Crabapples

  My grandmother had a crabapple tree in her backyard in Greenwood. When we would visit her, she wanted me to pick them and bring them in so she could make a pie.  I learned the difference between good and bad fruit.  The bad fruit had fallen on the ground and being eaten by birds and squirrels.  The good fruit was still in the tree but maybe not ripe yet.  They had to be ripe for the pie.  Another example of a science experiment growing up.  How to pick a ripe crabapple before falling to the ground. There were times, when I would come back emptyhanded.  This made my grandmother mad.  She was mad a lot.

 In our neighborhood growing up, there was a man who lived next to a busy road.  He had a crabapple tree.  Since I was familiar with the fruit, I could educate my friends on the art of how to know if the fruit is ripe.  He had the same problem as my grandmother of having most of the fruit to fall to the ground and be rotten.  What could we do with the rotten crabapples?  We threw them at each other.  The fruit had hardened, so it hurt when it hit us.  We did find out one use for them.  They could bounce on the road.

 One night, we ventured out and hid behind a bush next to the street.  Our goal was to try and bounce a crabapple and hit under a passing car.  We wanted the driver to think something was wrong with their car.  We had to get the timing just right so that the crabapple would hit just under the driver's seat.  We didn't know anything about physics or geometry, but those subjects factored heavily into the success of our mission.  When we got it just right, there would be a thump, and the driver would slow down dramatically to see what had happened.  We got a laugh over that and would go home.

 As time went on, we got bolder and started hitting multiple cars.  Some of us were better than others, but we would all hit at least one car during the night.  Apparently, some of the drivers had complained to the police about us.  One night, we were out there, when a police car came by.  Because it was dark, we didn't see it was a police car.  We launched a crabapple perfectly.  It bounced on the road and up into the car.  He turned on his lights, and we saw who he was.  I think we broke the world's record for running home.  The officer rang the doorbell of the man, waking him up.  He told the man to tell us not to do that anymore.  The man didn't know what the officer was talking about, but he said he would.

 The man saw us playing outside the next day and told us what the policeman had said.  We tried to feign ignorance, but who else could it had been in our neighborhood?  We were the only kids living there.  So, no more crabapples.  It was fun while it lasted.

Saturday

  Back in the 1960s, we lived in an area that was kind of close to three military installations:  Fort Jackson, McEntire Air National Guard Base and Shaw Air Force Base.  They would be prime targets to receive a nuclear missile aimed at them.  So, every Saturday at noon, Columbia would test their early warning sirens which were placed all over the city.  These things were placed on telephone poles and would blare out for five minutes.  It was important not to be doing anything during those five minutes, because you couldn't be heard over the sound.

 We lived about a block from one of these sirens.  At noon on the dot, it would sound like the world was coming to an end, but that was the idea.  It was deafening.  The kids in the neighborhood had a scientific query.  How close could we get to the pole with the siren on it before our eardrums burst?  Because you know that we were into science.  We could get as close as a couple of houses before we had to fall on the ground with our hands over our ears.  It was great fun.  The closest I ever got was one house away.  It was like sitting on the front row of a rock concert without earplugs. 

 The goal for us was to touch the pole that the siren was on. I don't think anyone made it.  It was for science.

Sumter

  When I was in 6th grade, we took a field trip to Charleston, SC to take a tour of the historic sites. We also had some of the parents to act as chaperones.  It was a big deal, and our parents had to sign permission slips for us to go.  My mother went as a chaperone, so I was supposed to be on my best behavior.

 One of the places we were to visit was Fort Sumter in Charleston Harbor.  It was the site of the first shots of the Civil War or the War Between the States or the War of Northern Aggression.  In order to get out to Fort Sumter, we had to take a ferry boat.  Even though I had been there before with my Uncle George and his boat, there was still a lot of anticipation about this journey.

 I tended to get sick on boats, so I tried my best not to throw up.  I found that the best place to be on the boat was toward the back, because we didn't bump so much on the waves.  Because most of us were around 11 and 12 years old, some of us were very inquisitive about nature and living things.  One of our kids said he had heard that if you throw a Tums at a seagull, that the bird will catch it thinking it is food.  Then, the Tums will react with the water in the bird's belly, and the bird will start foaming and blow up. That theory seemed outrageous, but of course we had to try it.  

 Someone threw a Tums to a following seagull.  It swallowed it.  A couple of minutes later, we heard a small boom, and the seagull fell into the water dead. The experiment worked.  Unfortunately, one of the chaperones saw what we had done, and that was the end of our experimentation on seagulls.  We got to Fort Sumter and had a good talking to by our teacher.  It was fun, though.

Kennedy

  I was in 5th grade.  Mrs. Kirk was our teacher.  She was short and very strict.  Some kids thought she was mean.  We had to memorize a poem every six weeks and present it before the class.  I guess she liked me, because I did mine right.  

 It was November 22nd, 1963.  We just had lunch in the cafeteria and had settled in to carve green brick.  It was basically hard clay.  They gave every kid a stainless-steel knife to work on the brick.  (Imagine giving that kind of knife to a kid today.  There could be some injuries.)  

 Suddenly, another teacher named Mrs. Elmore burst into our room and frantically told Mrs. Kirk to turn on the TV.  We had a black and white TV in our classroom to watch educational programs.  Mrs. Kirk didn't know what to think, but she cut on our TV.  Just then, we heard the news.  President Kennedy had been shot in Dallas, Texas.  I knew where Dallas was, because I spent a summer in Fort Worth, when I was 3.  

 When I heard the news, I dropped my knife onto the table and gasped.  Some kids laughed, and Mrs. Kirk told them to be quiet.  Shortly after the first news bulletin, they said that the President was dead.  There was silence in our room, and we just stared blankly at the TV screen.  

 After a few minutes, our school's principal came over the PA and said that they were dismissing school.  We didn't have school buses.  Some parents came to pick up their children.  Most of us walked home still in shock.  

 During that weekend, I was glued to the TV except for one time that my neighbor Bruce and I walked outside to get some fresh air. My mother and I saw Lee Harvey Oswald get shot live on TV.  My mother fell to her knees in front of our TV and yelled out, "They shot him"!  I don't know if she thought there was a conspiracy, but I kind of think she did.  

 Years later, I met one of the military pallbearers for Kennedy.  He lived in Columbia and named James Felder.  He later became a civil rights advocate and a hero of mine.  

 That day in 1963 will always be etched in my memory.  You just don't forget days like those. 

Cuba

  I was in elementary school, when the Cuban Missile Crisis occurred in 1962.  We were all scared that the Soviet Union was going to supply nuclear missiles to Cuba, and they would then launch them at the United States thus starting World War III.  The country started a policy for school children called "Duck and Cover".  We were supposed to get under our desks and put our hands over our heads.  This was supposed to protect us from getting killed in a nuclear war.  They also used that exercise for a possible tornado hitting our school.  

 When we got the word, we all fell to the floor and did what we were supposed to do.  As time went on, our teachers became aware that putting our hands over our heads probably wouldn't protect us much, so they moved us into the school's hallway.  We all sat with our knees to our chests, and we put our heads between our knees.  This posture was supposed to protect us better from a tornado or a nuclear blast.  It got us away from the windows in the classrooms.  Smart move.  No one really knew what would happen to us should we be hit.  It was a little more comforting though.

 Living through the Cold War was pretty traumatic.  You just never knew if or when somebody would start a war.  If I watch a movie now that pertains to a nuclear war, and it stops before something bad happens, I start to cry.  It is a reflex action from that period in my life.  Of course, we still have nuclear missiles.  So do other countries.  We also know not to "duck and cover".

 Years later, I came across a blacklight poster in a store.  It looked official from the government.  It had printed steps on what to do in the event of a nuclear attack.  The last line of the poster said, "Put your head between your knees and kiss your ass goodbye."  That made more sense than what the school had us to do.  Keep that thought in the back of your mind just in case.

