An Unexpected Christmas Present

Dear Boo and Bubble,

As you’ve probably heard but may not yet be old enough to fully care, your second cousin once removed Ed Smith and his wife Kim have now become residents in the mountains near us. Ed is the grandson of my great uncle Gene (for whom yours is named) — the baby of eight siblings, recalled affectionately by all in the family recitation as Mittie, Mattie, Ressie, Jessie, Annie Mae, Wade, Jamie and Gene. (There was also “Little Frank who died” who didn’t live long enough to get recognition.) My grandmother was Mattie. Ed and I are in the same generation, thus the second cousin part of it.

Great Uncle Gene had three children—Edith (Ed’s mother), Gena and Wade. Wade is no longer alive, but the two sisters are very much present and last night we had a wonderful pre-Christmas visit with them at Ed and Kim’s new place located a little way up Beech Mountain from Banner Elk, just far enough to capture a panoramic 180-degree view starting with Grandfather Mountain to the east and ending with Roan Mountain in Tennessee to the west.

After our initial greetings and hugs, we settled into a delightful chat for a bit before dinner. I was sitting next to Edith and in a few minutes, she leaned over towards me to say she had brought something with her specifically for me. My response was the typical “Oh, you didn’t have to do that” and I sincerely meant it. But upon learning what it was, I became extremely grateful…it was a wonderful early, unexpected Christmas gift.

Over these last few years, many of my posts to the Bridge Project have been shares of your great granddaddy Schaefer’s columns from the editorial pages of The Greenville News. I’ve had a compiled copy of them all that I keep tucked in my desk for safekeeping and pull out from time to time in search of inspiration or advice to pass along to you. Edith’s gift was a red folder filled with original clippings of his writing from the newspaper…all of which I had…but there were several additional nuggets that had escaped me over the 25 years since he’s been gone.

Among them were several not-so-flattering letters to the editor penned by some aggravated readers in response to his columns.  Granddaddy had a routine. His columns came out on Sunday. With the delivery of the Wednesday editions, he eagerly began searching the letters to the editor to see if his words had inspired some sort of reaction from the community at large. Since most of the columns included jovial, reminiscent content, most comments were positive. But every now and then, he delved into deeper thought-provoking material that inevitably hit somebody’s nerve. He took great delight when it did…especially when the protest came from the fundamentalist Bob Jones crowd.

Also, I found in this unexpected treasure trove two articles that were written about him when he died. One was from the editorial staff at large for the paper and the other by a fellow columnist Bryan Crenshaw. I want you to read them here because they convey in such thoughtful ways the essence of Granddaddy.

Schaefer Kendrick Leaves Empty Place Against Sky

Bryan Crenshaw – retired Methodist minister

A giant is fallen, and an empty place is left against the sky.

I was at Lake Junaluska when the call came regarding the death of Schaefer Bryant Kendrick. He had been ill, but had not shared with many the full extent of his illness.  Of course, that was characteristic of Schaefer.

We have been fellow columnists for The Greenville News for the past two years, our columns sharing the Sunday editorial pages. I was delighted we were placed in such close proximity. I was sure everyone would read Schaefer and hoped they would go back a page and read my column also.

Schaefer was of the old school in courtliness, courtesy and humor; but he was also on the cutting edge of social equality and fairness. He had respect for all people, regardless of age, color, race, economic strata or social status. He was among the top leaders in bringing full equality to all citizens in the Greenville area in education, housing, accommodations and other aspects of community. He was respected by all.

His keen sense of humor was ever present, and although he was a dedicated Christian and firm Baptist, some of his stories had a cutting edge which might have embarrassed some of his deacons.

As a lawyer he was top of the class. He possessed not only a deep love for the law but was always more than adequate in his counsel and guidance. He believed in his profession, and never did anything of careless or shoddy nature. I once accused him of disrupting his profession. “Whoever heard of a completely honest lawyer?” I asked.

In addition to his practice of law, Dr. Kendrick was also a teacher. He taught law part-time at Furman for 43 years, setting a record in longevity for a professor at that institution. In his teaching he dealt not only with his subject matter, but also the deeper meaning of life by his insights, precepts and personal examples.

He was a faithful servant of the church, reaching church school classes for decades, and (though sometimes not totally orthodox) was always a person of deep Christian faith.

His middle name was Bryant—mine is Bryan. I teased him that he was a “T-Model” and I was an “A-Model.” Only those who are much older will remember the “T-Model” ford had a separate pedal for reverse, which Schaefer seldom used.

Mr. Kendrick was recognized by his Alma Mater of Furman in conferring of an honorary degree. Such degrees honor the recipient. In this case the institution was also honored.

My last visit with him was on May 15. I knew of his illness but did not wish to intrude. He called saying he would like a visit and asked if it would be convenient for me to drop by. We did not discuss his illness, though we talked about many other things. Before leaving, we shared a passage of Scripture and prayer.

