Flume

  Back around 1968, a group of six boys from First Baptist Church in Columbia went to Atlanta for an overnight trip with our Youth Minister.  That night, we went to a Braves baseball game.  The next morning, we went to Six Flags over Georgia.  I love Six Flags and have been there many times.  In fact, I have also been to the one in Texas and the one outside St. Louis.  

 On this particular trip, we wanted to do something that no one else had done, as far as we knew.  We found the Log Flume ride and wanted to cram as many of us in the one log.  There was no rule how many people could be in one log, so we devised a plan.  There was one kid in our group that new something about weight distribution, so he suggested that we get in by how much we weighed.  The heaviest would be in the front of the log, and the lightest would be in the back.  That way, we would get more speed going down the last hill.  The other part of the plan was that we figured that water could go over the top of the log due to the weight, so if that happened that some of us would be in charge of baling the water out of the log to avoid us sinking.  

 So, we went up to the ride and asked permission of the operator to let us all get in the log.  They weren't happy about that, but there was no sign stating a maximum, so they had to let us try it.  The heaviest boy was short, so we put him in the leg opening under the front of the log.  Then each of us, including our chaperone, got into the log one by one and crammed in as close as we could.  I was next to last and inside the log.  The seventh boy and lightest was actually sitting on the top of the log in the back.  The operator told us he couldn't do that, so we squeezed him in.  We had seven people in a log really made for four.

 The ride started.  The first thing we noticed was that water was coming over the sides, and we were afraid of sinking, so three of us began baling.  When the log started going into the first turn, those not baling were pushing off of the side of the rail to keep from flipping over.  We then figured out that if we leaned away from the curve, we wouldn't be in danger of flipping over.  We had to react backwards from what would be a normal reaction on that ride just to stay moving.  Things were going well, although the log was moving slower than usual due to the weight.  Then, we got to the last hill.  

 There was some debate amongst us as to how we were going to approach that last hill.  Our original thought was to lean back going up the hill and then lean forward going down the hill for maximum speed.  There were those who wanted to do that, since we wouldn't get so wet.  But then, another problem arose.  Some suggested that if we were to all lean forward that the log might flip over at the bottom of the hill from the weight.  We weren't keen on drowning, so we decided to do something differently.  Going up the hill, we all leaned forward to allow the chain to take us up easier.  Going down the hill, we all leaned backward to keep the log from flipping over.  This meant that we would get very wet from the splash, but it was better than drowning.  We survived.  We cheered.  We got up to the end of the ride, and the operator was pretty mad.  Some officials from Six Flags were also mad.  But, we did it.  Seven people in a log made for four.  We felt that it we had an unofficial world's record for the number of people you could get into a log at Six Flags.  I dare say we still have that record.  And, Six Flags has a sign on the ride now that says no more than four to a log.  Guinness should have been there to validate our achievement.

PBS

  Because I live below the poverty level, I get Food Stamps (SNAP).  I also get Medicaid.  Back in 2011, I started getting Medicaid.  It seemed pretty good, because I had also been getting indigent care from two doctors and a hospital.  Those folks could bill Medicaid for some procedures, I thought.  Upon further research in 2013, I found that Medicaid was different whether one was a man or a woman.  If I was a single woman with dependent children, Medicaid would cover just about everything.  By being a man, the only thing I could get for free was a vasectomy.  That just didn't make sense.  A woman with a bunch of kids could get everything.  They would pay for a man not to have children.  I didn't take the free offer.

 A provision in the Affordable Care Act would give the states the option to take an expansion to Medicaid which would help people like me get quality care.  Yes, it would cost the states money to opt into the program, but it would help so many residents to get healthcare that they couldn't afford.  It was estimated that up to 500,000 people or more would have been helped.  Our governor decided not to do the Expansion.  So, in January 2014, I was asked to participate in a rally at the State House to oppose her decision.  People came from all over the state to protest and beg the governor to reconsider.  