Craft

  In elementary school, we went on some field trips.  The main purpose for the teachers was for us students to learn about something outside of the classroom environment.  For us students, it was a time to get away from school and pretend we were learning about something outside of the classroom environment.

 We were in 4th grade and went to the Columbia Museum of Art which was on Senate Street downtown.  The cool thing for me was that it was across the street from a local TV station (WIS).  I loved TV.  So, we were supposed to look at works of art from the Masters.  They also had a planetarium at the museum which was pretty cool.  

 The director of the museum (and the founder) was a man named Mr. Craft. He was pretty famous in the Art World.  We went into a room to have a class with him.  Our teacher thought he could teach us everything about art in ten minutes.  One of the things he wanted to talk about was sculpture.  I was sitting on the floor next to his feet.  He looked at me and asked me what a hammer was for.  I didn't hear the question, so I said I didn't know.  He laughed at me.  The whole class laughed at me.  He ridiculed me by saying I didn't know what a hammer was, and didn't my father show a hammer to me?  Didn't I use the hammer to pound in nails?  I felt stupid, and he let me know I was stupid.  The fact of the matter was that I hadn't heard his question.

 All the way back to school, I had to hear the laughter from my fellow students that I didn't know what a hammer was.  Years later, I went back to that museum to confront Mr. Craft, but he had already died.  Good for him.  I was going to bring a hammer.  

Typewriter

  When I think of the word "typewriter", many things come to mind.  The first thing I ever wrote was on a Royal typewriter.  It was a TV commercial for a cereal, when I was five.  The ad agency said I showed promise, but they wouldn't use it.  My father had to show me which buttons to press on the typewriter. Later, my parents gave me a typewriter for a high school graduation present.  It was a Smith-Corona manual typewriter.  I used it until it finally gave out in the 2000's.  I wrote a lot of papers on that typewriter, and I learned how to edit my typing by thinking a couple of sentences ahead.  I even took a typewriting class at a local business school.  I was never really fast and just ended up typing with four fingers. 

 My mother wanted to sell our old Royal typewriter to a college student.  They had acquired it probably back in the 1940's or maybe earlier.  It was really an antique, but she felt that someone else could use it.  She put a notice on the bulletin board at Carolina and that she wanted $20 for it.  This was back in the 1980s.  An Indian student called her and expressed an interest in the typewriter. They agreed to meet in the lobby of a downtown hotel to finalize the transaction.  I went with Mother to the hotel.  

 At the appointed time, the student arrived to look at the typewriter.  He wasn't impressed with it.  In fact, he told her that it was something he didn't expect to see.  The boy said he would give her $10.  My mother was a little miffed, because she thought they had a deal at $20.  Just then, a local TV personality named Joe Pinner walked into the hotel on the way to the dining room for lunch.  My mother said, "Well hello Joe"! She didn't really know him, but she watched him on TV and felt like she knew him.  Joe graciously replied, "Hello, my dear".  The Indian boy's mouth dropped open.  He knew who Joe Pinner was, and he assumed that my mother knew Joe.  The boy gave my mother the $20 and went away impressed.

 Years later, I told Joe that story. I told him that he was responsible for my mother selling the typewriter.  We laughed about it, and he said, with a smile on his face, that he wanted a commission for the sold typewriter.  Whenever I would see him out and about, he would ask me where his commission was?  Then, we would laugh once again.  Thanks, Joe.

Teachers

  Whatever you think is what you want to do in life, a teacher can come along and steer you into another direction.  You may not even realize it at the time, but they can be more objective that you and see talents that you might not even know about.  I have written about my Drama teachers before, as they related to a school I was attending, but I wanted to take this story to feature them all together as a steppingstone to better days.

 Catherine Eaker was at Columbia College.  I was part of a group of high school students from all over Columbia who were chosen to take college-level courses in Theatre and then put on a play.  To this day, I still don't know why I was selected.  The only Drama I had done to that point were a couple of Christmas plays in school.  I learned a lot from her.  She taught me how to work with an ensemble and be believable in my character.  After I got grown, she invited me back to do a Children's play at Columbia College, where I had the lead.  It was a terrifying experience, but she saw that I could do it well.  She was always patient with me, and she put me on that road to better days.

 Everett Vivian was the Speech and Drama teacher at Anderson College.  By the time I got to college, I wanted to major in English and be a writer, but a twist of fate got me into their Drama program.  To be perfectly honest, I felt I knew more about Theatre than him, but he was a good director and got be involved in pretty much everything related to Speech and Drama.  I did learn something about backstage work from him, and also that one doesn't have to do the lead role every time.

 Dale Rains was my Drama teacher at Presbyterian College for my junior year.  I had come into PC from Anderson as being the best in my class.  When I got Dr. Rains, I found that there were actors as good as me or better.  I had to wait my turn to go on the stage and show what I could do.  I did backstage work on two productions, before he let me do my thing.  He taught me a lot about character development.

 Skelly Warren was my Drama teacher at PC for my senior year, as Dr. Rains went on sabbatical.  Skelly was a disciplinarian, which didn't sit well with a lot of us Theatre students who were more free-spirited.  He did teach me about concentration and blocking out everything around you.  He also taught me a valuable lesson.  If you know that you are perfect for a part, you may find out that the director has other plans for you and give you another role that is better.  

 Paula Brooks was my Communications teacher at Southwestern Seminary.  She mostly focused on public speaking, but we worked together to do Religious Drama.  She got permission from the seminary to do a Communications major, and I was the first person to do that.  She and I developed the courses needed for that major, and we did four presentations during my time at that school.  

 In each case, my teachers propelled me forward to do better and to learn more.  They have gone on to Heaven, but I relish the time I had with each one to make me a better actor.  And, I can feel their presence in my heart and mind in making me the best person at what I do in my life.

Question

  I have been struggling with a question:  Who Am I?  It is pretty easy for someone to answer that question about me, but it is very difficult for me to answer it about myself.  It really depends on who you ask, and what part of my life have they known me.  I have friends from 60+ years ago, and some I have recently met.  I hate first impressions.  I also hate assumptions.  For those who have known me a long time, they may not know everything about me.  I have tried for the last ten years, that I have been writing my life story on this blog, to explain who I was and am now.  By devoting the majority of my life to creating a persona that people will like, it makes it very complicated for me to know who I really am as a person.  Some of that persona involved masks.  Some of it involved being different characters.  Some of it involved not being true to myself and others.  So, let's peel back the onion that is my life.

 Some have seen me as a churchgoing person.  I grew up in the church from the day I was born, literally.  My father was a minister, and my mother was a Sunday School teacher.  That part of my life afforded me with some opportunities that others didn't have.  I guess you could say I was blessed to have a family like I had.

 I was also a hippie.  I was an anti-war activist during the Vietnam War era. Just ask the FBI and CIA about that. I did drugs and got drunk a lot.  There were times that I don't know how I got home or how I didn't get arrested.

 I was (and still am) a writer.  I wrote commercials, poems, dramas, short stories, a partial novel, puppet shows, songs, and some blogs.  In many ways, those things were an escape for me from the hardships of life.  I also found that I could communicate to others in a meaningful way.  

 Some people perceived me as a great actor.  I am not going to argue that impression of me.  I can't do that much anymore due to my loss of stamina, but it also helped me escape into a character other than myself.  

 Thanks to learning a trade, I became a retail genius.  Everything I touched and sold in retail stores was a success.  My bosses liked me for doing it, but maybe not enough to pay me for what I was worth to them.  

 There are some things I am not proud of.  I hurt some people.  I could not have a real relationship with women, because I was afraid of commitment. I lied to people.  I spread rumors about people.  I was undisciplined about my life.  I enjoyed pornography.  I sold bootlegged music and videos.  I had a rich fantasy life, especially when it involved relationships. I became homeless, although that was a good thing for me.

