long journey home

Mr. Finlayson

2012-01-20T12:45:00.000-06:00

This photo came from an old box of keepsakes from my South Carolina relatives. This is Mr. Burruss Finlayson who died back in June 4, 1950. He's my grandfather. I've heard how Mr. Finlayson like smoking cigars, but this is the first photo I recall ever seeing him smoking one. Though I never met him, I like this fellow.

This image was taken in front of his home in Cheraw, South Carolina on Market Street. The Burruss Finlayson place was located directly across the U.S. Post Office on Hwy 1 in old Cheraw.

my grandmother

2012-01-11T11:55:00.001-06:00

This is my grandmother Jennie Wait Foster Finlayson. I found this image among old photos from Columbia. It wasn't in very good condition so I did some minor restoration in Photo Shop this morning.

Born 3 November 1880 in Spartanburg, South Carolina. Died 24 October 1969. Jennie Wait Foster was born into a large family but the children were scattered when her parents James Turner and Rebecca Wofford Foster died. She and a brother Louie Eugene Foster were raised by her relatives, Rev. Washington Lafayette Wait and Mrs. Jane Wofford Wait who also lived in Spartanburg, SC.

Jennie Wait Finlayson is the grand-niece of Dr. Benjamin Wofford who founded Wofford College. Jennie was a 1901 graduate of Columbia College. She married Burruss Finlayson and they started their family in Cheraw, SC. Burruss ran a dry goods store and Jennie taught music and piano from her home. She is buried next to Burruss at the Finlayson section of the Old Saint David Episcopal Church in Cheraw South Carolina.

I have only faint recollections of her. I remember her gentleness and her soft sweet smile.

all gone now

2012-01-02T11:19:00.000-06:00

A crew of Finlaysons from Gadsden drove to South Carolina Thursday upon the news of Jennie Llew Guyton's death. She was the last of my dad's siblings to go home. Dad left us twenty-one years ago. He's the one on crutches. Each of Burruss and Jennie's children were so very unique. We miss them all.

Mother, Brooky and Cindy and I drove up in one car. Irene and Carrie in another car. We arrived Thursday night at Jennie's house in Rock Hill, SC and met up with other family members.

We all caravaned to Cheraw, SC for Jennie Llew's funeral at the old Saint David's Church. There we laid to rest the last Burruss and Jennie's children. I know that we were all thinking to ourselves that it was the end of an era. Before the trip I had been a little melancholy. I hadn't felt that way when Pat and Murdoch had previously passed on. I told Gina that I knew it was because Jennie Llew was the last one - they were all gone.

The Finlayson kin spent the rest of the day after the funeral roaming around the cemetary, the old church, the old town, as well as the vacant lot where the Burruss Finlayson home once stood. The trip wasn't a sad one in the least.

I knew that Jennie Llew was experiencing a grand eternal reunion with her family. Her husband 'Guytie' had died 50 years ago. I know that she is one joyful being - reunited with loved-ones. So my trip to Carolina washed away any sad mood that had briefly shadowed my spirits. We all had a wonderful day time last week - not a tear - not a frown. We all enjoyed our time with each other and celebrated some wonderful kinfolk who have gone on.

It might be the last time we all meet in Cheraw, some of my siblings may never go back there. I know I will. I'll go back with my immediate family and retrace with them the steps of my grandparents and their children.

wofford's painting

2011-12-11T14:27:00.006-06:00

My Uncle Wofford Finlayson was an artist. He earned his living making signs in Columbia, South Carolina. I sure wish he were around today, I would love to learn from him. He once told me that as a freelance artist, he took on every job that came his way. Uncle Wofford would paint the front of theaters for movies like Gone With The Wind. He designed company logos, banners for grocery store windows and he'd even paint flag poles. If it had to do with paint, he said he'd take on the job. To be a commercial artist in those days meant you did anything and everything.

The above watercolor is of the old Saint David Episcopal Church. Wofford wasn't hired to do this job. He created various paintings of his old Pee Dee River hometown, Cheraw, South Carolina. His paintings resurrect Cheraw from a century ago. This particular painting once hung on the wall of our house on Scenic Hwy here in Gadsden, AL. I am very familiar with it. This is hanging on a wall at my sister's house in Rock Hill, SC.

I snapped a photo of it while visiting Don and Jennie last May. It's a beautiful piece of work. The paintings I've seen of Uncle Wofford's are not realistic - they were not meant to be. His work is unrealistic like Thomas Kinkade's are not realistic. Both Wofford and Thomas capture something in the heart.

Wofford's colors are ancient, and always ventured back to capture the old South. Though the people seem a little on the cartoonish/caricature side in his paintings, the atmosphere is always alluring to me. Wofford had the ability to resurrect the essence and atmosphere of a time lost. This is a painting that I would love to step into - take a stroll down that old dirt road beneath the shade of the mossy trees.

great grandmother

2011-11-20T11:02:00.000-06:00

Martha Lucinda Pate was Murdoch Uriah Finlayson's wife. I know nothing about her. There is no story to tell about her but who you see in this photo and what can be found by looking at dates. I looked at the birth dates of their children and noticed when Murdoch had enlisted into the Confederate Army. She was left to raise five young children during her husband's absence. I can't imagine what it was like to be raising children during a war that was being fought on southern soil. There's something I have learned about warfare. When men march off to defend their country, their families sacrifice as well. Martha must've been a strong woman to have handled such hardships at home while her young husband was off fighting. She had her own daily battles to fight - keeping her family safe in perilous times. I know nothing about my great grandmother. Just by looking at her face and the dates I have - I know that she must've been an incredibly strong woman, a good wife, a good mother.

my great grandfather

2011-11-19T16:51:00.000-06:00

My sister Jennie called Friday afternoon and said that she was in town and had a box of photos for me from Columbia, SC. I drove over to mothers to see my great father's face for the very first time.

Murdoch Uriah Finlayson married Martha Lucinda Pate on January 10, 1854. Murdoch had left his wife and children to fight in the War of Northern Aggression. He enlisted on May 7th of 1862, at the age of 27. He marched among the men of Company G, 55th Infantry Regiment of North Carolina (pg.18-20 of URL link). He fought in numerous campaigns including Gettysburg. At the time, he was a resident of Wayne County. I ran across some information regarding the 55th Infantry Regiment online that you can read about here.
Murdoch Uriah Finlayson enlistment information states that he was a merchant before the war. I have posted advertisements in the past of his store in Wilmington. He eventually moved to Cheraw, South Carolina when my grandfather was very young and set up shop. My grandfather Burruss and his older brother Henry Wright Finlayson eventually became merchants and had stores of their own. My father and his siblings were born in Cheraw.

Both Murdoch & Martha Lucinda are buried in the old St. David's cemetery in Cheraw, SC. They're graves are not in the Finlayson section, but only a short stroll from the area. I am very glad to have a picture of my great-grandfather - to now be able to put a face with the name. I hope my siblings take time to visit the links I've provided here and find out a little more about the their ancestor.

securities for liberty

2011-11-11T18:18:00.002-06:00

"Any society that would give up a little liberty to gain a little security will deserve neither and lose both."
-Benjamin Franklin

Last night I attended a Veteran's Day presentation at my daughter's high school. Many times the word 'freedom' was mentioned and I couldn't help but feel saddened each time the word was spoken. I wonder if folks truly understand the freedom that we have and the freedom that we are loosing and have lost as a nation. I wonder if twenty years from now, if people will still be singing about America's freedom, but not noticing that they have been stripped of it all together.

I am deeply concerned for my country. I am not an old man, but this isn't the place I once knew. What will America be a decade from now? I want my children to truly know freedom - to have what we had. I don't want them to grow up wards of the state.

True our freedom is from God. It is true a multitude of troops have sacrificed to pay a terrible price to preserve our freedoms. It is true that freedom isn't free...so why do we trade it so easily?

I am thinking of the story about Jacob and Esau, how Esau was so willing to swap his birthright for a bowl of lintel soup. I feel like that's what the American people are allowing our government to do - swap liberties for securities. Esau was foolish to give away something so precious as his birthright just to sate his belly for a few hours. The more we let a government is allowed to do for the people, the less people are allowed to do for themselves. Eventually we will be left without any choice but what a bureaucracy deems best for us. Government wants the people to think the idea of entitlement as a good thing, but it's just a link in a chain to bondage. We do not need to feel entitled, we should need to be FREE!

A powerful and overreaching government leads to totalitarianism, and that is where we are quickly heading. We must demand LIMITED GOVERNMENT for our nation to survive. No way did our founding father's intend for government to turn into what it has become today. Our founding documents were made not to restrain the people, but rather to restrain government!

"A wise and frugal government, which shall restrain men from injuring one another, which shall leave them otherwise free to regulate their own pursuits of industry and improvement, and shall not take from the mouth of labor the bread it has earned. This is the sum of good government, and this is necessary to close the circle of our felicity."
-Thomas Jefferson

I have been deeply troubled these days about the state of our nation and her people. I turn on the television and see a president trying to seduce the people with a bowl of soup. I see too many of us clamoring for it. All we have to do is give up a little liberty here and there and we'll be safe, warm, and fed. I see America's young people angry in the streets protesting - demanding that they are entitled to something. I hear the term freedom spoken so freely, but do we all know of that of which we speak? I think of all the blood that has been spilled down through the years to preserve that freedom. And I see too many American's too willing to trade away what was paid for so dearly.

"Freedom is never more than one generation away from extinction. We didn't pass it to our children in the bloodstream. It must be fought for, protected, and handed on for them to do the same."
-Ronald Reagan

Is life so dear, or peace so sweet, as to be purchased at the price of chains and slavery? Forbid it, Almighty God! I know not what course others may take; but as for me, give me liberty or give me death!

of yards and toilet paper

2011-11-01T15:00:00.001-05:00

I never really understood the rolling yards thing. We had A LOT of trees on our front yard on 2624 Scenic Hwy. Back then toilet paper cost a dollar for five gazillion rolls. A kid could do some real yard decorating back then.

I remember my yard got rolled back when Gina and I were youth directors of Fountain Square Free Methodist Church in Bowling Green, KY. We don't know who did it, but we were pretty sure is was a collaborative effort of the youth department. The church didn't have many youth, and any one of them could have easily have been a culprit. When it came to toilet paper, we decided to turn the other cheek.

Gina and I didn't say anything about our yard being rolled. It was a blessing in disguise. We simply went outside with a couple of large Hefty bags and got as much as we could from the trees. We had harvested so much toilet paper that time that we didn't have to buy toilet paper for three months. That's saying a lot because Gina really uses a surprising amount of bathroom tissue.

I don't see as many yards rolled these days. I can only guess that it's because we are living in difficult financial times. Kids today really have to count the cost of committing such an expensive prank.

I have only a few trees in my front yard. I'm waiting for someone to come along and roll what little yard I have so I don't have to buy toilet paper for a while. If you're up for the task, but feeling a little lazy, just leave the paper in the package at my front door. I'll take it from there.

Cain in Talledega

2011-10-30T18:19:00.000-05:00

I heard it through the grape vine that Herman Cain was in Alabama and that one of his stops was Talladega, AL this past Friday - October 29. My brother in-law Robby Elrod joined me for the trip.

We headed out early to make sure we'd find a park. We located The Ritz theater and then soon found a place to park the car behind the old train station. Robby and I walked around town. It didn't take that long because downtown Talladega is a small place. We ended up at an Arby's to stay warm until the event. Herman Cain was supposed to speak outdoors in front of The Ritz, but the sky was already looking overcast. Robby and I made our way over to the theater about 30 minutes early and the place was already filling up.

When Cain came out, he didn't disappoint me one iota. I'm not completely sold on his 9-9-9 plan. I'd rather he push a flat tax. He's 100% right about doing away with our current tax system. Other than 9-9-9, Cain is the candidate that is moving in the right direction. LIMITED GOVERNMENT!

Herman Cain sounds a lot like Ronald Reagan. I believe it he becomes president, that people will be referencing Cain decades from now as they do Reagan today.

He just doesn't sound like a politician. I find that down right refreshing. I'm sick and tired of politicians. Herman Cain sounded more like the old camp meeting preachers that I knew and heard growing up. Unlike Obama who wants us to believe on him, and in big government - Cain pushes the message of believing in God and in ourselves (the individual) and in our country (in that order).

I like it that he didn't sound like another politician. Herman Cain is a business man who has a history of being able to turn failing businesses into profitable ones. This is something we lack today, men in leadership who have actually run businesses. We have so called representatives who are career politicians who don't the first thing about business. Our economy is on the skids, and we don't need anymore freaking politicians telling us that we have to spend our way out of our debt. Idiocy! The folks in Washington are going to have to live within a budget. I like it that Cain is a business man. He's not the kind of guy that's going to kick the can down the road.

Cain spoke on all the issues that concerned me, abortion, illegal immigration, Obamacare, entitlement spending, foreign policy and the economy. Cain spoke about all the crisis's, but at the top of this list, he said we are experiencing a moral crisis.
AMEN BROTHER!

my B - I -B - L - E

2011-10-22T11:49:00.004-05:00

Years ago Mom and Dad said they were limited on funds for Christmas. They asked us if it was alright if they gave each of the six of us kids $35.00 for Christmas. It might've been 30, but for some reason 35 is the number that surfaces.

At that time Irene was dating a young man who was trying to work his way to seminary. It seemed appropriate that he was working his way to becoming a preacher by selling Bibles. Knowing Emory, I know that he'd rather had given them away, but he was on a mission from God.

I took great interest in his product, seeing how the only Bible I had been given was a standard Lord's army issue Bible that was given to me by the church as a very young boy. I figured if I wanted to be a serious Christian, I needed a serious Bible.

I knew what my Christmas was going to be before mom and dad had clipped the envelopes of money to the tree that Christmas Eve. I was going to spend every dime on a sharp looking sword. I told Emory that I wanted to buy one of those Bibles from him. He pulled out his sales material and showed me some pamphlets and a few samples he carried with him. I was very impressed with his large selection. At the time I felt it was the most important decision I was making in my entire life.

I chose a leather bound oxblood Thompson Chain Reference Bible. I opted to have my name imprinted (in Helvetica) on the front cover in gold. I also ordered my Bible pages in gold leaf. It was a red letter edition, meaning every thing Jesus said popped right off the pages. I also ordered my Bible with each chapter tabbed. I didn't want to find myself in spiritual combat fumbling around with my sidearm. I wanted to be quick to draw from the Word of God!

I was very proud of my Bible. I didn't know what a concordance was at that time, but mine had one of those too. I figured if the warfare got too intense, I could probably bash my way out of any close combat situation with such a big volume. I was good to go.

My favorite chapter is what has been called 'the love chapter' - 1 Corinthians 13. I ALWAYS had a bookmark there. I would read it over and over again and never tired of it. I still don't. Did I say I was proud of my Bible? It bears repeating. I had colored pencils and colored pens and studied my Bible religiously. I would mark up the text that I thought were the most important parts. I soon realized that my Bible was soon becoming a coloring book because every line in it was important.

About six months later the Finlayson family all drove down to camp in Florida. It was a holiness camp that lasted 10 days of each Summer. Of course I took my Bible with me. It was a fine looking book and I thought it brought a lot of attention to my faith. For some reason I thought it qualified me a Christian and somewhat of a theological scholar. I was just a kid and my passion for God was very real, but I hadn't lived enough as a Christian to understand that humility is an essential part of the walk. Still almost 40 years later, I still find myself stumbling over the essential stuff. I look back and appreciate God's grace throughout my journey here on Earth.

While at camp, I stayed in the boys dorm. At camp you had to bring your own fan if you wanted to have a chance at a cool breeze during the night. You also had to bring your own bug repellant too. Everyone had to prop the fan in a window by their bunk and take the good (breeze) with the bad (bugs). Camp Bethlehem offered no comforts - just God stuff.

Every night we all gathered upstairs before lights out for a devotional. It was usually hot and stuffy in the dorm. We sat around in a big tight circle and sang songs, heard a word, prayed over each other, and would go around and share stuff.

I was going to share from the book of I Corinthians that particular night. I had my beautiful deluxe Bible opened and ready to dispense very deep wisdom and enlightenment about love. One boy would share and then the next boy would share, and then the next boy would share. A lot of God stuff went on at camp and everyone had something to share at the end of each day. I wasn't listening to them though. I was absorbed in more important things, what I had to share. I was reading over my favorite passages and thinking about what I was going to say. I couldn't wait for MY TURN. I held my beautiful deluxe Bible steady & ready, locked & loaded for my turn.

But just as the attention neared my position, the kid next to me looked over to me with the queerest expression. Momentarily I pondered the strange hue of blue that colored his face. Before I knew it, I was experiencing incoming projectile vomiting on my lap. Well, I wished that he had vomited in my actual lap. My beautiful deluxe Bible caught the most of it. The kid didn't just hurl once. He hurled three or four consecutive times before I could get out of the way. Like a horror movie, it seemed as if he were spewing in slow motion. And I was in a dreamlike state balked in horror, moving in slow motion as well. I don't know what he had eaten during the course of the day, but it didn't mix well with the long hot day and back to back holiness preaching.

The aftermath wasn't pretty. It was everything anyone could imagine it to be - sloppy, smelly, chunky, etc. Immediately The Holy Spirit told me right then and there to forgive that kid for doing it. How could I lose my temper in the middle of a devotion? How could I get mad because someone threw up on the love chapter? I had to forgive him. It was after all the very funky stained pages that instructed me to not be easily angered and to keep no record of wrongs. There was nothing to do but forgive him. He was innocent and had known not not what he had done. I put the best face on I and told him that it was okay. I laughed about it but inside I felt sick. My Bible was never the same after that.

