Once Again It Is Easter!

This morning I'm offering up a strong dose of Southern Style Religion.

Once Again It Is Easter.... Please be seated.

Years back, when Charlotte was a lot smaller and the pace of life a lot slower, an Easter Sunrise Service was held at Providence High School.

As the headlights of two hundred or so cars streamed into the parking lot, the crimson and purple hues of the sun's first rays began to touch the far eastern corners of the Carolina horizon, while birds sang in wonderful orchestra we call nature.

It's not hard to see the hand of God on Easter Sunday in the Carolina's. Azaleas, Dogwoods, rainbow colors of flowers all in bloom and Carolina blue skies which might explain the large number of churches in the Carolinas. In South Carolina there are 87 church on the Charleston Peninsula alone, I know there are twice that many in Charlotte, the biggest of which is Calvary.

Standing at the corner of Rea Road and Highway 51, Calvary is so big that it's pipe organ is second in size only to that of the Mormon Tabernacle in Salt Lake City. It is a big church, so big it has escalators to the two balconies.

The church was once painted a somewhat a dull shade of pink and, was nick-named by members and non-members as "The Pink Church" or the "Mary Kay Cathedral". Calvary was founded by Dr. Ross Rhodes who at the time of this Easter sunrise service was senior pastor.

Charlotte, is of course the well-known home to the famous preacher Dr. Billy Graham, and a close second to Billy Graham was Dr. Rhodes. I think Ross Rhodes could have made a believer out of Satan if given the chance.

My grandmother used to tell us to sit up straight in church so that God knew we were paying attention. On this Easter Sunday, the frosty cold aluminum bleachers of Providence High School Football Stadium made certain we were all sitting up straight and paying attention.

The hot coffee and warm biscuits from Bojangles, that the Calvary volunteers handed out, helped ease the chill but it was so cold, that I soon began to plot an early exit back to my car.

I'm a morning person, most of the time and I love to watch the sunrise. Cold on the other hand I'm not nearly as fond of, so I thanked my sister a third time for being kind enough to bring an extra blanket to sit on.

Before the small choir had finished the second verse of the first hymn, my biscuit was cold and my coffee gone.

In the faint half-light of the early dawn Dr. Rhodes rose from his seat and walked over to the podium, for all practical purposes it was still dark.

His sermon was simple….. his first words where.....

"He Has Risen!"

And with that voices came to life through the gathered hushed crowd as these words were repeated and rose on wisps of steam from our breath which filled the cold morning air.

Dr. Rhodes continued….

"Now if this had just happened today, on this Sunday morning, we would have proof! There would be satellite trucks, and news media everywhere. Anderson Cooper would be live with eyewitnesses to interview, and there would be full page photo spreads in USA Today, the New York Times and the Charlotte Observer. There would be a "film at eleven" on television that would show the massive stone rolled aside and for the next forty days Jesus himself would hold press conferences right up until ascension.

And he would tell the world: "Hey, I'm back for I have risen!"

"But, because this single event occurred more than 2000 years ago we don't have a film at eleven, but we do have eyewitness accounts and interviews with the Oprah of the day whose name is Mark, and his interview is right here".

And as he spoke those words, Dr. Rhodes held up his bible, the one he has carried for nearly 40 years and proclaimed.

"It says right here…" HE HAS RISEN!

With that a flock of Canada Geese flew over head no more than a dozen feet above the bleachers, winging their way no doubt to eternity and just as suddenly the sun rose above the horizon and bathed the bleachers in wonderful light and warmth that you could feel all the way through to your soul.

And I have got to tell ya ... I don't know how Ross Rhodes pulled it off, but his timing was perfect. Within an instant the chill in the air was gone as this Easter Sunday had begun.

Now years later Dr. Rhodes message, and that Easter sunrise service is still a very vivid memory.

Dr. Rhodes' message has always been simple… "Believe in the Lord Jesus and thou shalt be saved" Period!

No fancy church or nearly drowning style of baptism, pilgrimage to Mecca, or giving up a certain amount of your paycheck, no course of study, no special communion, no specific number of Sunday school sessions or bible study attendance required, just one simple thing.

"Believe in the Lord Jesus and thou shalt be saved" - Just Believe!