 So, who am I now?  I am an advocate for those without a voice in this world.  I am a political junkie. I sell collectibles (eBay, Amazon and Discogs).  I suffer from depression, anxiety and lung issues.  I am still painfully shy, although I try not to let that control me all of the time.  I am loyal to my friends, and I try to treat everyone equally.  Most of all, I am a Christian.  God saved me from killing myself 16 years ago, as He prepared me for my next chapter of my life.  I may be classified as poor economically, but I am rich in Spirit. He has given me humility and not take credit for any good that I do.  I know that I have some God-given talents that have made me who I am, as others see me.  He has kept me alive for a reason.  That is why I am now.  And hopefully, I can continue that for Him a while longer.

Television

  I have done a lot of television.  Some were filmed projects, and others were interviews. With the filmed projects, they were done similarly to films, only quicker.  The interviews were done much quicker, consisting of a few minutes to maybe a half hour.  When doing television, you kind of know who the target audience will be.  Movies could be seen by a wide range of people.  Television is more specific.

 When I did educational programs for 8th grade History classes, we knew who would see it.  The filming was professional but shot only in a couple of days.  There were some continuity issues, but we figured that 8th graders probably wouldn't see them.  If it has been a movie, those issues might have been fixed or maybe not.  Another educational show I was involved in was quite rigorous, because it was being filmed for a wider audience.  The continuity was grueling and meticulous, but it had to be that way for accuracy.  The filming also went on for a couple of weeks, because it was like a TV movie.  Had it been a movie, a couple of weeks would have turned into a couple of months.  The key to doing that kind of TV is to know to do the same thing in the same way, much like movies.  You don't want to show up on a blooper reel years later.

 Interviews are a lot harder.  If it is a short interview, you had better know the points you want to make and anticipate the questions posed to you.  A successful interview will work if there is some chemistry between the two parties. It also works, if the interview is edited by the interviewer before broadcast.  However, there are times when that is not possible.  Live interviews or live to tape are the hardest.  You still have points in your mind about what you want to say, but the interviewer might throw you a curveball and ask something you had not prepared for.  Thinking on your feet (or in a chair) is hard, but you can't panic.  You take a breath and then answer the question.  Hopefully, it will sound okay.  In one interview, they had told me the subjects that would be covered.  I had time to think about my answers.  Then, right before closing the interview, they asked me a question that I had not prepared for.  I couldn't just blow it off, so I came up with a profound answer.  At least, they thought so.  My relaxation techniques worked very well in that situation.

 Just as in film, you can't think about how many people would see you on TV.  Just do your job, and everything will fit into place.  I am ultra-critical about what I do or say on TV, films or plays.  That is how I get better.  No matter how many accolades I can get from an audience, I know I can always be better. I am a perfectionist.  That can be good or bad.  The key is to learn from the bad and accept the good.  And maybe, your ego won't be so big that you can't fit it in a room, like mine used to be.

Films

  "We deal in illusion".  A camera operator on the film "The Midnight Man" told me after removing a false wall to get a shot from a different direction in a scene.  Some movies are shot in less than a month.  You can usually tell, because the quality of the films isn't very good.  The ones I did took at least two months or more.

 A movie is obviously quite different from a play.  When doing a play, there is a lot of rehearsal time spread out over weeks.  The reasoning behind a long rehearsal is that you are going to do the play live, and you don't have the ability to stop a scene because somebody messed up.  In a film, the rehearsal time is much shorter.  Maybe even just before shooting the scene.  If someone messes up, like Halle Berry did in a scene for "The Program" (22 takes), the director can stop filming and reset the scene.  

 There is also a lot of waiting around while doing a movie.  The cameras and lighting have to be set just right.  They have to test the microphones before the actors arrive.  It is a very laborious process.  So, what do the actors do while waiting to film a scene?  Some study their lines. Some sit around and tell stories about previous films they had done.  Some take naps.  It can actually be quite boring in between shots.  "Hurry up and wait" is the mantra in film production.

 The movies I did were not reliant on special effects.  There were stunts that had to be choreographed so no one would get hurt, but realism was very important.  No computer-generated effects.  The only unusual special effect that was used in "The Program" was a camera mounted on the inside of a football helmet to have the audience see what the runner was seeing in a game.  They said that was the first time that had ever been done on film. 

 An actor has no control as to how a film will turn out.  That is the job of the editor.  You might think might have been in the best movie of your career, but then it comes out, and it stinks.  Some of your best work ends up on the cutting room floor.  I was in two good scenes in "Chattahoochee" that didn't make it into the film.  That's just the way it goes.  Sometimes, those scenes are put back in the "director's cut" on DVD but not always.  

 All in all, a good movie is a joy to work on with very professional people (for the most part).  There needs to be more independent films made without the big budgets.  Money often times do not produce quality films.  As an actor, I would much prefer to work with great actors and small budgets than terrible actors with huge budgets.  I have been fortunate to do the former than the latter.

Cars

  I loved everyone in our youth group at Kilbourne Park Baptist Church.  During the summer of 1970, we took a trip to Six Flags Over Georgia outside Atlanta.  Our youth leader wanted us to pair off so no one would get lost.  So, Craig and I paired off with Pam and Gail.  We were going to do everything together.  

 When we got to one ride, Craig and I thought we would get sick on it, so we told Pam and Gail that we would meet them at the exit.  We got over to that spot, but we missed them getting off of the ride.  We looked around for them, but they were nowhere to be seen.  A little panic set in.  Where were they?  We had waited for them.  

 So, Craig and I set out on a quest to find them.  We walked all around the park with no success.  We passed up on a lot of rides looking for them.  After we got lunch, we looked for them some more.  All of a sudden, we passed by a ride made up of cars on a track, and we saw them in one of those cars.  We yelled out to them, and they waved back.  We waited at the exit of that ride and reconnected with the girls.  

 As we were talking to them about where they had been, it turned out that they had been looking for us going around in circles in the park.  At one point, we had reversed our course to see if we would run into them.  They had done the same thing, so we were just following one another around the park.  They got tired of doing that and went on the ride.

 By the time we got back together, it was time to leave the park.  We didn't go on many rides, but our walking gave us a map in our brains where everything was.  If we had stayed in one place, we probably would have run into one another sooner.  Oh well.

Stage

  My first taste of working in a play was in kindergarten, where I played a wise man in a Christmas pageant.  I was very shy and really didn't like being in front of people.  As I got older, I learned to love the stage.  The applause was like taking a drug.  It made me feel incredibly high.  If I got a standing ovation, I was over the moon.  I have already written about my God-given talent for acting, so I wanted to write about the stage.

 I was trained to be an actor without a microphone.  I could project my voice to the last row of a theatre without seeming like I was shouting.  It was a lot easier in a more intimate setting like having the audience surround you and a theater with only a hundred seats, but the basic skills were the same.  When I started acting with a microphone, I found it to be a lot more difficult.  I had been using my voice in a broader way, and now it could be more subtle.  That was hard to get used to.

 One thing I was good at was developing a character.  You are given a script and some lines, but the rest of the development is up to you.  Who is the person you are portraying?  What are his likes and dislikes?  Where did he grow up?  Who were his parents?  Where did he go to school, if he went?  What part of the world did he grow up?  Is he married?  If so, to whom?  There are a lot of questions about a character that are not written in a script.  The job of the actor is to make the character believable to the audience.  Maybe that character is someone that the audience can identify with.  The main thing you have to do in character development is to find something in that person that the actor can identify with.  A memory or emotion from your past that can give depth to the character.  

 One thing I was not so good at was memorizing lines in the script.  If the character has been fleshed out, the words can come a little easier.  I found the best way for me to memorize lines was to repeat them over and over again until they came more natural for my character.  If I flubbed a line on stage, I learned to cover it.  I used to tell students not to freeze up, because then the audience would know you made a mistake.  Stay focused on the character and say something the character would say in the moment, until you found your way back to the script.  The key here is that the audience probably does not have a copy of the script in front of them, so the lines could briefly be your own.