From that day on I never had any interest in fancy Bibles. I read from a New American Standard Bible that looks more like a text book - hard cover - no frills. I don't like tissue thin pages with gold leaf. I want a Bible that can weather whatever the world hurls at it. Better yet, the best place to keep His Word is safe is inside one's heart and soul.

"My son, keep my words, and treasure my commands within you. Keep my commands and live, and my law as the apple of your eye. Bind them on your fingers; write them on the tablet of your heart."
-Proverbs 7:1-3

take time to watch this

2011-10-21T08:35:00.002-05:00

remnants of memory

2011-09-30T08:36:00.002-05:00

11-03-1880 to 10-04-1869

Click image to read obituary.

Mrs. Burruss Finlayson was my dad's mother. Her maiden name was Jennie Wait Foster. I don't have a clear memory of her because I was a kid when she died. I remember coming home from a friends house and walking through the kitchen door. Mom was in the kitchen with other family members. It was a very somber mood. I was standing by the fridge when mom told me the news about grandmother.

We lived in Gadsden, AL and grandmother was living with my Aunt Jennie Llew Guyton in Columbia, SC at the time. We would see our South Carolina kin about once or twice a year. I really don't remember her that well - only a few mental glimpses. The last time I talked to grandmother was when she came to town for a visit with Pat, Jennie Llew, Rutha, and Florence. The house was always full when the Columbia Finlayson's came for a visit. Dad had told me that grandmother's left shoulder was hurting her and asked if I would massage it for her. Grandmother and I then went into my bedroom where she loosened her dress enough for me to access the portion of her back and shoulder that was in need of attention. She sat down on the edge of my bed and let me work on her shoulder. I was even a massage therapist as a kid! Dad recommended me for the job because he often asked to massage his atrophied legs. I remember feeling very useful and important as a kid to get to massage my dad's mommy. I remember Mrs. Finlayson being very appreciate for the therapy. That was the last time I talked to grandmother. It's the clearest memory I have of her. All I recall about her is her gentle spirit and her sweet smile.

I'm glad my children have plenty of contact with both of their grandmothers. Gina and I left our life in Bowling Green, KY when we found out that she was expecting our first. We wanted our children to be around their grandmothers. Though we missed Bowling Green, we know we made the right choice. Both Katie and Kelsey have a very strong bond with their grandmothers. I know they will each have many-many memories to cherish of them.

A letter to Lohbeck,

2011-09-29T15:04:00.000-05:00

Uncle Pat, ENS Patillo Ainsworth Finlayson writes Clarence A. Lohbeck S1/c to see how he was doing since separated. A lot of the original crew were separated after the V1 bomb his LST-312 in Deptford, England. Some were reassigned to other ships, other duties while the 312 was being repaired. After a short while many of the original shipmates found themselves back aboard the 312, others didn't. These young men went through a great deal together - and missed each other when separated.

I've been reading a lot of the letters that Pat and his shipmates wrote to each other - mainly between 1980 and 2002. They had a lot of reunions. It was said when they all got together, they were among brothers. They had all aged, but time never diminished their love for one another. They had become family during that war.

It's been a bittersweet experience going through these old letters. As they aged, as time went by, more of the shipmates passed away. God bless them.

Naval Barracks, Group 'A' LST-312

2011-09-28T11:01:00.001-05:00

Amphibious Training Base, Norfolk
Naval Barracks, Group 'A'
Norfolk Navy Yard
Portsmouth, VA

ATB30.4.3/F16-4/MN January 4, 1943

Crew No. 4058 LST 312

DIRKS, Derrel L. Bkr 1/c
ALLENDORF, Francis R. PHM 1/c

CHRISTOPHERSON, Chester
WILSON, Malcolm F. SK 1/c

ROWE, Merna C. EM2/c

HUDSON, Richard B. SM3/c

HOWARD, James P. SV3/c

DANN, Timothy J. MoMM3/c

BURKE, Bernard T. RM3/c

JOHNSON, John S.             MM1/c
STEVENSON, Willis            SM3/c
McGOWAN, E. Jr.              MA1/c

McDONALD, K.W. SK3/c
HART, OS1/c

WRIGHT, Nickolas W. Jr. MA1/c

SMITH, J. MA1/c

LEDDY, Andrew J. EM1/c

ROUBA, Benjamin C. MM1/c

LARSON, Elton Wilson MM2/c

GRIESHABER, Herm
CJPRNA. Frank

BISHOP, Gordon Miles S1/c

McCARTHY, Francis (Glem) F1/c

SKODA, Lloyd Joseph Cox

MOORE, Lawerence Wendell MoMM1/c

HARTLEY, Paul K. Cox

McGINNIS, Charles W. SC3/c

YORK, William Wiltcher S2/c

VANDAGRIEF, Nuel Clenton RM3/c

TAYLOR, Arnold Deane RM3/c

WALDEN, Ralph Warren S1/c

KRUMM, William Julius MoMM2/c

JOHNSON, John Edwin MoMM2/c

PURDY, Herb W. QM2/c

TURNER, Jack Freeman EM2/c

McCUMISKEY, William Russell MoMM2/c

JONES, Grant Leonard MoMM1/c

McENOY, James Elmer S2/c

KEMNER, Elmer Herman MoMM1/c

REES, John Emerson F3/c

NOREEN, Roger Leslie Cox

HINSON, Otis Newton Cox

LOHBECK, Clarence A. S1/c

BACKUS, Pete SK1/c

SPAULDING, John Francis SC2/c

DARBY, Boyd Eugene F2/c

WANTUCK, Edw. A.

HARRISON, M.E.

BARTLEY, Lawrence Ulysses MOMM1/c

BRYAN, Rahpael Leo (Zeke) F1/c
GAGLIARDI, Vincent Alexander F2/c

MATTILA, Uno Vernor F2/c
FAMIGLIETTI, Eugene

DAVIS, Charles Jefferson S1/c

MURPHY, James R. S2/c

The crew came aboard 1000 hrs 7 January, 1943.
The ship was commissioned and the following officers came aboard 8 January, 1943.

Officers:

LT. HALSUP, Chas. L.         CO
LT. GRINELL, Robert W,       XO
ENS FINLAYSON, Pat A.        Comm O
ENS BRAMAN, Richard A.       Gun Off
LT (jg) McRAE, William L.    1^st LT
LT (jg) WELLS, William W.    Sup Off
LT (jg) DIGNANILL, William   ENG Off

The Cheraw Chronicle

2011-09-21T12:04:00.003-05:00

Article from The Cheraw Chronicle, Cheraw South Carolina

Thursday, May 28, 1958

History of Cheraw High Alma Mater Given By Composer W. Finlayson

No school ever loved its Alma Mater fervently than does Cheraw High. Faye Matheson, editor of the Spokesman, recently wrote to the man who, twenty years ago, wrote the words and music. Here is his answer:

Dear Faye,
I have your letter of May 6 asking about the Cheraw High School Alma Mater and other information concerning myself. I shall try to recall all the facts but, as you know, it's been a long time. At any rate, here goes:

The words and music were composed by myself. However, at the time I was not advanced enough musically to transcribe the music and Mother put it on paper for me.

The Alma Mater was written in response to a contest, but I can't recall who sponsored it. If I'm not mistaken it was the only entry with both original words and music. I attribute the success of the song to that fact.

The song was written, I believe, my Junior year in high school. that would make it about 1933. (Whew!) Twenty years ago!

You ask how I went about getting it "accepted" as the official Alma Mater. Actually, I did very little. They evidently were serious when they said they were holding the contest to get an Alma Mater, for when they selected my entry. I guess it was then, as you say, accepted. I am very grateful that the song is still going -- and more grateful that it gives me perpetual link with a school I love very much.

You asked about the orchestra. that, in itself, would fill a volume. Suffice it to say that after i went to Carolina we began an orchestra in an effort to make extra money for the school. (That was during the depression and money was hard to get.) We nio;t ot i[ frp, am eight piece band in 1937 to nineteen musicians in 1941. We played professionally the entire time. We disbanded for the war years, and after the surrender of japan, we re-organized as a twenty-piece orchestra and continued until 1949. In the meantime, in 1947, I continued my education in law at the University of South Carolina, but upon the realization that I would have to take certain courses out of the state if i were specialize in a corporate law practice. I gave up the band work and transferred to Walter F. George School of Law, Mercer University, Macon, Georgia in 1949. I graduated after one year's work in corporate law and received my LL.B degree in 1950.

I am now practicing law in Gadsden, Alabama, as an associate with James D. Lancaster. We practice in the tax and corporate law fields almost entirely. I am married to the former Esther Davidson of Gadsden and we have one son, a junior, which we call "Brooky". I am a member of the Gadsden Area Development Committee, the East Gadsden Methodist Church, where I am a member of the Official Board, chairman of the music committee and teacher of the Adult Sunday School class. I belong to the Exchange Club and am a past member of the Board of Directors of Southern Newspapers, Inc. and associate counsel for General Newspaper, Inc., The Gadsden Times, Inc, Southern Newspapers, Inc., and other independent newspaper corporations. I am a contributing editor for the Gadsden Times, a newspaper with a circulation of some 23,000. I do this professionally in addition to my law practice and write about one-half of the paper's editorial column. My columns are usually those of Thursday, Friday, and Sunday.

I hope I have given you all the material you'll need. I might add that while in Law School I was a member of KEK, and the Honor Council (at U.S.C) and Pi Kappa Phi social fraternity and Delta Theta Phi Lou Fraternity (at Mercer).

In addition, I did overlook the fact that I serve as a member of the Publicity Committee and the Speakers' Bureau of the Gadsden and Etowah County Chamber of Commerce.

Let me take the chance to thank you very much for your interest in me and the Alma Mater. I hope your graduation issue of the SPOKESMAN is a big success, and that the students of Cheraw High will continue to sing the Alma Mater proudly for years to come. What I said in the words of that song twenty years ago are just as meaningful to me now as they were when written.

Good luck to you and to all the staff of the SPOKESMAN.

Cordially yours,
Westbrook Finlayson

love and marriage

2011-09-18T20:46:00.013-05:00

No. There is no such thing as falling in love. On the contrary, we each willfully have a choice whom we will to love. I've heard the term, "falling in love" and "falling out of love" all my life - but what a shallow way to live. Though our emotions have a lot to do with love, love is so much more than feelings. I'm glad that love doesn't have to be dictated or measured by our fickle-ever-changing emotions. I know there are plenty of people out there who measure love by whatever state their mood is at - at any given moment. Love is more than something so temporal and volatile. Love is more commitment than anything.

We are given the choice of what kind of mate we each desire in life. When I was dating, I wasn't expecting a euphoric 'falling in love' moment. One can have a euphoric moment with just about anyone. I was looking for my mate for life. I was looking for one of those virtuous women that had been profiled in the Bible. I wasn't expecting perfection mind you, but I was looking for someone pursuing God and His will. As a young man looking for a mate, I wasn't looking for feelings, I was looking for a mate that understood that kind of life-long commitment. When it came to a mate - I could be as picky as I pleased.

“A new command I give you: Love one another. As I have loved you, so you must love one another. By this everyone will know that you are my disciples, that you love one another.”
-John 13:34

In scripture, God tells his people to 'love one another'. I don't 'fall in love' with everyone I meet. I don't 'fall in love' with whom I am commanded to love. If emotion had anything to do with it - I'd love very few people. I love people because I choose to be obedient to Jesus. Choosing to love isn't about feelings. Choosing to love is about commitment and obeying the will of God. Loving my neighbor more than often goes against the grain of my own personal feelings. If we make our plan, choose to love, God establishes that love.

I remember dating Gina, and saying to myself, this is the kind of woman I'd marry. God gave me a choice to love Gina. I'm glad Gina chose me to love. And because we chose to commit to that love - God established our love. God made us one. Sure we experienced wonderful feelings - but feelings are just icing on the cake.

Gina and I believe that God is love - and that love is more than a verb - but a holy noun. God is in our love for each other. We've had hard times, a lot of differences, but we chose to love one another and commit to that love - a love that no man can put asunder. We are able to keep our vows to one another because God dwells in our love. God is love.

"Whoever does not love does not know God, because God is love."
-1 John 4:8

"Do not be yoked together with unbelievers. For what do righteousness and wickedness have in common? Or what fellowship can light have with darkness?"
-2 Corinthians 6:14

I see a lot of single people today who are not being picky. I don't understand why so many people are 'settling' for less. A Christian single should be shopping for the right kind of person. It's a big mistake to choose someone who has a substance abuse problem, controlling, manipulative, godless, etc-etc. There are countless problems and marital pitfalls. A young woman shouldn't be looking for a husband that's a project. Rather she should be looking for the kind of man to be the head of her future household. To the young woman, what kind of man are you choosing to submit?

"In the same way, you wives, be submissive to your own husbands so that even if any of them are disobedient to the word, they may be won without a word by the behavior of their wives, as they observe your chaste and respectful behavior. Your adornment must not be merely external -- braiding the hair, and wearing gold jewelry, or putting on dresses; but let it be the hidden person of the heart, with the imperishable quality of a gentle and quiet spirit, which is precious in the sight of God. For in this way in former times the holy women also, who hoped in God, used to adorn themselves, being submissive to their own husbands; just as Sarah obeyed Abraham, calling him lord, and you have become her children if you do what is right without being frightened by any fear.

You husbands in the same way, live with your wives in an understanding way, as with someone weaker, since she is a woman; and show her honor as a fellow heir of the grace of life, so that your prayers will not be hindered."
-1 Peter 3:1-7

I believe it's a foolish person to select a mate with issues, that's broken, and expect their fiancé to change along the way. Christians should be discriminate and look for Godly qualities in their mate to be. Don't look for someone to save. Don't marry a project. This project is going to be bone of your bone - flesh of your flesh - YOUR OTHER HALF. Choose for God's sake - choose for YOUR OWN SAKE - A BETTER HALF!

Thinking about marriage? Have you discussed these scriptures with your fiancé yet? Or, are you planning on discussing these verses about marriage after the wedding? There are some women out there that find great objection to some of the scriptures quoted in this post. There's also men who have no intention of living up to the high standards scripturally required of them.

"Wives, submit to your husbands as to the Lord. For the husband is the head of the wife as Christ is the head of the church, his body, of which he is the Savior. Now as the church submits to Christ, so also wives should submit to their husbands in everything. Husbands, love your wives, just as Christ loved the church and gave himself up for her to make her holy, cleansing her by the washing with water through the word, and to present her to himself as a radiant church, without stain or wrinkle or any other blemish, but holy and blameless. In this same way, husbands ought to love their wives as their own bodies. He who loves his wife loves himself. After all, no one ever hated his own body, but he feeds and cares for it, just as Christ does the church-- for we are members of his body. "For this reason a man will leave his father and mother and be united to his wife, and the two will become one flesh."
-Ephesians 5:21-31

Is your mate to be - Biblically on the same page with you?

Sure we each have our own flaws, but Christian singles need to be aiming high - marrying UP. You as a single man, a single woman, have a choice. You're making a dreadful mistake if you're relying on feelings and by not choosing wisely. Falling in love is blindly falling in a hole. As a human being, you have a free will to choose the kind of person you will have as a mate. Be careful whom you choose to love.

Derrel Dirks recalls

2011-09-12T08:33:00.001-05:00

The following is an excerpt from an article from LST SCUTTLEBUTT newsletter, November/December1990 issue. Chief Dirks served aboard the 312 with Lt. P.A. Finlayson. I've found several correspondences between Derrel & Pat in the footlocker. I haven't had the time to read all the letters, just group and bundle them. As I do, I know that I'll come across more articles, photos, and important bits. I'll be sharing various footlocker finds in the future.

...Another news item that I believe will be of interest is that on 21 April, 1944 the British Admiralty gave a special commendation to Flotilla I Group I of LSTs 311, 312, 313, 344, 250, 337, 338 (that’s all I can remember) for their participation in the landing at Salerno, Italy. We were attached to the British Eighth Army.

LST 312 was flagship and had a flight deck built on her topside and carried three Piper Cubs as observation planes. It was the first time an LST was used as an aircraft carrier.

LST 313 was hit and burned on the beach at Gela, Sicily. I noticed in the March-April issue that LST 338 claimed to be the first ship to hit the beach at Gela. We hit the beach at the same time she did but we got stuck on a sand bar. After the 388 retracted 344 came in, then 311 and finally 312 which was hit by a bomb just aft of the elevator. We had launched our pontoons and the 311 took one of them and put it at the stern of the 313 rescuing most of her crew. Shortly afterwards our stern anchor was hit by a bomb and we broached on the beach with our stern anchor was hit by a bomb and we broached on the beach with our stern less than 100 yards from the 313 with every now and then an army truck load of ammunition exploding showing our stern. The captain had ordered me to let a line over to a tug, which I did, as our stern anchor winch had been knocked out we had to pull the cable in by hand. I was using soldiers and every time a truck load of ammunition would explode we would duck for cover. We didn’t get off the beach until about 0230 the following morning.

Before the bomb hit our stern anchor we fired over 40,000 rounds of 20mm, burned out seven barrels, three on one gun, out of our six 20mm plus all the 50 caliber of the Army vehicles. We were credited with three planes and one possible. We were at GQ for 69 hours most of that time under fire. We only lost one man, a soldier who was hit in the stomach by a 50 caliber bullet from a LCVP that accidentally raked our topside.

