Andrea Gail October 28, 1991

Few things have stuck with me like the story of Andrea Gail. 

In 1997 Sebastian Junger's book was released and in 2000 the motion picture.

It is perhaps George Clooney's monolog, in the film The Perfect Storm, his haunting description to Linda Greenlaw as to why we do this that still echoes in my mind nearly every time I "drop lines" and head out to sea.  

The fog's just lifting. 

You throw off your bow line, throw off your stern.

Head out the south channel past Rocky Neck and Tenpound Island, past Niles Pond, where I skated as a kid. 

Blow your airhorn, and you throw a wave to the lighthouse keeper's kid on Thatcher Island. 

Then the birds show up, blackbacks and herring gulls, big dump ducks. The sun hits you. 

You head north, open up to 12. Steaming now. 

The guys are busy, you're in charge. 

And you know what? 

You're a goddamn swordboat captain. 

Is there anything better in the world?

Years later I would happen across the Hannah Boden at dock near Kiawah Island South Carolina. My crew had no idea why we slowed to take photos on the old and tired looking "long liner" seemly out of place at a Shrimp Boat dock.

Yeah I'm a goddamn charter yacht captain and I get to do what I want. 

Injun Summer 1907 By John T. McCutcheon (Redux)

In 1907 these two cartoon panels debuted in the Chicago Tribune. This artwork and accompanying story written in 1900's simple folk speak was the formal declaration of fall and all that was magical about the season:

Yep, sonny this is sure enough Injun summer. Don't know what that is, I reckon, do you? 

Well, that's when all the homesick Injuns come back to play; You know, a long time ago, long afore yer granddaddy was born even, there used to be heaps of Injuns around here—thousands—millions, I reckon, far as that's concerned. Reg'lar sure 'nough Injuns—none o' yer cigar store Injuns, not much. They wuz all around here—right here where you're standin'. 

Don't be skeered—hain't none around here now, leastways no live ones. They been gone this many a year.

They all went away and died, so they ain't no more left. 

But every year, 'long about now, they all come back, leastways their sperrits do. They're here now. You can see 'em off across the fields. Look real hard. See that kind o' hazy misty look out yonder? Well, them's Injuns—Injun sperrits marchin' along an' dancin' in the sunlight. That's what makes that kind o' haze that's everywhere—it's jest the sperrits of the Injuns all come back. They're all around us now.

 

See off yonder; see them tepees? They kind o' look like corn shocks from here, but them's Injun tents, sure as you're a foot high. See 'em now? Sure, I knowed you could. Smell that smoky sort o' smell in the air? That's the campfires a-burnin' and their pipes a-goin'. 

Lots o' people say it's just leaves burnin', but it ain't. It's the campfires, an' th' Injuns are hoppin' 'round 'em t'beat the old Harry. 

You jest come out here tonight when the moon is hangin' over the hill off yonder an' the harvest fields is all swimmin' in the moonlight, an' you can see the Injuns and the tepees jest as plain as kin be. You can, eh? I knowed you would after a little while. 

Jever notice how the leaves turn red 'bout this time o' year? That's jest another sign o' redskins. That's when an old Injun sperrit gits tired dancin' an' goes up an' squats on a leaf t'rest. Why I kin hear 'em rustlin' an' whisper in' an' creepin' 'round among the leaves all the time; an' ever' once'n a while a leaf gives way under some fat old Injun ghost and comes floatin' down to the ground. See—here's one now. See how red it is? That's the war paint rubbed off'n an Injun ghost, sure's you're born. 

Purty soon all the Injuns'll go marchin' away agin, back to the happy huntin' ground, but next year you'll see 'em troopin' back—th' sky jest hazy with 'em and their campfires smolderin' away jest like they are now. 

Cedar's Take:

On every Sunday before Halloween up until the 1990's the Chicago Tribune ran Injun Summer by Pulitzer Prize winning cartoonist John T. McCutcheon on the front page and in later years on the front cover of their Magazine section. 

It was a Halloween tradition as much as the Night Before Christmas was to December 24th. 

I suspect that if you are over forty it was a part of your Halloween as well since papers across the country usually found the column inches to print the generations old story. 

But the tradition of running the story on the Sunday before Halloween ended in 1992. 