 I spoke at a press conference that was held inside the State House near the governor's office.  "Enough Is Enough" was the slogan of that day.  There were TV stations from around the state there, as well as some national outlets.  I was interviewed by the Charleston newspaper.  I told the reporter that I was 60 years old and couldn't get Medicare for 5 more years.  I told him that I just prayed that I wouldn't get a catastrophic illness until then, because I couldn't afford it.  I could get a free vasectomy.  

 We went out on a stage behind the State House for the rally.  There was a group that brought a casket and set it in front of the stage to symbolize all those people who could die without the Expansion.  I had prepared a speech that I thought would be quite powerful, but I wasn't asked to speak.  Too bad.  I would have brought that crowd to a frenzy.  It was called "I'm Tired".  Basically, it had to do with me being tired of politicians not doing stuff for the State, but rather for only certain constituents.  It would have been a barnburner. January in Columbia can get pretty cold.  I had on four layers of clothes.  The wind coming around that stage was brutal.

 After the rally, we went  to a holding room at the Treasurer's office.  PBS was there to interview some of us who had been to the press conference.  Time was tight, so they only got a couple of people on camera.  The PBS reporter said that she wanted to interview me later and wanted to do so at my apartment. I gave her and her cameraman the directions, and they said they would be there later in the afternoon.

 Late that afternoon, the two folks from PBS showed up.  The cameraman was based in DC, and the reporter was from Denver.  She wanted to interview me about the lack of Medicaid Expansion in SC, and how it has directly affected me.  Because of my Beatles memorabilia in my apartment, I asked the cameraman not to shoot that, because I didn't want to advertise what I had.  I also told him that there were rules about shooting the outside of the apartments for privacy reasons.  MIRCI is very clear in the lease about that.  He agreed to those requests.  I moved some things around in my apartment to get a clear shot of me.  We talked for almost two hours.  At one point, they wanted me to go to my refrigerator and take out a TV dinner and go to the microwave to cook.  It had to do with not being able to eat healthy.  It took a couple of tries to get the thing right.  

 As they were leaving, the reporter told me that it would be on the PBS News Hour in a couple of weeks.  I walked them out to their car.  The cameraman wanted a shot of me going to my apartment, so I headed back inside.  I turned around and saw them leave.  He didn't film me going back in.  I guess they wanted to go.  But, I wasn't boring.  A couple of weeks later, I received an email from the reporter.  It was going to be on that night.  I watched intently.  My picture was shown from being on stage at the rally.  And then came the interview.  They were in my apartment for two hours.  The interview lasted about a minute, which included my walk from the refrigerator to the microwave.  But, I did get on PBS.  And, the governor refused our plea to take the Medicaid Expansion that would helps thousands of our citizens.  Thankfully, I didn't have a catastrophic illness before getting Medicare.  Only by the grace of God.

Heflin

  A few months before my Mother died in 2004, she had expressed that she wanted to be buried next to her mother and father in Heflin, Alabama.  My brother and I wanted to do what she had asked, but it was just too expensive to do that.  Also, there was already a joint gravestone made for my father and mother in Magnolia Cemetery in Greenwood, South Carolina.  The only thing missing from the stone was the date of her death.  There was also a burial plot for her at that cemetery, so we decided it would be best for Mother to be buried in Greenwood.  Incidentally, there is one more plot in our family section in Greenwood, and that is reserved for me.

 Mother loved Alabama.  She was born there.  She went to college there.  Her college was called Alabama College.  It was an all girls school.  The name was later changed to the University of Montevallo.  She always pulled for the University of Alabama football team (Roll Tide!).  The Merrill name was synonymous with Alabama.  My brother and I had agonized about our decision to bury Mother in South Carolina, so he got the idea to honor her by placing a memorial stone in the Merrill family plot at the cemetery in Heflin.  It was a wonderful idea.

 The plan was to do a small service at the cemetery in September, 2013.  It would be an overnight stay, so I went online to search for a motel room for me.  There was a motel in Heflin, but they had terrible reviews about bedbugs.  I found a good motel in Oxford, Alabama which was about 20 miles away.  The motel was just down the street from the old Motel Samantha, where I almost drowned in their swimming pool as a kid.  I have written about that story earlier in the blog, but I am very grateful that God put that soldier there that day.  My brother rented a car for me to drive to Alabama.  I left on Sunday.  The service was to be on Monday.