At Salerno after we launched our planes, we were given orders to land at the city beach, they forgot to tell us that the town was under German control, as we headed in 88s from the mountainside starting at us, we headed south and beached at “Green Beach.” The Scots Guards we had aboard landed, fell in formation, they started to muster them, and an 88 shell hit amongst them, they reformed, held muster again and then proceeded to the front line in parade formation. We retracted and got a signal from the beach to come in, it was about 1,000 yards north. We beached and rescued the first beach battalion who were completely surrounded by German troops. The captain got a “Legion of Merit” for that.

When we hit England we were first LST into Portsmouth. Boy what a liberty. We were put on detached duty and we were the first LST into Cherbourg followed by 338.

On 8 July 1944 while tied to the dock at Deptford, England she was hit by a buzz bomb along with LST 384 at 0319 hours losing eight killed and 10 were wounded, her first casualties.

After being repaired she repaired she returned to the States under her own power and arrived in New York exactly three years to the day when she was commissioned at Brooklyn Navy Yard.

I have written a history of the amphibs, from the beginning and of the LST 312. Her crew’s history is unique in that her crew came out of Paradise Creek, VA before Little Creek was ever heard of.

Another interesting thing was at Little Creek when we took Secretary of Navy Knox and Anthony Eden of Great Britain plus high-ranking American and British admirals and generals aboard to observe a mock landing on the beach.

I ran into Richard V. Robinson LST 1035 at the Farragut Naval Training Station reunion, Farragut, ID 8 August 1990 and he gave the Scuttlebutt paper to me. I was stationed there in 1944-45 in charge of the bakery after I got out of Portsmouth Naval Hospital, VA.

There’s lots more but this is enough. Smooth sailing and pleasant seas,

-Derrel L. Dirks MSCM (Ret.)

P.S. I was chief commissary steward aboard the USS LST 312

Cheraw Spokesman

2011-09-08T10:36:00.000-05:00

In 1934, Henry Westbrook Finlayson, then a bright handsome, popular Cheraw High senior, now a prominent attorney in Gadsden, AL, wrote the CHS Alma Mater, "With Loyal Hearts".
Sports reporter for the CHRONICLE, fabulous singer at dances, assemblies, and impromptu affairs, a good guy with a merry heart, Westbrook could always be found where exciting things are happening.
In spite of the fact that he had polio as an infant and had always had to wear braces and use crutches, no one ever seemed to consider him "handicapped", even Westbrook himself. He seemed "challenged'.
The year 1934 was in depression days and most people had to walk to get where they were going.
Westbrook was no exception. Whether the crowd was going to Caston Field for a ball game or meeting at the church for a hayride, Westbrook would set out for the meeting, as one old classmate expressed it, "with that beautiful voice of his." He always know all the latest popular songs as well as the old sentimental ones.

You might think starting off the college with only $1.65 spending money to be impractical but Westbrook Finlayson disproved this. After graduation from Cheraw High in 1934, he entered the University of South Carolina. Once there, the "big band" business was too strong a temptation to resist, and in his sophomore year, Westbrook put together an eleven-piece band. As the group bettered and became quite famous, he gave up another j ob and went into the music business to pay for his education. The band became well known, playing "society jobs" as far away as New York.
In 1941, just before WWII, many of the and members were called into the army. Fortunately, arrangements were made so that army personal at Ft. Jackson could play in the band and continue performances at military installations.
During his college days, Westbrook was featured with Bert Loren and His Orchestra. He composed both words and music to several songs, among them "All This," "Waltz in the Sky," "Goodnight," and "Roll Down the Field". Westbrook also is the author of A LIFE OF PLENTY, written around his spiritual experiences and containing original poems.
After the surrender of Japan, Westbrook began setting up a new band. Having been advised by Jimmy Dorsey, to drop the name Finlayson the band was called, "Henry Westbrook and His Orchestra."
For two years, Westbrook overlooked the rule that no law student could engage in any activity or work other then the study of law. When the deal of law school discovered that "Henry Westbrook" and "Westbrook Finlayson:" were one and the same, Westbrook was face with the decision of leaving school or quitting the band. Not wanting to leave school, and deciding that the temptation to be in the same area of the band too great, he transferred his studies to the Walter F. George School of Law at Mercer University in Macon, Georgia.
After graduation, he went to a position as associate to the Council of General Newspapers, Inc with offices in Gadsden, Alabama. There he met and married Esther Davidson. They are parents of six children, all musical or artistic, ranging in age from eight to eighteen.
The Finlayson family is deeply spiritual. Westbrook is a certified lay leader in the Methodist Church and occupies as country church pulpit once a month.
Having given up all musical activities since entering the practice of law, he has built up a successful practice of law, dealing largely with corporations, estates, wills, trusts, and management..

For years SPOKESMAN staff members have planned to run a feature on Westbrook Finlayson, author of CHS Alma Mater, when he was a senior at CHS. Now he has composed a brand new fight song that the staff has turned over to band direction Rayvon Lee.

Cheraw (S.C.) Spokesman
Thursday, December 3, 1970

the murder of Ernest Dyal

2011-09-07T11:07:00.002-05:00

Letter post stamped August 27, 1961

I ran across this letter from Grandmother Jennie Wait Finlayson to her son Ainsworth. Uncle Pat (Ainsworth) was the youngest child. In this letter, Mrs. Finlayson recounts the story of the cold blooded murder of the death of my Aunt Rutha's husband Ernest Dyal. It was a story that Westbrook kids had heard about growing up, but didn't mention when around Columbia kin. When ever Rutha came for a visit, we were instructed not to play with our toy guns, so as to not upset her. I never heard Rutha talk about it. It's only been until recent that more details emerged. I transcribed the letter, but there's an area that I am not clear about as to the moments leading up to the murder. I found Grandmother's handwriting rather difficult to translate. I don't quite understand what exactly happened on the narrow passage regarding Ernest's sideboard.

It was a police officer that killed Ernest. He never got out of the car, just shot where he sat behind the wheel. In the trial, Aycock tried to accuse Ernest of reaching for a concealed weapon in the door with his left hand. Aycock did not know that Ernest had a withered hand, and could not have handled a firearm. The lawman's alibi didn't hold water.

Dear Ainsworth,

I want to write you what I remember about that thing. Of course Rutha didn’t like the “stir up” but I guess it’s as long gone it will not matter.
Rutha had been to Cheraw to pay me a little visit. She had been married two months - that was in the bargain that she’d do that. While she was home the last Sunday afternoon, she was sitting in the swing with me. She said, “This is the last Sunday I’ll stay away from Ernest as long as I live.” So she went back Monday to Savannah where he met her. They went in some stores - and in a music store and bought some songs. One was “Oh Thou Sublime Sweet Evening After”. They then went on to St. Simons. Before he left McRae, he told his Mother this, “Momma, if anything happens to me, I want you to keep Rutha here with you.” Mrs. Dyal told me that herself. Earnest heard that his mother was sick so he was anxious to get back and they thought the new car would be there as it was Rutha’s gift (birthday).

Rutha Wait Finlayson Dyal

They were riding in Mrs. Dyals car – a Cadillac. As they drove out of Jessup they noticed a car passing them - Aycock or Kemp. Said they were going down that way to break up a still – when Ernest & Rutha got out on that road. (I don’t think that new one was built in those days.) They had to detour to the right on an unpaved road, so when they got to the road on the left where they were supposed to detour back onto the main road. Aycock passed again. Had some trouble in passing, got ahead a few feet and came back, got on running board and reach his hand in to stop the car but it was sandy there and Ernest was trying to get into the road, the car wouldn’t pull up, so gave a jerk. Ayock backed off of running board but came back reached his hand in behind Rutha and shot Ernest in neck. Then not satisfied, he went to back of car and shot again. Blood splashed all over Rutha and she said “Ernest what must I do!” By that time Aycok pulled Rutha out of car. She said “Where are you taking me to?” He said “Come with me, I’ll take care of you.” I don’t think Ernest spoke one word or moved an inch to protect him self – just scared to death. The last thing Rutha heard him say was “Ruth, we might have taken that road back there.”

In the corner of the road, just as they were to detour, on the right was a little country house and two old women were sitting on the porch. They saw it all. Kemp stood back of Aycock’s car and looked on and didn’t move. He was not called on to testify in the trial. Aycock pushed Ernest’s body to one side and drove back to filling station where he was asked if he knew the man he had killed. He didn’t, so the man at the filling station said, “You’ve killed one of the Dyal boys.” A man and a younger man happened along right after the shooting and it was Mr. Brown, the one West stayed with on Hines Terrace. They told us that - Mrs. Brown told me. Some claimed it was mistaken identity or some thought he was after Edgar who drank, but it was not brought up at the trial. The old man who sentenced him said “We know you didn’t mean to do it, but it was your ungoverned temper that killed him. He must have been crazy. That’s about all I know of it. I think we have all the papers pictures of the place at home, but the print is dim.

It was an awful thing. Two weeks before this happened; there had been a terrible murder of a bride and groom near that same place. So they said that was on Ernest’s mind and that he had worried about it a good bit. It was an awful thing to happen to Rutha.. I don’t see how she has stood it as well as she has.

You can send this on to West. I don’t know how I got out of it last night on phone as well as I did, for I didn’t want her to know we were talking about it so long. No more news since last night. Wofford says Bee is to start home Wednesday.

Write -
Love -
Mother

Mr. Brown you know was a prominent construction man down there. Mr. Brown took Rutha back to Jessup, to the hospital and treated for shock. They put Aycock in Jessup jail but had to move him from jail to jail for safety. They gave him 12 years. He got out – killed second wife up against a wall -shot her to death just mad with her. Rutha can’t stand to think of it. It may be well for West to save this letter.

USS-312 in New Orleans

2011-09-06T13:08:00.003-05:00

The photo above is an image from the late Richard 'Dick' B. Hudson (Wilmington, Delaware). Dick said that he had originally received this from John Rees (Louisville, OH) at a previous reunion. On the back of the photo he wrote," LST-312 unanchored in New Orleans, waiting to go into dry-dock, 1945"

I came back from Columbia, SC this past Sunday with my uncle Patillo Ainsworth Finlayson's footlocker. Pat had wanted my brother and I to have it after he died. It meant a lot to Uncle Pat that I took interest in his story. He told me several times over the past few years how much he appreciated being able to share his story before he died. I was honored to do it.

The footlocker is filled with memorabilia from his years spent aboard USS LST-312 during WWII, his service in 1947 in Orlando Florida, as well as documentation from his years as base historian for Warner Robins Air Force Base. It also had some information of his older brother James Murdoch Finlayson, and plenty of old Cheraw related letters. I spent the majority of Labor Day going through information trying to find someway to organize it. I am far from finished.

I will be posting more about LST-312 in future blog posts (as well as other subjects). I sorted through many-many letters from fellow shipmates that were primarily posted between 1980 to 2003. Uncle Pat corresponded with many of his old war buddies, and went to as many reunions as he could. As I scanned many of these letters, I realize that almost all of them are gone...maybe all of them. It's going to take me a long time to read all of them and gleam from them more of the story of the 312. I can tell you something they all shared in common, they loved each other and were proud of their service aboard the 312.

it's a good thing

2011-09-02T19:28:00.002-05:00

They come into the clinic with aches and pain.

"My neck hurts."
"My low back is killing me."
"Oh my shoulders!"
"Can you help my headache go away?"
"I've been hurting all day."

I hear the complaints and problems. I get to lay my hands on the hurt, focus on the areas of discomfort - and bring comfort. I offer up a silent prayer for each of them as I work. It makes my day when I can decrease someone's pain level, or better yet, make it all go away. It makes me feel good to make my clients feel good. It's a rewarding experience to know that at the end of the day, I made someone's day better.

To me, massage therapy is more than simply manipulating tissue, it's more than touch.

I like my job. I'm glad God brought me to this profession of laying on of hands.

a virtuous woman

2011-09-01T13:31:00.001-05:00

Gina woke me this morning with a kiss. She said, "It's twenty one years today and I love you just as much as I did the day I married you!"

I feel the same way. I love her even more. I can not imagine my life without her.

Last year I wanted to do something special, but we're in the same boat this year as we were last year - a tugboat. One day we'll go on a cruise together. It was my hope last year, but it's just wasn't in the cards. Nothing is in the cards this week. I told Gina that I was going to have to be out of town this weekend. She replied, "We're past all that, we know we how much we love each other."

She's sweet, but I'm not past it.

The above photo was taken the night I proposed to Gina. I was working with Jamey Moore Productions at the time. I woke up one morning knowing what I was to do that day. God had Gina on my heart and mind that morning. I wasn't going to let the sun go down without asking her to marry me. I drove to work and told Jamey that I was not going to stay that day....that I was heading to Chattanooga to propose to Gina.

God is so good. My trip to Chattanooga was divinely orchestrated. I simply can't explain all the nuances of that day seemed to be laid out for the two of us. There were the string quartet made up of college professors who were up on Signal Mountain that happened to be there practicing. No one else was there but the musicians, Gina and myself. We know to this day that God was winking at us.

Every where we went that day, something unique happened, and I am convinced God unfolded those moments for us. God is a romantic.

Gina was the one. I'd been in relationships ...but I wanted someone in my life that would love me as much as I wanted to love. When I met Gina, I discovered that love. She pours herself out daily and loves without ceasing. Gina is far more precious than jewels and her value is far above rubies or pearls. What we have - we will always have.

Our anniversary week will go by quietly and with little celebration. Our time is consumed with other things to do this year. We are going to have to be apart this weekend. Nevertheless, my heart is filled. I am thankful to God for sending Gina my way. That this love I have is greater than I ever could have imagined. Thanks God.
Whoso findeth a wife findeth a good thing, and obtaineth favour of the Lord.
- Proverbs 18:22

the opposite of faith

2011-08-26T17:58:00.006-05:00

I am looking at the future and wondering what to do. The economy is hurting our business. New healthcare laws are limiting how much we can help our clients and how much we make. Six years of struggling to make business work, and all the forces of nature seem to be against us. Life these days is like trying to navigate raging white-waters on a surf board. I know that I'm not the only one. Other folks around me are undergoing far worse. It's not just me. There are times in everyone's life that life seems overwhelming and impossible.

I admit it. My first reaction is usually fear. I try to be optimistic, but fear is the first surge that I experience. I appreciate how God works during hard times. He always comes along at the right moment and nudges us. I was beginning to feel succumbed by the hopelessness of it all. I lose sight many times along the to the way, feeling the way the enemy would have me feel. Here is where I have found myself failing time and time again. I confess it.

So out of nowhere I got the almighty nudge and a hopeful reminder - the opposite of fear is faith.

"Humans are amphibians - half spirit and half animal. As spirits they belong to the eternal world, but as animals they inhabit time."
-C.S. Lewis

I can easily be overwhelmed or learn to navigate each new hardship with faith. Fear will always make us lose control - eventually tip us over. I believe that we are more spiritual than physical. Like the Lewis quote infers, we only have our physical bodies for a short amount of time - we are forever spirit. We must endeavor to learn to live our lives in an unseen reality.

You don't have a soul. You are a Soul. You have a body.
-C.S. Lewis

While on this earth, bound by our flesh - we are to take the spatula of truth and flip our fears over and find our faith. Most of us have experienced this before in our lives, we have to give our fears to God and believe on Him.

"Now faith is the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen."
-Hebrews 11:1

God doesn't always deliver us from trials that cause us fear. He desires the trials to test our faith in order that we learn to rise up with the character of Christ. I still have to relearn the lesson of faith over fear - to step out of the boat onto the water. None of us are going to make it if we try to overcome situations in the flesh. We can't balance ourselves on what we perceive with our own eyes. We have to let go and stand on what we have been taught. We are not to balance flesh and spirit. We are to walk solely in the spirit.

^" ...and everything that does not come from faith is sin."
-Romans 14:23

We are not to be drowning in fear, but walking by FAITH. We are indeed spiritual beings.
I should know this by now and I need His reminders from time to time. It's too easy to get caught up in the fear of the flesh, because it is the natural thing to do. Living in faith isn't natural. Stepping off into the unseen unknown scarey. We will struggle with it until the day we die. It's because all we each see in the mirror is flesh and bone. All we see around us from day to day are flesh and bone. It's easy to lose sight of the unseen and drown in all that is seen. Sometimes we'd rather stay in the comfortable familiar than experience life the way we were meant to live.

"For the kingdom of God is not a matter of eating and drinking, but of righteousness, peace and joy in the Holy Spirit."
-Romans 14:17

We are to be above fear and not forever drowning. It is faithlessness that keeps us from being the beings we were created to be. If we are constantly reacting to life with fear, our lives will not be as full or as fruitful. If we are constantly succumbing to our fear, we are acting just as lost as the rest of the world. We must live by faith and discover the way we were meant to walk. We have to make that bold step each day.

"If you read history you will find that the Christians who did most for the present world were precisely those who thought most of the next. It is since Christians have largely ceased to think of the other world that they have become so ineffective in this."
-C.S. Lewis

i miss them

2011-08-23T10:30:00.002-05:00

School is back in session. Both of my daughters are no longer at the office during the day. I miss them here.

There was a long period of time this Summer that our family was running on just one vehicle. The old van was in the shop for a month due to a mysterious electrical problem. Gina needed our only car running to drive to and from the nursing homes. The girls and I were stranded together at the office during the work day.

It wasn't bad mind you. Most of the days we brought sandwich materials from home to have lunch. A few times a week Katie, Kelsey and I would close up shop at noon and hang an Out To Lunch note on the door. We'd walk to lunch. I miss THAT. We'd hold hands, talk and laugh as we strolled together downtown.