 Now we come to nerves.  I admit that I have terrible stage fright.  I always have.  The anticipation of going on stage is incredibly scary for me.  It is all about my shyness.  Some people say that you are only as good as your last role.  What if the audience doesn't like me?  What if I forget my lines?  What if I hear crickets in the audience?  What if I have to throw up (which I have done) before going on stage? There are couple of things I have done before going on stage.  The first is to get the nervousness out of my body by doing exercises.  It could be yoga or jumping around or muscle relaxation. Whatever is needed at the time to get my energy in the right place.  The second thing I do is meditation.  I would find an empty room offstage and make it as dark as possible.  I would think about my first line that I needed to present.  I would clear my head of negative thoughts and say a prayer.  "Lord, give me the strength to do a good job.  Give me courage to go out onto the stage.  Give me clarity of thought and mind. Thank you for giving me this talent that I am about to use, and may someone receive a blessing from my work. Amen".  After saying that prayer, I know that I will do my best.  When I get out on stage, and say my first line, all of the nerves go away.  I turn nervousness into energy.

 Here are a couple tricks of the trade.  If you have a mirror onstage, put hair spray on the glass.  The spotlights won't reflect in the glass and blind the actors or the audience.  Another is to put a fine layer of water in an ashtray.  If someone is putting out a cigarette onstage, the water will keep it from having residual smoke rising from the ashtray and be distracting to the audience. 

 Stage work can be very hard.  You are in front of an audience without a net.  No second takes.  Not all actors can be good on the stage.  Just like not all stage actors can be good in other mediums like film or TV.  It just takes practice.  I have had a lot of practice.

Newberry

  In my effort to find a teaching position after graduating from seminary, I was sending out a lot of letters to colleges asking to teach Speech or Drama.  I had a master's degree, and a lot of experience in both subjects.  I would get the same letter back from the colleges.  It would say:  "Thank you for your interest. We don't have any openings right now, but we will keep your letter on file for six months in case something opens up."

 After the fiasco with Blue Mountain College in Mississippi, which you can read about in a previous story, I was getting the idea that no one wanted me.  I had found out that the seminary wouldn't recommend me for a job, so I had moved on to other things.  One day, I got a phone call from Newberry College in Newberry, SC.  I had sent them one of my letters but had forgotten all about it.  They wanted me to come to Newberry to teach a night class on Public Speaking.  They told me I would be an adjunct professor.  

 I was flattered by their offer.  It would be a good way to get my feet in the door, and maybe they would give me a full-time position at some point.  There was a problem, though.  Newberry was 45 miles from Columbia, and I would be going and coming in the dark to that college.  I thought about wildlife maybe hitting my car, and the cost of gas, so I thanked them and declined.  Surely, there would be another college that would ask me to come teach, which would be closer to where I lived.  No one else called.  Outside of the work I did at Columbia College judging high school speech and drama students, I haven't taught in a college.  It is what I was trained to do, and why I got my M.A. degree.  

 In looking at it in the moment, I failed at my objective to teach in a college or university.  However, I realized later on that could have been a stagnant place for me to be.  My experiences in life of doing theatre, movies, television, retail, and other jobs gave me more variety without the boredom of doing the same thing every day.  They say that variety is the spice of life.  I guess that's true.

Parking

  This story is not about my failure to achieve parallel parking.  I wrote about that earlier regarding getting my driver's license.  This is about a humid Sunday night, when I was in high school.

 My friends at Kilbourne Park Baptist Church were my world.  I had never experienced acceptance from my peers.  These people embraced me in a way I really can't describe fully.  Just to say we were a very close Youth Group.

 One night, I was driving my Mother's Plymouth Valiant.  Two of my friends were with me--Pam and Craig.  The car had a bench front seat, so we were all on the front seat together.  I really wasn't a fan driving at night, but I made the best of it.  We were just having fun riding around the neighborhoods.  

 Pam suggested that we go down a street near to where she lived.  I wasn't familiar with the street, but we proceeded down the road which turned out to be very narrow.  Because of our talking and laughing, the windows started to fog up.  I couldn't see where I was going, so I stopped the car to clean off the glass.  It turned out that we had stopped in the middle of the road. Rather than clearing the foggy glass, I got distracted by us talking.  

 A few minutes later, a police car pulled up behind us.  The officer got out and saw the windows fogged up.  He asked us what we were doing in the middle of the road, and we said just talking.  I don't think he believed us, but it was the truth.  No hanky panky was going on inside the car, unfortunately.  The officer said that someone in a house had called the police about a car in the middle of the road.  He asked if we were having car trouble.  No sir.  He suggested rather forcibly that we needed to move along.  

 We cleared off the windows, and I drove us back to the church laughing all the way.  As for the policeman, he just had a dirty mind, and he was probably laughing too.

Horse

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

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

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

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

Telegram

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

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

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

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

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

Subscriptions

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

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

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

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

Lenny

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

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

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

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

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

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

Mentors

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Health

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

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

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

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

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

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

 Had chicken pox.  Still has scars.

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

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

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

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

 Will need his teeth straightened.

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

Sayings (part two)

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

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

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

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

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

Sayings (part one)

  My mother kept a baby book for me.  It has pictures and announcements from when I was born.  There are also letters and memories of our time together.  I cherish this book, and sometimes it brings tears to my eyes.  One thing she wrote down were some wise or funny things I said as a child.  For the next couple of stories, I will impart my wisdom on you.

 After watching the family celebrate Mother's Day, and hearing a Mother's Day sermon at church, I asked, "When is it going to be Boy's Day?"  I was three.

 When asked by my mother to tell her what his Sunday School lesson was about, I said, "It was about Zacchaeus.  Jesus told him, "Come down out of that tree and let's go to your house and drink some beer."  I was four.

 At Glorieta, New Mexico, I asked my mother the name of a tree.  She said, "Aspen".  I said, "Bayer or St. Joseph's?"  I was five.

 My mother asked my daddy to paint the porch furniture.  I looked dismayed.  I said, "Now I'll have to tell all my friends that my daddy is a preacher and a teacher and a painter!"  I was five.

 At my grandfather's funeral, I looked at the figure in the casket and asked, "Mother, is that the REAL granddaddy?" I was 4.

 More to come next week.

Banquet

  Back in 2015, the Midlands Transit Riders Association (MTRA) was getting some notoriety.  As president of the association, I was interviewed for TV and newspapers.  We were the voice for the bus riders in Columbia.  We were also recognized by government bodies both locally and nationally.  Our Board of Directors made most of the decisions pertaining to the MTRA, except for some route designs that I did.  Some of our directors didn't like that I was making autonomous decisions, but it had to be done if there was a time constraint.

 Word got to me that one of our members, who was not on our Board, had reached out to the Secretary of the United States Department of Transportation inviting him to speak at a banquet honoring the MTRA and the Comet for their work to make better bus service for Columbia.  I saw the letter, which stated that there would be a banquet at the Columbia Convention Center.  The attendees would be from the Comet, the MTRA, mayors of the affected communities and other political figures.  There was just one problem.  The writer had not consulted with us or anyone else about this banquet.  I called the Convention Center and asked them if they had a banquet on their calendar.  They said no.  I talked to the public relations person at the Comet, and she said she didn't know anything about it.  So, I wrote to the Department of Transportation in Washington to ask Secretary Anthony Foxx not to come to the banquet.  He had been the Mayor of Charlotte before going to DC, so he would have known about Columbia.  

 The letter was an embarrassment to me and to the MTRA.  When I called around to places asking if there was going to be a banquet, I felt stupid for myself and for our association.  There was never going to be a banquet.  We were a non-profit and couldn't afford such a thing, even if we wanted to.  To this day, I don't know why the man wrote the letter and concocted a story about a banquet.  I guess he wanted to be important, like the rest of us were, in the community.  It hurt our credibility for a couple of weeks.  We passed it off as a joke, but it wasn't.  