 When I got to the motel in Oxford, I checked in and drove over to Heflin.  If you have ever been on I-20 into Alabama from Georgia, Heflin has a sign.  It is a small town and the Cleburne county seat.  I drove over to where my Mother's family lived.  The old house was torn down years ago and is just an empty lot.  After my Grandfather died in 1958,  my Grandmother built a house next door to the old homeplace.  It was next door to the Heflin Baptist Church.  I stopped in the parking lot and began to take pictures of the place.  My Grandmother died in her home in 1969.  Later, it became the law office for my Uncle Carl until his death in 2001.  It was later turned into a home for helping those in need.  Grandmother would have liked that.  On the backside of where the old home once stood are some stone steps.  I thought of my mother and a brother or two sitting on those steps.  My mother would tell me stories about her friends going down to the railroad tracks and waving at the trains.  The tracks were just a block from their house.  I then drove down to Main Street and took pictures of the courthouse, where my Grandfather worked.  He was always referred to as "The Judge", because he was.  There were still some old buildings downtown that looked like history had stood still.  I headed over to the cemetery and saw the graves of all of my Merrill relatives.  I also saw the memorial stone for my mother.  It was placed between her father and mother.

 I left Heflin and drove back to the motel.  While resting there, my cell phone rang.  It was one of my MTRA board members wanting me to get something done.  I explained to her that I was in Alabama and couldn't do anything until Tuesday.  She apologized.  I miss landlines.  

 Monday came, and I drove to the Heflin funeral home.  I met my brother and sister-in-law there.  Also, my Merrill cousins from Anniston were there, as well as some relatives I had never met.  We drove over to the cemetery.  There were some guys cutting the grass and making a lot of noise.  We asked them to stop for a few minutes, but they didn't want to.  They were getting paid to cut the grass.  We asked them to move to another part of the cemetery, and they did.  We had a short service on a cold and windy day.  It was good to see my cousins.  Mother would have liked it.

 We were then invited to go to lunch at my cousin Martha's house on a mountainside in Anniston.  Her house was huge.  I brought some Merrill artifacts to give to my cousins including The Judge's walking stick and a commemorative award from FDR to my Grandmother for her work selling war bonds during World War II.  We told stories about our Merrill family.  There was a lot of laughter.

 I was thinking about when to leave to drive home.  I had to go through Atlanta but wanted to avoid the rush hour traffic.  Since Alabama is one hour behind Georgia, I had to figure the time carefully.  I said my goodbyes and estimated that I would get to Atlanta around 3pm.  All was great, until I reached Atlanta.  A truck had run into a church bus.  All lanes on I-20 were blocked.  So much for planning.  I got home late, but it was a great time.  Mother would have liked it.

By-Laws

  The MTRA was getting organized.  We put together a membership brochure and were allowed to put them in the transit station, so that riders could pick them up.  There was a form that they could fill out and put them in a locked box at the station.  We also had a board in the transit station to post announcements.  Our goal was to keep the riders informed about changes, because the bus system was a little lax.  We heard from riders that they didn't know what the changes were.  We also asked the riders what changes they wanted, and if there were any complaints about service that we could address.  We got a post office box to facilitate letters sent to us from riders and concerned people.  We also got a bank account.

 We had invited those who had signed up to join the MTRA to a membership meeting to elect officers.  Even though we had gotten around 50 members at that time, only about 10 showed up.  I was elected the President, because no one else wanted to do it.  My friend, Keith, was elected Vice-President.  We also elected a Secretary and Treasurer.  

 Because we were becoming an actual organization, it became necessary to have by-laws.  All the money to run the MTRA was coming out of our own pockets and a few donations, so we could not afford an attorney to draw up the by-laws.  We heard about a program through the University of South Carolina's Law School that helped non-profits.  They only accepted three groups each year.  We were accepted to participate.  