He would not approve my writing about him. May we can contest this at a later date. At that time, knowing Schaefer, the only way I can win my case is by having the Angel Gabriel as my counsel.

We will miss him and his columns. Sunday reading will not be the same. A giant has fallen, and there is an empty place against the sky.

        ~~~~~

Schaefer B. Kendrick

The editorial staff of the Greenville News

Schaefer Kendrick, dead at 78, was remarkable for being a long-lived native with endearing values, a mischievous sense of humor and easy command of our language.

It was practically impossible not to like him, as so many thousands of readers of this newspaper did for his Sunday column of reminiscence and with. Though he strained to continue during recent weeks of chemotherapy, his writing was always a delight, and sometimes profound. He elevated both sense and sentiment, and poked fun at himself in the process.

People who knew him well also loved him. They loved him because of his empathy and compassion. He validated them by being himself. He read widely without outgrowing his roots. He had an authentic sense of place and time, and he delighted in his part of the struggle everyone has to make sense of the world. Those close to him were doubly blessed by his example and his counsel.

He was a good member of this community. He practiced law and taught at Furman for 43 years. It was an example of his citizenship that during the difficult period of racial tensions of the 1960s he asserted his standing as an idealist and civic leader to help diffuse the fear and ill will of the time. Without being partisan about it, he was close to Thomas Jefferson’s ideal of a small-d democrat.

He counted his own good fortune the result of family nurture of the right values, Southern Baptist provocation of his conscience, and Furman University’s influence on his life of learning. Appropriately, members of his family have established the Schaefer Bryant Kendrick Academic Scholarship Fund at Furman, to which contributions are encouraged in his memory.

                                                                        ~~~~~

Cousin Edith, I can’t thank you enough for this most amazing gift. I hope you have a most Merry Christmas!

Avoid the Avalanche

Dear Boo and Bubble,

This morning, Captain and I decided to go down to Hickerman’s Café for breakfast. It’s one of our favorite “hole-in-the-wall” places to eat about halfway between home and the town of Banner Elk located in the valley between Sugar and Beech Mountains. The staff is very friendly (by now, we’re such frequenters they know our names) and comes from two families, the Hicks and the Ostermans—thus, the blended name of the establishment.

There are no fancy trappings…tables and chairs scattered around…several booths along one side…a commercial steamer hovering next to the kitchen waiting to be activated on Sundays for the $9.95 “all you can eat” buffet. Covering one entire wall is a huge blackboard that advertises the special for the day. Depending on the day, it can be meatloaf or chipped beef, but always in the bottom corner is the never changing enticement for “Nanner” Pudding.

At the front door, right beside the register, there is a small erasable signboard where somebody writes a thought for the day. Every time we go, I always enjoy seeing what pearl of wisdom they choose the share. Today, the board read, “No snowflake in an avalanche ever feels responsible.”

My first response was “how clever,” but as I munched on my scrambled eggs and sausage, the configuration of the words began to take on a more weighted meaning. They morphed into a very subtle warning of sorts—that sometimes, if we’re not careful and thoughtful, we can get caught up in a flow of circumstance that takes us to a place we might regret.

Perhaps this might seem odd, but this simple little phrase written innocently on a signboard has triggered a memory for me that I’d like to share with you. It’s not lighthearted. In fact, the recollection revolves around one of the darkest chapters in the history of our world…the rise of Adolf Hitler to power in Germany and the subsequent horrific travesties that he and the Third Reich perpetrated on humanity. I’ve written about this before, but not to you. It’s the story of our trip to Nuremberg in 2015 and the tour we had of the Nazi Documentation Center, Zeppelin Field and Courtroom 600 in The Palace of Justice. Rather than compose anew my thoughts, I’ll just reiterate them here.

December 12, 2015

The final destination on our cruise was Nuremberg. We spent the afternoon on a World War II tour, and I must tell you it was one of the most informative, intense and compelling experiences I've ever had. Our guide, Werner, is the founder of a non-profit organization to educate local students on the factual history of the German "nightmare," as he calls it. His academic credentials coupled with his passion for the subject and a counterbalance of humor made him the perfect one to maneuver us through the very real emotions elicited from what we saw.

Our first stop was the Documentation Center located in the ruins of what was to be Hitler's Coliseum. If it had been completed, 80,000 people could sit underneath a cantilevered roof with a hole in the middle for the sunlight to stream down to a pulpit in the middle and witness their Fuehrer preaching as if a god. The first concentration camps were opened to house Nazi political opponents dispatched to granite quarries to produce the stones for construction. When the war started in 1939, the building of the coliseum halted. Stones which have lain on the ground since then can still be seen.