According to the Tribune: "The "Injun Summer" era ended on Oct. 25, 1992, when it appeared for the last time. The drawings may be timeless, but the text had outlived its day. Complaints had been voiced for several years about its offensiveness to Native Americans. Wisps of smoke have continued to rise from those smoldering leaves, however. Every fall, some readers complain that they miss it." You can read more from the Tribune about McCutcheon's "Injun Summer" here.

Throughout my life, American Indian folklore has played a substantial part. I'm married to girl from Maine where nearly everything from the county Penobscot, to the mountain Katahdin has Indian significance. I have marveled at the lands once held by the famous Indian tribes out west the from the Badlands of South Dakota named Mako Sica by the Lakota Indians to Mesa Verde in Colorado, and Gila Cliffs in New Mexico.

As a boy scout, from my first introduction it was a given that Indians, their ways and stories where important and offered endless knowledge and understanding.  

Today wokeness has removed most of Indian culture from our classrooms. All references to the old stories have been washed away as insensitive. 

Their names like the mist and smoke in McCutcheon's story, have vanished from text books.

Ask a fifth grader about who was Red Cloud, or Sacagawea you'll get a puzzled look. Mention Tecumseh and they think go-cart engines. But say George Floyd and you get an endless stream of misinformation. 

Redskins have become Commanders, Indians are Sentinels, and Land-o-Lakes has removed the Indian from the land once and for all, saying it was demeaning cultural appropriation to use the image of the woman, who had been depicted as kneeling for nearly 100 years. 

Like the Confederate statues on Monument Avenue in Richmond, the renaming of streets in Charlotte, woke idiots are erasing American History daily because the dumbing of America prohibits free thought. In other words you aren't smart enough to understand history.

Just another reminder that Socialist liberals what to control every aspect of your life from vaccines to history and what you share with your children. 

Miss America - The Castellos

She was some kind of renegade
Born on a summer day
Fireworks in her eyes

She was wild child seventeen
Growing up evergreen
Headed west for the big sky

Little brown-eyed blue jean baby
In a pink house pretty as a daisy
She got rocky mountain high

And left a few roots behind

But I miss
America, on the front porch

Before she ever had to lock her doors

When she was still outspoken
Back before her heart got broken
I miss America, bare feet in the dirt

John 3:16, wasn't scared to work
Yeah they all dreamed of her
She's mine and I still love her

But I miss America
I can see her with her hair down
Rolling through my home town

After a football game
I can hear her in a hayfield
Singin' with the whip-or-wills

And I kind of hate the way
She ran away and got a little bit older
Got a big city chip on her shoulder

That ain't the way that she was raised
What can I say? 

I miss America, on the front porch

Before she ever had to lock her doors

When she was still outspoken

Back before her heart got broken

I miss America, bare feet in the dirt

John 3:16, wasn't scared to work

Yeah they all dreamed of her

She's mine and I still love her

But I miss America

She was some kind of renegade

Born on a summer day

But I miss

America, on the front porch

Before she ever had to lock her doors

When she was still outspoken

Back before her heart got broken

I miss America, bare feet in the dirt

John 3:16, wasn't scared to work

Yeah they all dreamed of her

She's mine and I still love her

But I miss America

I miss America

I miss America

(At the request of Mrs. Cedar)

The Castellos appearing:

Thursday October 24, Greenville, SC 7:00 PM · Bon Secours Wellness Arena

With Little Big Town

Tuesday December 31, Charlotte, NC 8:30 PM · Bojangles Coliseum

With The Avett Brothers 

9/11 Ladder 118

There are 100s of iconic photos from 9/11 but this one remains forever as the image that haunts me. 

Ladder Company 118 crossing the Brooklyn Bridge. As these six courageous firefighters navigated their truck across the Brooklyn Bridge, they did not know that they were en route to what would become the most infamous tragedy in American history. 

The final sighting of these heros was as they ascended a staircase in the Marriott Hotel near the World Trade Center, endeavoring to find survivors amid the terrorist attacks on September 11. 

Less than an hour following this moment, the South Tower fell, severing the 22-story Marriott in half and claiming the lives of firefighters; Vernon Cherry, Leon Smith, Joey Agnello, Robert Regan, Pete Vega, and Scott Davidson.

The photo Aaron McLamb took of Ladder 118 racing toward the Twin Towers.

Footnote: Scott Davidson is the father of actor comedian and SNL alumni Pete Davidson. 