OK I'm done preaching now go color those chicks.

Cedar's Take: Sometime around 2005 Ross and his wife Carol were returning from a missionary trip and at the same time my father and mother (Also named Carrol) were returning from a 14 day vacation cruise. 

Upon arrival at Charlotte's Douglas International Airport, Dr. Rhodes discovered he had left his car keys and keys to his house in the hotel room back in Cairo 14 hours earlier.

Standing at the baggage claim he turns around to find my father. Their friendship had spanned at least two decades at that point.

As you would expect my dad would take Dr. Rhodes and his wife home and wait with them for the locksmith to arrive.

Now to non-believers this is just a coincidence - but to me this was just another example of God's Grace. 

Dr. Rhodes flight was early, my parents flight late. One flight international and other domestic. Yet they would find themselves standing shoulder to shoulder waiting for their luggage at the same baggage carousel. 

Ross Rhoads (June 20, 1932 – May 24, 2017) was an American megachurch pastor who served at Charlotte's Calvary Church based in Charlotte, North Carolina from 1973 to 1995.

Dr. Rhoads died on May 24, 2017 at the age of 85. He is survived by his wife and three children. 

Dave Harris (Harold D. Harris)

Have you ever had a letter that you have planned on writing but never got around to it?

I have several but there is one in particular to a man named Dave Harris.

Dave was the father of a girl named Terri that I was nuts about in high school. OK she was one of many and yes the list is long and distinguished. 

Dave was a great guy hard working, a grow your own vegetables guy who loved to hunt and fish. If the zombie apocalypse happened tomorrow he'd be one guy I'd seek out for he would absolutely know how to survive.

He worked for Hub Uniform Company and covered the Carolinas selling uniforms to cops. 

The decades have rolled on but back in the day Dave treated me like the son he didn't have, for Dave was burdened with two attractive daughters Sherri and Terri and they were indeed a handful.

I'm pretty sure Dave knew my intentions were not exactly pure but for some reason Dave liked me just the same and decided to teach this then long haired kid how to hunt properly.

I learned a lot from Dave Harris. Flounder gigging at the coast. Rabbit stew, he raised his own and how to take doves and how to twist the head off stick your thumb down the neck and pop the breast meat out with absolutely zero mess or feathers. 

I might have dated his daughter for just a few weeks and he had me out in the fields shooting doves. 

Back in January I spent several days in Arkansas wing shooting. It wasn't hunting really more like killing no limit just shoot and never miss. I've never seen so many birds. We cooked most and ate them. Those we didn't were frozen and shipped back to Charlotte. I imagine Dave would have done the same.

50 years ago the eastern flyway was hot. The coast of the Carolinas in the fall was loaded with migratory birds. They were thick as ticks and anywhere you went in the low country hunts were hitting bag limits in hours. At times the sky was dark with ducks of all varieties.

And then it stopped. The reason Ducks Unlimited

You see Ducks Unlimited paid farmers along the Mississippi Flyway to plant fields and leave them for the migrating birds. They didn't offer the same to Eastern Flyway farmers.

Back to Dave.

So one day I took his daughter up to what we used to call Glade Valley and Beauty Falls now known as Stone Mountain State Park and Stone Mountain Falls.

We spent the day up there and had planned to return to Charlotte in time for a late dinner. We hiked to the top of the falls watched the sunset and pretty much had the park to ourselves enjoying the late afternoon glory of a Carolina fall day.

On the way down we were surprised at how dark is was getting and the further down the mountain we went the darker it became. At the bottom of the falls it was so dark you could not see your hand in front of your face. 

Early fall in the North Carolina Mountains is awesome unless you are alone in a 14,000 acre state park by yourself. 

No matter how hard we tried we could not find the trailhead back to the parking lot. In fact we were not sure were any trail was. No sunlight no flash light just a bic lighter and the sound of the roaring waterfall. 

Yes, this was before cellphones.

We had a blanket and some left over food and each other.

I quickly determined the best course of action was to stay put til the park rangers set out a search party. Clearly someone would check the parking lot and note the one car abandoned in at the trail head and would send help.

Help never came. But the fire was awesome. The benefit of the waterfall nearby is you don't hear a damn thing else. Not one of those sounds that you hear at night in the woods that say bear or bears.

