his kitchen that awful day and watched the planes hit both towers across the bay from his house. Little did he know that his brother, who worked for the NYPD, was going into one of those towers. When that tower collapsed, his brother was killed. After that, my friend sunk into deep depression. He had seen his brother die, even though he didn't know it at the time. A few years later, my friend killed himself over the grief. I spoke to a New York firefighter years later, and I told him about my friend and his brother. He said that there were similar stories of relatives killing themselves over their loved ones perishing that day. So sad.
Thursday, July 11, 2019
Antioch
As mentioned previously, my two best friends during this time were Chris and Del. Both had moved to the Nashville area to pursue their music career. They comprised The Cobbwebs, which I wrote some lyrics for.
By 1999, Del had moved back to Columbia because of some issues he had with another roommate. Chris had started dating a girl named Janita. He proposed to her, and their weeding was scheduled for May 15th. Del and I drove up there for the wedding. We got there in time for the rehearsal, even though we weren't actually in the wedding itself. I had not met Janita until then, but found her to be funny and delightful. A perfect match for Chris. They had us staying in a motel along with the family in Antioch, TN where Chris and Janita lived.
The wedding was nice and intimate. Afterwards, the reception was held by a lake outside. Chris had made a CD of songs that were very appropriate to the two of them. I got a copy of it for my birthday about a month later. That night, Del and I went to Denny's for supper and were scheduled to leave the next day to drive back to Columbia. Our plan was to go by Rock City on the way home. I had never seen Rock City, even though I had grown up seeing signs on barns around NC and TN to "See Rock City".
As we turned into the parking lot, Del said he wasn't feeling very well and asked if it would be okay not to go to Rock City. I was disappointed, but we were in his car, so I bowed to his wishes. I was driving. He said that we had to stop in the parking lot, as he had to throw up. He did. After that time, I continued to drive down toward Atlanta, stopping every twenty minutes for him to throw up. He had gotten food poisoning the night before apparently. What would have been around a two hour drive took four with him throwing up every 20 minutes. It was like clockwork.
When we finally got to Atlanta, I had to get something to eat. I pulled into a McDonald's and asked Del if he wanted to eat anything or have anything to drink. He said no and wanted to stay in the car. I ate in the restaurant, and Del threw up more in the parking lot. I felt bad for those customers who might have seen him, because they might think he was sick due to the food there. Sorry. McDonald's.
We finally got back to Columbia with Del still throwing up. He actually felt better the next day. Maybe, he just needed to get back home. I just know I was glad to get into my car, which I had left at Del's house. No more throwing up.
By 1999, Del had moved back to Columbia because of some issues he had with another roommate. Chris had started dating a girl named Janita. He proposed to her, and their weeding was scheduled for May 15th. Del and I drove up there for the wedding. We got there in time for the rehearsal, even though we weren't actually in the wedding itself. I had not met Janita until then, but found her to be funny and delightful. A perfect match for Chris. They had us staying in a motel along with the family in Antioch, TN where Chris and Janita lived.
The wedding was nice and intimate. Afterwards, the reception was held by a lake outside. Chris had made a CD of songs that were very appropriate to the two of them. I got a copy of it for my birthday about a month later. That night, Del and I went to Denny's for supper and were scheduled to leave the next day to drive back to Columbia. Our plan was to go by Rock City on the way home. I had never seen Rock City, even though I had grown up seeing signs on barns around NC and TN to "See Rock City".
As we turned into the parking lot, Del said he wasn't feeling very well and asked if it would be okay not to go to Rock City. I was disappointed, but we were in his car, so I bowed to his wishes. I was driving. He said that we had to stop in the parking lot, as he had to throw up. He did. After that time, I continued to drive down toward Atlanta, stopping every twenty minutes for him to throw up. He had gotten food poisoning the night before apparently. What would have been around a two hour drive took four with him throwing up every 20 minutes. It was like clockwork.
When we finally got to Atlanta, I had to get something to eat. I pulled into a McDonald's and asked Del if he wanted to eat anything or have anything to drink. He said no and wanted to stay in the car. I ate in the restaurant, and Del threw up more in the parking lot. I felt bad for those customers who might have seen him, because they might think he was sick due to the food there. Sorry. McDonald's.
We finally got back to Columbia with Del still throwing up. He actually felt better the next day. Maybe, he just needed to get back home. I just know I was glad to get into my car, which I had left at Del's house. No more throwing up.
