A Lie Will Trip You Up Everytime

Dear Boo and Bubble,

A year out of college, I entered the field of real estate sales.  It’s not unusual for a woman to sell houses today, but back then……hate to think of how many years ago…it was almost unheard of.  My forward-thinking, open-minded, welcoming mentor was a man named C. Dan Joyner, who passed away last year.  I will always be indebted to Dan for starting me on a career path that lasted intermittently over 30 years.

I openly admit this was back in the dark ages – no computers, no internet, no Fax’s, no wire transfers, no secondary market, no RESPA.  Local Savings and Loans generated the mortgages and collected payments.  Women had to renounce their dower rights.  A three-day right of rescission had to pass before money could be dispersed. 

Even though some of the rules were arcane and the process seemed tedious, in many ways I think it actually worked better.  Loan applications reliably landed on the desk of someone who knew the community and its people.  A local loan committee made decisions on the viability of a borrower, not some anonymous wizard behind a green curtain in a far off land called Oz who insisted on sanitized credit ratings and impeccable appraisals. 

As luck would have it, great granddaddy Schaefer incorporated real estate closings in his panoply of legal services and I used him for all of my transaction.  I never achieved the Million Dollar Club, but my sales production met the financial needs of a twenty-something single woman and it kept granddaddy busy on my behalf. 

On an occasion, I was working with a young Political Science professor at Furman, Don Aeisi, and his wife Margaret.  They were expecting their first child and wanted a larger home to accommodate a growing family.  When we started our house search, Margaret was around seven months pregnant.  After a couple of futile weeks in the existing home market, which was by far their obvious preference, I convinced them to look at new construction. 

In the late 1950’s, Furman moved from downtown Greenville to a more modern, expanded campus off of Highway 25 towards Travelers Rest.  The area became a magnet for growth out from Greenville.  Builders profited from the numerous subdivisions developed within a few miles of the university grounds and we had plenty of selection from which to choose.  Don and Margaret opted for a three bedroom, tri-level about six weeks from completion.  We wrote the contract and the builder accepted - setting in motion a chain of events that ended in one of the funniest scenes I’ve ever witnessed.

As was my job, I monitored the progress of the Aeisi loan and periodically checked on the finishing touches to the house.  Don resumed his teaching schedule and Margaret, growing all the while, began preparing for moving and having a baby back to back.  There were minor glitches that delayed things a bit, but nothing major.  It looked like we would make it just under the wire.

Granddaddy Schaefer received the loan package, set the closing and prepared all the paperwork to reflect the agreed upon date.  The night before the settlement, Don called me to say that Margaret had gone into labor and they were on the way to the hospital.  After registering my excitement and good wishes and asking to be kept informed, I immediately called Granddaddy.

When someone responds “uh oh,” it’s never good.  Such was Granddaddy’s instant reaction. 

“Looks like we have a problem,” he said.

“Why?”

“Well, the papers are already dated according to the bank’s instructions.  If Margaret can’t sign her part and renounce her dower rights tomorrow, then we’ll have to change everything which holds up the disbursement of the funds due to the 3-day right of rescission and the builder won’t get his money and they won’t be able to move in when they had planned.”

He rattled this off just like a lawyer.

What became obvious to us both was that Margaret would be in no position to come to the closing.  Having a baby in those days meant an extended stay in the hospital.  On top of that, restrictions on who could come into the maternity ward were severe.  When the babies were out of the nursery, not even the fathers could be present.  This presented a real dilemma.

“Let me think about this,” Granddaddy pondered.  “I’ll call you in the morning when we know that the baby is here safe and sound.”

The baby came in the middle of the night and all was well with that.  Granddaddy phoned me and instructed me to come to his office right after lunch.  He had a plan on how to get the papers signed so that the loan could close as planned.

I met him at the office. 

“Come with me,” he said, holding a folder full of mortgage and related documents under his arm. 

We got in his car and headed to the hospital.

“We have two problems,” he continued. “First the papers have to be signed today and the only way to accomplish that is to take them to Margaret.  Which presents the second problem…..they won’t let me on the floor because I am not a member of her immediate family.”

“But, surely in a case like this…..” I suggested.  “Couldn’t you just explain the situation.”