Sometimes the three of us would venture down Broad for a monster of a club sandwich at Gadsden Variety & Deli or for a hotdog from Connie's Coney's. The girls liked sitting outside under the shade of the umbrella and munch on a hotdog with chili and cheese. Sometimes we'd venture down Chestnut for a reuben sandwich at the Downtown Deli. Kelsey hasn't acquired the taste for a good reuben as of yet. She'll take the ham & cheese.

Here I am writing about food. I can get that stuff any old day. What I MISS is enjoying lunch with my daughters. I miss walking to lunch with them. I miss sitting down and enjoying them on a Summer day.

Today I sit alone at my office and contemplate what I'm going to do for lunch. I find myself opting out. It's just not as fun without my girls.

armed for school

2011-08-15T10:14:00.000-05:00

Early childhood is a time when little ones are buffered from the world. For most of us, the family unit was the comfortable cocoon in which to learn as we grew under the broad wing of parental love, guidance and encouragement. Our world was our family. Before we knew it, we found ourselves standing alone looking up at the towering doorways of public education for the first time. Like a young bird being pushed from the nest, school was our first experience of first flight.

As a parent, I experienced emotions that my parents must have felt. I remember looking in the rear-view mirror and losing sight of my young child as she became part of a herd. It doesn’t seem that long ago that I watched Katie as she was shepherded into the building by a stranger. I could hear the bell ring in the distance and remembered what it felt like to experience walking down those institutional walls for the very first time. Like my first born, came my second child, and the feelings never changed. With both children I felt both anxious and a little sad.

I was anxious because she was no longer completely within my protection. I was anxious that she was now in a strange land without her father and mother. I was a little sad because with each passing year, we have to let go a little more. As parents, we begin learn to lean on God a little more. We pray that our children will be okay in the world. They begin by learning new things and experience new adventures. They will bring home crayon masterpieces, construction paper hats, and progress with reading, writing and arithmetic. When they are little, they look forward to the next school day.

By junior high, the landscape has changed. The kid’s have been out there and know now what to expect. By junior high, education isn’t bated with sugar cookies and recess. Teachers are getting down to business, expecting their pupils to get down to business and bear the responsibility of learning. Something more is going on though, more than classes and homework. Something deeper and darker awaits our children. Evil awaits!

As this year approaches I see it in my daughter’s countenance. As the last week dwindled down to the last few days of Summer’s freedom.   She ponders the pending future with an uncertain gloom. I can see it on her face and hear it in her voice. School for her growing up was a happy place. But now she approaches her new high school year as a soldier would D-Day. She is braced, but not feeling ready.

School is an unavoidable an un-erasable sentence. School is a child’s first encounter with the world. For those who were raised in Christian homes, they will experience first-hand the merciless salvos of principalities and darkness. They are bused into a world where children are often cruel to one another. Here young souls experience darts and arrows targeted directly at them. Children can be cruel. Peer groups, social elites. Here the world sharply divided those who are weak, from those who are strong, those who are big, from those who are small, those who are pretty, from those who are plain, those who are rich, from those who are poor. On the campus, let the cruelness begin. Oh how the enemy in this world sets his forces against our own children, to break their spirit.

School approaches my child, and there is no stopping it. It’s going to be a head on collision and I sympathize with her gloom of the looming inevitability of Monday. As her parent, she seems to not believe that I was once there too.

Last night I told my child that as she pursues the Kingdom of God in her life, she will experience a Matrix moment. If she is to overcome this world in her life, she will need to see the world for what it really is. I believe she will see it. She will see herself fighting not against flesh and blood, but against principalities and darkness. She will see through the façade and see her part in this battle. Each day is masquerade and she will learn to see behind the masks.   She will see the world as Jesus does. Lost.

"For we wrestle not against flesh and blood, but against principalities, against powers, against the rulers of the darkness of this world, against spiritual wickedness in high places."
-Ephesians 6:12

"For though we walk in the flesh, we do not war after the flesh: for the weapons of our warfare are not carnal, but mighty through God to the pulling down of strongholds; casting down imaginations, and every high thing that exaulteth itself against the knowledge of God, and bringing into captivity every thought to the obedience of Christ."
-2 Corinthians 10-5

Elitism has an ugly face. The lost soul will try to make another feel small, in order to feel big. The lost soul will make another feel dumb, in order to feel smart. How noble is a heart that would make another appear the nerd, in order to feel cool? How beautiful is the heart that would make another feel ugly, in order to feel pretty? It’s a small world after all.

The world is filled with fallen children of Adam. This world is filled with a humanity that is self-absorbed, self-serving, and self-righteous. This is what God sees. This is why God sent His beloved Son. The Matrix moment for everyone is to see that the world is filled with lost children. It is in school that our children must learn to be in this mess, but not of it.

You, dear children, are from God and have overcome them, because the one who is in you is greater than the one who is in the world.
-1 John 4:4

This is why I am sending my children to school armed. Self-confidence is a good thing, but a child needs to be given more. They need to be armed for the world with something sharp. They need protection. The child needs the sword of truth, the shield of faith, the breastplate of righteousness.   My children need to have the mind of Christ. Katie reads her Bible daily. I see that life is already putting the Word in her to the test. All the scripture that she’s read have yet to reveal its full meaning. She has still yet to experience enough life, not yet experienced all that is in the world. Like the young rulers of C.S. Lewis’ Narnia, my children will be tested, but they will not be unarmed. The Word is in them and their parents are equipping them and giving them continual prayer support.   We want them to know God and know His voice, no matter how far they are from us.

"We must put on the whole armor of God. We must have the character of Jesus Christ. It is impossible to have the power of God without having the character of God, which is holiness."
-Ephesians: 6: 10-18

As we each travel in the world, we learn what it means to be in it and not of it. We learn that through each encounter, each valley, each hardship, we will find God’s glory beyond each personal conflict. We can give thanks that no matter what we endure, we can overcome if we are always in Him. It is how we weather the most difficult times that forges our character. As we lean on Him, and go through life pursuing His Kingdom in our lives, we begin to take on the character of Christ. Something I have discovered about my Creator, He redeems all of our hardships. If we go with God in this world, we will come out the other end different.

And He has said to me, "My grace is sufficient for you, for power is perfected in weakness." Most gladly, therefore, I will rather boast about my weaknesses, so that the power of Christ may dwell in me.
-2 Corinthians 12:9

The world would have my children think little of their selves. As a father, I am given the eyes of God to see my children for who they truly are. My daughters are beautiful inside and out. They are each a gift from God and gifted by God in their own unique way. They are loving creatures that love to love and love to laugh. They will sing to the world their own song. Yes, each of their lives a beautiful song to God’s glory. The world will continue to lie, but we know that the world is a liar. Gina and I will do our best to raise them in the light for as long as we have their lives to keep.

"These things I have spoken to you, so that in Me you may have peace. In the world you have tribulation, but take courage; I have overcome the world."
-John 16:33

"Finally, brethren, whatsoever things are true, whatsoever things are honest, whatsoever things are just, whatsoever things are pure, whatsoever things are lovely, whatsoever things are of good report; if there be any virtue, and if there be any praise, think on these things. This is true holiness."
Philippians: 4:8

So off to school my lovely children, off into the world you go. You have God and God has you.

God on Katie!

God on Kelsey!

God on your children too!

somewhere out there

2011-08-03T14:33:00.000-05:00

Mark & Brook jam at Skylight after the wedding. Sept 1, 1990

Back in 1986-87, I met Mark Edward Stephens. I was sitting in the break room during classes at the Art Institute where I struck up a conversation with one of the music institute students. Mark was a big friendly fellow. We were both Christians, both enjoyed singing/songwriting, both trying to get a foothold on life. I was in my late twenties and Mark was in his early thirties. We connected.

I met Mark during a spiritually hard time. I was disconnected because I had allowed other folk to affect my Christian walk. Sure I was wounded, but looking back I know that I made the choice to distance myself from God. Atlanta to me was a worldly jungle. I told Mark that I needed to connect and he said that he too needed to find some fellowship. We decided to venture out Sunday mornings together and find a church.

After all that driving around I never found a church, but I did find good fellowship in my new friend. We got together on several occasions and worked on songs. Once he asked me over to his his apartment and we hung out throughout the night and hammered out a song 'Little Davids'. I wish I remembered all the words. All that plays in my head now is just the chorus.

Little Davids everywhere
if you love me
if you care
then feed my sheep
-feed my sheep

As always, I'd churn out the rhythm and sing the melody. My more talented guitarist friend would lace the song with lead guitar and add harmony. It was a good night. Our talks would go on for hours upon hours. We were so very different, but our lives where on the same chord at that moment. He was a good friend.

Mark once came to stay with me one weekend after I moved back to Gadsden. I was renting an apartment on Walnut Street at the time. He brought his guitar and we spent most of the time talking or playing.

The last time I saw Mark was at my wedding. He drove from Atlanta to attend. I only got a chance that day to thank him for coming and give him a hug. Mark hung around after the rice and got to know Brook a little. He went to Skylight and jammed a little with my brother.

I lost contact with Mark not long afterward. I often wondered what happened to my old friend. I once tried calling various Atlanta Christian radio stations asking if they knew him, but no one would respond. Have a rather common name, I gave up with the exception of occasional online searches.

A few days ago I was Googling his name, trying different combinations. I finally typed in Mark+Stephens+Atlanta+Radio and found his obituary. I don't know why I keep doing this to myself.

I'm sorry Mark for losing touch with you. You were a good friend. I know we'll meet again.

I'm not dead yet.

2011-08-01T10:18:00.001-05:00

Here's another re-post (February 22, 2006) from my old tripod blog. I still hear the same. I still feel the same about it.

Now Playing: plenty of kingdom work to go around

I've heard statements and comments from various folks over the months in which I have disagreed. No big deal mind you because ruffled feathers can easily be put back into place. A few days ago I was talking to a brother who said he didn't agree with something he had heard. He repeated the very same thing that I had been thinking. I thought to myself, "Hrm, it's not just me then."

There have been comments that God is on a certain person within the church or that God is on a certain age group. That the older ones should step aside (that it's not our time anymore) and make way for a younger anointed few. I think it's a silly notion.

Funny thing, I feel God saying, "Hey David, I want to use you today...I am anointing this and am being glorified when you do that." Look at me, I am a 50-something, overweight, and odd looking character and YET God still chooses to put his hand on me and deem me useful enough for kingdom business.

Anyone who draws close to God will be embraced by their Heavenly Father. The only reason some people aren't used dramatically are because they do not offer themselves to be used dramatically. God has uniquely designed each of us to glorify Him in our own way. Anyone desiring to be filled completely must empty themselves completely. The less selfish and self absorbed we become, the more He can and will use us.

God never put anyone out to pasture. He never discards a loved one. He just eventually takes 'em home. Last week Gina was at a nursing home and an old man there ministered to her. He was a sweet old Godly man with Alzheimer's disease and his outlook on life and servant spirit blessed Gina.

Truth is, there is plenty of room here, plenty of work to be done for the old and young alike. No one should stand in the way of anyone and no one should be held back. The workers are few. Move in Him and He will be on and with you.

The only special generation I see today is the one fading in the rear view mirror. We each view things from the lens of our short life span. If there is a greater generation among us, then it was the one that came before us. The generation that was earmarked not for their talent and abilities but rather for their quiet sacrifices.

As for the younger generation...God be on you. You've got the energy, less battle scars, and a lot of passion. It's a beautiful thing.

May God bless ALL of you. Go spread His aroma around by living out His love in your day today.

leone would be proud

2011-07-27T13:03:00.000-05:00

My girls wanted to rent something from Redbox and so they picked the computer-generated film RANGO. I wasn't planning on watching it with them. I was going to go about cleaning house as they enjoyed a kid movie together. There was something about the sounds coming from the next room that kept drawing me back in, so I sat down and watched it.

I don't care for most kid movies that come out. There have been exceptions. I really enjoyed the SHREK. I liked the first CARS, TOY STORY 1, 2, & 3 as well as UP. I am a big fan of the exceptions. Most kid movies though have little for the adults in the audience. I think it's a bad move. After all, it's we the adults that take their children to the movies and have to sit through it. I can't tell you how many kid movies I've paid to go see and ended up falling to sleep. RANGO is one of the exceptions, because it is exceptional. It offers more than great characters and a good storyline.

What I like most about Rango is that it's a good Western with desert animals and reptiles in the cast. Not only is it a good Western, but a good Italian Western. It was like the entire film was paying tribute to the work of Sergio Leone. I believe that any avid fan of Leone and the Spaghetti Western genre would appreciate this flick.

Down through the decades directors have tried to pull off a Leone-esque Western. Very few have given us anything thing memorable. The most recent success was Quentin Tarrentino's WWII adventure The Inglorious Bastards. Rango offers us some animated Leone, a familiar style, sounds and textures - making up a very unique film.

The cinematography of this movie is fascinating. The film offered non-stop references to Spaghetti Westerns. For any Leone fans out there, listen for the sounds, watch how each scene is framed, the characters. I know my kids just enjoyed the characters, the action, and the humor - but dad sat there and enjoyed Rango on a completely different level. Rango offered the grown-up in the room something special.

fallen fortress

2011-07-22T10:38:00.000-05:00

While talking to the old airman at the Mighty Eighth Museum in Savannah, he told me that the Liberty Belle had flown her last. The plane caught on fire and the pilot landed the plane in time for the crew to escape.

2007 flight on the Liberty Belle:

therein lies the rub

2011-07-05T09:26:00.000-05:00

Gina had to work throughout the weekend as well as the Fourth of July holiday. We've been on one car for an entire month now. Gina took the VW Monday morning and had it for the majority of the day. My daughters and I spent the day stranded at home and making good use of the situation. We cleaned house.

Usually we don't do anything special for the fourth. This time we had some ribs in the fridge. I took some time from housecleaning to rub down the ribs - prepping them for the grill. The two for one deal at Winn Dixie allowed for more meat than our small family needed. Gina's been working so hard - I thought she might like to see her mom a little. I called Mrs. Hale and asked her if she'd like to come over and help us gnaw on some dead pig bones.

We had a pretty big spread and all of us ate entirely too much. Mrs. Hale brought over a big bowl of her incredible green beans. She also made a pan full of fried okra. I didn't ask her to bring anything, but glad she did. It was a feast. After the meal and the table was cleared, Gina and her mom sat down for a game of Scrabble. They both seemed to have a good time together.

The one about the grill:

For years Gina had been push the idea of own a grill off on me. She didn't want to just go buy one without justifying it as a birthday, Father's Day, or Christmas present. She'd always ask me if I wanted a grill for a present. I'd always turn the offer down. I am not a grill person. Unlike a lot of men, I don't find pleasure in owning or cooking on a grill. I'd just as soon cook on a stove top. The house has air conditioning and I don't have to scrape and scrub the eye of a stove like I do an outdoor grill. Now I LOVE food smoked/cooked on a grill - but I'd just as soon pay somebody who knows how to do it better than I can.

Every time a birthday, Father's Day or Christmas rolled around Gina would ask the same question. "How would you like a BBQ grill?" It took her well over a decade to finally get the message that I didn't want a damn grill for a present.

Eventually she started a different approach by saying, "It coming up on our anniversary, or let's make OUR Christmas (or Anniversary) present to each other a grill."

"Gina." I'd say to her, "let's just go buy a grill and not make it a present." I don't want it as a present - even if it's a shared present. I'd just as soon we buy a tire jack for each other. "I don't want a grill." Gina's mind doesn't work that way. The expense of a grill has to be justified as a gift for some reason. There was no sense debating it. I didn't want the gift of a grill because I knew that it was a gift that had to keep on giving. Like I said, I find no great joy in grilling.

The last time she mentioned giving me a grill - I told her that it wasn't I that wanted the grill. I told Gina that it was SHE that wanted the grill. If SHE wanted the grill - let's go to Lowes and just don't buy her a grill.

About three or four years ago Gina handed me a Lowes Black Friday Ad. She had circled a picture of the grill SHE wanted and told me to go get it. "This grill is what I want for Christmas."
Okay. I immediately went over to Lowes and bought it. I took it home and assembled it. It was a nice looking grill. I hauled it up the stairs onto the deck. It's been used about six times since its purchase. I noticed while making the ribs yesterday how faded it looked. It's even got some rust spots on it.

City of Savannah

2011-07-02T12:03:00.002-05:00


"City of Savannah" 5000th airplane processed through Hunter Field, GA in 1944

While roaming the Combat Gallery at the Mighty Eighth Air Force Museum, an old airman approached me to talk about the B-17, 'City of Savannah' on display. He told me that this particular Flying Fortress was built toward the end of the war never left The States. Nevertheless, this bomber has an interesting history.

It was purchased for $350.00 after the war's end and used to fight fires. Go rent the 1989 movie Always and you'll get a good idea what kind of combat this old bird experienced. This B-17 was retired from the fire department in the 1970's and ended up at National Air and Space Museum until 2009.

It was then disassembled and trucked down 1-95 to the Might Eighth facility. The ball turret and tail gun section had been removed decades ago to fight fires. The old vet told me that they've secured a tail gun section and will be installing it soon.

You can see images of her restoration on facebook.

the mighty eighth

2011-07-01T11:25:00.000-05:00

B-17 "Flying Fortress" being restored at the museum.

I was welcomed at the door by a kindly old veteran. He introduced himself as we shook hands. While visiting the Mighty Eighth Air Force Museum in Savanah, I could tell on the faces of all three old guides, that they were proud to be there. At one point, one of the old gentlemen said that he's just as proud of his service to the Mighty Eighth Army Air Force Museum just much as he did during the Korean War. They were there to honor those who served and didn't return.