An exhibit of the Nazi horror is now on display at the center. It wasn't until 2005 that there was any use of the building and to Germany's credit, there is a sincere desire to make sure that this dark period in the country's history is displayed for all to see in order not to forget. But as Werner explained, this could only realistically be done after the passing of a couple of generations.

We also went to Zeppelin Field which Hitler used as a parade ground to rally his followers by the hundreds of thousands—young and old and in between. As our guide explained, he was a megalomaniac, a homophobe and one who sought to convince his people that the Arian race was the predominant one among all men and that he was destined to be their leader.

We were left to meander through the exhibit at our own pace. At each stop, we listened to an audio explanation of what we were seeing. By the time I finished, I was almost in tears...watching movie footage of Jews being carted off in train cars to gas chambers...little children among them clinging to their mothers...the utter horror of concentration camp photos and executions caught on camera as if with pride...the bodies of men in the quarries lying in the place where they dropped to their death from exhaustion...the steely eyes of the Fuhrer...the propaganda machine that made almost an entire population believe in the myth of his infallibility....and the overwhelming amazement that this could happen at all.

Werner gave us some historical context...how in the years leading up to Hitler's ascension, the German people were in such a bad way, desperation descended upon them....and when people are desperate, the seeds of manipulation and suspicion fall upon fertile ground. Even though Hitler never received more than 36% of the votes in any popular election, over time the gradual improvement of the everyday lives of the Germans, coupled with the massive propaganda campaigns and huge rallies, gave him the opportunity to usurp power. He then systematically dismantled the constitutional government, imprisoned or killed any opposition, and positioned himself as dictator.

Even so, it is still hard to comprehend that there would be no revulsion of what was happening in Germany. Werner told us that his mother, 94, is still alive and he will ask her questions about that time. He probed her about what every day Germans knew, particularly about what was happening to the Jews. Her response was that "yes, they knew something was going on, what with people disappearing and never returning. But they did not know the extent of it.”

Our WWII tour ended in the Palace of Justice just outside of Nuremberg. In its courtroom 600, 26 Nazis were given a trial for their participation in the atrocities of the war and particularly the holocaust. Our guide explained to us that immediately following armistice, many wanted the immediate recrimination of hanging, but fortunately this did not happen. It was the position of the United States and Britain particularly that to do so would reduce civilized nations to the very same actions of the Nazis. Ultimately, the trial had much more long-lasting and significant benefits. Through the process of the fifteen months of testimony and release of documents, the scope of the holocaust and other war crimes were thoroughly substantiated and could not be denied. Also, the development of applicable charges for the defendants laid the groundwork for what became known as the Nuremberg Principles which can be found in international law today.

The Principles set out specific crimes for which someone can be tried - 1) Crimes against peace 2) War Crimes and 3) Crimes against humanity. The first two deal with carrying out aggression and violating acceptable practices of war. The third is particularly provocative in its wording - "Murder, extermination, enslavement, deportation and other inhumane acts done against any civilian population, or persecutions on political, racial, or religious grounds, when such acts are done or such persecutions are carried on in execution of or in connection with any crime against peace or any war crime."

Many of the most heinous actors in the war committed suicide before even being brought to trial. Of the 26 against who charges were brought, three were found innocent, several received lengthy or life sentences. Twelve were hanged. Werner suggested that the variety of verdicts gave the court legitimacy, particularly for the German people who otherwise would have seen it as only a Kangaroo court.

Of particular interest to me was his description of the witness who dispassionately described his involvement as only "doing his duty to his country...following orders." Principle IV of the Nuremberg Principles addresses this issue. "The fact that a person acted pursuant to order of his Government or of a superior does not relieve him from responsibility under international law, provided a moral choice was in fact possible to him".

In commenting on this, Werner made a statement that really summed it all up for me.

"The reason that I do this...that I work with my organization to teach young people about these things is because they must see that learning to think for one's self is critical to preventing any of this from happening again."

—————

Boys, this admonition from Werner to “…see that learning to think for one’s self is critical…” resonates so deeply with me and I hope that you will take it to heart. If you do, there will be times when you have to go against the grain…or buck your friends…or stand alone…or not go along with everybody else. Hard? Yes! But in so doing, you will perhaps avoid the avalanche.

The Aura of Schaefer

Dear Boo and Bubble,

What a wonderful Thanksgiving we just had being together at your house with Aunt Bee, Uncle Cuckoo and Uncle Gene - a.k.a. - That Guy. Although we did take some time away from the rather constant family reverie to attend the Friday Fire Drill at the capitol to see your friend Ian Armitage (star of Young Sheldon) speak about the urgency of global warming, most of our time was spent enjoying each other’s company and creating new lifelong memories.

