Mother

  My mother was born on January 2, 1915, in Anniston, AL.  Her name was Mary Frances Merrill.  Her mother was a schoolteacher, and her father was a lawyer and judge.  She had four brothers and one sister.  As a child, one of her jobs was to make sure their cow wouldn't wander off.  The cow had a habit of chewing through the rope that kept her near the house.  Mother would often have to find the cow.  Her father became the circuit judge for Cleburne County in Alabama, so they moved to Heflin, which is where she grew up.  As a teenager, she contracted rheumatic fever and almost died.  Her mother homeschooled her for a while.  She graduated from high school a year or two early and went to Alabama College in Montevallo.  She majored in English and loved to write.

 In 1936, she was called to attend Southwestern Baptist Theological Seminary.  She majored in Religious Education.  She wanted to be a librarian, but she met my father there, and they got married in 1937 in Heflin.  As they were serving at a church in Houston, TX, she entered a statewide poetry contest and got first place.  First prize was a book of poetry that was written by the judge of the contest.  She was the dutiful minister's wife, as my father was called to several churches.  In Atlanta, my brother was born in 1945.

 They moved to New Orleans, where I was born in 1953. I was named for her father, although one of her brothers laid claim to my being named for him, too.  One of my earliest memories of her and me was when I got lost in the grocery store.  I had gone to look at something, and when she turned around, I wasn't with her.  Panic set in for both of us.  A clerk found me and brought me back to her.  After that experience, I had to hold onto the hem of her dress or be in the grocery cart.  During that time in New Orleans, she was able to work part-time in the seminary's library.  

 When we moved to Columbia, we were renting a house while looking for a permanent one.  Her desire was that the house had to have a nice kitchen.  We looked at several houses, until we saw one on Belmont Drive.  She saw the kitchen and told Daddy that this was the one.  It was.  Since Daddy was gone a lot with his work, Mother was the one who raised us.  She loved music, especially Broadway showtunes.  At dinner, there would be music playing in the background from "My Fair Lady", "Camelot", "The King and I" or "South Pacific".  She heard a group called The Beatles on a TV show, and suggested I watch The Ed Sullivan Show to see them.  I was zapped through the TV screen thanks to her.

 She also loved to read.  Mainly mysteries and spy thrillers.  She was also in a Book Club of ladies who compared books they had read.  One of the kind of books she loved was the James Bond series.  She also loved movies.  One of the earliest movies she took me to was "Shane".  I also saw "Bambi".  Two incredibly sad movies.  When I became old enough, she took me to see my first James Bond movie, which was "Goldfinger".  I didn't understand some of the references, but I really like the action.  I was zapped through the screen at those films, too.  We saw every Bond film together, with the last one being "Live and Let Die" in 1973.

 She also loved to write.  Besides the poetry, she loved to write inspirational stories.  She had a strong faith in God which was in her writing.  She wrote devotionals for the Southern Baptist Convention, and later teaching suggestions for Sunday School teachers in the Convention.  She also taught Sunday School in our church to college girls.  After church each Sunday, we would go out to eat at a cafeteria.  We would put our Bibles in the car but not lock the doors.  She would say that if anyone would steal our Bibles, then they really needed them.  Mother had learned to drive, when we got to Columbia, since Daddy was out of town a lot.  

 Later in life, Mother developed macular degeneration.  She had ignored the warning signs, until it was too late to fix.  She could no longer read or write.  Also, during this time, she developed depression.  We didn't know it until much later, but she did.  Her joys had been taken away.  I would read to her.  She loved me to read funny things from books or the comics.  In 1991, she had a massive stroke.  She was able to get back to some walking and speaking through rehab, but she was never the same.  She mumbled a lot, but I could understand her and translate it to Daddy.  Eventually, they moved to a nursing home in Laurens, SC.  After Daddy died in 1999, the depression had gotten worse.  By 2003, she had stopped eating and wanted to die.  Her nurses would call us and ask us what to do, and we told them to force-feed her.  It was getting worse in 2004.  My brother and I realized that she wanted to go to be with her family in Heaven, so we told the nurses not to force food on her anymore.  Mother died on July 8, 2004 and was buried next to my father in Greenwood, SC.  She had wanted to be buried in Heflin next to her parents, but it was just too expensive to do that, so she relented in her last days to be buried in Greenwood.

 In 2013, my brother and I dedicated a memorial gravestone in the cemetery in Heflin for Mother.  It sits between the graves of her father and mother, and says that she is buried in Greenwood, SC.  She would have loved that gesture.  She was an amazing woman.  She inspired many people to do good.  She was very creative, which she passed on to me.  She taught me to be strong but kind to others.  She was my friend, my guide and my teacher.  She loved to laugh.  She was taught by her parents never to cry, because it was a sign of weakness.  I only saw her cry twice.  Once when Daddy died, and once when her favorite brother died.  She cried a lot inside, but she always had a smile on her face.  She never complained.  She lives on in my heart.