“No.  Trust me, the hospital is very strict on these matters.”

“So, what is your plan?” I asked with a little skepticism.

“Well, I’m going to pretend to be Margaret’s father.”

“What?  Are you kidding me?  That’s insane.”

Granddaddy turned his penetrating blue eyes to me.  He was dead serious.

“I’ve thought about this through and it’s our best option.  All I want you to do is go find a seat in the lobby and wait.  I’ll go up to the reception desk by myself.”

“Okay.  If you say so.”

We arrived at the hospital. I split off from Granddaddy as we came into the lobby and found a seat across from the receptionist.  Here is what I witnessed.

Granddaddy approached the desk.  The lady sitting there looked up, smiled, and asked how she might help him.  Granddaddy began his shenanigan.  His hands waved in the air to press the importance of what he was saying.  This went on for a minute or two when all of a sudden Granddaddy’s shoulders slumped and he put his head into his hand.  A solid blush of embarrassment crept up the back of his neck.  The two of them burst out laughing.  Obviously, his plot had failed.

Here’s what actually happened.

“Hello, can I help you?”

“Yes.  My daughter, Margaret Aeisi, just gave birth to my very first grandchild and I’ve driven all night to get here to seem them both.”

“Oh, Really.  Well that’s very nice.  Congratulations.”

“Yes, so if you could tell me her room number, I’d really appreciate it.”

“Certainly.  But I need to ask you one question before I do.  What was Margaret’s maiden name…..before she became Aiesi?”

Granddaddy stared back at the lady.  His shoulders slumped as he realized he had no idea what Margaret’s maiden name was – which, of course, would have been his name as well.  He put his head into his hand.

“Schaefer Kendrick – WHO are you trying to fool?!?”

The lady had known who he was from the get-go.  When Granddaddy started his tall tail, she just let him run with it to see where he went.  He ended up in the middle of his own woven web with a very red face.  The story ended well, though.  Without any problem, Granddaddy made it to the maternity ward and Margaret signed the papers. 

But, there’s a moral here, boys.  No matter what how noble the reason, a lie will trip you up every time!

Lesson in Humility #2

Dear Boo and Bubble,

Years ago, a man named Don Rose served as Associate Pastor at First Baptist.  As I recall, he was a stately man with wavy, grey hair who presented quite a presence in the pulpit.  He also had a quick wit that surfaced in both sermon and conversation.

One Sunday, he preached a resounding message about how Jesus set the example for humility – how we should do good works for the sake of them and not for the hope of glory from others to be showered upon us.  After the service, we filed out of the sanctuary where Don greeted members of the congregation in the vestibule.

Your great granddaddy Schaefer approached him with a hand thrust forward for a handshake.

“Don,” he said, “I thought you delivered a very interesting sermon this morning, but it really bothered me.”

“How’s that, Schaefer?”

“Well, honestly, when I do something worthwhile, I really want people to know about it.  I want them to thank me and acknowledge it.”

The twinkle in Don’s eye could not be ignored.  He knew his congregant well, a true pillar of the community.  He also knew the spirit in which the comment came.

“Okay, Schaefer, here’s a deal.  If you EVER do anything worthwhile, we’ll be sure to tell everybody.”  

Lesson in Humility #1

Dear Boo and Bubble,

Your genetic cauldron should come with a disclaimer.  There’s no doubt you’re endowed with plenty of personality – the list of characters in your lineage is endless.  Obviously, you’re plenty intelligent – only have to go back one generation to figure that out.  The curiosity gene has already surfaced in your young lives – especially when it comes to finding small objects lying on the floor, an occurrence which triggers frantic counter measures to get to you before the object finds its way into your mouth.  At some point later on, the genes of empathy, compassion, frolic, and adventure will surface – all noble indicators of an anticipated full life.

But, if history repeats itself (as it inexorably does), you will suffer a deficiency in one very important gene – humility. I’m not sure when the humility gene began to peter out in the Bryant clan.  No doubt by the time the Schaefer Kendrick family unit formed, it had pretty much run its course.