As a boy, I was fascinated by that war. I'd watch the old television shows, the movies. My dad had a book Collier's Photographic History of WWII (1945) on the bookshelf. I spent hours upon hours as a kid flipping through the pages of that book. At that time, the war was only a few short decades ago. The black and white images pushed the war into ancient of days. Fathers didn't talk about it much so their children could be spared the pain of their sacrifice. Their gift to their children was peace.

I continued my fascination as I grew up - reading many books about that war. I have never lost my fascination of that time in our nation's history...in our world's history.

There was a moment during my visit to the museum that I thought about my boyhood fascination versus my adulthood fascination. The museum attempted to offer the visitor a firsthand multimedia experience to simulate a bomb mission. I felt the blast of cold air hit me from the bomb-bay doors opening from the floor, flack bursts in stereo, back and forth radio chatter. I didn't feel an exhilaration that I would have once felt as a boy. I sat there trying to hold back tears.

my friend jim

2011-06-24T16:40:00.004-05:00

I met Jim when I drove out to look for apartment not too far from Art Institute of Atlanta. I had talked to him prior on the phone after receiving a list from the school of new students looking for places to live like myself.

Jim Byrant was 19 at the time. I was about 27 years old. We met face to face for the first time at a fast food joint. After a vague and uninformative meeting, we decided to look around together for a place to live. I didn't quite know how to take the guy. I'm sure it was just as obvious to him as it was to m that we had little in common and that we came from different worlds. It wasn't just the age difference.

Jim offered to drive us around because he grew up in Newnan, GA and was acquainted with the streets in Atlanta more than I did. It wasn't long before we found an Cherry Hill Apartments on Bufford Hwy. We ended up having another roommate, who was a little younger than I was. I soon discovered that I was the 'old man' around the Art Institute. Most of the other students looked like they were just out of high school.

Whenever Jim, my other roommate Jeff, went out to party, I'd stay home and study, read a book or watch television. I've always have been quite the homebody. Jim started jokingly call me 'dad' when he would leave to do his gallivanting. I'd follow by telling him to drive safe - keep it in the road. Even though we were strangers - we figured we'd get along just fine.

I think the differences faded as classes got underway and we found ourselves in the same classes, bringing the same assignments back to the apartment. At first, I didn't know why Jim even got into graphic design. The thought was rolling in the back of my mind that he was probably going to loose interest any day. I never saw him draw much. I wasn't really impressed with his sketches. At the time I thought people had to have a capacity to draw in order to become a graphic artist.

I was wrong.

Jim ended up surprising me. He didn't have to draw. Jim was phenomenal at layout. He quickly got the hang of design work. His projects were always sharp looking pieces. Working together soon made us buddies. He was great at design and slick presentation and I was strong on concept and handy when it came to original illustration work. We became a good team, like peanut butter and jelly, only far from messy. I've always worked kind of fast and loose and Jim made sure everything was polished. I loved working with Jim.

We were a dynamic duo when it came to projects. Usually when instructors gave us an assignment, he or she would tell us to go and purchase specific materials we HAD to use for each project. This got expensive fast. Teachers didn't seem to acknowledge the fact that students had to eat too. So my diversion from the official rules started early. I decided that in order to eat, I was going to have to break the rules. I decided I was going to start saving some big bucks and start being creative with the ever growing scraps back at our apartment.

Now Jim wasn't in the same financial bind that I was. He had resources. Since we always ended up helping each other with each other's assignments, he got into the game too. We challenged each other not use the required medium/materials required and ace the projects during the process. We made each assignment as a pass or fail endeavor. If we got caught, we'd fail. If we didn't, we'd pass. We never failed. We always seemed to break all the given rules and present our projects to where the instructors couldn't tell we made up our own rules. I didn't see it as cheating. We were having to work harder, challenge ourselves, be more creative to pull it off. Our design projects were among the top of the class. We were never caught and always made A's.

Along the way, Jim befriended another fellow that later became our roommate, Troy Williams. Troy was an incredible artist and had a great eye for design and business. Troy soon became my friend too.

Jim Bryant didn't finish his art training in Atlanta. His dad drove him up to check out Parson's Art School. Jim moved up to New York to finished his design training. I only saw him a handful of times since those days. Troy and I became roommates and Jim was out of the picture.

Jim ended up living in Manhattan, working at a prominent Ad agency with national clients. He kept moving up, eventually running the entire agency. Years later Jim moved back down south and worked for another large agency. He also became a graphic designer for Coca-Cola. Eventually he ended up away from the design table and in marketing end of the business. Sharp fellow.

We'd keep in touch from time to time down through the years - but not often enough. Anytime we did talk, it was as if no time had passed at all. We were still buddies as the decades passed. He became a very successful designer, a very sharp Ad man. He knew the business more than I did. When we talked, his projects seemed so interesting and adventurous. He had come a long way from that kid I met that first day.

I had not talked to my friend in a very long time. I Googled his name online late this afternoon, hoping to find his phone number. What I did find was his obituary.

Mr. James (Jim) Bryant III

We were so very different from each other, and I am thankful that life put us together for that short while.

I stayed at the office tonight and searched for family members on-line. I had to know what had happened to Jim. I tried to find his dad, or one of Jim's siblings. After many failed calls to phones that no one answered - I found his brother Don. Don Bryant remembered me, and was kind enough to take the time to tell me what had happened to his brother - my old friend.

Don said that Jim had an elder neighbor across the street who looked like he needed help cutting down some branches. At one point the neighbor went in to cool down and rest a little. Jim offered to continue with the work. After a while, Jim's neighbor noticed that the chainsaw had stopped. Jim's truck was parked at the end of the drive, and that it was running. Don guessed that maybe Jim got in the truck to run the A/C a little in order to cool off. Jim's young son came across the street to find his dad unconscious. The neighbor got someone to get Jim's son away from the truck and back home. Jim neighbor tried to resuscitate him. It was no use..

Jim was rushed to the hospital, but there was nothing anyone could do. Jim had suffered a massive heart attack. My heart goes out to the Bryant family. I am sorry for their loss. I feel the loss too.

one family under God

2011-06-22T14:20:00.002-05:00

Our old '92 Mazda minivan went haywire two and a half weeks ago. It was due to some kind of weird electrical thingamajig going bad. Like most families, we have to be in different places at the same time. Life has been a juggling act as of late. My wonderful mechanic Bill Noah says he finally located the part needed to fix our van. We are driving everywhere in my 1973 Super Beetle. Needless to say we have been a closer family as of late.

We leave home earlier in the day and come back later in the day. We zip around Etowah County and leave each other off to get stranded at places until someone comes along with the ride. It's not so bad, but it it's not so good either.

I am very thankful that we do have the car we have. We are daily inconvenienced but getting along. I sure wish our mechanic will call soon to say the van is good to go. For a while there, I thought I'd be getting a call saying the part is no more - making the van no more. I was relieved to hear that reliable Bill eventually found the part.

RULE Np: 1 If you want something in life, you've got to make sacrifices.

Gina and I wanted to have a business together. This has always been our dream. We opened our clinic doors in July of 2006 after Gina became a certified lymphedema therapist. The new healthcare laws have dramatically limited what we can do for our patients. The laws also cut therapist reimbursement. Once again our government has seriously challenged our business. We are currently looking into other avenues to invest in our company's future.

Gina and I realized a long time ago that we can't have everything we want now. Like most privately owned business today, going through a bad economy, we have to daily endeavor to persevere. There are a lot of people, a lot of small businesses in the same boat that we are. We are not the only ones trying to stay afloat these days. We are still manning the wheel, controlling the yard, doing our best to keep a steady course. I just wish those clowns in Washington would quit drilling holes in our hull as they try out their grand social experiments.

After all this endeavoring, all this effort, I look at my old vehicles and hope they have enough miles left in them to get us over and past this hard road ahead. We will continue to make whatever sacrifices to make it to safer waters. I pray for my family, my business. I also pray for your family and your business. I am praying for my country too.

"But as for me and my household, we will serve the LORD.”- Joshua 24:15

God bless America. Let's all do our part to keep her under God's protective wing and protection.

a new, old photo

2011-06-02T13:50:00.002-05:00

Westbrook Finlayson & the Melodians

Carrol Lee Melton, ?, Billy Duvall, ?, Ned Hickson, ?, King Reid, Jimmy Gainey, Steve Salvo, Charlie Adkins, Westbrook Finlayson (crutches)

Beverly believes that Steve Salvo
is the fellow on the drums.

My cousin Beverly F. Triber, Wofford's daughter, just sent me this photo of one of dad's orchestra's. It group precedes the H. Westbrook and His Orchestra. Beverly jotted down some names beneath the photos with some guesses. Pardon us if the names are wrong guesses. Beverly said in her letter than these pictures were sent to her by the widow of a former band member, Steve Salvo. You may recall that it was during a meeting with brothers Jimmy and Tommy Dorsey that it was suggested to change the name of Westbrook's band. They felt that the name Finlayson should not be used, to pick a name that the public would not only be able to remember but to pronounce.

My uncle Pat died a little over a month ago. Beverly found the above photo with a letter from Steve Salvo's wife. It had been sent to him only months before Pat's passing. The letter reads as follows:

Ainsworth,
Thomasine passed your letter along to me, I was so glad to hear from you and appreciate your words of sympathy. Steve had a hard fight the last couple of years. He always loved to talk about working at the movie with Jimmy and the rest of the crowd and playing with Westbrook's band. I had a copy of the band made for you and Jennie Llew in case you do not have this picture. I can remember the faces of the two boys in center back but not their names. Some may have been substitutes - like Charlie Adkins for Fred Posten at the piano.

I guess at the end of the sweetest life long friends are the ones in our little class of 1938. Hope you are doing well.
Love,
Ouida

end time events

2011-05-27T09:10:00.001-05:00

When Gina and I were married (September 1, 1990) we relocated to Bowling Green, KY. We were working off of one car that day. Gina had to see some patients at a nursing home and I needed to get a Kentucky driver's license at the court house. Gina dropped me off at the court house and drove off.

I had to wait a while before I was eventually picked up by my bride. Gina pulled up to the curb and I got in. She immediately asked to see my new license. She wanted to see the photo. The light had turned green and she was holding up traffic. I urged her to move along, that there was nothing to see.

Nothing to see? "I want to see what your license looks like." I encouraged her to drive and I would explain it to her. As she drove, I told her that the State of Kentucky was doing something entirely innovative and new. I told her that the DOT was modeling a new system of identification/licensing for the entire nation that didn't require a card.

Gina listened. She just wanted to see my new license. I told her that she couldn't see it with her naked eye. The more I explained, the quieter she became. I told her that even though she couldn't see it - I did get a license. I got a permanent number. I could tell that she was all the more puzzled as I explained it to her. I told Gina that the number was imprinted on my hand, but could only be seen by infrared light. I told her that it was a great idea because you can't ever lose the number like you could lose a billfold. I explained the benefits of having this personal bar code mark in great detail and with believable enthusiasm.

She made an illegal U-turn. I asked her what she was doing. She told me that we were going back to the Warren County Court House to have them take it off! I laughed and told her that it couldn't be removed - that it's permanent. I'll have it till the day I die. I can't explain the look she had on her face. She turned white and looked ill. She stopped the car and freaked out. "David, what have you done!"

It was at that moment I pulled my new drivers license out of my wallet and showed it to her.

a good time for a story

2011-05-11T15:21:00.000-05:00

A few weeks ago we buried our uncle Patillo Ainsworth Finlayson. A few years ago we made the same trip to Cheraw, South Carolina to say good-bye to Pat's older brother James Murdoch Finlayson. While at the old St. David's Church, I remembered a Thanksgiving Day back in 1997 that all the Burruss & Jennie Wait descendants met in Cheraw for a family reunion. It was a little over ten years ago. The three remaining siblings, Pat, Murdoch, and Jennie Llew met us there. It was a beautiful day for such a gathering. We spent a leisure weekend there walking around the old township, driving down old neighborhoods and visiting the cemetery at the Old St. David's Church. Everywhere we went, we paid close attention to catch a shared memory among the last of Burruss' children. This is where they grew up.

There is an old Confederate memorial there in the quiet of the Old St. David's Church. I read where originally the monument did not mention Confederate soldiers because the area was still occupied by Union forces. Cheraw has a lot of Civil War history. After all, the first call for secession in a public meeting was made at the Chesterfield County Courthouse. John A. Inglis of Cheraw introduced the resolution for South Carolina to secede. General Sherman later occupied the area, but didn't strike a match. There was a terrible fire that burned down much of the downtown district because of an accidental munitions explosion. The Yankees of course were to blame, but it was an accident. Sherman and his troops had taken a liking to town's charm.

The Old St. David's Church was used as a hospital for both Union and Confederate troops during the course of the war. The church was also used as a hospital for the British during the Revolutionary War. It's a very small town with abundant history.

The Confederate monument reads:
"To the memory of our heroic dead who fell at Cheraw during the war 1861-1865. Loved and honored though unknown. Stranger, bold champion of the South, revere and view these tombs with love; Brave heroes slumber here, Loved, and Honored, though unknown."

It was there at the monument where I found my uncles Pat and Murdoch standing together talking. After spotting them it took me several minutes to reach them. At the time I had no idea as to the significance of the monument or the spot where they were standing. The way there were standing there made me wonder what they were talking about at that moment.

When I reached them they were just standing there close together in quiet thought. I asked them what they had been talking about. Both smiled while looking reflectively at the monument. They both shared the story, interrupting with their own memories of Memorial Day's past. They told how when they as children would march from their school to this monument with roses. When they arrived, they would all scatter the peddles around the white marble obelisk, singing a special song for the occasion.

There were orations, choirs, and special guest - it was a very big day each year in Chesterfield County. It was a tradition that started on Memorial Day of May 10, 1867. The tradition ended in 1961.

But there was more to the telling. Pat and Murdoch told me not only of those days but about the old Confederate veterans who were in attendance, quietly standing among children. Murdoch looked at me and said that as children, those veterans seemed so old to us back then. Now we are the old soldiers standing here.

That was my favorite moment during our reunion.

Finlayson Family Reunion 1997, Cheraw, South Carolina

long drive through a short weekend

2011-05-02T09:20:00.001-05:00

Nothing much to say about this weekend. We checked the kids out from school and drove-drove-drove. The kids are great travelers. We arrived around midnight at my sister Jennie's house in Fort Mill, SC.

There we hooked up with other family members, Mom, Brooky & Cindy. Not much time to visit with each other...short or chopped-off conversations. Little time to really rest during the weekend.

We drove to Pat's funeral at Old St. David's Church. It was a beautiful morning to see Pat off. I took about 15 minutes to walk around downtown Cheraw with Katie. There was little time for anything, but appreciative for the moments that I had.

We had to make too many stops back home to Alabama on Sunday. We arrived in Etowah County as the sun was setting. It was a good sleep last night after returning home. I am very tired though...very tired.

While driving home I kept thinking how much I will miss uncle Pat. We will no longer e-mail each other, no longer write each other, no longer talk on the phone. Like my father - I will no longer see his sweet smiling face on this Earth again. I will see him one day though.

Pat & Westbrook Finlayson

melancholy morning

2011-04-28T08:29:00.000-05:00

December 28, 1920 - April 28, 2011

Patillo Ainsworth Finlayson, all of Westbrook's kids called him Uncle Pat. All his siblings and friends called him Ainsworth.

Jennie called me this morning with the news that Uncle Pat passed away during the night. This one hurts. I'm sure it affects all my siblings on the same level. Pat was a sweet and lovable fellow. He is loved and will be missed. He is well now.

A few years ago, on this blog, I posted stories about Pat's wartime experiences aboard the USS LST-312. Anyone who has kept up with this blog has come across his name on many occasions. A while back my niece Sara Noojin had interviewed Pat for a school project. I thought it well written and thought you all might appreciate reading it.

A+ for Sara

Yo, Narcissus

2011-04-27T14:25:00.001-05:00

Gen Y's Most Perilous Trait?

The effort to improve a child's self-esteem has backfired. I've been looking at studies where the younger Generation Y (aka: Millennial Generation) is self-absorbed, self-entitled, with an excessive helping self-regard. Often rudeness is a trait of the Gen Y'er. I hope you guys grow up to prove us old timer's wrong. In the meantime, if you want the respect - show some respect. If you want to get somewhere - do the work. Your opinions really doesn't count for much - especially the snarky ones. Snark doesn't compensate for lack of wisdom or facts. You really don't know how absurd you look from here. Walk on down this road of life a little more and then we'll talk.

last place - where to next?

2011-04-25T10:48:00.002-05:00

Last week I finished the story 'Places' off-line. What you've read since September 19, 2010 was the first draft. I don't know what I'm going to do with the story. I have been thinking about starting another - a different kind of tale. It might be from a Zombie dream I had last winter, a dream that was delivered with a great outline and unusual twist. The only thing that the dream did not provide me with was a clear ending. I am confident I can come up with one. The other idea is a book I started writing over two decades ago that I never finished - about a serial killer. The later is 'Dark Savior' which started out to be a novel, but after writing 'Places', I may revisit the old text and whittle it down to a novella.

'Places' isn't really that long of a read. My good friend Dr. Clay Rowe was kind enough to help edit much of this book. He stated on several occasions that I might want to beef up the noir a little if it's ever to be published. I thought about it, but feel that the story has a nice pace to it. I don't really see expanding it. There's some stuff that I left out of the telling, and think it appropriate to leave into it a little mystery. The story is what it is. The story has been told.