Cedar Bonus:

In my desk drawer there is a fax I received on September 14, 2001. It details one man's escape from ground zero and that same Marriott hotel on this September 11th morning. A morning much like today. 

The fact that  I won't, maybe can't discard it, is perhaps one of those indications that now more than two decades later I've still not recovered. 

9/11 September 11, 2001 One Man's Story

Death of the Republican Party

I posted this back in 2012 and much to my surprise so much of this holds true. Let me know what you  think.

If the Barrack Obama holds on to the White House in 2012 I suggest that it will be the final blow to the Republican Party.

To date the Obama administration has all but handed the White House over to the GOP. Now if the "Grand Old Party" could only stop from killing themselves.

Obama would be wise to follow Napoleon's maxim - Never interfere with an enemy while he’s in the process of destroying himself.

It would be nice if our elected officials would listen to the people instead of the shrill voices of the lunatic fringe.

The trouble is they won't. Neither the Democrats or the Republicans know where the country is, they have not a clue who Joe the Plumber is and and they have no idea where he lives or how he's been doing since November of 2008.

While some may relish the idea of the death of the GOP the undoing of our two party system for a fractured "collation style government is unacceptable because of its strained inefficiencies.

Look to the UK or Israel for how a multi party system functions. Not very well. The Tea party needs to sit down and shut up somewhat over the next 14 months.

But the death of the GOP may be more than the undoing of our two party system.

Years of the far right insisting that the Republican "platform" include an anti-abortion stance has splintered the party of Ronald Reagan. The battle over gay marriage has fractured the party of Richard Nixon and Teddy Roosevelt.

The emergence of the "Tea Party" once an anti-tax movement which became a ultra right wing nut movement has caused the GOP not only to lean heavily to the right but to take on a terrible list much like the Titanic did hours before she slipped below the surface of the frigid Atlantic.

If the Republican party is going to right the ship and get this nation back on course they will need to stop slamming the White House at every step of the way. They need to back away from religion and that means stop with the Muslim bashing.

I for one could care less if they want to build a mosque next door to a Catholic school.

On the other hand if Romney wants votes he'll need to switch from Mormon to something a little less out there.

Perry needs to shut up about how they would do things in Texas. Most of us have never been to Texas and have no desire to be like Texans. We had enough of Texas with Bush ditto with McCain from Arizona or anyone from Minnesota.

Bachman needs to stop saying stupid stuff. Singing Happy Birthday to Elvis Presley on the anniversary of his death, naming John Quincey Adams as a founding father of our country, he was nine when the declaration of independence was drafted. It was his father John Adams who was his father and a founding father. She also confused John Wayne with serial killer John Wayne Gacy. These are just a few of the nearly two dozen gaffes she's uttered in the last six months. Making her a strong contender for the annual Joe Biden "Bite-Me" award.

Bachmann's gaffe's are not all her fault but she has surrounded herself with idiots who have allowed this to continue.

The Palin factor is troubling as well, since Sarah Palin is more celebrity than presidential candidate her role for 2012 is best suited for being that "momma grizzly" pitbull hockey mom and an unaffiliated attack dog. Palin is the republican party's best offensive weapon, but not the parties best political candidate.

Ron Paul is far too quirky in an Andy Warhol sort of way. He's sort of the Timothy Leary icon of the 70's those who remember the age of dropping acid or as Leary often said "Turn on, tune in, drop out" the counterculture phrase popularized by the good doctor in the 60's even in their state of higher consciousness those who worshiped Leary wouldn't have voted for him.

So what's left not much,

What the Republican party needs is someone with the command presence of Dwight Eisenhower, the warmth and familiarity of Ronald Reagan and a connection to the common man that Teddy Roosevelt had. Someone who really does speak softly and carries a big stick.

The republican party has no such person unless there is a surprise face in the crowd Obama will hold on to the White House by nothing more than a hanging chad and the Republican party will die a quiet death.

Abby

Her name was Abby, a dumb lovable Chocolate Lab in need of nothing more than a big yard to run. Big as in 100 acre wood big, no make that a 100 mile wood.

Abby was so hyper she rarely laid down, preferring to stand almost always.Abby loved to run and visit her doggie friends. Her desire to be free and explore the world was her undoing, though it was more so my own fault.