Hall

  As I have written before, I have gotten several awards for stuff during my life.  There have been awards for drama, writing, leadership, advocacy, and even sexy legs.  However, there is one award that has eluded me.  An induction into a Hall of Fame.

 Back in the 2000's, I saw an ad for the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame.  You could send in some money, and they would send you a t-shirt.  I could also get 10% off in their giftshop, if I was ever in Cleveland, Ohio. I really just wanted the shirt.  On the front, it said, "Rock Your World", and on the back it said, "Member of the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame Museum".  There was a key word on the back--"Museum".  I was a member of the museum, but not the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame.  I could get into the museum at a discounted rate to see memorabilia from inductees.  

 One day, I was wearing the shirt.  A guy saw the back and misread it.  He got very excited and asked me what band I was in.  At the time, I was writing songs for a band called The Cobbwebs.  We had a very popular cd in Europe called "Magic Boat" in 2002.  The guy had never heard of the band but figured that I was in the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame.  I should have corrected him, but there was no need.  He went away happy that he had met a famous person.  I'm glad he didn't ask me for my autograph.  I probably would have signed it with a real inductee's name just for a laugh.  Sometimes, you just have to have fun with people.  I'm still waiting for the call from a Hall of Fame.  Maybe one day.

Sin

  As I have said before, I loved to go to the movies.  I had gotten my driver's license, so my parents trusted me with the car.  I was a safe driver at first.  Years later, I discovered the need for speed.  In the early days of my driving, I just wanted to get from Point A to Point B without having a wreck or a ticket.  I got a ticket but no wrecks early on.

 One place my parents trusted me to go by myself was the Sunday night service at my church.  The church was downtown, so they could check the mileage and find I had been there.  The thing was that I didn't go to church.  I went to the movies.  There were several movie theaters downtown.  Some might show movies I wasn't supposed to see at that age, but I had a fake ID.  I would time it out so that I would get back home after the approximate time that the church service would have been over.  That meant that I might not see the entire movie, if it ran longer than 90 minutes.

 When I would get home, my parents would ask me what the preacher's sermon was about.  I would just make up something and go to bed.  My parents were getting a little suspicious of my nightly activities every Sunday.  They had asked some people at church if they had seen me.  Their answers were either no or not sure.  One night, I told my parents that the sermon was on Sin.  I thought that was a safe answer, since almost all sermons had to do with sin.  Except this one.  The next day, they called our pastor and asked him what the sermon on Sunday night was about.  It wasn't Sin.  BUSTED!!

 After that revelation, my parents started looking for a church to join that was closer to our house and nowhere near a movie theater.  As far as they were concerned, 1969 couldn't end soon enough, because the first Sunday of 1970 was a change.  We joined Kilbourne Park Baptist Church, and my life changed for the better.

Seating

  There was an Applebee's restaurant near Columbia Mall.  Some co-workers and I decided to go there for lunch during our lunch hour.  We had heard the food was really good.  It was only a couple of blocks from work, so we thought we could go there and get back easily.

 When we got there, we saw only a few cars in the parking lot.  This was going to be good.  The fewer cars meant faster service.  As we walked into the door of the restaurant, I saw several tables unoccupied.  The waitress informed us that they didn't have any tables open.  I asked her about all of the empty tables, and she said that there wasn't a server for those.  I guess I raised my voice, because she told us to leave.  Now, I was wondering if it was because we were white, and everyone in the restaurant was black.  It sure seemed that way.

 When I got home, I wrote a letter to the corporate headquarters of Applebee's explaining my concerns.  I suppose they were saving those empty tables for a large group that might have been eating there that day, but she could have told us that instead of the story about no server for those tables.  I felt it was a situation of discrimination.  By the way, I abhor discrimination by any means.  I was taught at an early age that we are all equal under God, and that it is wrong to think one race is better than another.  A couple of weeks later, I got a letter from the corporate headquarters apologizing for the lack of service and included a $25 gift certificate.  

 I gave the certificate to another coworker who hadn't been with our group.  I figured that somebody working there would know it was me from the time before, and my food could be compromised.  My friend told me later that the food was delicious.  I'm glad.  That restaurant closed a year or two later.  

KFC

  There was a restaurant in Orangeburg, SC that I loved to go to.  It was KFC.  For some reason, their chicken was better than others I had been to.  I always ordered the two-piece meal all dark.  I like the dark meat, because it seems to be juicier than the white meat.  Also, I would get a leg in the meal.  And, it would be cheaper than the white meat, because of the demand for white meat.  

 One Saturday, I was in Orangeburg to look around.  It was getting on toward lunchtime, so I headed for the KFC.  They didn't have the regular employees that I had seen in there before.  When I gave my order to the cashier, she told me that they were all out of chicken.  How could this be?  I saw chicken made in the back, but she told me again that they were all out of chicken.  I went away sad.

 As I was getting into my car to leave, I saw a man come in behind me.  He got chicken.  The guy behind him got chicken.  I got a little mad.  Was I being discriminated against because I was white and everybody else was black?  That's what I thought.  South Carolina State had a home football game that day.  Maybe these people had reserved chicken to be picked up.  If that was the case, they needed to put a sign on the door saying that only chicken for the game would be available.  

 I wrote their corporate headquarters, when I got back home.  It was the troublemaker in me.  I never heard back from them, and I never went to that KFC again.  They should have changed their name to KFNC (Kentucky Fried No Chicken).  That would have made more sense.

Bowman

  After I moved back to South Carolina from Texas, I got a provisional teaching license for high schools.  Unfortunately, I got it in April and expired in June, so it wasn't worth it.  I also was licensed for a year in North Carolina, but I didn't want to move.  I did find a private school that was looking for a Speech teacher.  It was in Bowman, SC and was called Bowman Academy.

 I knew about Bowman, because a good friend from college was from there.  Talula had told me all about her hometown and the cows that were on the street signs.  It was a small town in Orangeburg County, and around an hour from Columbia.  I made an appointment to go to see the school and talk to the principal.  When I got there, I found a two-story wooden structure that looked pretty old.  All of the windows were open, and they had big fans creating circulating air inside the building.  The doors of the classrooms were opened to create a kind of coolness.  No air conditioning.  I asked the principal what they did in the winter to keep warm, and he said they used space heaters.  Strike one.

 The principal seemed interested in me and my qualifications.  I didn't need a state teaching license, since this was a private school.  They had grades kindergarten through 12th grade in this one building.  Strike two.  But, I continued to seem interested.  Then came Strike three.  The principal informed me that I would have to live in Bowman, or at least Orangeburg County.  Why?  Because the teachers would have to be on call for the students, if they needed help in a project or counseling.  I really didn't think that a Speech teacher was as needy as a Science teacher.  As it turned out, the principal lived in Summerville, SC which was in Dorchester County which was a 45-minute drive to Bowman.  I probably shouldn't have said anything, but I asked him how he could live about the same distance from Bowman as I did.  He said he had an Assistant Principal who lived closer that he did.  I thought if a school was going to have that rule, everyone should follow it.  I declined their offer.

 I also heard about a drug counselor position that was open at South Carolina State University.  I had courses in counseling in seminary, and I was quite familiar with drugs.  They didn't hire me.  Probably because I might ask the students where I could find good drugs.  During the interview, they asked me if I had ever done drugs.  I was honest and said yes.  Strikes one, two AND three.  

Halloween

  When I was at Anderson College my sophomore year, our president invited the students to do trick or treat at his house for Halloween.  They gave out candy.  Our group of guys got as much as we could, and then we set out to go to other houses in the neighborhood.