Whenever I find myself in such a comfortable and heartwarming family place, I can’t help but feel the presence of your great granddaddy Schaefer’s spirit. He would be so delighted to see us all around a table…just like the one in the kitchen at 3 Lakecrest…laughing with each other at the most inane thing or poking fun over some slip of the tongue that will be indelibly imprinted on the pages of our folklore...to be dredged up on a regular basis as time moves on.

Granddaddy had an aura about him and those of us privileged to be encircled by its perimeter can’t ever forget it. It emanated from an inner core of outward focus that dictated his actions—from the guileless conversation with a child to more impactful efforts on behalf of the community. For those who missed the opportunity to be in his physical presence, all we can do is try to pay the aura forward.

He created fun out of the simplest ingredients. Putting a moistened piece of paper napkin on his index finger, he mesmerized many a child (myself included) by laying the single finger on the table and commanding Jack to fly away. With a rise of his hand and sleight of changing fingers on the return to the table, Jack would be gone. “Now, say come back, Jack.” “Come back, Jack!” And…miraculously with another rise of the hand, Jack would reappear.

Many a time, our family would be stopped at a traffic light that seemed to take forever to change. “See if you can make the light change,” he’d say. And we kids would start yelling “Change light! Change light!” to no avail. He, of course, knew to watch for the caution light to kick in for the crossing traffic and as soon as it did, he yelled “Change light!” and…voilà…to our astonishment, the light changed from red to green. It happened every time.

Granddaddy had an aversion to buying new cars. He always scoured the parking lots of dealership for a “good deal” on a used model. One day, when I was in my early teens, he came home driving a 1954 maroon and black Chevrolet Bel Aire coupe. We all enthusiastically piled in for the maiden (to us) ride, the route of which took us out onto Wade Hampton Boulevard—a major four-lane road leading into downtown Greenville. We were in the righthand lane when another car pulled alongside, and we had to mutually stop for a red light. All of a sudden, a mysterious ring…ring…ring came out from under the hood of our car. Ring…ring…ring. Granddaddy started chuckling as he watched the perplexed people next to us try to figure out where the noise was coming from. Apparently…for whatever reason…someone had put a bell in this Chevy that was activated by a button on the floorboard. For Granddaddy, it was the selling feature for the car, and he loved driving around town, ringing that bell just to see the reaction.

I guess you could say he had a bit of prankster in him. One Christmas, he and his law partner Steve Stephenson came upon something that was advertised as a “Nothing Box.” It was literally a box with several lights on the face that, when plugged in, flashed in a sequence over and over again. That’s all it did. It had no useful function—it did nothing. Granddaddy and Steve decided the box would be the perfect device for playing a joke on Steve’s younger brother Bill who happened to live across the street from 3 Lakecrest. They concocted some instructions on how the box was supposed to be used in getting better television reception by putting it on top of the TV console. (This was way before the advent of cable and all of us had television antennas on the tops of our houses to catch the signals from the various commercial stations.) Tucking the instructions into the box, they wrapped it and made sure it found its way under Bill’s Christmas tree. For months after the holiday, Granddaddy would go over to visit Bill and, seeing the “Nothing Box” on top of the television, always ask, “How’s that working for you, Bill?” “Schaefer, I do believe it makes a big difference.”

One of my favorites, though, in this litany of examples about Granddaddy’s propensity for fun centers around 408 N. Church Street in Greenville. The two-story, triangular building currently situates right across the four lanes of Church Street from Springwood Cemetery, wedged precariously on a sliver of land somehow miraculously not consumed by the sprawling Bon Secours Arena complex behind it. Back in the late 1960’s and early 70’s, the law firm of Kendrick, Stephenson and Johnson occupied the top floor of this very building. In order to access the parking lot for the firm, you had to turn off Church Street and drive up a ramp to the second level. All the parking spaces faced the street from twenty feet above, having an unfettered view of the traffic below and the cemetery beyond.

Like many offices, the law firm had a security system in place with an alarm that triggered if the door was opened while the system was armed. One had merely to enter the code on the keypad by the door to keep this from happening. Whether by design or accidentally, the alarm for 408 N. Church was the sound of a siren. It would begin as a light wail…as if in the distance…and build to a full-blown howl the longer it stayed on. Even though the intention was to alert that a break-in had occurred, there was an unintended side effect. Hearing the siren, all of the cars below on Church Street would slow to a crawl in anticipation of a firetruck, ambulance or police cruiser roaring by. How do I know? On Sundays after church, we inevitably had to stop by the office on the way home for Granddaddy to fetch something. At the insistent begging of us kids…and to the total apoplexy of Mamaw Mary…Granddaddy would open the door without disarming the system. We stood on the edge of the parking lot, laughing gleefully as the siren screamed and the poor unsuspecting motorists below reacted accordingly.