Escaped from her yard, a neighbor Linda Stephenson mistakenly thought she was from a house across the street. So she escorted my happy super friendly dog across the street and put her in the gated yard. There she found a bowl filled with antifreeze placed there by a jerk named George who hated raccoons. There in that yard she ingested the antifreeze. The next morning she simply and very abruptly died. 

She was a mere four years old and as anyone knows a four year old Lab is still a puppy, full of life and energy.

I'm not angry at the poor soul George whose world is so small that he has to poison the wayward animals that pass unsuspectingly through his yard. He has never known the pure joy that fills your heart when you witness a dog's unbridled enthusiasm for something as simple as a walk around the block.

Abby loved her walks and she loved her pipe. The pipe, a 4 inch PVC 45 degree elbow that was the only thing she couldn't destroy and she carried it everywhere. She even tried to fly with it.

But only God knows why she loved to bark. She barked at everything, at me, at other dogs, at cars, at the golfers who passed by "her" yard. She barked at the wind, the blowing leaves and even barked at her pipe.

Once she appeared on the deck with a low-voltage landscape light and about six feet of wire.The only trouble is we never had any low-voltage landscape lights.

I often joked that if they had a "short bus" for dogs, Abby would be on it.

Despite all of her bad traits, and she had many, she always made me laugh. Perhaps down inside I understood her doggie frustration with the world and its cruelness. Her food dish being just out of reach, to my own goals so close but still unattainable, a passerby that wouldn't give her the time of day, to my being stuck on hold for an hour while waiting for Microsoft tech support. So I laugh even now.

Abby's partner in crime Madison, stopped looking for her after a few weeks, I suspect she understood for Madison was a smart dog. Abby by comparison made Madison look brilliant. She knew Madison was the smart dog and she would follow Madison everywhere.

Even with all of the noise and destruction, I couldn't ever raise my voice at Abby and perhaps it was her eyes. She always wanted to please so badly and the look in her eyes said “I trust you”. Even if she escaped the yard, when I found her she would simply look up at me, sit down and then walk beside me, back to her home. No leash required.

I'll forever remember the way she looked at me when suddenly she became very sick, as if she knew I would be able to save her. Her eyes told me that she was hurting and that she was really afraid. I told her to lie down and that we'd go to the vet, but it was too late. I patted her head and told her softly that it was ok, and that she was a good dog as she took her last struggling breath.

She died next to her pipe on the sunny deck where she loved to bark at the wind. The leaves swirled around us and raced towards the sky. Her doggie spirit was finally free to explore and chase her dreams, forever a rainbow in my heart.



And now that she is gone and I amazed at how quiet and sad my home has suddenly become. Madison rarely barks, it was a job she always left up to Abby, and it's taken me a week to stop hearing her woo woo wooo at the wind. But her bark still echoes in my mind.

Now Madison sits alone on the edge of the deck with an empty space next to her where Abby used to stand and it's just so quiet.

But rainbows go on forever and
I know a Chocolate Lab who can fly.....

It's been a dozen years and I still miss Abby.

Summertime Baseball

I'm a fan of baseball always have been. Not just the game but the history.

Now I get a lot of grief do to my concern and frustration with race baiters and race card idiots,

The President can't help but include race and racism in his Indepence Day address. This is the same guy who says "If you don't vote for me you ain't black".

I believe that today's African American Community is a mess but it has not a thing to do with Donald Trump, white supremacists or the KKK. I have no idea what happened. I can only say that as a southerner the Black men and women I've known for the last 30 years have been some of the most positive enjoyable people I have had the pleasure of knowing. 

This entire notion of racism is a bunch of garbage and yet can not explain the appalling and violent behavior of African Americans we see portrayed endlessly on social media.

So on to baseball. Bob Uecker once went to the mound to talk to Bob Gibson, and Gibson barked, “What are you doing out here?” Uecker replied, “Oh, nothing, just going out to talk to Curt Flood in center.” 

In the above photo are the 1964 World Series Champion St. Louis Cardinals team members. Keep in mind that this is the same year the Civil Rights Act was signed into law by Lyndon B. Johnson. If you believe the race baiters white men in baseball were dismayed the new law was about upend America's favorite pastime. And if you were to believe Joe Biden that without the Civil Rights Act African Americans would still be picking cotton.

But in 1964 the official team photo had to be retaken because in the first attempt (above), one black player, Gibson and one white player, Uecker held hands with big goofy smiles. No one noticed their antics before the picture was released to the press. Both players were fined by the Cardinals.