Some say humility is a virtue.  Not ever having had any, I can’t be the judge of that.  All I know is that without it, you are defenseless against the temptation of self-promotion, the urge for braggadocio, and the bottomless pit of want for recognition.  (I must confess that when I post to this blog, I wait in eager anticipation to see if anyone comments.  When someone does, you’d think it was Christmas around here!)

As your great uncle Gene grew up, he had a particularly hard time with humility deficiency.  Whenever he did something noteworthy in his opinion, he made sure everybody knew about it.  At first, granddaddy Schaefer and Mamaw Mary thought it was a phase, something he’d outgrow over time.  By middle school, however, it became apparent that this was not the case, so granddaddy decided to have an earnest conversation with Gene.

“Son,” he said, “It’s really great that you are doing so many good things.  And, we’re very proud of you.  But, it’s so much better if you let people realize this on their own.”

“Okay,” Gene replied.

“Do you understand what I’m saying?”

“I think so.”

“Yes, it’s good to let others brag on you rather than bragging on yourself, don’t you think?”

“Uh, sure. Yeah, you’re right.”

The talk ended with granddaddy feeling confident his point had been made.

Several weeks later, granddaddy went to the YMCA to pick Gene up from football practice.  He stood on the sidelines watching the players complete their drills.  A good friend named Judd Farr came up beside him and the two men chatted amicably waiting for the practice to end. The session finished and Gene, in shoulder pads and carrying his helmet, trotted over to granddaddy and Judd.

“Son,” granddaddy spoke, “I’d like you to meet my good friend, Judd Farr.’

Gene confidently stuck out his hand for a shake.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Gene,” Judd said.

“Thank you,” Gene responded.

“Looks like you had a good practice.  What position do you play?”

This simple question from Judd created an unexpected dilemma for Gene.  He hung his head slightly as he hemmed and hawed, digging an arc in the dirt with his cleats.  Finally, he looked up.

“Oh, Mr. Farr, it’s nothing very important……only first string quarterback.”

He That Breaketh a Hedge Shall be Bitten by a Serpent

Dear Boo and Bubble,

For the last few weeks, Captain has been upstairs scanning the scrapbooks and diary of your great, great, great, great grandfather Joseph Benson Cottrell that we found this winter in Pensacola.  He wants to make sure they are preserved for the future.  The volumes themselves are very fragile and won’t last much longer unless we can find a safe place for them.

I’ve perused a few of them and one caught my eye – particularly since tomorrow is Mother’s Day.  I wanted to share with you one of the articles JBC wrote sometime between 1882 and 1890.  Every piece in this book was about women.  Mind you, he was a man way ahead of his time.  His unabashed advocacy for women’s rights ruffled many a feather, both in the church which he served and in the general society. Captain believes that this fervor emanated from his total devotion and respect for his mother.  He later transferred those feelings to his first wife Louisa Jennings, who died giving birth to your great, great, great grandfather Zadock Jennings Cottrell, and to his second wife Caroline Simms Duncan. 

As for me, and certainly your mother, there is a tremendous sense of gratitude for whatever hand Joseph might have had in fostering the circumstance under which women received the right to vote and consequently an equitable place in influencing the direction of our country.

THE ENFRANCHISEMENT OF WOMAN.

In the evolution of society there have been revolutions, but all upon the heaven ordained

axis and within the divinely appointed sphere. 'l'hat marks the individuality of humanity as co-ordinate with the ranks of intelligences, beneath and above. "He that breaketh a hedge shall be bitten by a serpent," but the field of human privilege and enterprise must be enlarged in spite of the snakes. Let us candidly inquire whether it is wisest and most just to hinder or to help the movement now being made on behalf of co-ordinating women with men all along the lines of industrial, social, educational, governmental and religious engagements.

1. There is no sex in mind.  Examples are so numerous of the capabilities of woman in every range of intellectual life that it is unnecessary to discuss this question.  It is established that men are all the greater whose touch and turning of personality approximate the womanly standard.  Women are more potent and effective as they possess those characteristics of strength and courage usually denoted as masculine.

The differentiating finger-touch of God has given an ineffaceable distinction of femininity from masculinity, so long as humanity continues in this sublunary environment; but we are assured that “in the resurrection” these will be eliminated.  There is a deeper significance in the words that in Christ Jesus “there is neither male nor female” than the world of mind has yet apprehended.