Daddy

  My father was born on July 21, 1911 in Greenwood, SC. His name was John Kemp Durst III.  He was the youngest of four sons.  His father died, when he was 13.  His mother was a schoolteacher and never remarried.  His mother was very strict, but she paid for three out of four sons to attend college.  They all went to Clemson.

 Daddy majored in Architecture, which came in handy later in life.  He was called into the ministry while at Clemson, but he taught school in Greenville after graduation to save some money to go to seminary.  In 1934, he set out for Southwestern Baptist Theological Seminary in Fort Worth, TX by train.  The train went through Arcadia, LA, where he saw the bodies of Bonnie and Clyde laid out in front of a funeral home.  Daddy majored in Religious Education and graduated with a master's degree from seminary.  He also met my mother there, as she was also in the education program.  They were married on May 25, 1937 in Heflin, AL, where she was from.

 He worked in churches in Spartanburg SC, Houston TX, Atlanta GA, Asheville NC and Richmond VA.  He was the first full-time paid Minister of Education in a local church in the Southern Baptist Convention.  He then became an Associate Professor of Religious Education at New Orleans Baptist Theological Seminary and got his doctorate in Religious Education from Southwestern in 1956. He was very proud to have an earned doctor's degree than an honorary one, like a lot of people did.

 In 1958, he became the director of the Sunday School Department for the South Carolina Baptist Convention.  He was also their Church Architecture Consultant, using what he learned in college.  He stayed in that position until his retirement in 1976.  

 As I was growing up in that environment, I knew my father as Daddy.  I also knew he had a lot of friends who were big in the ministry, but I just knew them as his friends.  When we would go on vacation, the trips were usually centered around his work.  We spent two weeks every summer in the mountains of NC at Ridgecrest, while he was leading Sunday School conferences.  We spent a couple of weeks in NM at Glorieta, which was just outside Santa Fe.  He led conferences there.  We would go to the Southern Baptist Convention in places like Houston, Atlantic City and Philadelphia.  He was there for work.  We were there on vacation.  He would try and expand our trips to see the sites.  One of those trips took us to California by way of the Old West.  We were supposed to meet up with Roy Rogers in California.  He was one of my father's friends.  That didn't work out, but we did get to go to Disneyland.

 Daddy was away a lot with his work.  He did Sunday School campaigns in Alaska, Panama, Costa Rica, Honduras, Hong Kong and Macao.  He used to say that travel broadens one.  During that time, Mother raised us more than Daddy did.  If he was home, he would sit in his chair to watch TV and fall asleep.  He would never talk about his work.  He was very humble and very strict.  My brother and I had to play cards under a sheet with a flashlight at night.  When I was 16, I talked back to Daddy, and he slapped me across the face.  Spanking was a regular occurrence growing up.  

 It wasn't until about two years before he died that I made him tell me about his work.  I knew a lot of it already, but I didn't know about all of the stuff I took for granted.  Things like his work in developing a curriculum for Sunday School teachers from Children through Adults.  His working with Education Ministers around the state to create opportunities for witnessing to others.  His reputation in the country and around the world in Religious Education.  He was the humblest man I ever knew.  He never did his work for the fame.  He did it for God's glory.  Daddy died on September 28, 1999 in Laurens, SC.  His heart gave out on him.  In many ways, his influence has carried on beyond his death.  I have a growing respect for him, and his humbleness has been transferred to me.  Osmosis is a bizarre thing.  I am grateful to have had a father who taught me to be humble.

 

Fame

  One of my goals in Life was to be famous.  I grew up in a world of TV and movies.  I loved both as far back as I can remember.  My parents used the TV as a babysitter.  I watched everything.  I wanted that for me, too.  I wanted people to adore me as much as those people on the screen.  I started reading, when I was 3.  It was in the great literature called the newspaper comics.  By the age of 5, I was writing.  I wrote a TV commercial for OK Cereal starring Yogi Bear.  I sent into the advertising people, and they told me to come back in 18 years.  By then, OK Cereal was no more.  In the 4th grade, I wrote a song called "People".  A few months later, Herman's Hermits had a song called "Listen People".  It was remarkably like my song, but I didn't know anything about copyrighting at that time.  I knew I was creative, and I knew that was a step to being famous.