Yes, boys, I definitely felt Granddaddy’s presence with us this Thanksgiving. I wish with all my heart that you could have known him in the flesh. But since that's not possible, I am determined to make sure that you will know him as well as you can without that benefit. I'm paying the aura forward.  

Coming Full Circle

Dear Boo and Bubble,

The humorist Andy Rooney once wrote, “It's paradoxical that the idea of living a long life appeals to everyone, but the idea of getting old doesn't appeal to anyone.” With almost 72 revolutions around the sun under my belt, I can relate to the statement. There is such exhilaration in the opportunities offered to those whose lives roll out in the way they should…with enough days to gain insight and wisdom looking back over time…and especially the chance to offer such to their offspring and beyond like I try to do for you with The Bridge Project.

For me, though, the one most particularly gratifying benefit of a long life is the prospect of getting to “re-experience” events and circumstances that were profoundly meaningful the first time around…but with the added understanding of their significance that only hindsight can impart. It’s like getting icing on a cake full of delicious memories.

A few weeks ago, this very phenomenon happened to me. It was the coming-of-age celebration for Douglas and Rachel Woldorf held at the Tree of Life Congregation in Columbia, SC. As a point of orientation, in the Jewish faith when a boy turns thirteen and a girl twelve, they are considered old enough to take responsibility for their actions and to officially participate in Jewish worship. It is one of the most significant rites in the faith…one that is preceded by months of commitment and preparation…including intense study of the Hebrew language, learning passages from the Torah, preparing a sermon, and dedicating time to community service…all of it culminating in a Shabbat service recognizing the achievement. For a boy, this is call Bar Mitzvah. For a girl, Bat Mitzvah... and anyone who witnesses a Bar or Bat Mitzvah comes away with a profound understanding of the rich history of the Jewish people and of the familial bonds so entrenched in their faith.

Douglas and Rachel are the children of Lauren Gendil Woldorf, who was your Aunt Bee’s best friend growing up in Columbia. The two girls met on the first day of first grade at Forest Lake Elementary School and immediately bonded over their common pairs of pink tennis shoes. Through the years, until Aunt Bee’s ballet took her on a different path, she and Lauren were inseparable. Lauren went on every vacation trip with us and participated in all our family activities. As a result, Captain and I came to know her parents—Steve and Sheila, two of our dearest friends—and our families grew very close.

Over the years, we shared our traditions with each other. Lauren spent many a Christmas Eve with us and woke up Christmas morning to her stocking filled with surprises and loads of presents under the tree. When we sat down at the table for turkey and dressing, our guests included Steve and Sheila. Conversely, we were always invited to their home for the lighting of the Menorah during Hanukkah. It was a relationship based on love, mutual respect and appreciation for our chosen religions.

A little over 27 years ago, Lauren attained her twelfth year and started the ardent journey toward her Bat Mitzvah. At the same time, Aunt Bee began classes at Trenholm Road United Methodist Church, a commitment that would ultimately lead to her prescribed confirmation as a full participant in the worship of the church. We didn’t know it at the time, but the days on which these two best friends formally matured into their respective faiths would fall on the same weekend…Shabbat on Saturday and Sabbath on Sunday.

Both of your great grandfathers on your mother’s side were still alive and they came to Columbia that weekend. Although their primary intent was to witness Aunt Bee’s confirmation, both Granddaddy Schaefer and Granddaddy Cottrell were included in Lauren’s Bat Mitzvah and the festive celebrations that followed. However, the significance for us all became more poignant when Lauren invited Aunt Bee to actually participate in the service…at the time, a very rare honor for a Christian.

After the tribute to Lauren on Saturday, we all…the Tallys, Gendils and two granddaddies… gathered on Sunday morning at Trenholm Road Methodist for Aunt Bee’s confirmation service. The glorious weekend came to an end as we ate lunch together around our dinner table, heads bowed…lifting up a prayer in our chosen faiths to the God who had brought us together by the happenstance of pink tennis shoes.

As I once again sat in a synagogue…watching Lauren’s children Douglas and Rachel standing in front of the congregation reciting the language of their ancient fathers and receiving blessings from their parents, grandparents, aunts and uncles…my mind harkeneed back to that day over a quarter century ago. And, I couldn’t believe that enough time had passed for this history to be repeating itself. It seemed only yesterday that Lauren and Aunt Bee were standing there together, both only twelve years old. We had come full circle.

You both know that Granddaddy Schaefer used to write editorials for The Greenville News for several years before he died. After he came home from that weekend, he composed one to commemorate his observations and feelings for those who read them. I think it only appropriate to share with you his words — that rang so true then and remain so now.

What Great Teachers Grandchildren Can Be

Sunday, May 17, 1992 — Schaefer Kendrick

And the Lord God said it is not good that man and woman shall be alone, therefore, he endowed them with the power to beget, and it came to pass that Adam and Eve did create children, but they were sorely marred. So…God said, “I will not leave it to Adam and Eve to create grandchildren. This I shall do myself, and they shall be the brightest gem in all creation.” And so, he did, and so it was, and so it is.