2. The history, thus far, of our race discovers to the observant student that questions of precedence have uniformly been settled according to the rule that “might makes right.”  That woman is ruled out and off from the ways in which she might develop her powers more fully, and be at once more independent of, and helpful to, mankind than she now is, results simply from this fact – might dominates.

3. Gradually, in the unfolding of the stock of humanity, the organic life principle of equal right and privilege to all asserts itself; and just as the growth of the corn there are first the blades of fodder, then the tasselling, then the silking, so that from out the shuck there is to come “the full corn at length,” even so has it been and does it promise to be in regard to human affranchisement. 
   The declaration that “all men are created equal” was as the tasselling of the stalk; now this movement for woman’s affranchisement is as the silking; and the full and complete fruitage prophsesied in the Scripture, when the nations shall beat their weapons of warfare into the implements of peaceful industry, will be reached.  Woman in our counsels will wonderfully quality and recondition the measures whereby “the kingdoms of this world are to become the kingdoms of God and His Christ.”

One Heck of a Tithe

Dear Boo and Bubble,

In the late 1960’s, a movement surfaced within the congregation of First Baptist in Greenville to relocate the church out from the center of town on McBee Avenue.  The majority voted, after some inevitable contention, to pursue options on property and begin a capital campaign.  By 1970, the initiative gained enough success to break ground at what is now the location on Cleveland Avenue.  My old church was sold to the minority members and became Downtown Baptist Church.

The doors to the new facility opened in 1974.  (Captain and I were the first couple married in the temporary sanctuary May of that year.)  In a symbolic sense, First Baptist mirrored the changing times that confronted the broader community…..leaving years of tradition behind to position the church for the challenges found on our future’s doorstep.  The implementation of the Civil and Voting Rights Acts consumed Greenville’s leadership during this time.  Many members of First Baptist took an active role, including your great granddaddy Schaefer.  Ministers from both white and black churches carried the significant burden of executing a peaceful integration.

Out of this effort came the idea that twice a year, First Baptist and Springfield Baptist would hold joint services.  They were the largest congregations of both races.  It was determined that worshiping together would send a vibrant, undeniable signal to Greenville and beyond that we could make the necessary cultural transitions with the steady hand of God at the helm. 

At the time, David Matthews was the head minister at First Baptist.  He proposed that the host church would provide the meeting space while the visitors would conduct the service including all music, prayers, preaching and, most importantly, the passing of the plate.  Rather than split the offering, the guests would take it entirely.  This would be a dynamic way to show support for each other.

The first joint service happened in the new temporary sanctuary on Cleveland Street.  Dr. Matthews introduced his counterpart from Springfield Baptist, turned things over to him, and took a seat on the dais.  Everything started well enough as the Springfield choir raised the proverbial roof with gospel renditions of old hymns and Negro spirituals.  The minister from Springfield offered fervent prayers of celebration for the occasion and the cooperation exhibited by the two congregations.  When the time came for the offering, he took a moment to tender an explanation.

“At our church,” he started, “we believe that giving should start from the top.  If the leadership wants the members of the congregation to humble themselves before the Lord and make a contribution to His work, then we must set the example.  And so, when our deacons come forward to receive the collection plates, they will solicit those of us on the dais first.”  

The concept intrigued those from First Baptist, but none more so than Dr. Matthews who sat there on the dais in front of everybody.  As the deacons approached, he reached into his back pocket and pulled out his wallet.

As the service continued, the Springfield minister preached a stellar, uplifting sermon that elicited “Amens” not only from his own flock but also from the First Baptist members as well.  At the conclusion, everybody deemed the venture a resounding achievement.

On the following Wednesday evening at the First Baptist deacons’ meeting, conversation naturally swirled around an assessment of the service.  After several glowing remarks underscored everybody’s basic satisfaction, granddaddy Schaefer raised his hand to be recognized.

“Yes, Schaefer,” Dr. Matthews responded.

“David, I thought it was very interesting about the offering and I couldn’t help but notice that you seemed to really be in some distress when the plate came to you.”

Dr. Matthews hesitated a minute.  “To be honest, I was totally chagrined.  The only thing I had in my wallet was a hundred-dollar bill!”