 We weren't dressed up in scary clothes.  We just went as ourselves, which worked out to be "college students".  We knocked on the doors of all the houses in the neighborhood.  The people were surprised to see older people at their doors.  There weren't very many children that we could see, so we loaded up on candy.  I guess that the folks were glad to get rid of their candy, and we were very happy to help them out.  

 When we got back to our dorm, we emptied our bags on a bed and separated the candy by what we liked.  We all got our favorites and went back to our rooms.  Our haul was so great that we had enough candy to last us until the end of the semester.  That was the last time I ever did trick or treat on Halloween by going to others' houses.  It might be too dangerous now.

 We also found a way to get free food on weekends.  We would look for someone getting married and go to the reception. If anyone asked, were we friends of the bride or groom, we would usually say the groom.  We were in school with him or we worked with him.  No one would know the difference, and it was free.

Furman

  During my freshman year at Anderson College, I was torn between being in a play and declaring myself as someone going into a church related vocation.  I was a member of a group on campus that had several students aspiring to the ministry.  My father was a minister, so it was only right to follow in his footsteps.  I was also a member of the Baptist Student Union on campus.  It was a Christian organization, and the group was pretty large, since Anderson was a Baptist college.

 One of the sub-groups in the BSU was the Deputation Team.  We would go out to churches in the area on Sundays and do a service.  We had preachers, singers, other musicians, and people who gave their testimonies.  I was in the last group.  One place we were sent to was the First Baptist Church of Honea Path, SC.  I was to give my testimony about how I was a preacher's kid who did a lot of bad things growing up, and then I found a group of kids in a church youth group who changed my life to being better.  In my testimony, I said that preachers' kids are notoriously bad, because the pressure of representing that family caused them to rebel.  I always hated these words coming out of my father's mouth:  "Remember who you are."  Those words caused me to rebel.  Almost all of the kids I knew, who came from those homes, had rebelled.  It really was a rite of passage.  In my case, I had smoked, shoplifted, watched dirty movies, and dabbled in drugs.  

 After the service was over, the members of the church thanked us for coming.  They were most gracious except for one little old lady who approached me.  She told me that her preacher's kids were fine people.  Then she said, "They go to Furman."  She was very proud of that fact.  I told her that was nice while chuckling inside.  I hoped she was right, but I knew there were probably some skeletons in that family, too.  When one is a preacher's kid, you kind of live more than one life.  The goody two shoes that the church sees, and the other one that your friends see.  The other thing I heard a lot from my father was:  "Straighten up and fly right."  I flew a lot.

Frankfurt

  We had left Israel in 1973 with our lives.  It had been a scary few days with threats from terrorists, who we originally thought were our friends.  After we left Tel Aviv, we could relax on the plane as we flew onto Germany.  Our college History tour had already been too eventful, but we didn't know what was to come.  Our next stop was Frankfurt Airport for a layover before going onto Berlin.  

 When one has a lengthy wait in an airport, there are some things one can do to pass the time.  Sleep, eat, play games, stare at others, shop at overpriced stores, walk around, or just sit.  We got to Frankfurt just before lunch and looked for the food court.  We hadn't had hamburgers, since we left the States, we found a restaurant that made them.  They were a little expensive for 1973 food, but it really didn't matter.  Hamburgers, French Fries and Cokes were like heaven for the five of us students.  

 As we were hanging around in the food court, our tour director Mr. Vivian suggested that Talula, Sandra and I recreate a scene from our college play "Blithe Spirit" to entertain the others in our group and the passengers around us, so we did.  It was a little weird without ghost makeup on Sandra and Talula, but we did it.  When it was over, everyone clapped.  I wasn't sure if the other passengers around us understood our language, but we drew a crowd.  The airport police came around and dispersed everyone.  We were just trying to relieve the boredom of waiting in a strange airport for several hours.

 Eventually, the plane for Berlin was waiting to leave.  We found out why the delay was so long.  They were waiting for East German pilots to fly us into Berlin due to the security around the airport.  I guess I can say that I have acted in Germany, at least for a few minutes.  

Toilet

  When Ted Turner was visiting the Soviet Union, he was staying at a hotel in Moscow.  He was very worried about listening devices in his room.  Upon checking in, he found a bump under the rug in his room and figured it was a device, so he raised up the rug to find a metal plate screwed to the floor.  He got a knife and unscrewed it.  He heard a crash from the room below.  It turned out that the metal plate held the light fixture to the ceiling of the other room.

 I told that story, because of something that happened to me while staying at Ravenwood Apartments in Forest Acres.  One night, my toilet overflowed in the bathroom.  I was trying to sop up the water with towels, when I heard a knock on my door.  It was the apartment manager.  She had gotten a call from the people who lived below me.  The light fixture in their bathroom was filling up with water and was about to burst.  I had no idea that the water from my toilet had seeped through the tiles of my bathroom and into their light fixture.  I learned that night that my tiles shared a ceiling with their apartment.  I apologized profusely to my neighbors, and we got everything fixed.  

 I can't say they were as gracious as me.  I had to pay for a new bulb for them.  I suppose it could have been much worse, like my toilet crashing through the tile into their bathroom.  Watch The Three Stooges episode about them being plumbers.  You will get the idea.  Thankfully, my apartment now only has one floor, and the tile doesn't leak.

Diamonds

   After I was caught shoplifting at J. B. White's at Richland Mall, and I told my parents it was the first time I had stolen something (which it wasn't), I told them I would never do it again.  I lied.

 Soon after that, I saw the Ian Fleming book "Diamonds Are Forever" in the store, and I wanted it.  For some reason, the paperback cover was sticky.  I took it anyway.  When I got home, my mother asked me how did I get it, if I didn't have any money?  I told her that I had found $3 in an envelope in the mall's parking lot.  I said that it was outside of a bank.  She asked why I didn't return it to the bank, and I said that it was finders keepers.  I told her that I used that money to pay for the book.  She didn't believe me, so she asked me again.  I told her the same story more than once.  Since it had a sticky cover, it stuck to some of my other books and damaged some.  I guess that was meant to be.  

 That still wasn't my last time stealing books.  Mother's Day was coming up, and I needed a present to give to her.  I found a Zip Code Directory at the store and took it for her.  When I gave it to her, she asked why I thought she would like it?  I told her that she wrote a lot of letters, and maybe it would come in handy.  She thanked me and gave it to me saying I needed it more than her.  I still have it.  I stopped shoplifting after that.

Stalking

  Another story where I hope the statute of limitations has run out.  When one looks at the core of my being, you will see that I am painfully shy.  It is one reason why I have never married.  I have loved girls from afar.  Some of the time, they may have an inkling of my feelings, but not to the extent that I have for them.  That is except for the 1st and 2nd grade.  Those two girlfriends don't really count.  In fact, when I left my 1st grade girlfriend for my 2nd grade one, my 1st grade girlfriend didn't speak to me anymore.

 Moving on to high school, I met this girl who didn't go to my school.  She was nice to me, which was something I lacked to have with other girls.  She was also very pretty.  I couldn't tell her how much I liked her because of my shyness, but I had butterflies in my stomach every time I thought about her.  So, in order to get close to her, I would call her house on the phone.  She would pick up and say hello.  I would hang up without saying anything, but I heard her voice.  It was nice.  I would drive by her house many times with hopes I would see her.  As time went on, we actually did go out a couple of times and still remain friends.  

 In college, I met this girl, and we became great friends.  In the beginning of our friendship, she was dating someone else.  She worked after school in Anderson, but she lived several miles out of town with her parents.  I knew what her work schedule was, so I would run the few miles to catch a glimpse of her car, as he was driving home.  It was very helpful to do this, because the run got me in great shape physically.  Later, we became very good friends.  Some might say lovers.  If a couple of things hadn't happened, I could have married her.  It wasn't meant to be.  I did gain confidence with her, mainly thanks to my acting experience.  I found I could be someone else with her despite my shyness.