Around midnight the moon rose over the falls and flooded the woods with shimmering white light and as the moon rose it came right across the top of the falls. The moon became a stunning spot light as if we were on stage and the whole world was out watching. In that shimmering light and the crackle of the fire we spent the night. 

At dawn we hiked back out to the parking lot with no one else around, no search party, no blood hounds, no rangers.

Returning to Dave's house I was surprised to find him standing in the driveway without a shotgun thankfully. He was not pleased, his first words were "Well, you better have a marriage license or a hell of a good explanation". 

I explained and he smiled then asked if we were hungry. 

The years have gone on and while our lives have crossed paths a few times I lost touch with his daughter Terri. In the past each chance encounter offered just a glimpse on someone's life that was ok but far from what I might have imagined. And each time it was not so much a rekindling of our lust or regrets of our lost youth but more of an understanding that in life luck and good fortune doesn't treat us all the same.Yet still she was and I suspect even today stunningly beautiful. 

But what Dave taught me that summer was far more than I understood at the time. I've seldon picked up a shogun or stepped aboard a boat to fish and not thought of Dave.

Thank You Dave Harris.

. 

A True Fisherman

Mrs. Cedar lost a client very unexpectedly. He went in for a routine outpatient surgery and within five days developed an infection went in to septic shock and died. 

I did not know this man and my wife had only talked to him by phone. But she felt compelled to attend his funeral because he was always so kind and gracious.

The poem below was given out at his funeral and I thought this was a pretty thoughtful tribute to someone I didn't know. 

But also it seems fitting and true of many friends and family members I've lost over the years as well:

A true fisherman

knows when and where

the fish are biting.

He rises up early in the morning,

plying the water for that

elusive catch,

waiting in the stillness for a nibble

A slight twitch in the line,

expertly he reels it in -

A good fisherman

knows a keeper when he sees one,

he knows when to toss one back,

and when to head for home.

Stewart Hill was 60.

I wish we had met, perhaps we will meet one day.

Paige Spiranac Golf's Newest "It Girl" Redux

This is pretty funny as far back as 2015 Paige Spiranac was on my radar. This post from July of 2015 shows and yeah she's still got it.

If you follow CP's tweeter feed you may have noticed Paige has been the subject of a few, ok more than a few tweets. Yes, apparently she can indeed play golf. Need more Paige? Just click the photo below. 

 

 

 

Even more Paige from Esquire's Q&A this month which is here.

 



CP Bonus: I married an East Carolina (ECU Pirates) Graduate with a single digit handicap that she carries to this day. So we're paired up with these two doctors from DC at the Greenbrier's Old White Course a few summers ago with 7:30 tee time.

The caddies saw her on the driving range the day before so they are wise to her game. Doctors offer to let her play the reds, but I speak up saying she'll just pick it up if she can't carry the distance.

Doctors go first, then my wife smokes it off the tee box into the mountain's morning fog. She's got 20 yards on them. I hit left just to the edge of the fairway about 50 yards behind the docs.

Caddie looks at me "You gonna pick that up right?"

Thank you for flying Aira Italia Airlines

Traveling to America from Rome the man is flying on a four engine 747 over the ocean. A few minutes into the flight, the captain comes over the intercom:

“Welcome aboard Alitalia Airlines. This isa you Captain speaking. We gotta beautiful day for flying. We gonna be a cruising at about 45,000 feets and it looka like we gotta smooth sailing. So sitta back and enjoy you flight.”

A few minutes later, the captain is once again on the intercom:

“Ladies and gentleman, this isa you Captain speaking. It looks like we’re having some-a trouble with the number one ah engine. But it’s a nothing to worry about. We gotta three other engines and we gonna be fine. Justa relax, and enjoy the rest of you flight.”

The passenger relaxes into his seat. About 30 minutes later, a voice comes back over the intercom:

“Ladies and gentleman, this isa you Captain speaking. It looks like we’re having some-a trouble with the number two ah engine. But it’s a nothing to worry about. We gotta two other engines and we gonna be fine. Justa relax, and enjoy the rest of you flight.”

“Hello?! This isa you Captain speaking, again. We have lost the number three engine, but don’t you worry, we gotta nother one on the left side that will get us where we going. It’s a no problem. 