Monday, July 1, 2019
BJ
Back in 1975, I was working in the Book Department at Belk downtown. We hired two girls to work with me over Christmas. One was named Gail and the other was BJ. "BJ" was short for "Betty Jean", but she hated that name so she went by "BJ". She and Gail were college students on holiday break.
BJ took a liking to me. I wish I could have said the same about her, but my heart belonged to someone else, who will remain nameless. In 1976, I moved to Fort Worth, TX to start graduate school. BJ saw the movie "A Star is Born" and became enamored by Kris Kristofferson. She wasn't just a fan. She was a fanatic. Soon after that, I worked with Kris on "Semi-Tough" and wrote to BJ about that, having learned of her liking him. She was overjoyed. I had come in contact with her idol. A year or so later, she moved to Nashville to get a writer's job at Billboard Magazine so that she could get close to the music scene and somehow to Kris. She also had the notion that she could get Kris to stop drinking. She was delusional, but at the same time very creative. When I started working in the Record Department at Sanger Harris in Fort Worth, I got a few promo posters from RCA. One was of Kris. I sent it to her, and she just loved it, until she found out that Kris was with Rita Coolidge, and then she ripped up the poster and burned it.
BJ still had feelings for me though. From Texas, I would send her cassettes with music and thoughts on them, trying to bolster her spirits. She became very depressed. She would send tapes back to me, many of which were disturbing with her depressed mood. When I moved back to Columbia in 1979, she had already moved back from Nashville. She wanted to hook up with me, but my heart belonged to someone else, who will remain nameless.
After many calls and letters, I finally relented and agreed to take her out. It was my goal to tell her that she needed to move on. I took her to see the movie "ET". I must confess that I treated her like dirt. I am not proud of it, but it was the only way to get her to see that she wasn't for me. All of that went over her head. She didn't get the idea, so I just stopped talking to her. We started to drift apart.
Around the mid 1990's, she called me and wanted to know if I could come over to her apartment for dinner. It had been some time since our last meeting, so I agreed. When I got there, she was cooking the dinner. Apparently, she was not a good cook, because she burned the salad. Don't ask me how, but she did. The food was not good, but I tried to put on a brave face. She could tell I didn't like it, but I lied and said I did. I just didn't want to hurt her feelings. Her mental state was very fragile. We adjourned to her couch after "dinner", and she put her arms around me and thanked me for coming over. I did not want this to go to the next level, so I looked at my watch and said I needed to go. I upset her, but she let me go. I got in my car and drove all the way to Sumter that night. Why? I was having mixed feelings about BJ, and I knew I couldn't let this go on. I had to clear my head.
Two years later, I got the news that BJ had killed herself. The official reason was that she had been working at the Dept. of Social Services, and the plight of her clients had gotten to her personally, and she couldn't handle it. She became severely depressed again and killed herself. I blamed myself for her death. If I had only been nicer to her. If I had only listened to her, instead of running away. Would she still be alive today? Those feelings haunted me for a long time after, until I talked with a therapist in 2012. When I went to her funeral, I was sitting in front of two older women. In fact, I was her only friend at her funeral. Everyone else were friends of her parents. These two women were talking and said they had no idea that BJ had problems. They said she went to Carowinds a week before her death and seemed happy. I sat there getting mad. No one listened to BJ. They had no idea.
BJ wrote poetry. She had published a book of her work. When I was over at her place that night, she gave me a copy. The first poem in the book was called "First Love". She told me that it was about me. At her funeral, the minister read that poem. He said he didn't know who it was about, but it expressed her feelings in a meaningful way. I almost crawled under the pew. I was so embarrassed. A couple of weeks later, BJ's mother came over to my place with a shoebox. She said that BJ would have wanted me to have it. The box contained cassette tapes and letters that I had sent to her. It broke my heart even more. I still have them, although I no longer listen to the tapes.
Do I still have regrets about BJ? No. Do I have any feelings still for BJ? No. I only wish that she was still around. She made the choice to kill herself. I thought for a long time that I had been the catalyst, but she made the choice. She was very ill. I just wish she would have gotten some help. If you know anyone like her, listen to what they have to say. Maybe, they won't make the same decision BJ made. And, if anything good came out of her life, I can say honestly that I take the threats of others more seriously. I hope you will, too.