I have seven grandchildren, all girls, each of whom is a three-dimensional, moving monument to the story related above. They have an inner beauty of innocence of divine origin which declares the glory of His might works. They teach. They teach their grandpa that age is not measured by time, that age is a frame of mind, an attitude, an outlook, a zest, which, when rightfully practiced, mocks the mortician into a morose meditation on mendacity. They teach. What great teachers they are!

This past weekend, granddaughter Lyn was my tutor. She is our “going on” 13-year-old. Her best friend since first grade is Lauren.

On Saturday, Lauren had her Bat Mitzvah. She invited Lyn, Lyn’s mom, dad and sister, and Lyn’s two surviving grandparents, Cottrell and me, to join in the celebration.

I had never been to a Bat or Bar Mitzvah. It was a profound experience, made more deeply profound for me by Lyn’s participation in the service.

My late mate, Mary, was a thoroughly inoculated, social gospel oriented, ecumenically minded, John Wesley united Methodist who joined my Baptist church because we were settling in my hometown, and she felt strongly we should worship together as a family. She never verbalized this thought, but I knew her well enough to know that deep down she felt it to be Baptist arrogance to refuse to recognize the validity of her Methodist baptism. And though she was immersed from the tip of her toes to the top of her head, she remained a Methodist until the day she died.

This granddaughter of ours, who was participating in her friend’s rite of passage, was wearing her white dress in which she would be confirmed in the United Methodist Church the following day.

As I sat in the synagogue listening to Mary’s granddaughter read from the Torah; as I heard Lauren declare in the Hebrew tongue her faith and heritage, I could hear, echoing down through the ages, the faint sound of the ram’s horn calling the children of Abraham and Sarah to once again assemble to celebrate the right of passage, and to affirm and reaffirm that these chosen people of the Book did, and will, survive slavery, exile, inquisition, pogroms, ghettos, dispersal, persecution and even holocaust.

Yes, the ram’s horn will again and again and again summon the faithful to celebration and to survival. And they will celebrate, and they will survive.

As I sat in the Tree of Life Synagogue, I found the definition of ecstasy I had searched for, for so long! It is the state of mind when one has thoughts so lofty, they are beyond the reach of words. Shalom.

Crystal Blue Persuasion

Dear Boo and Bubble,

Here’s a little mantra by which you can live — “When you do something that you don’t have to, but because you sincerely want to…you will be richly rewarded.”

Captain and I experienced a fulfillment of this charge a few days ago. We went to the funeral of Dorothy Wiseman—a woman we had never met and did not know. Why? Because we are good friends with her sister, Carolyn Garland. Even so, our presence was neither expected nor anticipated…we certainly wouldn’t have been missed. But we sincerely felt we should be there to support Carolyn in her grief…and I’m so grateful that we acted on the impulse.

The service was held at the United Methodist Church in the crossroads community of Altamont just down the road from us towards Marion. As is typical of rural churches everywhere, the sanctuary and accompanying structures of Altamont Methodist were modest and humble, without the inherent pressures found in more urban communities to have the largest edifice of worship on the block. We arrived about thirty minutes before the service was to start, finding the parking lot completely overflowing onto the gravel road leading up to the church. The sanctuary was filled to capacity, with people lining the walls which necessitated putting folding chairs just outside in the foyer to accommodate late arrivals.

Sitting in the pew next to Captain, I surveyed the crowd. There were only a few familiar faces scattered here and there. Some were dressed more formally…some wore overalls. If I were to use a proper description, “salt of the earth” comes to mind.

The bulletin in my hand gave me a clue as to expectations for the service itself. I was familiar with the hymns, two of my favorites—Amazing Grace and How Great Thou Art. In addition, the Prayer of St. Francis*** was listed as the closing prayer. To me, it is one of the most beautiful ever written. But about halfway down the program, there was a most unusual notation for a song—Crystal Blue Persuasion. I couldn’t imagine how this 1969 hit song by the secular group Tommy James and the Shondells could possibly be apropos at a funeral in such a setting. Well…if we hadn’t been there, I never would have known.

First—the context. When Dorothy’s son, Jack, came to the pulpit to give remarks for the family, he explained that she had insisted that the song be performed at her funeral. He thought it extremely odd and not a “church” song at all. Because of her adamance, he decided to research the lyrics and their origins which led him to a very interesting discovery.

Second—the lyrics.