 Keith and I went to the Law School and met the two students who would help us.  Both were second-year law students.  We spent a few months hashing out the by-laws and making them legal under South Carolina law.  It became rather tedious, but we wanted to have them done right.  The Dean of the Law School went over the by-laws to make sure they were accurate.  Our Board got copies of our work to make suggestions where needed.  At the end of working with the Law School, we had what we thought was a good framework for the MTRA.  There were a couple of people on our Board that raised concerns.  They were mad, because they felt left out of the process.  Keith and I explained to them that we had formed an Ad Hoc committee to get this done.  We invited one of the objectors to the Law School, and we met with the students that had helped us.  She appeared to be satisfied with it.  Our Board poured over the wording of each section, and we voted on it.  It was unanimous.  Then, we called a special general meeting of the members of the MTRA to approved the by-laws.  By now, we had about 100 people join.  We sent out invitations via email and snail mail.  The meeting was in the public library downtown on a Saturday afternoon.  About 15 showed up.  The by-laws were presented for a vote.  It passed.  Now, we had a roadmap on how to do things.  Thankfully, I was getting some mental health counseling during this time.  I couldn't have done it without that.

Presser

  I am very proud of my brother.  He has done some amazing things for our state and elsewhere.  Most of the things have been behind the scenes.  John does better, when he doesn't get the credit.  He has been a speechwriter for a Governor and a Senator.  He has run political campaigns.  He was the driving force to get Olympic teams from other countries come to Columbia and train before the 1996 Atlanta Games.  He carried the Olympic torch.  One of the only things he has done out front was when Governor Hodges asked him to be the Director of Parks, Recreation and Tourism for the State of South Carolina.  John was the PRT Director during the 9/11 attacks and had to build back the Tourism industry after that awful day.  He has a passion for sports, especially Golf and Baseball.  He just retired from being the President of the Restaurant and Lodging Association for SC and had to deal with the issues surrounding the pandemic.  John is a problem solver.  

 In our family, John asked us early on to support his work for him to succeed.  His candidates were our candidates.  His passions were our passions.  He was known all over the community for his successes in getting things done.  I had learned a lot from him over the years about working with others in a constructive manner.  You can get a lot more done working with people instead of being angry.  It had taken me a long time to get to that point.  Just ask those folks I went to college with.  Back then, I was vicious.  I didn't care whose toes I stepped on.  I got in trouble for some of it, but it was worth it.  As I matured, I found that wouldn't work in the "real world", so I toned it down while still being persuasive.

 My family name is known by many people.  Some knew my father as a man of faith.  Some knew my uncle in Charleston for being a doctor.  Some knew my uncle in Greenwood for being the founder of The Museum.  Some recognized the street name next to Lander University.  Some knew my brother from his work.  Some knew me from my acting and retail work.  The Durst name was known.  My father used to tell me:  "Don't forget who you are."  He was talking about my last name.  Early in 2013, I went to the SC Secretary of State's office to get an application for non-profit status for the MTRA.  When I walked in the door, the secretary asked my name.  I told her, and her mouth dropped open.  She said, "You're a Durst?!!"  I said that I was.  She told me that we were related.  It turned out that she was from Batesburg, where there are a lot of Dursts.  We aren't closely related, but I let her think so.  She rushed through my application, and the MTRA was approved on the spot.

 In the early days of the MTRA, I had a conversation with my brother about what I wanted to do to be an advocate for the bus riders.  At first, he had some misgivings about my participation.  He knew of my history of being a bulldog.  I could alienate people with my rhetoric.  I told him that we were going to have a press conference one afternoon behind the Transit Station.  We had invited local TV stations and print media to come.  Some showed up.  We got on the local news and reported the next day in the paper.  When my brother saw the coverage, he gave me his blessing and a word of advice.  "Stay positive".  By being positive about issues, rather than negative, people will listen.  I listened.

MTRA

  After the passage of the penny tax for transportation in Richland County, the Progressive Network thought it would be a good idea to form a grassroots group representing the bus riders in the Columbia metropolitan area.  We met to form what would be called the Midlands Transit Riders Association.  The core group consisted of one person gifted in public relations; one person who could represent the disabled community; one person who had experience in mobilizing people; and me.  I was named the interim president of the group.  I knew I needed someone who knew people on the city and county councils, so I asked a friend from the Andre Bauer campaign if he would be interested in joining our group.  He said yes.