Some of my favorite reads as a young man were the short stories of O' Henry, Edgar Allen Poe and Robert Benchley. I also enjoyed pulp fiction as a young man - books my brother had collected on his bookshelf. I leaped from comic books to The Man of Bronze: Doc Savage! It proved to be great reading for a Saturday morning and afternoon. I read a lot of pulp that Brooky had left in his wake.

In a roundabout way, Clay has helped me to keep writing. What if I kept pouring out short stories, novellas and simply combine as a collective work? This way I wouldn't have to bulk up a story, but rather give the reader more stories to peruse?

My mind then went to how Steven King combined four very different stories in Different Seasons. Three of the four stories were turned into motion pictures, Rita Hayworth and The Shawshank Redemption (Shawshank Redemption, The Body (Stand By Me), and Apt Pupil (Apt Pupil). At the time King was writing nothing but horror. These stories were a completely different offering. Different Seasons is one of my favorite of King's works. I recommend you reading this book, even if you've seen the movies. As always, the book is better than the movie.

At present, I don't really know where to go next. I have this idea, but will probably take a break from writing another story...just do a little posting to cleanse my palate. As of late, business has taken most of my time and attention. I finished Places in my spare time late at night - early mornings - determined to finish what I had started. Don't get me wrong, I enjoyed following Johnny Hale's black and white narrative - but I need to a little time to reset. This break is also going to be used to polish the story I just finished. At present, the manuscript is in the hands of my neighbors - one being an FBI agent. I am looking forward to getting some technical advice and some editing/feedback from the story from them. I'm sure I'll be doing some rewrites when they hand it back to me. There's also some family members that I'd like to read it.

So for now I'm going to revert to what I did before. I've missed making the day to day random posting. I'll change the banner from the blog-noir back to Long Journey Home (or something else) and post about life as it comes. You'll know when it's time for another story when the banner changes. I hope you enjoyed the read.

P.S. If you've read the blog-noir posts of Places, did you enjoy it? Was it difficult to read? Was the trail hard to follow? I'd appreciate your feedback - any constructive criticism.

the little man

2011-01-16T16:18:00.012-06:00

I saw that someone had been tailing me for three blocks. It was a lone figure trailing behind me. I drove a few more blocks just to make sure it was me he was after. It was.

I picked up a little speed to gain some distance, but not enough to make him think that I had caught on to him. I didn't see any other cars dogging me so I decided I was going to take a chance and let this guy catch up. I found a spot, a park not too far from an alley.  I quickly pulled in and exited the car. I walked across the street and went into the alley as if it had been original intended destination.

Once in the alley, I ran a good piece, and found cover. It was a good place to watch and wait. 

My shadow caught up with me within a few minutes. I first saw his small silhouette appear at the entrance of the alley. He had put out his cigarette on the sidewalk, lowered a hand into a pocket. It was obvious what he was reaching for.

I watched him walk the entire way toward me. All the debris in the alley, to my advantage, made it impossible for my stalker to see me. At one point he felt confident enough away from the bustling sidewalk behind him to pull out his gun.  He held it in front of him - ready to fire at a moment's notice.  He seemed a little on the jumpy side. I couldn't blame him.

I had my gun out too, but I wasn't feeling jumpy. Finally he reached the area where I was hiding, he gazed around, and moved passed me. Ten steps forward, if he looked around again, he could have a good gander at me. It was my turn to introduce myself.

I used both hands and aimed the gun dead center of his back. I couldn't miss.

"Drop it!" 

He didn't have time to respond. He knew if he moved to shoot, he'd be dropped like a sack of potatoes.

"Drop your gun now!"

The man was rather small in stature - not very threatening. I saw his revolver hit the brick surface. He slowly raised his hands to shoulder level.

"You're following me." 

"Why yes - yes I have - how very observant of you."

For a man that had had the drop on him, he didn't seem to alarmed or fearful.

"I didn't come to harm you Mr. Hale." 

"Doesn't seem like that's going to happen anyway." 

To my surprise he knew my name and I was flummoxed as to how he knew. He turned and faced me slowly. 

"Stay where you are mister - you know me but I don't know you!"

"Oh, please excuse me for not introducing myself. My name is Valentine, Clarence Valentine. I am a private detective. I was employed to find you - and give you a message."

"You found me."

"Yes - I'm quite good at my job."

Valentine started to reach into his pocket.

"That's not a good idea."

"I was only going to give you my calling card."

"I'll get it myself - move over there and stand facing the wall."

I frisked him and made sure he wasn't packing anything else. I also checked his wallet. He was who he said he was. 

"I don't have a lot of patience, and you're in a very bad situation. Who hired you?"

"I'm sorry, the little man smiled a creepy little smile, "I can't divulge that information to you."

"I can make you."

"That would be most unfortunate, and besides, you know very well who hired me."

"I have a vague idea."

"Like I said, I was sent to find you, to give you a message by the man you know as The Russian. It's my understanding that you've been in his neighborhood going door to door selling matches."

"What's the message?" I pushed firmly.

"There's no reason to be so rough Johnny. I am of no threat to you whatsoever."

"I doubt that."

He slowly reached into his shirt pocket and pulled out a folded piece of paper.

"This is for you - an address."

I looked at the paper and recognized the address scribbled on it. It was one listed in Clayton's book.

"This is a trap."

Valentine looked up at me - I didn't like his calm demeanor.

"But of course it's a trap."

"What am I supposed to do with this - I'm no idiot!"

"No Johnny, I am a good judge of people and can clearly tell that you are indeed not an idiot...but you will go."

"Why's that?"

"Does the name Camille mean anything to you?"

Within a split second I knew that he saw in my face that the name definitely meant something to me. He saw in my face fear and desperation.  He probably witnessed the color of my flesh turn pale."They have Camille, and if you aren't at this address by six o'clock tonight, she will die."

Valentine's calm demeanor quickly faded as I shoved my gun into his mouth and to the back of his choking throat.

Now it's my turn to see his flesh turn pale.

places: speaking of a stranger

2010-12-17T12:35:00.005-06:00

Angelo started by asking Weems about the fires. 

Agent Weems responded, “We drove out, talked with the police on the scene. Like I told you, there were dead bodies in and around the place. It’s definitely more than arson. We found shell casings nearby. An unknown, a sniper had set himself across the street where he could pick his victims off as they came out of the burning building.”

“Check out the casings.” instructed Angelo.

"Already working on it." 

“Have you finished talking to all the people in the neighborhood?”

“There’s a little more than what I was able to tell you earlier.” answered Weems. “At first the house on Cherry Lane looked as if it was some kind of gang that had attacked it. I was figuring that a couple of guys ran up to set it on fire while one of them played sniper. There were only two houses on that street. One house was vacant, the family had left town for a couple of days.  There’s an old couple who lived in the house across the street from the scene. The old man said he didn’t see a thing. His wife who was inside said that she saw a lone man walking down the road and get into his car.  She was looking out a window. The old man said he had a better view of the incident and said he didn’t see anyone. He said his wife was always seeing things and wasn’t well in the head. The woman seemed fine to me. I’m inclined to believe the old woman. For some reason I think the old fellow is keeping something to himself. I'd like to bring him in and talk to him some more.”

“Do it.  Is that all with the Cherry Lane location?" asked Angelo.

“No. I’ll probably have more for you. It's a possibility that this was done by a lone gunman. If so, it had to have been done by a professional. The grounds are still being checked - I'll let you know what I find out.

"Okay -keep looking." Angelo turned to agent Ted Smith. “What about the Pope Street arson?” 

“Gunfire too. I think it’s the same gang - or the same guy. Walking around the place I got the feeling like the killer - or killers weren’t as efficient. There were three people dead on the premises, but not clear if anyone escaped.”

“Smith, why do you say that the job wasn’t as efficient?” asked Weems.

“Well, I walked around both sites. You came by and walked around there  Cherry Lane is the same kind of attack, only sloppier.  It was very unlikely that anyone could have escaped the first location.  Cherry Lane, just didn't seem as efficient."

Weems nodded and Smith continued.

“The Pope place looked as if a gasoline cocktail had been thrown at two sides of the building. The Cherry location had been strategically burned from all sides. The fires at the first location had been started directly beneath the windows as to limit the chance of escape by its inhabitants.”

Weems added, “I can see that. Like it was just one guy.”

Angelo looked at Smith and Weems. “Do you think that it’s just one man doing this?”

Weems shrugged. “It’s very possible.”

Angelo agreed with Weems. “We’ve all seen what just one man can do. If it is a gang, what gang?  There's been no evidence of a organized group of vigilantes in our area...highly unlikely. It’s a possibility that we’ve got some unwanted help from private citizens - but I get the feeling that we are dealing with one man.”

"So Agent Forte’", Weems asked, “Who is this guy you met the other day?  Did you get a look at him?” 

The room filled with laughter. Forte’ rubbed the back of his head and smiled.

“I sure wish I did. I wasn’t in the position to interrogate him.”

“Or did he interrogate YOU?” another agent joked. 

“Put your mind at ease fellas - I didn’t talk. He did tell me where to find Robert.”

The chuckling subsided.

“So who is this guy?”

“I wish I knew. I’m sure we’ll catch up with him. He told me that he was not with the Russians. I am inclined to believe him. He really didn’t have to tell me anything. He had the drop on me. He could have easily killed me. If he was really with the Soviets, he wouldn’t have talked like he did.”

“What did you find out about him?” asked DeMint. 

“Only that he said he was not a Soviet...and that he found himself in a scenario in which he couldn’t walk out.”

“He might have been the arsonist at Clayton’s. We found bodies in there too.” said Weems.

“This John Doe said he was with Rod, saw him shot and took him away from the scene. The guy is the last one who was with Robert when he died. He is either the killer or is a civilian in the middle. If he was with Townshend, he probably had dealings with Clayton. If we could get hold of him, we might find what information Robert gave his life searching for.”

“But sir, we don’t have a name or a face. The rendering we have is a man with a bruised and bandaged face.  There’s not much to go on.”

"If this John Doe isn't with the Russians, why didn't he simply come to the authorities? Why does he feel he's in the middle?" asked Weems.

"I've given it some thought and only have a hunch or two," answered Angelo. "First hunch - and he would be right in thinking it - our John Doe is the prime suspect in the killing of Special Agent Townshend. He is after all the one who told me where the body was dumped. My second hunch is that he's steering clear of the authorities because his hands are dirty in some way. Either way, we've got to get hold of him. He's got information that we don't have, because he's hitting places that we didn't know about. He's ahead of us and we need to catch up with him. We need to find out who he is and nab him as soon as possible. I don't want him dead, we need him alive. There's a chance that he was telling me the truth. If so, we might be able to work out a deal.  I want this to turn around soon.  I don't want to be following this man's wake!"

"So what do we do now?" asked DeMint. 

“Everyone out on the streets, follow every lead. Our John Doe has left a big trail of dead bodies behind him. There's got to be more clues.  Keep your eyes and ears open. Go over the information that we’ve got. While on the phone earlier with the Washington bureau, it was decided that Townshend’s acquired names were to be rounded up immediately. I wished that this had been done the night we raided the local locations. I don’t know how many across the nations have scattered to the winds by now.”

“Frustrating!” said agent Phelps.

“The good news is we’ve got J. Edgar Hoover himself behind us. I don’t think we’re going to have any more bureaucratic setbacks. This magnitude - the size of this exposed spy ring has given this case top priority. If any of you men run into any snags - just let me know.”

places: angelo's office

2010-12-10T13:10:00.004-06:00

There were six agents in the room. The coffee pot was perking - working on its second batch of joe. Angelo was one of the agents. He was sitting on the edge of his desk for lack of enough chairs in the room. He was ready to get the crew up to speed and on the case.

On the day S.A. Robert Townshend was buried, the Director Hoover himself called from Washington and asked agent Forte’ what he needed to get the job done.  The Director was angered by the death of an agent and assured Forte’ full support. “The people responsible for this will be captured and will be punished for this! You just let me know what you need Angelo and you’ll get it.” 

Angelo had the bandage off his head. He was an easy going guy. There wasn’t much that could rile him. The bump on his noggin still ached - yet his ego wasn’t bruised by his encounter.

One of the agents in the room spoke out before the briefing started. 

“Just who are we looking for?  What’s the M.O.?” 

The coffee was too hot to drink. Angelo blew on it slowly and took a few careful sips. 

“You know we are dealing with alien subversives - Soviets."  Some of you in here know some of what I’m about to tell you. We’ll go over all the ground to benefit everyone here." 

Angelo warmed his hands on the cup while trying not to spill it.  He seemed to be more occupied with it than the meeting.  His eyes gazed down into his distorted reflection in his coffee.

He didn’t just bury a co-worker, he buried a friend. He had to put his emotions aside and focus on the case. If he seemed calloused or indifferent it was his way of dealing with his loss. 

The new agents had good reason to question Forte’s manner, but the older agents were accustomed to it. Those who knew Angelo, knew that he was a man who stayed on task. They had seen it before, from Angelo as well from fellow agents.

“Most all of you personally knew Special Agent Robert Townshend. His job with a supplier for the Soviets was to deliver false documentation for Communist infiltrators. Townshend had given us names of many of these infiltrators. The names he supplied are now part of a nationwide manhunt for the bureau. I am confident we are going to be able to apprehend those who Townshend had identified as to date.” 

Another agent spoke, “I've been on the outside of this. I thought we were just dealing with illegals. But you just mentioned Soviets. We’re not talking just a massive illegal integration. We talking subversive activity, saboteurs, spies?” 

“You’re Sam?"

“Yes sir, Sam Clark from San Francisco.”

"Glad to have you here Sam." said Angelo, “To answer your question - yes.” 

“Agent Forte’, asked Clark, “Why did Townshend remain undercover after securing the names?  What more was he looking for? Where there more leads?”

“When Robert went undercover, we were not expecting to find an underground railroad. Most cells consist of half a dozen communist.  We thought we were fist dealing with communist sympathizers.  Townshend was the one to discover that this was a point of entry and had acquired trust with Clayton's forgery outfit. Robert infiltrated the network, he opened a vein of intelligence for us. We had been processing an overwhelming amount of information for the past six months. This is a very large spy ring. We have a lot of leads, a lot of names, but Townshend knew that there were more out there.  Robert’s sacrifice has taken us to gate. It’s our job to finish his job - close that gateway where alien subversives are entering our country.”

“Most of you in this room have been brought into this investigation at different times. As of today - you  will each be completely dedicated to this case. Washington is sending more agents from out of state. It’s going to be kind of crazy here the next few days. I’m counting on everyone in this room to be cooperative by helping me coordinate this investigation. Just  plan on our having frequent meetings like this. Consider yourself my lieutenants.”

Weems asked, “So where did these illegals heading once in the country...the spies that Robert Townshend had identified?”

“Different places Doug. They’ve mostly been headed to industrial cities. We’re pretty sure they’ve got inside help with local unions throughout the country. If they don’t have inside help, they’ll be finding ways to infiltrate in order to establish Communist cells. Most of us have seen this before.”

“Are the unions all they are trying to infiltrate?” asked Sam.

“No.” Angelo answered, “New York, California, even Washington, DC – political influence. 

“By the size of this list - it's more like an invasion!" exclaimed Weems. "What's behind all this?"

Angelo continued. “We’ve heard a lot of hearsay, but no one knows exactly what the Soviets are up to. 

"What do the higher-ups think is really going on?"

Their intentions have always been to overthrow the American government. It’s apparent that the Soviet Union is planting seeds to grow roots...to start more cells. Their planting ears to generate influence. No matter what their intentions, great or small - they are aggressively attempting to establish a foothold here in the United States.” 

Another agent chuckled, “We’ve got the bomb. Ol’ Ike ought to just threaten to drop one on Moscow as a message not to mess with us.” 

Another agent said, “I was in the 3rd Army with old Blood and Guts himself. General Patton told us that we needed to deal with the Ruskies then. DC wasn’t interested in continuing the war.  Now we’ve got communists in our own backyard.” 

Forte’ took back the conversation. “You guys can talk about this on your own time. I need to get back on point.” 

Angelo took a drink from his coffee as the men in the room watched him quietly.

Angelo continued. “I was tempted to pull Robert out, but he was confident that he wasn’t suspected. I don’t know how his cover was blown. I knew Robert, he wasn’t one for taking unnecessary chances. He would have bailed if he had the faintest notion that he was in trouble.” 

He paused...reflecting...thinking. 

“Robert was working close with the counterfeiter, the supplier to the Soviets - a Mr. Clayton Tyler.” 

“That’s the guy who’s body we found in the creek, whose house burned down?” asked agent Ralph DeMint.

“Yeh.” answered Angelo, “His place had been torched just prior to our moving in. The four houses that were used as drop-offs had been evacuated by the time we got there. Our entire bust was a bust. It was Tyler Clayton’s place that Townshend said we would have found needed legal evidence.”

Angelo stood up and stretched his legs. “We’ve got more to talk about, but I’ve got to eat something.

“How about that guy that hit you over the head?” asked Weems, “How does he fit in this?”

Yeh, we’ll get to that.  DeMint and Smith checked out a couple of arsons that happened last night - more dead guys with guns in and around the place. We’ll get to that after lunch. One of you guys get a sandwich order together and the office’ll pay for it. Whoever goes to the delicatessen, make sure you bring everybody back a soda-pop. I’m going to step out for a minute and see if I can scrounge up an aspirin.”

places: killing

2010-12-06T15:07:00.002-06:00

I’ve seen men die a thousand ways. I have lost men that I loved and likewise have taken lives that others have loved.

It's all bad.

Tonight I have moved up to the front-line, where the bad men live. Clayton’s book has paid off.

The place was a two-story job in a seedy side of town. I drove past it and noticed a guy standing in the bushes on lookout.  He didn’t look the neighborly type.