A new day is coming, ooh, ooh
People are changing
Ain't it beautiful, ooh, ooh
Crystal blue persuasion

Look over yonder
What do you see?
The sun is a'rising
Most definitely

Better get ready to see the light
Love, love is the answer, ooh, ooh
And that's all right

So don't you give up now, ooh, ooh
So easy to find
Just look to your soul
And open your mind

Crystal blue persuasion, mmm, mmm
It's a new vibration
Crystal blue persuasion
Crystal, blue persuasion

Maybe tomorrow
When he looks down
On every green field, ooh, ooh
And every town
All of his children
And every nation
They'll be peace and good brotherhood

Crystal blue persuasion, yeah
Crystal blue persuasion, aha
Crystal blue persuasion, aha
Crystal blue persuasion, aha

Third—the history. Tommy James wrote Crystal Blue Persuasion along with two other band members, Eddie Gray and Mike Vale. It was the late 1960’s at the peak of a cultural revolution in our country that centered around the use of drugs. When asked about the inspiration for the lyrics, James explained, “Crystal Blue was interesting. First of all, I was becoming a Christian at that time, and we never thought a thing about it. We never thought that doing something semi-religious was any big deal. We didn’t think of it as being politically incorrect or anything like that. We just did what felt right.”

He further elaborates on the Biblical origins of the lyrics. “It’s out of the Bible. The imagery was right out of Chapter 22 of the Book of Revelation**, about the lake of crystal, and just what John sees. The imagery was just right there. ‘Crystal Blue Persuasion,’ although those words aren’t used together, it was what the image meant to me.”

Not knowing the religious transformation that James was undergoing, many of his listeners placed their own interpretations on the lyrics. “It’s a new vibration” literally referenced James’ path to becoming a Christian. “Of course, everybody thinks if they don’t understand what you’re talking about, it must be about drugs,” he said. “But it wasn’t. We were going through a real interesting time back then, and a very wonderful time. Everybody in the band, by the way, became Christian. And we’re very proud of it. And ‘Crystal Blue Persuasion’ was sort of our way of saying that in a kind of pop record way.”

So…who knew? I certainly didn’t. But I do now…simply because I acted on the mantra. And I will see these words differently now because I have knowledge of their origin. What wonderful words they are, and I hope that someday, they will come to fruition—peace and brotherhood for all nations.

**Revelations 22:1-5 -

“And he shewed me a pure river of water, clear as crystal, proceeding out of the throne of God and of the Lamb. In the midst of the street of it, and on either side of the river, was there the tree of life, which bare twelve manner of fruits, and yielded her fruit every month: and the leaves of the tree were for the healing of the nations. And there shall be no more curse; but the throne of God and of the Lamb shall be in it: and his servants shall serve him: And they shall see his face; and his name shall be in their foreheads. And There shall be no night there; and they need no candle, neither light of the sun: for the Lord God giveth them light; and they shall reign for ever and ever.

*** The Prayer of St. Francis

Lord make me an instrument of your peace.

Where there is hatred, let me sow love.

Where there is injury, pardon.

Where there is doubt, faith,

Where there is despair, hope.

Where there is darkness, light.

And where there is sadness, joy.

O divine master, grant that I may

Not so much seek to be consoled as to console;

To be understood as to understand;

To be loved as to love.

For it is in giving that we receive; It is in pardoning that we are pardoned.

And it is in dying that we are born to eternal life. Amen.

The Mightiest

Dear Boo and Bubble,

Geez…it’s been almost two months since I last wrote to you! I’m not feeling too guilty because part of that time we’ve been together—especially with Boo on our big adventure in Alaska. However, I must admit some of it has to do with the lack of a very important ingredient when it comes to writing…inspiration.

Inspiration has many quirky characteristics, including dormancy which I find to be the most aggravating and the one I’ve wallowed around in for a while. Somehow, though, it always seems to make amends with the delightful aspect of serendipity…sending something totally unexpected my way that I’m compelled to share with you.

As Captain and I drove down the mountain this morning to have breakfast at Hickerman’s Café, serendipity struck in the form of a grasshopper clinging to the windshield of our car. With every turn in the road and acceleration of speed, he maneuvered his tiny legs into a position that enabled him to stay secure…very much like a surfer shifting back and forth on a board to counter the force of a wave. I was amazed at his agility and, when we came to a stoplight and he decided to continue on with us, became convinced that he was enjoying the ride.

It took me back to some fifty years ago when I was in college and Great Grandaddy Schaefer took me to see a movie entitled The Hellstrom Chronicle. Using the format of a documentary, the producers explored the theory that insects—in spite of their size—are actually the mightiest of all creatures to roam the earth. Even though humans can squish a bug at will, we are no competition when feats of strength are determined relatively speaking. One of the examples used to prove the premise was that of a grasshopper riding on the windshield of a car without loss of life or limb, the physical equivalent of a human holding onto the wing of a jetliner flying through the air. Not going to happen!