 I attended a couple of board meetings of the bus service and found that they were more interested in getting money for the system than the riders.  I asked to speak at one of their meetings and introduced myself as the president of the MTRA.  I explained to them what we wanted to do, and they were interested.  One of the board members thought it would be a good idea to include us to give a report each month in their board meetings, and to give us a non-voting seat on the Service Standards Committee where operation proposals would be hashed out before taking them to the Board to be voted on.  One of the Board's members ran into my friend at a newspaper office.  My friend was black, as was this Board member.  He told my friend that he didn't like a "silver-spoon white boy" representing bus riders, since the majority of riders were black.  He also called my friend an "Uncle Tom" for working with me.  When my friend told me that, I had to go home and research what "silver-spoon white boy" meant.  I was horrified.  I made it clear to all of the Board members, without singling him out, that I was chosen to lead the MTRA because of my talents, and because I had lived in Columbia most of my life and knew the needs of the community.  

 The first order of business was to get Sunday bus service back.  It had been cut out before the passage of the penny tax to save money.  I went to the Executive Director of the bus service and told him that we wanted Sundays back.  He asked why?  I told him that I knew of some women who had lost their jobs at hotels in Columbia, because they couldn't get to work on Sundays.  I also said that I wanted to get back to church.  Thanks to the TV ministry, I could watch my church on Sundays.  However, there were many people who didn't have that luxury.  His response to me was that there is a church within walking distance of everybody in Columbia.  I suppose that is true, but it wasn't my church which was nine miles from where I lived.  I put together a coalition of church and business leaders to lobby the bus service for Sundays. We also went to a neighborhood gathering in North Columbia and asked people what they wanted the bus service to do.  The overwhelming majority of people said Sundays.   It worked.  We got Sundays back.

 One of the advantages we had with the MTRA was that the Executive Director and the Route Planner did not know about Columbia.  One had come from Knoxville and the other from Tallahassee, so they were not familiar with the area.  That helped out a great deal, as we began to formulate a list of wants.

Chance

  It was the Fall of 2012.  There was going to be an election that year for a lot of things, but one in particular interested me.  It was the vote on a penny increase on the sales tax in Richland County.  It had failed in 2010, and it was on the ballot again.  The penny would go to improve roads, public transit, and bikeways in Richland County.  I had heard that there was going to be a voter registration table at the Transit Station in downtown Columbia, and I felt that I needed to help.

 I got down there and found an old friend from my anti-war days.  It was Brett Bursey.  He was in charge of a group called the Progressive Network, and they wanted the penny tax to pass.  Brett had been very active in the anti-war movement during the Vietnam era.  He had a group of people going around the station to sign up people to vote.  We started talking about the old days, and he said that he wanted to start a group of activists to represent the bus riders in Columbia.  I told him that I was interested in that project.  He said that there was no one on the Central Midlands Transit Authority Board of Directors who rode the bus, and he felt that a grassroots group could affect the needs of the riders.  It sounded like a good idea.

 We worked that afternoon and got a lot of people registered to vote.  We explained the need for a penny increase for the good of all.  I had planned to just be down there for an hour.  I spent all afternoon talking to people and getting a sense of why they rode the bus.  Most didn't have a car, like me, and some only had one car in their family.  I remembered what I heard God say to me three years before, as I was in the midst of killing myself.  He said, "Stop!  I have more for you to do."  I now knew what He meant.  He and I were going to work to get the bus system in Columbia to a better level of service.  At that moment, I didn't know how we were going to do it.  But on the way home from the Transit Station, I talked to God and asked Him to show me what I could do.  I saw the need.  I had been seeing the need, while I was homeless.  I realized that He had been preparing me for this moment.  I could use my skill sets of public speaking; knowing people in the community who could help; and being able to speak the language of the politician.  I knew about cause and effect.  I knew what I had to do.