BJ took a liking to me. I wish I could have said the same about her, but my heart belonged to someone else, who will remain nameless. In 1976, I moved to Fort Worth, TX to start graduate school. BJ saw the movie "A Star is Born" and became enamored by Kris Kristofferson. She wasn't just a fan. She was a fanatic. Soon after that, I worked with Kris on "Semi-Tough" and wrote to BJ about that, having learned of her liking him. She was overjoyed. I had come in contact with her idol. A year or so later, she moved to Nashville to get a writer's job at Billboard Magazine so that she could get close to the music scene and somehow to Kris. She also had the notion that she could get Kris to stop drinking. She was delusional, but at the same time very creative. When I started working in the Record Department at Sanger Harris in Fort Worth, I got a few promo posters from RCA. One was of Kris. I sent it to her, and she just loved it, until she found out that Kris was with Rita Coolidge, and then she ripped up the poster and burned it.
BJ still had feelings for me though. From Texas, I would send her cassettes with music and thoughts on them, trying to bolster her spirits. She became very depressed. She would send tapes back to me, many of which were disturbing with her depressed mood. When I moved back to Columbia in 1979, she had already moved back from Nashville. She wanted to hook up with me, but my heart belonged to someone else, who will remain nameless.
After many calls and letters, I finally relented and agreed to take her out. It was my goal to tell her that she needed to move on. I took her to see the movie "ET". I must confess that I treated her like dirt. I am not proud of it, but it was the only way to get her to see that she wasn't for me. All of that went over her head. She didn't get the idea, so I just stopped talking to her. We started to drift apart.
Around the mid 1990's, she called me and wanted to know if I could come over to her apartment for dinner. It had been some time since our last meeting, so I agreed. When I got there, she was cooking the dinner. Apparently, she was not a good cook, because she burned the salad. Don't ask me how, but she did. The food was not good, but I tried to put on a brave face. She could tell I didn't like it, but I lied and said I did. I just didn't want to hurt her feelings. Her mental state was very fragile. We adjourned to her couch after "dinner", and she put her arms around me and thanked me for coming over. I did not want this to go to the next level, so I looked at my watch and said I needed to go. I upset her, but she let me go. I got in my car and drove all the way to Sumter that night. Why? I was having mixed feelings about BJ, and I knew I couldn't let this go on. I had to clear my head.
Two years later, I got the news that BJ had killed herself. The official reason was that she had been working at the Dept. of Social Services, and the plight of her clients had gotten to her personally, and she couldn't handle it. She became severely depressed again and killed herself. I blamed myself for her death. If I had only been nicer to her. If I had only listened to her, instead of running away. Would she still be alive today? Those feelings haunted me for a long time after, until I talked with a therapist in 2012. When I went to her funeral, I was sitting in front of two older women. In fact, I was her only friend at her funeral. Everyone else were friends of her parents. These two women were talking and said they had no idea that BJ had problems. They said she went to Carowinds a week before her death and seemed happy. I sat there getting mad. No one listened to BJ. They had no idea.
BJ wrote poetry. She had published a book of her work. When I was over at her place that night, she gave me a copy. The first poem in the book was called "First Love". She told me that it was about me. At her funeral, the minister read that poem. He said he didn't know who it was about, but it expressed her feelings in a meaningful way. I almost crawled under the pew. I was so embarrassed. A couple of weeks later, BJ's mother came over to my place with a shoebox. She said that BJ would have wanted me to have it. The box contained cassette tapes and letters that I had sent to her. It broke my heart even more. I still have them, although I no longer listen to the tapes.
Do I still have regrets about BJ? No. Do I have any feelings still for BJ? No. I only wish that she was still around. She made the choice to kill herself. I thought for a long time that I had been the catalyst, but she made the choice. She was very ill. I just wish she would have gotten some help. If you know anyone like her, listen to what they have to say. Maybe, they won't make the same decision BJ made. And, if anything good came out of her life, I can say honestly that I take the threats of others more seriously. I hope you will, too.
Tuesday, June 18, 2019
Wino
George Carlin did a great bit early on called "Wonderful WINO Radio". This entry isn't about that, but if you want a laugh, find the bit online. This story is about a time I backslid. As most of you know, I had a drinking problem. In fact, I am a recovering alcoholic. I cringe at those ads on TV that say that they can cure your alcoholism. They can't. I know that I am one drink away from going back to my heavy drinking, so I choose not to. However, there was one night that I let the temptation get the better of me.