Having made the point that insects populated the earth billions of years before humans existed, the movie proffered the rather dire prediction that they would still be here billions of years after our mostly self-inflicted demise…that, in fact, we are powerless to change this dynamic regardless of our overwhelming physical prowess. To underscore this conclusion, the final scene showed a battalion of Army Ants making its way across a vast expanse, swarming over and killing everything (including cattle and horses) in its path, leaving nothing but carcasses in their wake. Having witnessed the scene, I can tell you the prospect was unsettling.

The fact of the matter is, we humans don’t respect or appreciate the importance of our tiny bug friends in the broader scheme of things. We see ourselves as the alpha and omega of creation…the top of the heap…the king of the hill…and assume that all of nature should bend to our will because, after all, we are…well…humans with the superiority of the brain. Which has me wondering sometimes, if that is true, why are we acting so stupidly when it comes to the environment? Do we truly believe that there was no party until we arrived? And that the survival of everything depends on our survival?

I think we need to humble ourselves a little bit and come to grips with the fact that, put down to size, we aren’t quite as powerful as we think we are. We’re just bullies.

Perhaps E.O. Wilson said it best when he posited, “If all mankind were to disappear, the world would regenerate back to the rich state of equilibrium that existed ten thousand years ago. If insects, were to vanish, the environment would collapse into chaos.”

The Life You Live

Dear Boo and Bubble,

On a recent trip down the mountain from home to Banner Elk, Captain and I passed the usual landmarks including Wraps Box & Ship, Puerto Nuevo Mexican Restaurant, Lowe’s Hardware, and The Best Western Motel. Just beyond the Best Western is the Banner Elk Seventh Day Adventist Church. Personal confession here, which I’m embarrassed to admit…the sum total of what I know about the church is that it is a Protestant Christian denomination which holds services on Saturdays rather than Sundays—thus, “Seventh Day.”

However, there is an aspect of this church’s physical campus with which I am very familiar—the marquee that fronts the road where revivals, poinsettia sales, funerals and other special activities are publicized. Occasionally, when nothing specific is going on at the church, the letters on the marquee normally reserved to advertise these various functions are converted into an inspirational quip—a short, yet noteworthy pronouncement that…the passing by of which…might trigger better aspirations from the passers-by.

As we rode by the church on that trip, the marquee read, “The Life You Live is The Lesson You Teach.”  

The words have stuck with me since then and, today — on the commemoration of the 75^th anniversary of D-Day — I decided my thoughts about its message should be shared with you.

First of all, it implies that life offers us a choice as to how we will live it. Will it be honorable? Will the things we say be true? Will people be able to rely on us? Will we be just? Will we be fair? Will we be generous and give back to a community that has been generous to us? When it is all said and done, will folks — especially our offspring — say “I really looked up to him or her?”

And…how do we learn these traits? The second part of the quote provides the answer. Someone teaches them to us through the example of how they live. In this regard, Captain and I are two of the luckiest people alive. We are blessed with lineages steeped in honor, commitment and sacrifice…and in the more intimate details of familial love and support.

Sometimes, however, things happen that alter the arc of one’s life…where you are called upon to respond to circumstances outside of the normal living of it…and you must draw on all the lessons of character you’ve been taught to make it through. These are times when we are called to fulfill a purpose outside of the norm…and, in these cases, we must rely not only on our own strength, but that of a collective higher power. Such was the case when the allied troops were called upon to storm the beaches of Normandy in France 75 years ago in the pivotal battle that turned the tide of World War II.

As always, whenever I want to find a better and more succinct way of explaining myself to you, I turn to your quadruple great grandfather, Joseph Benson Cottrell. In his writings of the mid-1800’s, he never fails to provide me a better perspective.

“The years of the history of this world circle one after another, not by any mere chance or accident of succession or relation. The actors upon this theatre do not appear self-appointed. When God wants anything done, He makes a man or a woman suitable to the work; and if people were only to do what they can do easily, the work for each of us would be accomplished. It is the unbelief of ambition that puts us on a strain; it is in some form or other, a lust that leads us through broad ways into a narrow one, which ends nowhere and in nothing. The most of men and women we meet are in return, with bowings and smiles apologetic, for having made just that mistake, or in frowning accusations against others for having forced them there.

The poet has written “it is the heart that giveth grace unto every work.” That is only another form of saying what Paul declared, that “it is with the heart man believed unto righteousness,” and that “the word is nigh unto us even in our heart and in our mouth,” qualifying us for right and great doing and saying.

One’s legitimate work is never his burden. But then, there are burdens legitimate. They are such as come upon us; not such as we pick up; and they are appointed upon us in the economy of tuition by which we are made to know that it is for us to “cast them upon the Lord.” Strange economy? Saith the reader? Even so. Yet it is just the experience that the burden is insupportable—unbearable—that acquaints us with the availability and the sufficiency of the love that “careth for us all.”