 By the time I got to junior high, my peers started calling me a loser.  They said I wouldn't amount to anything.  Even my high school guidance counselor told me that.  I started to believe them.  I had successes in high school Speech tournaments, but I wasn't famous.  I did find from that experience that I also had a talent for being someone else, which brought me to acting.  I didn't have to be me anymore.  I could escape into a character on the stage.  I got applause for my work.  People told me I was good.  In some circles, I had achieved fame.  But, I wanted everyone to know my name.

 I got roles in movies and on television.  I did commercials, too.  Some people would recognize me on the street, which was flattering, but I still wasn't famous.  At least, not in my mind.  I also had success in retail.  I sold more stuff than anybody in several departments.  I got a lot of awards, but I didn't see myself as famous.  

 Then one day, I realized something in talking to an actress friend from California.  She was famous.  People knew her from her name and her face.  She had loads of money from her work, but she told me something that struck me.  She wanted privacy.  Sure, she wanted to work and support her family, but she also wanted to go to the grocery store without being hounded by fans.  She wanted a life.  I told her that fame is put on you by others.  You are not famous by yourself.  Others put that moniker on you.  It is still good to work at your craft, but you are you.  No one can take that away from you.  

 For most people, fame is something one might have right now, but maybe not when History is written.  I appreciate people telling me how talented I am.  I may have attained fame in some circles.  However, it is no longer important for me to be famous.  I am me.  The rest is gravy.

 

Addiction

  My Mother told me once that I have an addictive personality.  She was so right.  Addiction comes in many forms.  It bothers me, when I see commercials on TV saying that someone can be cured from their addiction.  That is just not true.  One can choose not to do something anymore, but you are never "cured".  It is a choice.  

 I am an addict.  I have been an addict of one thing or another since junior high.  This may be shocking to some readers, but it is a true confession of mine.  I will always be an addict.  One's mind usually goes to alcohol or drugs, but there are so many more ways one can be an addict.  So, let's examine mine, shall we?

 My first addiction is to nude pictures.  It started, when I was 8.  I was in the gift shop at the Columbia Airport and saw my first girlie magazine.  I became obsessed with magazines like Playboy.  I found a couple of places in the woods, where kids would stash Playboy Magazines.  To say the least, it was eye-opening.  Later on, this addiction went to pornography.  By the time I was in high school, I had a fake ID, and I went to see movies for those people over 18.  At first, they were foreign films from France or Scandinavia.  Later, they were hardcore films from the U.S.  When I got to be 18. I could see them without my fake ID.  Without bragging, I would estimate I have seen thousands of these films.  When videotape came along, I was able to see these movies without leaving the house.  I also subscribed to Playboy TV on cable, as well as the magazine.  My need for this started to subside in 2009, when I had a conversion experience.  But, I am still an addict, even if I don't partake in the addiction.

 My second addiction is to cigarettes.  I was in junior high, when I discovered smoking.  I would ride my bike around and see cigarettes on the dashboard of a parked car that was unlocked.  I would steal them.  I would also ride around high school parking lots and smoke the cigarettes thrown on the ground by students who had been smoking in their cars between classes.  When I got home, I would wash my hands in mouthwash and eat a whole pack of breath mints to get the smell off of me.  I don't know if it fooled my mother, but I always had an excuse if she asked me about it.  I stopped smoking for a time, but picked it back up in college.  I graduated from cigarettes to cigars.  It made me look cool.  I stopped smoking in 1984 and really can't stand the smell of it anymore.

 My third addiction was shoplifting. I used the past tense here, because it is no longer an issue with me. This was mostly in junior high and high school.  I was in a club in high school made up of three boys.  Each trying to outdo the other.  I got an old army jacket and cut pockets out in the inside to put my stuff, unless the item was too big, and then I just carried it out of the store.  The main items I would take were toys, magazines, books and records.  In 1969, I got caught stealing a book from a department store.  I convinced the store detective that it was my first time, so he turned me over to my parents.  I should have gone to jail, because I had been taking stuff for at least four years.  That experience became a positive, when I worked in retail.  I knew what to look for.

 My fourth addiction is to alcohol.  I started on my trip to Europe and Israel in 1973.  It began with wine and brandy.  By the time I got to Presbyterian College, it moved on to beer and rum.  When I was in Fort Worth, I had graduated to vodka.  At the height of my drinking, I was putting down a six-pack of beer and a quart of vodka a day.  It is a miracle that I wasn't killed in an auto crash or with alcohol poisoning.  My last drink was in 1999.  I choose not to drink, but I know it would only take one to put me back in that stupor.  

 My fifth addiction is to drugs.  It started, when I went to college at Anderson.  I first did cocaine. I stopped, when I had such a bad nosebleed that it rivaled the horse's head scene from "The Godfather".  I also took uppers and downers to get me through plays and the aftermaths.  I also did a hit of LSD during that time, but it wasn't for me.  When I got to Presbyterian College, I was introduced to marijuana.  I didn't like it very much, except for one time in Atlanta.  I stopped doing any drugs after 1981. I know it would only take one to go back to that life.