 Then came Fort Worth.  I started liking this girl.  She lived a few blocks from the seminary.  Rather than walking the straight path to the mall, I would walk by her house.  Sometimes she would see me, and I would make up an excuse that it was a quieter walk to the mall that way.  She was kind of shy, too.  We hit it off and became drinking buddies.  We also worked together.  I stayed out in Fort Worth an extra year after graduation, because I was in love.  It was a love triangle.  She also liked another guy at the same time who was kind of abusive to her.  Life goes on, so I had to move back to South Carolina.  One of the saddest days of my life.

 In Columbia, there were two girls that had two things in common.  They both were very creative, and they both lived several miles from me.  I met them about ten years apart.  During each relationship, I would drive by their houses a lot.  I used up a lot of gas, but just to be close to them was enough for me.  One of those two actually worked for me, and I would change her schedule so that she and I would work the same shifts.

 I really don't think I was stalking these girls.  I was obsessed with them.  They made my life worth living.  Except for the last two, we are still friends.  I cherish that friendship.  

Frames

  One thing I have found out about myself is that I have a dry sense of humor.  I have also found that some people are gullible.  They don't understand when I am joking about something.  

 Case in point was a girl who worked for me at Belk, when I was a buyer.  I honestly don't know why she was hired for a job.  We had an HR person who hired a lot of pretty girls, so maybe he hired her.  At any rate, they put her to work nights and weekends in the Stationery Dept.  She was a senior in high school, and she told me that the only way she passed her courses was doing personal favors for her teachers, especially the male teachers.  I didn't doubt her claim for an instant.  

 One day, we got a bunch of picture frames for sale.  Most frames come with a stock photo of either people or places to make the frames attractive to the customers.  As we were unpacking a box one evening, she saw the pictures and remarked about the photos.  I told her that the people were my relatives, and the places in the photos were where they lived.  I then proceeded to make up stories about the people.  Because many of the pictures looked like they were taken in New England, the supposed relatives lived in Maine.  There were nice pictures of lighthouses and the coast.  I thought she would laugh about my stories, but she took it all in with amazement.  How could she be so gullible?  As it turned out, she was just not very smart.  I have to say that she was nice to look at, but I had to fire her for not being very bright.

 A couple of years later, I found out that she had gone on to Midlands Technical College to study to be a dental hygienist.  I pity whatever dentist hired her.  And especially, the patients she worked on.  I also wonder if she ever found herself in Maine to look up my relatives who were in the pictures.  

Dentist

  I don't like dentists.  I never have.  Thanks to my dislike of dentists, I have very few teeth left in my mouth.  I suppose I should get dentures, but I think I will die first before having to go to a dentist.

 When I was younger, my parents made me go to the dentist.  From all my visits, I should have had enough fillings to bring in BBC World Service on my teeth.  Thanks to my sweet tooth I always had cavities.  There was one visit in particular that was uneventful.

 My teenage dentist had an office at Trenholm Plaza.  He was also a deacon in his local Baptist church.  It seemed logical for me to go to him.  During one appointment with him he declared that I didn't have any cavities.  I was sure that he had a sudden loss of vision, but I went away happy.  When I got home, I told my parents what he said, and they were shocked and pleased at the same time.  A few days later, my parents got a bill in the mail from my dentist for $150.  What for?  I didn't have any cavities.  They called my dentist, and he said that I had to have a lot of dental work done while I was there, and that I cried when told how much the work had cost.

 So, my parents asked me about what the dentist had said.  Even though I used to lie to my parents a lot about my comings and goings, this time I had to tell the truth that the dentist was mistaken.  I didn't cry, and in fact had been thrilled that I didn't have any cavities.  My parents had a dilemma.  Do they trust their teenaged son who was a bit sketchy, or do they trust the dentist who was a Baptist deacon who had a fine reputation?  They went with me.  My parents told the dentist that they weren't going to pay the $150, and the dentist threatened to sue them in court.  

 As it turned out, his office people sent the wrong bill to my parents, and apparently this wasn't the first time this had happened to a patient of his.  The mistake was rectified, but my dentist didn't apologize, so my parents sent me to a different dentist after that fiasco.  My father, who was a bigwig in the Baptist denomination, told the pastor of the dentist's church what had happened.  Mysteriously, the dentist stopped being a deacon.  I imagine it wasn't the dentist's decision.  We all thought he was a good man.  He had a good reputation.  He smiled a lot.  

Chips

  Have you ever looked at an ant and wondered what it would taste like?  When I watch my cat eat outside, she won't come close to eating an ant.  She will eat a lizard or a mouse but not an ant.  People say that some bugs are good to eat, but ants are not one of them.  

 Back in the sixth grade, a kid came to school with some chocolate covered ants.  It just grossed us out.  He said they tasted pretty good.  We told him to prove it, so he ate one.  He didn't throw up, so on a dare I decided to give it a try.  One bite?  Just chocolate.  Two bites?  Just chocolate.  Then, I put the rest of the piece of chocolate in my mouth and bit down.  I felt a "crunch".  That was the ant.  It sort of felt like I was biting into a piece of potato chip covered in chocolate.  I swallowed it pretty quickly.  The other kids laughed, but I didn't throw up.  

 Years later, I lived in a bug-infested apartment.  I would wake up in the middle of the night with a moth in my mouth.  I don't think I ever ate a moth during the night, but I am pretty sure it would have been crunchy too.  

Aquarius

  When I moved back to Columbia from Fort Worth, it was a sad time.  I had left my love named Kare.  I was still drinking and doing mild drugs.  I was also trying to find work in my field without compromising my principles.  I had found part-time work in a department store, and I was sending out letters to over 200 colleges and universities looking for a teaching job.  Things looked kind of bleak.  I was living with my parents, because I couldn't afford a place of my own, and I was also becoming their caregiver.  

 I saw that the musical "Hair" was coming to Columbia for a one-time performance at the Township Auditorium.  I really wanted to go, since I still considered myself a hippie, even though my hair was a little shorter than those days.  I knew the music well, because I had bought the theatrical soundtrack album a few years earlier.  It was going to be a fun night.

 When I got to the auditorium for the show, there were people outside picketing it.  They said it was lewd and dirty.  I knew why they were protesting, because it was going to contain some bad language and nudity, but that didn't deter me.  There was really only one brief scene of nudity.  If you blinked, you missed it.  I just enjoyed being transported back in time to a place where there was love in our world, and it was free.  It was the dawning of Aquarius for one night.

Quarterback

  Back in the late 1980's, I went to Hardee's to have supper which was next to the University of South Carolina.  It was my Monday-night ritual to eat there before going to play volleyball with my friends at church.  The food was good, and the restaurant was not too busy.

 One night, as I was eating, a student came into the restaurant wearing a Gamecocks football jersey.  I didn't recognize him at first.  He ordered a whole bunch of food which at that time came to $10.  When the cashier told him how much it was, he announced that he was the star quarterback for the Carolina football team, and he didn't think he should pay.  I was watching in amazement at this guy saying that.  For the next few minutes, the cashier would repeat how much it was, and the customer would repeat his declaration.  After this back and forth, the customer demanded to speak to the manager.  

 It became something of a shouting match between the customer and the manager.  The manager insisted that the customer pay for his food, and the football player insisted that the food should be free for him.  I sided with the manager, because I had seen these demanding customers before in my retail job.  Eventually, the manager took the food back from the counter and put it in the trash.  The horrified customer said some choice words and stormed out of the restaurant.  I applauded the employees, and they offered me a free dessert.  

 Every time I see that player now, who has since retired, I think about how egotistical he was just because he was a football player.  I could also identify with him, because my ego was pretty big as an actor.  People tell you how great you are, so you think they should bow down to you.  The thing is though that there is always someone bigger and more important than you.  That's life. 