I kept driving. I know good and well that to go knocking on doors wasn’t going to be the way to stay alive for long. These are the kind of doors that you don’t walk through if you’re not invited.

I had some time before dark. I drove back to my place and picked up some gear.  I also made Molotov cocktails.  I made six.

I really didn’t have to think of a plan after seeing the house and location.  I knew what I was going to have to do within a block of leaving the place.

Chances are they would have at least one or two lookouts.  My gut tells me that there would be one, but I’d keep my eye out for others.

I waited in my car looking at the last light of day disappear.  For a while, I felt drowsy, as if I could just go to sleep.  I’d felt this way before in times before combat. I don’t know why.  I rubbed my eyes and got out of the car.

I found a spot in the brush to lay my rifle. I loaded it and left it there.

I walked back to the car for the cocktails. I left them in a ditch at the edge of the property. I crouched in there for a bit – to see if I could spot anyone outside.

I cocked my .45 and gripped a bayonet. My hands were shaking so I gripped the bayonet even tighter. It seemed to help a little.  I casually walked around the left side of the house.  I kept the knife to my side and the .45 aimed ahead.  I moved silently and controlled my breathing.

I made my way around the back of the house.  I then walked around the other side of the house. Nothing.

Good.

I then walked back around the house, staying close to the walls.  I was walking around the corner when I heard a screen door open on rusty springs.

Not good.

I stepped back and hunched down. Peering around the corner, I looked to see what he was up to. He stood there for an eternal minute. He lit a cigarette and took a couple of drags. I was hoping to do this quiet if he walked out. He wasn’t holding a gun. I locked my piece and switched the bayonet to my left hand.

Finally the guy stepped off the porch.

He was coming my way.

I was still crouched in a corner. I didn’t leap. I just let him walk toward me in the shadow of the brush.  I could barely see his face in the darkness, but I heard his gasp. I pushed the knife deep as I rose to my feet. I put my warm blood wet hand over his mouth to keep his mouth from crying out.  His arms flailed helplessly.

Killing him was quick. I slid the knife into his chest cavity and then drew it out to slice his throat.  He lay still within moments.

My hands were wet with his blood. Just moments and I felt I had him all over me. It was dark, I couldn’t tell. I felt through his coat pockets. He had a weapon in a shoulder holster. I tossed his .38 in the bushes. I found his wallet and stuck it in my coat pocket. The blood on my hands stained his white shirt. His still form looked eerie in the illumination of the pale moonlight.

I could hear voices inside. Just talk.  I could tell that the inhabitants didn’t have any idea that they were going to die. They were talking, chuckling, and laughing. I put on the dead man’s fedora and picked up his smoke.  It was still lit. I stood up and looked around.  I took a few puffs and dropped it.

It sounded like they playing cards. Poker. I peered into the window and counted three men. Beneath the window I found and cut the telephone line.

Work fast.

I took a chair and wedged it underneath the doorknob of the back door. I placed an unlit cocktail next to the chair.  I started placing cocktails around the house. I placed a cocktail beneath each of the two windows on each side of the house.

I grabbed my Zippo and gave it a couple of flicks.  I lit the first one and quickly lit the second.  I ran.  I didn’t care how much noise I made.  I had my .45 drawn.  I focused on lighting the cocktails as fast as possible.

Each time I felt as if I was going to blow myself up.

The first two went within the minute.  Then the one at the rear of the house exploded. Even though I knew what was happening, the noise of it made me freeze up a little.  Startled and stunned, I failed to light the last two.

I stumbled away from the house and saw figures running in the house. They were yelling. They were of course completely surprised. I saw someone in the window on my side of the house.  I heard glass break and a man yell, “Someone’s out there!” 

I fired three rounds into the window, but wasn’t sure I hit anyone. I ran back to the ditch and threw the last cocktail against the front wall of the house.

I ran across the street hoping no one was looking out the front window. I stumbled to my position and lay down behind the cover.

It was my plan to torch three sides of the house and leave the front door as the only exit. I had to take my chances with the upper floor.  I failed on the right side. I could see the flames starting up the back and rear. A minute or two more and the night would light up.

A man rushed out the front door. He was firing blind.  I nailed him as he ran across the front lawn. A chair came out the side window, the side I failed to torch. As he jumped out another one followed. I squeezed off two more rounds.  They both fell.

I don’t know how many people were in the house. I was expecting them to come out like rats on a sinking ship. I’d kill as many as would show themselves.

It’s a possibility that someone could have climbed out an upper window and would be able to flank me. I was only one man. I couldn’t keep my eyes on the darkness surrounding the burning building. I’d keep my ears open and my eyes on the house.

I heard gunfire. I figured they were shooting at shadows. It was clear that they didn’t know where I was positioned. I waited. I watched. I listened.

I lucked out and saw someone moving in an upstairs window.  I fired. He dropped.

I reloaded and rolled over to another position. I could see the left side of the house now. The wall was consumed in fire. The roof was starting to burn. I couldn’t see what was going on in the backyard. That would be too risky.

I sat there watching the fire take hold of the house.  I was thinking there would be more, but maybe that was all, a body count of five.

The neighborhood seemed to come alive. Lights came on, dogs were barking.

“I think I woke the neighborhood.”

I pulled back and stood behind a tree. I heard the distinctive sound of a shotgun being cocked. I turned. An elderly man was standing in the doorway of his home. He was looking straight at me.  He had his gun aimed straight at me.

I stood there knowing that he could shoot at any moment. He had me dead to right. In the porch-light of his house I could make out his features. If I raised my rifle – I would be shot. Even if I could pull it off, I didn’t want to kill an old man defending his property.

A blood-curdling scream rose from the burning house.

He looked at the house for a while. I was afraid to move.  His shotgun was still aimed in my direction. After a minute, I thought I made out a grin on his face. He looked at me and then looked back at the flaming house.

He then dropped his gun to his side. To my dismay he looked over at me and then turned and walked inside. Dumbfounded, I stood there as he turned off his porch light. A minute later, I noticed that he had turned off an upstairs light, presumably his bedroom light.

I left.

Perhaps the Russians had been bad neighbors. Who knows, I was lucky.

I briskly walked to my car. I don’t know how many people watched me walking down that street. My legs were shaking. I felt as if they’d fail me at any given moment.

I threw the rifle into the backseat. I got in and closed the door.  I fumbled for the keys. I nearly flooded the engine pumping the gas like I did. I thought I heard Rod from the backseat say, “Idiot.” I looked over my shoulder to find no one there.

Your imagination can run wild on a night like this.

The car cranked and I swerved out of there.  I don’t know if I was made, but I got out clumsy and fast.

places: unexpected guest

2010-12-03T14:16:00.001-06:00

I decided to visit the other places I’d been to.  I’d never been inside them, but decided to mark them off the book. All of them were like the first, furnished but nothing personal or homelike. It was as if the same people had lived there. All of the places looked as if the inhabitants had just picked up and left at a drop of a hat. They were all the same except for the third place.

Someone showed up.

Fortunately I had the drop on him. I don’t know why he was alone. He had walked in the front door without knocking or ringing the front bell.

I had seen him coming up the front sidewalk and so I waited behind the door. Just like in the pictures.

He felt my gun at the back of his head once he walked into the foyer.  I shut the door behind him. I could feel him cringe through the barrel of my .45.

He tried to turn to face me. I pressed the gun firmer against his scalp to let him know I didn't like that.

“Don’t turn around. You can talk where you’re facing.”

“You’re making a big mistake mister. I’m with the Federal Bureau of Investigation. If you shoot me you'll end up frying in the chair.” 

I pushed him against the wall and told him to not move.  I frisked him and relieved him of his hardware in his shoulder holster. 

“Seriously, you’re digging your own grave!”

“My grave is already dug. Slowly hand me your badge.  Let’s see if you are who you say you are.”

With one hand the agent reached into his coat pocket and retrieved his wallet. He handed it back to me without trying to look back.

“Well Agent Forte’, it looks like this is the real thing." 

Angelo tried to put his hands down and turn around.

I pulled the gun from the back of his head and placed the barrel firmly on his right cheekbone. He got the message.

“We can talk just fine like this.”

“What's the matter with you buddy, you’re killing me is just asking for trouble.”

“Just keep facing forward, I just want to have a chat.  You won't get shot unless you give me a good reason to."

“You’re not going to be able to leave, I brought company.”

“I watched you come in, you came alone. You’re not kidding anyone. Since fate has brought us together, let's talk.”

“Talk?  About what?”

“I ask questions and you move your lips in the form of answers. Kapeesh?”

“Eventually you’ll be talking to me, whoever you are.”

“We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it. You’re here because of Larkin, because of the case he was working on.”

Angelo’s face went red. I could sense his grimace.  I didn’t have to be looking at him face to face to see that I had his attention.

“Where’s Larkin? What have you done with him?  We can work a deal if you can inform me as to his whereabouts.”

“I’m not looking for a plea. I can tell you about Larkin...he’s dead. I didn’t have anything to do with it. His cover was somehow blown and he was shot. I tried to get him out of there, but he was already dying.”

“I don’t understand.  You’re not with the Soviets?  Give me proof and I’ll work with you.”

“I can’t.”

“I can help you.”

“I doubt it.”

“Just back off of me and let’s talk.”

“I can’t afford to. You know as well as me that you’re only option is to bring me in. I’m going to do my best to keep things in my favor and remain anonymous.”

“If you are not with the Russians, who are you and what are you up to?  Why are you here?”

“I got sucked into a scenario that I can’t escape.”

“I can help. Let me go. Let me know where his body is. Identify yourself, tell me what you know. I will do everything I can to help you. We can protect you.”

“You can’t see my face right now, so I’ll just tell you that I’m giving you an incredulous look. I’m not making any deal with you because you and I both know that I’m already in the frying pan. I’m not giving myself up. I’m not jumping into the fire.”

"Will you show some decency and tell me where he's buried?"

"To tell you is to give you evidence that I might have been the one to kill him. I'm going to tell you anyway because I had nothing against him. Rod's body is in the woods, on a logging road off of Larker Road. His body isn't buried and it isn't hidden.  I guess I'll never know his real name."

"Probably not...but thanks for telling me where to find him."

"Was he married...any kids?"

"Yes. Married..with a kid..a two year old." 

There was a brief silence.

“I’m going to walk out of here.”

“We’ll eventually catch up to you. You’re eventually going to have to meet me face to face!”

“Maybe.”

I pulled my gun from the back of his head.

“Maybe.” I said as I cold-cocked him.

I left his gun and badge by the back door. I moved fast, knowing that I didn’t hit him hard enough to kill him. He’s lucky. If he were with the Russians, I would have killed him.

places: first address

2010-12-02T12:58:00.000-06:00

I’d been here before, on a delivery, but never left the car. I took only a handgun this time. I tucked it into my trench coat pocket. The place looked vacant but I didn’t take any chances. I parked on a side street and found my way to the back door. It was unlocked. I walked in with the gun pulled.

I went from room to room like the good old days. I was sure that I was walking through another vacant house and I was right. From bottom to top. I found nothing there. From room to room I saw nothing but roaches.  I went through the closets.  I went through the drawers.  It was a nasty empty place.

It was evident that someone had recently been living here. The house had been lived in, but clear that it hadn't been anyone's home.  It was a place where people had stayed.  I cataloged the house in my head. There was nothing hanging on the walls of family. Nothing in that house showed that a family lived here. The people who had been here were just passing through.

For some reason seeing this place made it okay for me to do what I had to do.  I was going to be invading houses...houses that are not homes. This address is vacant.  These houses that I will be visiting are only places infested with subversive vermin.

I can reconcile this.

It's time to play the exterminator.  There are no courtrooms on the battlefield.  It's time to kill the enemy.

places: ashes

2010-12-01T13:38:00.001-06:00

I took a hike in the woods in the morning.  I huffed up a side of a mountain with my rifle and binoculars.  Once on the east side I surveyed Clayton’s property.  His place was gone. No more.

I was thinking that I was going to see it under some kind of federal surveillance. There wasn’t anyone in sight.  In fact, Clayton’s house was no more. Clayton’s house had been burned to the ground.

I could guess why.  The Russian or one of his red comrades came back and torched the place to destroy any evidence that Clayton had on the property.

I had Clayton’s black book. It was a good thing that I went there that night...even if it did cost me.

I looked down at my injured hand and thought about that doctor. 

“Digit” I spoke out loud and chuckled.

I took my time while perched up there. I felt safe up there.  I’d had some time to collect my thoughts.  I wasn’t in a hurry.  I pulled a sandwich from my pack and had a little picnic amid the quiet there.

I saw a buck just down the hill. I picked up my rifle and put him in my sites. It was a beautiful creature. I didn’t pull the trigger.  I just watched it slowly walk away. I’d never killed an animal. I’d never been hunting. I was a city kid trained to kill a different kind of game.

I made my way down the mountain. To me visiting Larkin’s and Clayton’s places were not a waste of time. I had to cross them off my list so I didn’t have to look back.  I didn’t want to feel as if I was overlooking anything.  Even if I had, there was no going back now. Tomorrow was going to be a different place.  Tomorrow I’ll be walking into the unknown.

places: nothing

2010-11-30T14:33:00.000-06:00

I didn’t know what to expect when I got to Larkin’s place. I had no idea as to if his body been found. I know that he had to have been missed by now. Have the boys at the Federal Bureau been keeping an eye on his place?

I kept a safe distance perched atop an apartment building. I used field glasses and surveyed the block for a little over an hour.  I then moved my car to a place about a block away. I broke in the back door. I was nervous.

I had to make this fast.

It was a small house, sparsely furnished.  Even if the place wasn’t being watched, it was possible that someone witnessed my entry and called the cops.

The kitchen wasn’t stocked with food.  Rod must have done a lot of eating out.  The drawers and pantry were empty.  There was chair, table, ashtray and telephone in the living room.  Nothing.

There were two bedrooms.  One was empty and the second was where Larkin had slept.  There was a bed, side table and small dresser.  I emptied the drawers and checked out every side and angle.  Nothing.

I tossed the bed and found his suitcase underneath it.  I thought I heard a car door close in the distance and so I grabbed the case and made my exit.

The suitcase felt empty.  Though I had only been in there a short time - I felt like I had been there too long.  I ran through a few back yards and got into my car.  I checked the rear-view mirror and took off.

I took the suitcase back to my place. I opened it and found an old band-aid. Nothing.

Rod had taken no chances.  He left no evidence of what he had been up to. I don’t know why I was hoping to find something.  I took a risk that didn't pay off. I’m disappointed but know that it would have bugged me if I hadn't of checked his place out before proceeding further.

Larkin had told me all that he was going to tell me.

places: driving in the rain

2010-11-25T14:12:00.000-06:00

The sun was out.  It was raining and humid. Years ago Father McGregor once told me that the devil was beating his wife on such days. He was a good sort, patient with the kids.  He didn't care much for us in his garden though. I'm sure we tested the old man's faith on a daily basis.

We were treated well enough. If it were a family, it was a family of strangers.  My siblings were other orphaned and discarded souls with wounds of their own.  We were fed, clothed, and cared for - but we all knew that it wasn't home.

There were a few to fortune to find one. I remember a childhood pal named Danny. I remember when he packed his small bag with what few possessions he had and walked to the tall open doorway.  His new parents were standing there waiting for him  Danny looked back and said "bye". He was about ten years old, about my age at the time.  No one was in the room but me. My response was glued in my mouth and my chest. I just looked at him dazed.  He was wanted by someone.  He was going to a home.

I was just a stupid kid. I wasn't happy for him.  I just knew that I had lost a pal and envied his new life.  Danny was one of the lucky ones now. He was so much like me, my height, my build, he liked to play the same kind of games I did. Why couldn't it  be me?  I was told to feel happy for him. I just felt more loss.

No one there mentioned that during the Depression, that most folks couldn't afford another mouth to feed?  Most of us knew it without saying it.  Finding home was a long-shot.

There are only moments that I remember there. It's where I first learned to fight.  It's not because I wanted to - but had to. I remember being cornered. I remember being alone. I remember standing against the bullies and drawing blood.

McGregor said,"Dell be no gang'n up heer.  Dell be no haten ner fidd'n in dis holy place. Dis heer is every one's haven, and dars only one side within dees walls...an dat's de Lord's."

The kind old man never explained it, but I heard him say it often enough. My take on it was that we were all forgotten children, taken in by the church as a mission. We were all alike and shouldn't be taking our anger out on each other.

The fighting didn't stop. Boys will be boys. Fighting will always be, even in holy places.  I tried to avoid trouble, but one of the earliest lesson in life is that trouble never tried to avoid me.

This is what the rain brings. I had not thought of them in decades.

Almost there. 

places: where to go now

2010-11-24T12:25:00.001-06:00

Larkin's satchel had three more identities and more cash in each package. This was the only up side to my dilemma. My private war was financed by my enemy. As long as I could move forward, I would pick dead men's pockets along the way.

But where to next? During my brief hiatus, had I lost the trail?

I pulled out Clayton's black book. I opened it. It was a book of contacts. There were addresses - some that I'd been to. As I thumbed through the pages, I knew that many of these people would be dead soon. Their names had been safely hidden in a secret compartment of Clayton's desk. Their names were listed in there for no good reason. These men would regret they had ever had dealings with Clayton. I'm not taking any chances. They might not be reds - but I'm going to be crossing out names in this little book.

All I have to go on now are these names and addresses. The police are involved - the Feds are involved. I'm sure that the Russians have changed locations. I know already there's going to be plenty of dead ends. I have to go with what I've got and watch each step. If the police or federal police nab me - I'm cooked. If the reds get me - I'm dead.