I had not had any alcohol since 1984, but it was Christmas 1999. I had been invited to a Christmas party at a friend's house. They were serving wine. My thought was that it wasn't hard liquor, so I could handle it. One problem of an addict, no matter what the substance, is thinking they can handle it. I also wanted to be sociable and not make waves. I guess I could have asked for a Coke or a juice, but wine is a kind of juice, isn't it? Another problem with an addict is that you can't just have one and get away with it. One leads to several more. And on top of everything else, my resistance had been reduced in the 15 years since I had any alcohol. In the old days, I could drink several vodka shots with no trouble. Now, several glasses of wine later were affecting me in a whole different way.
It was time to leave the party after a few hours of drinking wine. I could barely get down the steps of the house. One person asked if I was okay to drive. Of course I was. I had a little issue unlocking my car door, as I couldn't line up the key to the lock, but I was okay to drive. There was a guy in another car that I decided to follow out onto the main road. He eventually turned off to the right to go to his home. I turned to the left to get to my home. I took the left turn too wide and ended up in somebody's yard, almost taking out their mailbox. I apologize for the tire marks in their front yard. I got back on the street and continued home. The most fortunate thing was that no police were out where I was. I got home after swerving off of the road a few more times. I didn't have to work the next day and slept it off.
I have been offered all kinds of alcohol since then, but that wakeup call in 1999 showed me that I could no longer drink anything stronger than soda. I am polite, because those inviters don't know my story. I would never tell them that I am an alcoholic. But, you know. So, I am almost 20 years sober now. Good for me.
I had not had any alcohol since 1984, but it was Christmas 1999. I had been invited to a Christmas party at a friend's house. They were serving wine. My thought was that it wasn't hard liquor, so I could handle it. One problem of an addict, no matter what the substance, is thinking they can handle it. I also wanted to be sociable and not make waves. I guess I could have asked for a Coke or a juice, but wine is a kind of juice, isn't it? Another problem with an addict is that you can't just have one and get away with it. One leads to several more. And on top of everything else, my resistance had been reduced in the 15 years since I had any alcohol. In the old days, I could drink several vodka shots with no trouble. Now, several glasses of wine later were affecting me in a whole different way.
It was time to leave the party after a few hours of drinking wine. I could barely get down the steps of the house. One person asked if I was okay to drive. Of course I was. I had a little issue unlocking my car door, as I couldn't line up the key to the lock, but I was okay to drive. There was a guy in another car that I decided to follow out onto the main road. He eventually turned off to the right to go to his home. I turned to the left to get to my home. I took the left turn too wide and ended up in somebody's yard, almost taking out their mailbox. I apologize for the tire marks in their front yard. I got back on the street and continued home. The most fortunate thing was that no police were out where I was. I got home after swerving off of the road a few more times. I didn't have to work the next day and slept it off.
I have been offered all kinds of alcohol since then, but that wakeup call in 1999 showed me that I could no longer drink anything stronger than soda. I am polite, because those inviters don't know my story. I would never tell them that I am an alcoholic. But, you know. So, I am almost 20 years sober now. Good for me.
Monday, June 10, 2019
Daddy's Gone
My father had a lot of strong qualities. One of them was humility. I had very little idea about what he had done in life before our moving to South Carolina. He just never talked about it. On some visits to Martha Franks in Laurens, I would ask him about that time in his life. The early days. His work in churches around the country. He was reluctant to share these things, but he told me some stories. Like the time he was on a train to Ft. Worth in 1934 and happened to see the bodies of Bonnie and Clyde outside on a porch in Louisiana after they had been killed. That was interesting, but I wanted to know more about his church work. He told me that he thought he was the first full-time Minister of Education in a Southern Baptist church. That would have been in the early 1940's, I think. He told me about his designing church buildings with his Architecture degree from Clemson. He told me about working in some of the greatest churches in the country. I also realized that his stature in Baptist life was how I got into Anderson College, as well as not getting kicked out of seminary.
In late September 1999, I was working at Rich's. We were allowed to wear polo shirts and dress pants. It had gotten a little looser and more fun to work there. The musak played classic rock. One afternoon (September 28th) the phone rang. It was my brother telling me that our father was ill and in a coma at the Laurens County Hospital. The song playing in the store was "Turn Turn Turn" by The Byrds. He said we needed to get up to Laurens and make some plans. I told my supervisor that I had to leave, and she agreed.