Teammates! 

Danville Stove and Manufacturing Mailboxes

The U. S. Post Office Letter Drop Box

Sometime around 1978 on a rainy afternoon there was an accident near Scotland Avenue and Cherokee Drive in Charlotte's Eastover neighborhood. 

The hit and run driver sideswiped a parked car and then hit a USPS Collection Box head on. The driver then backed up and with tires squealing drove off heading towards Providence Road. 

Two young twin brothers named Tim and Tom and a couple of their friends witnessed the accident and the resulting carnage. 

The blue USPS collection box lay on the ground broken, with the mail that was once inside scattered across the sidewalk. As the rain poured down they dutifully gathered up all the mail and placed it back in the box, but the damaged door would not close. So they took the box and the mail home and convinced their mother to drive them to the Post Office to turn in the mail and the broken box.

Unfortunately by the time they arrived at the post office the building was closed. So the mail was deposited in the nearby USPS drive by drop box. 

As for the collection box they planned to return it to the Post Office the following Monday.

With life sometimes things are forgotten. 

The USPS blue box rode in the trunk of the car for a week, then sat on the floor of a garage at Wendover and Providence Roads. At one point the door was repaired by spot welding at Myers Park High School's shop class as a senior project. The box then spent four years on the campus of UNC Chapel Hill at the Sig Ep House, then in an apartment in Charlotte, and then a home off Independence Blvd.

At one point someone pointed out it was a Federal Crime to tamper with or steal a mailbox and so the heavy cast iron box went into hiding, along with a large yellow City of Charlotte traffic signal which was acquired in much the same way.

Another dozen moves, relocations and weddings and subsequent divorces, the collection box had been as far west as Utah and as far north as New Jersey. Then after more than 20 years the box somehow managed it to make its way back to Charlotte. 

Since 1994, now fully restored, the blue and white mailbox has resided in a Charlotte garden. Hopefully the statue of limitations has run out.

Danville Stove and Manufacturing Mailboxes

There is a vanishing part of America that many of us have taken for granted. Something that was always there that maybe you didn't even notice it was gone. Sadly like pay telephones, fire call boxes, coin operated newspaper boxes we will add mail collection aka drop boxes.

Back a hundred years ago the US Postmaster for Milwaukee, Wisconsin, from 1906-1914, David C. Owens designed a mailbox as an alternative to the Van Dorn box, which at the time was the recognized standard but it was also considered unsightly by many urban patrons. The boxes which had a Victorian England look seemed out of harmony with electric light posts and a changing America.

The Van Dorn USPS Box

Beginning in 1924 and for the next 30 years the US Post Office would order thousands of these new "Owens Style" mailboxes.

The Danville Mfg. Mailbox was cast by the Danville Stove & Mfg. Co. in Danville , PA. These U.S. Post Office cast iron mail boxes carried the familiar Danville Stove beaver logo, and at one time could be found in use coast to coast in our country.

The Danville Manufacturing Company ceased production of U.S. mailboxes in the early 1940's, but the cast iron mail boxes that weigh nearly 60 pounds endured.

Collection Box Colors

Street letter collection boxes have been painted a number of different colors by the Postal Service over the years, but their exact colors for the decades after their introduction in the 1850s is unknown. The earliest known reference to the color of collection boxes is found in The Story of the Post Office (1889), by W.B. Jones, although it is not clear whether the colors applied only to boxes in Boston where he lived or to those in other cities as well:

At one time there were over 800 street letter boxes from which collections are made by the Boston US Post Office and its sub-stations. To people who resided within this postal district it was well known that some of these boxes are painted red and others green. The red boxes were the most important ones, as they were visited every hour by the carriers.

Another reference is found in a report of Fourth Assistant Postmaster General J. L. Bristow, dated October 24, 1903 and mentions a Machen color selection.

The Machen referred to is A. W. Machen, General Superintendent of the Free-Delivery System from May 6, 1893, until May 27, 1903.

The color of the paint of the street letter boxes has been changed from time to time according to the taste of the administrative officers of the Department. Years ago it was dark green, afterwards vermilion red . . . In 1897 Machen adopted the aluminum color, and also changed the method of painting . . . posts to be painted green, boxes aluminum bronze.