My chances are slim, so I'll try not to slip up - and go as far as I can.

These identities may or may not help me stay under cover. The money will buy me what I need. These contacts give me somewhere to go.

And...

...and I also have another lead...Larkin's place!

There was that day a month ago that I saw him coming out of a soda shop. He didn't see me. I was just curious at the time - wondering where my quiet co-worker lived. I watched him as he walked down the sidewalk. I started my car as he crossed the street to the next block. I started my car and slowly drove down the street, but kept my distance. He only stopped to pick up a paper. He walked into a small house at the corner of the next block.

Maybe the late Rod Larkin has something else for me.

places: return toward the edge

2010-11-17T18:54:00.003-06:00

I rented a room at a motor court to have a place to sleep. I had taken Rod Larkin’s leather satchel. I hadn’t had time to inspect the case earlier. I knew what was in the parcels now, I could use the cash. The identities might come in handy again.

I found three pairs of leather gloves in my suitcase. Camille had been kind enough to do some quick shopping for me. The leather gloves were in three different sizes, just to make sure I had a glove large enough to fit over my bandaged hand.

After a few days, my hand was on the mend. It wasn't as sore. I was a little limited in movement, not near as bad as I felt in Bastogne. Our gloves then didn't protect us from the intense cold. I had to manipulate a firearm through my socks. Damn, we were cold. Nothing could get as bad as that. If I could pull the trigger then, I can still pull it now.

I unwrapped the rifle and spread the olive drab blanket across the bed. I disassembled it and cleaned it. After tinkering with it, I decided to go find an out of the way place to shoot it, test the sites. It had been a while.

I found a place. I spent a couple of hours squeezing off rounds, knocking off some cans and bottles between 300 and 500 yards. It wasn’t long before my confidence returned. Cans and bottles make it seem like a game. It’s a different experience all together when a human being is the target. It’s a different thing all together. You can’t hear them from a distance. It’s kind of like watching a picture show, and only you know when it's the last frame a person’s life.

Killing is easy once you get used to it. Sure they come back in your dreams, but they can’t touch you. They’ll always be at a safe distance. Squeeze it off, and they’ll drop from your site. I had an aptitude for it. I made it into a lethal skill.

I once won a twenty five dollar War Bond for being the best shot in my company - 300 yards - eight out of nine shots. I nailed everyone at two hundred. The audience made me a little nervous. I was better than that in those days.

There are differences now. I’m in a different wood with a different prey. The biggest difference is that I am alone. I have no comrades, I have no army.

I ended my afternoon sitting on the bed thinking of where I had been, and places I needed to go.

Sometimes when I am stressed - I have a hard time staying awake. I visualized Camille’s face as I had left her. We parted with a brief kiss and hug. It was as if I were merely headed off to work. It was hard to say anything at that moment. Maybe she felt the same. We had said all we knew to say without crossing into the forbidden. We did not want our conversation to reveal too much of our fears. I left her and did not look back.

I know to come back is a long shot. Just let the doubts go and do the job. I can’t afford to hold on to maybe. Just let go and do the job.

Somewhere in my thoughts I fell asleep. I woke up on top of the covers three hours later. I was still clothed and with my shoes on. I was still clutching my rifle.

I got up, turned on the desk lamp to look at the map.

places: an unholy thing

2010-11-12T13:59:00.001-06:00

I drove to a sleeping part if town. There was a war surplus store there. I parked around the back and broke in using a tire tool. I had never been there before, but it was filled with familiar merchandise, with a distinctive government issued redolence.

I was looking for something specific. Surely after all the millions crafted and carried into combat, I should be able to find one here.

I was looking for an old friend.

It didn’t take long. There on the wall they stood, lined like soldiers. They were standing as if at attention, brothers silently waiting for the next war to come.

The light of my flashlight reflected off their black barrels. I needed more light to inspect them. I took my chances and turned on a light at a display counter.

It only took a moment to find her. I felt of her wood stock, quickly disassembled and checked the workings. I found the ammo that I needed. Unlike the arms I’ve embraced and handled since, her feel was the most comfortable and familiar.

I took only what I needed.

I stole it without guilt.

I loaded gear into the trunk of my car in the dim light at the store’s back door. I worked as if no one were watching. There was little I could do if someone had.

I wrapped her in an olive drab blanket and laid her on top of the rest of the gear. The first time since this all started, I felt a little safer. I know that I had no reason to feel this way. But I was carrying with me again, the tool of my old trade.

places: breakfast

2010-11-10T10:26:00.001-06:00

Eggs, chip beef on toast, bacon, sausage, anything off the menu and everything.  The works.  We fill our bellies as if it was our last supper together. The cross can wait.  We fill our hearts with each other. We won't let the dangers that may follow spoil what precious hours we have together.

I am feeling better.

I am feeling so much better. Her presence, her touch is what this aching soul needed.

This is our promise to each other. Today all our troubles are pushed back to a far distance. We'll make no promises to each other. We won't speak of the future. We only have this moment. We'll spend it with each other.

We laugh. We act like young lovers.

I look at your glowing face across the table and drink it in like wine. Her warmth, her beauty she offers to me freely. I had never known a love like this.  There is no need for conquest or taking.  With Camille I have discovered a love comprised of selfless sacrifice. Her love is assuring and comforting. Her love gives me the desire to return it selflessly in kind.

I'd never had a place like Alice talked about. A home that he had come, and would ever wait for his return. I had never had that kind of place. I was always outside looking in.  I came from a vacant lot. Maybe you and I will never have a house, but today I have a home. For years I had been looking for a place made by brick and mortar. Why am surprised where I found it. I have found this place in you. 

If I could only put her smile in my pocket. If only I could wrap her tenderness around me like a coat. I could go anywhere. I have walked through the valley of the shadow of death. I am driving back there tomorrow.  But today I am with you.  I am basking in you. I will take tomorrow as it comes.

places: interlude

2010-11-09T03:58:00.002-06:00

places: no lies between us

2010-11-09T03:48:00.002-06:00

It was good to see Camille.  I put my arms around her and held her for a long time.  It did my heart good to feel her embrace - more than words.  It erased those doubts that often whispered in my head.  This love is for real.

She was of course surprised to see me all bruised and cut.  I was hurting still and decided to keep off the medication a little longer so we could talk.

There was no sidestepping the conversation.  I debated in my head whether to tell her about Clayton, and what I had done. I was tempted to just omit telling her that  I killed him.  During the course of my life I had refined the art of lying. I could probably pull it off...but not to Camille. She was the last person in the world to whom I would ever want to lie.

I became resolved to tell her.

So I braced myself.  I told her.  I told her everything. I didn’t white wash a word of it.

The room got quiet.  I could hear the muted sounds of the juke playing from the diner across the street. 

“Camile, Carter had a man killed.  He was going to kill me.” 

Tears welled in her eyes and her face turned away from mine.  I kept talking.  My heart was sinking in despair, but I couldn’t take the words back.  I just kept talking - to go ahead and put it all on the table.

She just gazed out the window.  The flashing neon outside washed her face in blue and red light. 

“I brought you here to get you out of the way.  If you still want me, I need you to continue to stay here, or better yet, leave the state.  I have to go back out there and settle this.  Even if you don’t want me, it’s probably best that you leave this place. Don’t look back.  You can keep all the money we’ve saved.”

“I want you.” she said, and then turned her eyes back toward mine. “I want you.” 

I have no words for what I feel.  To say that it is a great relief is an understatement.

“Why didn’t you tell me about your and Clayton’s relation?”

“Clayton isn’t my brother. I didn’t lie to you.  I don’t know why he would lie to you."

“To stay alive.  I had a gun on him.”  She put her hand on mine. 

“If he’s not related to you, then what was between you two? What have you been keeping from me?” 

Camille burst into tears, “I don’t want to lie to you. Please don’t ask me to tell you, at least not just yet.  I want to tell you, but I’m weak - I’m weak.  If I tell you, it will break your heart and - oh my darling - I just can’t.” 

Right then I wanted to take that pain pill.  I wanted to feel numb. 

“Clayton Tyler was not a good man, and I am not a good person.  I came to him because he was the only man I knew that had money and could help me if I asked.  I knew he would help me.  But I knew going in that Clayton -he’d have an angle - always had an advantage.  Nothing was free.”

“Camille, why did you bring us here?”

“Because we had nothing Johnny.”

She leaned her head against my chest.

“I should have warned you darling, but I didn’t want you to know what kind of person I am. I want to be with you always - always from the start. I was willing to do anything to get a second chance . . . for us.”

“We had nothing Johnny - nothing. Clayton as bad as he was, always seemed to have everything.”

I felt ashamed listening to her.  It wasn’t her place, and I let her lead us there. I was too busy being hopeless.  It was my place to work out some hope for the two of us.

“When I told him that I was leaving – he laughed – he told me that I would come back.”

“Camille, I’m not going to ask you anymore about Clayton.  I don’t know if I could take it.  Maybe you’re not right to trust me with it, I don’t know.  No matter what, I do love you.

I held her.  I felt her hot tears on my neck.

“Being here is my fault - not yours.”  I told her.

I kissed her.

“All this time, you were some one different than I thought.” I said, “All this time it’s taken me to discover that we are very much alike.  I have a bad habit of not seeing what I don’t want to see.” 

I opened the window to let in a breeze.  The music from across the street wafted in with the night air.

A Hoagy Carmical number.

“Oh Johnny, can we get out this?”

“I don’t know - but you can’t go with me.  You can’t be anywhere near here..”

“What do we do now?” 

The lights were off in our room. The neon light outside came through the shifting curtains.  I held her. She held me.  We found ourselves dancing together - to the music from the diner across the way.

places: alice

2010-11-08T14:30:00.003-06:00

As I was finishing up with my call, a semi pulled in the gravel drive.  The truck driver stepped out and approached the phone. I turned and made eye contact. He stood back so as to let me finish my call. I hung the phone up and stepped aside, “She’s all yours mister.”

“Thanks.”

I walked away from the area and headed on down the road.  About ten minutes later the same truck passed me and pulled onto the shoulder.  He idled there.  I was expecting some sort of encounter.

The fellow rolled down his window and peered down at me.  “Say mister, do you need a ride?  Which way ya head’n?”

“Sure. I need to get to the Cove area. Ever heard of it?”

“Sure thing. Climb on in.” 

The driver swung the door open and slid on over to his place behind the wheel.

“Say fella, you look like you’ve been through the ringer.”

I nodded, “You can say that again. It’s been a hard couple of days, but I’ve seen worse.”

“Ain’t we all pal.  I was gyrene, spent the war picnicking with the Japs, hopping from island to island.  That’s all behind us.” 

I wish.

“What about you?”

“Average joe - mud dog in the other theater.  After V-E, we were heading your way.  Me and the boys on that boat sure were glad that bomb dropped.”

“You’re tell’n me mister - you’re tell’n me.  Me and my best buddy came back stateside and went into business together. We’re doing pretty good.  By the way, my names James Allison.  My friends call me Alice."

“Johnny.”

“So what’s your business?”

“Nothing much.  Jobs here and there.  I sure would be nice to tie down somewhere.”

Alice pointed over to the glove compartment in front of me.  “Open her up. Grab a card.”

“I usually have openings for drivers.  How’s that sound to you?”

I put his calling card in my pocket and thanked him, smiling from the irony.  “I’ve got some things to finish up around here.  You might just be hearing from me..”

“Hope I do.”

Alice must spend a lot of time alone behind that wheel, cause he didn’t quit talking to company.  Not that I minded.  It helped keep my mind off my troubles.

“So Johnny, mind if I ask what happened to you?”

“A car accident.  I don’t remember the details, I was asleep at the time I drove off the road.”

“Lose a finger?”

“Yep, pinky finger.  It hurts, but could have been worse. I made it through the war with hardly a scratch.”

Alice laughed.  “I know what you mean.  I got wounded a couple of times myself, but nothin’ to write home about.  Six months after I was was back in the states, I jack-knifed my first rig and lost a leg.”

“Go figure.” I replied.

“Go figure.” said Alice.

Alice continued, “I can’t complain.  I’ve seen a lot. . .a lot of things...bad things I’m not going to mention back here. Sure, I can’t help but think about them, but why dredge it all up?  Most of us scrounged through the depression, to later find ourselves beating back Nazis and Nips. It’s not just my story, but all of our story.  I don’t have any room to belly ache.  It’s because you and me have seen a lot of good men dealt a lot worse than us.  Losing a leg or a finger ain’t nothing in the scheme of things.  A lot of joes didn’t make it back.  No matter what we suffered marching to hell and back - you and me got to come back. I got no complaints brother - no complaints.”

I may not have seemed to be listening..but I heard every word.

A few minutes passed and Alice said, "Home".

I looked over at him.  He was looking at the road, and then glanced over at me.  "I'm still not used to being home.  I wake up and look out the window and I'm home."

 
I looked back out the window, at the passing houses.  Home.

"Ever heard of Cincinnatus?" Alice continued.

"Ohio?"

Alice chuckled, "No, Cincinnatus was a farmer that lived a long time ago.  He was nominated dictator during a real bad time in Rome. A group of Senators were sent to tell Cincinnatus that he supreme power over the land. When they found him, he was out plowing his field. So this guy Cincinnatus goes and puts on his toga and rules. He also personally led infantry into victory. Cincinnatus took on the role that his nation asked him to and then left it as soon as he could - to go back to plowing his field again."

I caught myself gazing at the truck driver as he rambled.

"That fella lived a long time ago, and yet,  I know just how he felt.  I bet he looked out his window everyday, just like I do. I'm still glad to be home.  That's me alright."

Alice looked over at me. I smiled, though I don't know why.  Normal people have fields to plow, a place to go. That's what I want, but it seems so far from here.

We were almost at my destination, a mile or two away from the inn where I left her.  I asked Alice to go ahead and drop me off. I thanked him as he reached over and shook my hand.

Alice was a regular guy - one of those kind of men I admire.

The truck pulled back on the road and drove off.  He gave a blast from his horn. He was gone. I walked down a short dirt drive and stepped up to the front door of a little farm house.

An older gentleman answered the door.

“That car by the road - the one with the for sale sign ...is it yours and how’s it running?”

The old gentleman grabbed both straps of his overalls. He stepped out onto the porch with me and looked over my shoulder at the car.  “It runs fine. It was my brother’s car.  He passed away last month. It runs just fine.”

places: all points bulliten

2010-11-06T15:42:00.000-05:00

Cops...as if I needed more trouble. Knowing that it wouldn’t take long for Burns & Francis to realize I gave them the slip. I needed to get lost and fast.

I got the cab driver to drop me off near a bus stop in a neighboring city.

“Keep the change.”

“Thanks pal.” said the cabbie. “Are you sure you want to be left off here?  I’ll take you where you want to go.”

“Thanks but no thanks.” 

“Have it your way buddy.”  The cab drove off.

I waited at the bus stop just long enough for the cab to drive out of sight. I lit another one of Clayton’s Cubans and started to hoof it.

I knew it was more likely for the authorities to find me if I rode buses and cabs.  I needed to avoid the public, especially with this face.  I know I had to stick out like a sore thumb with all this dressing on me.

Seeing myself in the storefront windows, trench coat, fedora and bandages, reminded me of those invisible man movies.  Yea, I looked real conspicuous.  If the cops are looking for me, and I’m sure they are by now - it won’t take them long as long as I’m walking around looking like this.

Each step I felt as if I was walking through the town naked with a spot light on me.  I desperately needed to get out of this predicament.  

It sure would be nice if I were invisible.

I needed a car.  I’d stolen a car or two in my youth.  It could be done.  But it wouldn’t be smart with the cops already looking for me.  I had the commie money in my pocket. I had more of it back at the inn. I had a fake identity in my pocket...

Come to think of it, maybe I can become invisible.  I can use the ID’s as well as the cash.

I walked for about an hour, out from the city, away from the lights. I tried to keep an eye out for cars.  I avoided a few, but knew that it was too all easy to be caught.

I was hurting.  My hand was throbbing.  The painkiller was waning.  If I moved my fingers, I could feel a pain reach up through my forearm.  I wanted to take the pills the doc gave me, but didn’t know what they would do to me. I don’t remember half of what happened or what I was told at the hospital. I wanted the pills, but I needed to keep my head clear.  I had to deal with the pain until I get to a safe place.

While walking, I decided to take off the bandages on my head. I think the nurse got a little carried away with them in the first place.  I pulled my hat down and pulled my coat collar up.  I kept my bandaged hand in my coat pocket.  I felt vulnerable.

I headed slowly back to the inn, back to Camille.  I found another pay phone.  I called her.

It was so good hearing her over the line.  Her warm voice warmed me.

“Camille baby...”

“Johnny, Johnny is that you?” At the sound of my voice, her voice trembled.  “Johnny - where are you?”

“Listen honey, I don’t have long to talk, can’t stand out here in the open.”

“What’s wrong Johnny? Are you in trouble.”

“Yes.  I need to talk with you, but I have to find a ride first.”

“What happened to your car.  Do you need me to call Clayton?”

“No, don’t call anybody.  Just stay there.  I just wanted to call and make sure you’re okay.  Has anything happened there?”

“No. I have just stayed here like you asked.  I’m scared.  I’m scared for you.”

“Don’t be, just wait for me.  I’m okay.  I’ll be there as soon as I can.  I need to go now.”

“Okay.” I could hear the tears in her voice.

I wish all of this had not had happened to us.

“I love you Johnny.  I love you!”

I swallowed hard.  “I love you too.  Don't call anyone, just wait for me.”