But as a precaution, we wanna ask every body who knows how to swim to move to the right side of the plane, and those who no can swim, go to the left side of the plane. It’s a no big deal, it’s just a precaution. Have a some wine and enjoy the rest of you flight.”

Shortly after that there was a loud noise and again the voice came over the intercom:

“April Day! April Day!” oh so sorry wrong button OK? “This isa you Captain speaking again. We lost the last engine and it looks like we are gonna have to make a splash landing in da water!"

'So looka here, those of you on the right side of the plane who knows how to swim, don’t you worry. When we hita the water, we gonna do it nice and easy then you a make a you way to the exit signs and jump in the water, and swim straight ahead. We are only about a mile or so from land."

"OK? Those of you who are onna da left side of the plane ……. 

We want to a thank you for flying Alitalia Airlines."

Magical Negro

The Magical Negro is often referred to as a tried trope in American cinema, television, and literature. 

In the movies from the United States, the Magical Negro is a supporting stock character who comes to the aid of white protagonists in a film.

Magical Negro characters, often possessing special insight or mystical powers, have long been a tradition in American fiction. The old-fashioned word "Negro" is used to imply that a "magical black character" who devotes himself to selflessly helping whites. Many claim this is a throwback to racist stereotypes such as the "Sambo" or "noble savage".

The term was popularized in 2001 by film director Spike Lee during a lecture tour of college campuses, in which he expressed his dismay that Hollywood continued to employ this premise. He specially noted the films The Green Mile and The Legend of Bagger Vance, which featured "super-duper magical Negro" characters.

I suspect that Tarzan's Samuel L Jackson would qualify as well. In fact Barrack Obama had all the qualities of a Magical Negro. However while in film the "Magical Negro" might be the hero, in real life as with Obama, he is often a disappointment. 

Perhaps only in literature and the movies does the real Magical Negro really live. Jim, Mark Twain's character in The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn and its adaptations. Then there is "Red" in Stephen King's Shawshank Redemption.

Even Spock in Star Trek has all the qualities of a "Magical Negro".

However if it is a real event and not of film or fiction, does the magical negro still exist?

Some of the Cedar Posts stories have a strong Magical Negro equivalence. Should I "fix" them in the name of DEI? Perhaps not describe them but rather just say a person? Does the color matter? Perhaps not. But in each of these stories the skin color is the context. Just as in film the story line is not altered by race, but it is defined by race, 

International Harvester Willie Simpson

Everett Wilson A Halloween Tale

Carl

Old Joe

I have enjoyed Spike Lee's films particularly Boyz in the Hood. No wait that was John Singleton. Well I'm sure there are some films by Spike that I've enjoyed. That film with John Travolta Pulp Fiction no that was the Tarantino guy. I need to think on this some. 

So back to the "Magical Negro" years ago I was maybe 22 when I was nearly killed during load out OPS while moving "A" Containers. 

An "A" Container is big as in the entire width of the aircraft and rounded to fit tight against the cabin ceiling.  

While working at night, walking in the interior of which might have been a C-137 that's an old 707 at the time. Somehow I slipped and found my leg wedged between the floor rollers and deck of the aircraft floor as the "A" container rolled towards me. Out of nowhere this massive hand grabbed me and pulled me up and out of the way of 8,000 pounds of crunch. 

The hand belonged to a Chief Petty Officer and being magical he was a Black man.

He saved my leg and likely my life. He was not part of my detail and to this day I do not know his name or his duty station. He was not the aircraft loadmaster. 

He appeared out of nowhere pulled me to my feet checked me over asked "you're good?"  I nodded and he was gone. He simply had vanished.

To this day I owe him a thank you for saving my scrawny 125 pound ass that night on the ramp. 

Magical Negro Thank You Brother.

Recalling this story it makes me think about all the other "Magical Negros" I've known.

Johnsey Marks

Ben at Queens Texaco

Leroy at the Johnson Building in Charlotte

Mr. Mosley at the Greenbrier Hotel

These are people who presented qualities that I myself wished to emulate. They were genuine, the real deal and would, I believe threat me the same today as they would have 30 years ago. It is just in their DNA it transcends our strikingly contrasting skin color.