We got up to Laurens and immediately went to the hospital. Daddy was lying in a coma. He had experienced several heart attacks over the years and was now in congestive heart failure. He had developed pneumonia and was on morphine. You could pinch his big toe but get no response. You could try to squeeze his hand but get nothing back. My brother was a big baseball fan. He asked the doctor that if it was the bottom of the ninth and two outs, and he had two strikes, would he get a hit and win the game? The doctor said he had 2 1/2 strikes against him, and he wouldn't get a hit. He said that even if Daddy woke up from his coma, he wouldn't know us. Just 10 days before all of this, I had visited my parents at Martha Franks. The last thing Daddy said to me as I was leaving was the same thing he said every time I left: "I love you, and I'm proud of you." Even though I had no idea what was to come 10 days later, those words were of special meaning to me.
The doctor said that Mother had to make the decision about turning off the machines that were keeping Daddy alive. We drove over to Martha Franks. Mother was pretty weak. John and I laid out the situation to her. In a very small voice, she said "Let him go." We went back over to the hospital and told the doctor what she had said. He told us that it would take a while for him to die, so we might as well go back home. By the time we got back to Columbia (a one hour drive), we got the call that Daddy had died.
Another one of my father's traits was organization. He had planned his funeral to the letter. He had also written his own obituary. So, my brother filled in the date of his passing and sent it to the newspaper. He also went to Greenwood to talk with the funeral home there about the arrangements. I got on the phone and called all those he had wanted to perform the funeral service. They all knew what they were to do, as he had talked with them years before.
The service was held at Martha Franks on October 1st so that many of the residents could go. Mother was too frail to go to Greenwood, so she sat in a wheelchair between my brother and me. She had wanted Daddy to be buried with his glasses and Bible. The funeral home said that was not something they liked to do. I explained to them that he would often fall asleep with his glasses on, so they reluctantly agreed to that, and his Bible was placed on his chest, with his hands on top of it. That Bible was the one he used to do funerals and weddings. It only seemed fitting.
When we got to Greenwood for the burial, I wanted to say a few words from the family, but my brother said no. It wasn't in the prepared plan that Daddy had drawn up. I don't remember a lot about the burial. It was chilly. My cousins from Charleston came, and my aunt from Atlanta was there. My friends from St. Matthews (the Stone family) came. The woman staying with my Mother in Laurens told us later that Mother slept for the time we left Laurens and got to Greenwood. When the graveside service started, she woke up and raised up in the bed. About 20 minutes later, she laid back down in bed and went back to sleep. They had been married 62 years. She had been his partner is so many things in churches. That was the only way to describe her reaction. It amazed the woman with her.
On our way back to Columbia, my brother and I were sharing stories about our time growing up in our family. He is almost 8 years older than me, so we grew up separately for much of our lives. We were both interested and surprised that much of our life was so similar. It was obvious we were brothers. There were people who wrote letters to us from around the world about what Daddy meant to them. We got a picture of his impact on the work in churches, on the mission field, and in everyday life. The letters were made into a book.
I was having a hard time grieving. I wanted to get back to work. They gave me a week off, but I was just sitting at home watching TV. I told our HR person about my trouble, and she said that I would be driving down the road and a song would come on the radio that would remind me of my father, and I would start to cry. Every time I hear "Turn Turn Turn", I think of Daddy. I was having dreams about him at night. Some were nightmares. I would wake up screaming "No Daddy No!!". I thought I was going crazy. I was afraid to go to sleep for fear I would have another dream.A friend, who had lost his father earlier, told me to think of those dreams as "visits". I did, and the dreams started to subside. I still have them occasionally, but they are more comforting. I also had people coming by the store to express their sympathies. Even a few years later, a prominent pastor in SC came by. He told me how much my father meant to him and his ministry. I had to go into the stockroom and cry.
We always thought that Mother would die first. God had a different plan. My father was not perfect. We fought a lot. I embarrassed him a lot. He was hard to figure out. But, I am also proud to call him my father. I have one of his ties, which I wear on occasions like Father's Day, their anniversary, his birthday, and other meaningful events. Most people don't know what I am doing with it. They just see it as a tie. I know differently. And somehow through osmosis, I inherited Daddy's humility. Before then, my ego was as big as all outdoors. After he died, I became more humble. Go figure.
In late September 1999, I was working at Rich's. We were allowed to wear polo shirts and dress pants. It had gotten a little looser and more fun to work there. The musak played classic rock. One afternoon (September 28th) the phone rang. It was my brother telling me that our father was ill and in a coma at the Laurens County Hospital. The song playing in the store was "Turn Turn Turn" by The Byrds. He said we needed to get up to Laurens and make some plans. I told my supervisor that I had to leave, and she agreed.