 My sixth addiction may sound strange to some, but it is music collecting and memorabilia.  At one time, I had the second largest Beatles video collection in the world (verified).  I had to have anything Beatles.  Then, it moved to other things like autographs.  That is where I am now.  This addiction of mine is current.  I do sell my things on eBay, Amazon and Discogs online.  I am trying to not buy as much now, because I need money for food.  

 There are one or two more that I could write about, but I think you get the picture.  I have an addictive personality.  My addiction now is trying to inspire others and care about others.  Even though I will always be an addict, I am not the person I once was.  Thanks be to God and my Savior Jesus Christ.  Thanks also to my friends who got me through a lot of these issues.  Thanks.

Bootsy

  The Richland County Library invited people to come to an event one night in 2017 to see and hear Bootsy Collins.  For those of you who do not know of him, he is in the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame as a member of Parliament-Funkadelic.  He plays bass guitar and has been rated #4 on Rolling Stone's top 50 greatest bassists of all time.  He has played backup to James Brown, Keith Richards and others. He had come to the library to promote a new release.

 The majority of the night, he spoke about his career and answered questions.  He did sing one song.  After the show was over, he was in the lobby to sign autographs.  I had brought an album on his that was given to me many years earlier by a co-worker.  While we were standing in line to meet him, a man from the library came around and told us that he would only sign copies of his new album and nothing else.  I was bummed.  I wasn't going to pay $30 for his new album, so I decided to leave.  I ran into a friend later who was there that night, and she told me that Bootsy signed everything and even took pictures with the fans.  So, that guy was wrong.  I trusted him to be telling us the truth.  I have trust issues, not just because of him, but also from my life's history of people telling me things, and then I find out they were lying.  Another example.  Bootsy Collins was cool, though.  

Winter

  When I was a freshman at Anderson College, I had a suitemate named Louis Nexsen.  He was sort of a hippie with long hair and a love for music.  Among the artists he introduced me to was the music of Johnny Winter.  He played rock and the blues.  He also played at Woodstock in 1969.  Louis had the album "Johnny Winter And Live".  We just about wore that album out.  

 In 2006, Johnny was to play at a Blues Festival in Columbia at Martin Luther King park in Five Points.  It was going to be outside.  It rained all day and into the night, but Johnny said he would perform no matter what.  The rain had turned the ground into mud.  It was almost over the top of my shoes.  He was a little late getting to the makeshift stage, but it was so worth it.  He played an electric guitar with no frets.  He was a virtuoso on the guitar.  Healthwise, he wasn't doing too good and had to sit on a stool for much of the performance.  I was standing just three rows from the front.  To see him pick on that guitar was truly a once in a lifetime experience.

 His brother Edgar Winter is probably more well-known that Johnny, but Johnny was the better musician.  Thanks to Louis for sharing that album with me.  He lit the fuse on my appreciation of the Blues.

Temps

  When I was a kid, my brother gave me an album for Christmas.  It was called "The Temptations Sing Smokey".  I loved that album.  It had their hit song "My Girl" on it.  Ever since then, The Temptations were one of my favorite groups.  I heard they were going to do a show at the SC State Fairgrounds, I knew I had to go.  They were on the bill with another great group called The Four Tops.

 There was excitement in the store that I worked in, because a fellow employee said she knew The Four Tops.  She was from New Jersey and had been to many of their shows.  She got a front row seat, and they acknowledged her during their show, so I guess she wasn't lying.  Even though I knew of The Four Tops, I wasn't familiar with much of their music, so I spent a little time preparing for the show by listening to some songs of theirs.

 The show was outdoors in the grandstand.  The stage had a cover over it which was a good thing, because it was pouring down rain throughout the show.  Umbrellas weren't allowed, but I was wearing my raincoat.  I found out that my raincoat didn't really work in hard and soaking rain.  It really didn't matter that I was taking a shower with my clothes on.  What mattered was seeing two superstar groups.  

 The Temptations had only one original member on stage that night.  That was okay.  They sang all of their hits anyway.  The Four Tops had at least three of the four original members.  Levi Stubbs was in bad shape health wise, so he sat on a stool the majority of the time.  He died not long after that show.  The Temps and the Tops came on the stage together to close out the show.  It was a great night, even though it was very soggy.  It was one of those shows where no one cared about the weather.  When I was homeless a few years later, we had a saying on the street.  If the weather was rainy, hot or freezing cold, we used to say:  "Just deal with it".  I did just that on that rainy night in Columbia.