Drugs

  When living in my dorm at PC, there were two bedrooms connected by one bathroom.  During my senior year, I was assigned a room on the top floor of the dorm with a freshman roommate.  He seemed okay, but he really wanted to join a fraternity and live in one of their houses.  He got his wish, so I ended up with a private room.  The guy in the room adjacent to mine had a roommate that also got his wish, so he had the room to himself.  It was a good arrangement.  

 One afternoon, he was leaving a class on the second floor and saw two policemen standing at the bottom of the classroom stairs.  He knew why they were there, and he jumped over the railing to try and get away from them. When he landed on the bottom floor, he broke his leg.  They arrested him.  As it turned out, he was a big-time drug dealer.  I had no idea.  When I got back to my dorm room that afternoon, I heard a lot of commotion coming from his room.  I tried to open the door to his room from the bathroom, but it was locked.  It sounded like some people were destroying his room.  I finally found out what was happening.  It was the police tearing apart his room.  From the ceiling to the mattresses to the furniture.  They found a lot of drugs mostly stashed in the ceiling.

 The police came to my room and questioned me about his drug dealing.  I told them that I had no idea what was happening.  They asked me if I had bought any drugs from him.  I told them no, but thankfully they didn't ask me if I had done any drugs.  I would have had to lie to them about that.  I saw the inside of his room, after the police left.  It was trashed beyond belief.

 He was in the Clinton City Jail, and I went to visit him.  It was the first time I had ever been in a real jail.  It was pretty scary.  He was in a cell by himself and was very glad to see me.  He apologized to me for what had happened and said he had learned his lesson.  His father was from North Carolina and pretty wealthy, so he paid a fine and was ordered not to come back into the state of South Carolina.  He had a motorcycle, and he came back secretly a couple of times for a visit and a deal or two.  I hope he got his life straightened out.  His dorm room was unoccupied for the rest of the year.  I imagine that the school had to pay a bunch of money to get the room reconstructed.  It needed new mattresses and furniture, as well as a new ceiling.  They weren't playing. 

Graveyard

  When I was a student at PC, I loved to go to the movies in downtown Clinton.  It started out being 25 cents to get in, and then they caused some consternation when they went up to 35 cents.  Even so, I went to almost every movie that came to town.  We were starved for entertainment, and going to the movies was about it.  The theater would usually only show the movies at night.

 After the movie, I would walk back to the dorm.  It wasn't very far, maybe a couple of miles.  Along the way back, I would get the urge that I had to pee.  So, I would walk by the First Presbyterian Church's graveyard and find a dark spot to relieve myself.  I suppose some would take offense of me going in a graveyard, but it was pretty much the only option.  On one occasion, there was a woman in her kitchen who saw me from her window.  She looked pretty angry and called the police.  I heard the sirens, so I quickly zipped up and ran away.  

 I learned two lessons that night.  One was to look out for a woman looking through a window at me.  The second was important later in life, when I became homeless, and that was to hide when going.  Going behind dumpsters were especially good.  If only I could find a dumpster in Clinton at night...

Acrostic

  At Anderson College, I had a reputation on campus for being a writer.  I had written a poem, which was published locally and nationally.  That story was covered earlier.  I had written a lot of the copy for the 1973 yearbook, especially as it related to Speech and Drama.  So, I was approached by the Academic Dean to write something that would entice high school students to come to Anderson.  This was a big honor for me, and I gave it a lot of thought.

 I had been writing poems in recent days using an acrostic.  I spelled a word going down a page and then using the first letter of that word to form a line.  The second line started with the second letter down and so on.  The Dean had told me that my creation would be printed on a poster and distributed to churches and schools around the state.  It would also be used on the campus to build morale amongst the current students.  

 I worked on it for a week or two, going through several drafts.  I spelled out "Anderson College" down the page and used the first letter of each word to write something about the school based on each letter.  It wasn't really a poem but more like a description on what AC was like.  Each line, in my mind, was perfect.  I loved Anderson College.  It had done a lot for me in getting me out of my shell.  I had received awards for Theatre and Speech.  Our debate team was undefeated and were ranked one of the best in the country.  I was awarded a spot in Who's Who in American Junior Colleges.  A lot of other accolades came my way, and I also found love there.  The best thing I could do was to carry on my legacy for future students.

 After going over it again with a fine-tooth comb, I turned it into the Dean.  He read it and liked it except for one line.  The "G" in College read:  "Giving all you have to give".  He said that could be interpreted as sexual, and I should rewrite it.  I didn't see that interpretation at all.  I saw it as a call for students to do everything they could possibly do to succeed.  He said that it could be interpreted at a girl losing her virginity.  Granted, Anderson College was a Baptist school and very religious, but I just didn't write that line in that way.  I showed it to my father who was a Baptist minister, and he said the same thing. It could be interpreted as sexual.

 Due to my incredibly big ego, I couldn't deal with criticism like this.  I had worked on this project much longer than anything I had done before.  I told the Dean that I wasn't going to change the line, so he got someone else to write some words for the poster.  To this day, I think they should have used my acrostic.  Why?  Because I was a creative genius in my mind, and that is what other people told me, too.  I hoped students were inspired to come to Anderson by whatever that other person wrote.  In looking back on their history since, they did, because now it is a university. 

Meditation

  When I was a sophomore at Anderson College, I had a private room.  I just kind of lucked out with it, because the guy that had it was graduating, and he recommended me to get it.  It was great.  The window overlooked the woods behind the dorm, so I didn't have to listen to traffic noise or yelling students.  During this time, I had adopted a hippie lifestyle.  I was into some antiwar activities and was on a lot of mailing lists from companies wanting to sell me buttons and posters.

 One of the catalogs I got was what looked to be an incense company.  They wanted to send me free incense and a magazine, if I said okay.   The people were with the Hare Krishna movement.  I was familiar with them, since George Harrison had endorsed them, so I said okay.  I got the literature, and they were promoting peace, so I signed up.  The incense was a little smelly, and some in my suite thought my room was on fire, so I had to stop using it.  I didn't have to shave my head to adopt their beliefs.  They did want me to pass out literature and flowers, which I did some in the community.  I didn't get a positive response from the residents of Anderson, SC, so I stopped doing that.  

 There was one thing that the movement taught me and that was Transcendental Meditation.  I was under a lot of stress at school, so I would take time to meditate and focus on an object.  I also learned how to relax by tensing and releasing the muscles in my body from my feet to my head.  All while concentrating on my breathing. I also had a mantra that I chanted while doing this:  "Hare Krishna, Hare Krishna, Krishna Krishna, Hare Hare.  Hare Rama, Hare Rama, Rama Rama, Hare Hare".  I found that the mantra would focus my attention on calming down and putting my mind in the right place.

 One day, a call was put out to have everyone meditate on a Saturday morning at the same time to keep an underground nuclear test from happening in Alaska.  The goal was to have our brainwaves to cause the test to fail.  I did that at the appointed time, but the test went on without a hitch.  I became a little disillusioned about the power of meditation in that form, so I didn't do it as much after that.  However, I did find that my mantra continued to relax me.  It still does to this day, if I am feeling very stressed.  I also have a prayer that I pray to God before any performance I have to do.  I get a calmness over me from that prayer, which I have been doing since I was thrust into the male lead of a play my freshman year at Anderson College. 

 When I got to seminary, I took a class on Comparative Religions.  I wrote a paper on the Krishna Movement.  The first line of my paper was:  "When I was involved in the Krishna Movement...".  I turned it in, and the teacher called me into his office.  He said that I wasn't a Christian, because I was involved in an Eastern Religion.  I asked him if he had read my paper, and he said he had.  I asked him to read the first line of my paper.  He did and then apologized.  He gave me an A.

 I believe there is only one true God.  God the Father.  God the Son. And, God the Holy Spirit.  Three in one.  Jesus was sent to Earth to save people from their sins and to give us eternal life through Him.  That's really all you need to know.  Praying is our way to talk directly with God.  No need for chants or incense. I respect other religions for their beliefs, but in the end, I will be going to Heaven one day.