We got up to Laurens and immediately went to the hospital. Daddy was lying in a coma. He had experienced several heart attacks over the years and was now in congestive heart failure. He had developed pneumonia and was on morphine. You could pinch his big toe but get no response. You could try to squeeze his hand but get nothing back. My brother was a big baseball fan. He asked the doctor that if it was the bottom of the ninth and two outs, and he had two strikes, would he get a hit and win the game? The doctor said he had 2 1/2 strikes against him, and he wouldn't get a hit. He said that even if Daddy woke up from his coma, he wouldn't know us. Just 10 days before all of this, I had visited my parents at Martha Franks. The last thing Daddy said to me as I was leaving was the same thing he said every time I left: "I love you, and I'm proud of you." Even though I had no idea what was to come 10 days later, those words were of special meaning to me.
The doctor said that Mother had to make the decision about turning off the machines that were keeping Daddy alive. We drove over to Martha Franks. Mother was pretty weak. John and I laid out the situation to her. In a very small voice, she said "Let him go." We went back over to the hospital and told the doctor what she had said. He told us that it would take a while for him to die, so we might as well go back home. By the time we got back to Columbia (a one hour drive), we got the call that Daddy had died.
Another one of my father's traits was organization. He had planned his funeral to the letter. He had also written his own obituary. So, my brother filled in the date of his passing and sent it to the newspaper. He also went to Greenwood to talk with the funeral home there about the arrangements. I got on the phone and called all those he had wanted to perform the funeral service. They all knew what they were to do, as he had talked with them years before.
The service was held at Martha Franks on October 1st so that many of the residents could go. Mother was too frail to go to Greenwood, so she sat in a wheelchair between my brother and me. She had wanted Daddy to be buried with his glasses and Bible. The funeral home said that was not something they liked to do. I explained to them that he would often fall asleep with his glasses on, so they reluctantly agreed to that, and his Bible was placed on his chest, with his hands on top of it. That Bible was the one he used to do funerals and weddings. It only seemed fitting.
When we got to Greenwood for the burial, I wanted to say a few words from the family, but my brother said no. It wasn't in the prepared plan that Daddy had drawn up. I don't remember a lot about the burial. It was chilly. My cousins from Charleston came, and my aunt from Atlanta was there. My friends from St. Matthews (the Stone family) came. The woman staying with my Mother in Laurens told us later that Mother slept for the time we left Laurens and got to Greenwood. When the graveside service started, she woke up and raised up in the bed. About 20 minutes later, she laid back down in bed and went back to sleep. They had been married 62 years. She had been his partner is so many things in churches. That was the only way to describe her reaction. It amazed the woman with her.
On our way back to Columbia, my brother and I were sharing stories about our time growing up in our family. He is almost 8 years older than me, so we grew up separately for much of our lives. We were both interested and surprised that much of our life was so similar. It was obvious we were brothers. There were people who wrote letters to us from around the world about what Daddy meant to them. We got a picture of his impact on the work in churches, on the mission field, and in everyday life. The letters were made into a book.
I was having a hard time grieving. I wanted to get back to work. They gave me a week off, but I was just sitting at home watching TV. I told our HR person about my trouble, and she said that I would be driving down the road and a song would come on the radio that would remind me of my father, and I would start to cry. Every time I hear "Turn Turn Turn", I think of Daddy. I was having dreams about him at night. Some were nightmares. I would wake up screaming "No Daddy No!!". I thought I was going crazy. I was afraid to go to sleep for fear I would have another dream.A friend, who had lost his father earlier, told me to think of those dreams as "visits". I did, and the dreams started to subside. I still have them occasionally, but they are more comforting. I also had people coming by the store to express their sympathies. Even a few years later, a prominent pastor in SC came by. He told me how much my father meant to him and his ministry. I had to go into the stockroom and cry.
We always thought that Mother would die first. God had a different plan. My father was not perfect. We fought a lot. I embarrassed him a lot. He was hard to figure out. But, I am also proud to call him my father. I have one of his ties, which I wear on occasions like Father's Day, their anniversary, his birthday, and other meaningful events. Most people don't know what I am doing with it. They just see it as a tie. I know differently. And somehow through osmosis, I inherited Daddy's humility. Before then, my ego was as big as all outdoors. After he died, I became more humble. Go figure.
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