By at least 1909, collection boxes were painted green. On February 27, 1913, however, Postmaster General Frank H. Hitchcock ordered that collection boxes be painted “either vermilion or coach-red.” Ten weeks later, on May 10, the order was rescinded by Postmaster General Albert S. Burleson because fire departments, city councils, and the public complained about the confusion with red fire boxes and equipment. The boxes were repainted green.

Green gave way to olive drab after World War I when the War Department gave the Post Office Department a vast supply of surplus olive drab paint. This became the standardized color for collection boxes and remained in use until 1955.

On the Fourth of July in 1955, Postmaster General Arthur Summerfield announced that street collection boxes would be painted red, white, and blue to make them easily identifiable. The new paints also were longer lasting. Specifications for the red, white, and blue color scheme were printed in Postal Bulletin 19867, dated August 9, 1955.

Standing and Sonic Eagle

When the Post Office Department was reorganized, creating the United States Postal Service in 1971, a solid, deep blue color for collection boxes was announced. Reflective decals with the new Postal Service logo, the “standing” eagle was also adopted as the Postal Service’s official seal.

And while this color scheme is still used today, in 1993 the current “sonic” eagle was introduced as the new corporate logo to capture the ethos of a modern era which continues today.

More details about the US Postal Service can be found here.

 

A Dog Named “Buddy”

I believe that dogs are an affirmation that God Exists.

Lately, given the state of the world you might be tempted to say there is No God. 

But in the way of the famous Paul Harvey speech and poem “And so God Made a Farmer” let me add “So God made a Dog”.

I’ve owned Labrador Retrievers my entire life. The trouble with Labs, is their lives are far too short. Madison was 16, Callie just 10, Abby was only 7, and Robby 14. Sophia, my fifth Lab was 12 when we sadly we lost her to kidney failure just two weeks ago. The overwhelming feeling of sadness makes even my wife and I question our faith.

Yes, my wife and I are Lab people who even once owned a four pound very sweet Yorkie that believed with all her heart, that she was also a Lab.

So, my brother in-law calls, saying they have a situation. An apparently lost Chocolate Lab that was nearly hit by a dump truck has been picked up by (his daughter) my niece. Since we have Labs, they are soon asking if we would take it in while they try to locate the owner.

An hour later the niece and her daughter show up at our house with a large very excited Chocolate Lab who apparently thinks his name is “Buddy”. 

Explains the 15-year-old daughter “I called to him and said “Hey Buddy come here!” and he came right over to me” then she adds so his name should be "Buddy".

So, we entertain “Buddy” for the rest of the day. He’s clean and is in good shape. He has a spiked choke collar but no tags. A quick trip to the nearby vet and it’s determined that “Buddy” unfortunately is not chipped.

He was found in downtown Cramerton near Floyd and Blackies, a local coffee shop. Customers say they saw “Buddy” at the golf club pool about a mile from downtown. No one knows his real name or who he belongs to. 

So now an hour later “Buddy” is in Charlotte.

But behind the scenes the niece is posting photos of “Buddy” on social media.

We take “Buddy” for a walk and he’s a joy to be around, lots of energy and so we suspect he’s maybe two or three years old. Labs don’t grow out of the puppy stage until they are four or five yet “Buddy” understands sit, stay, laydown, give me your paw and even catches dog treats tossed his way, so as Lab go, “Buddy” well trained. He certainly is not a stray dog.

About an hour before sunset a call comes in that they found the owner and his dog’s name is not “Buddy” rather it is “Lux” as in, "Deluxe" and that the owner is on his way to Charlotte to pick him up.

Then also we learn that “Lux” was born on Christmas Day, and since we as a family are over the top about Christmas that is kind of interesting. 

Out of all the people who saw him in downtown Cramerton he went to my niece’s daughter because she’s calling out to him “Come here Buddy” or maybe because she is just a real sweet kid, or maybe?

It seems odd that his name is “Lux” because “Buddy” seems to really fit, yet we don't tell the owner we been calling his dog "Buddy" for the last five hours.

About 30 minutes later “Lux” gets excited when he hears his owner’s Ford 350 diesel pull in the driveway, he clearly knows the familiar clanking, rattling sound known by truck drivers as the diesel knock. 

"Lux’s" owner and I talk and joke about dogs, he’s very appreciative and a really nice guy who explains that “Lux” was on a run in his backyard and his daughter was supposed to put him in the house before she left.

It’s dark, it’s late and “Lux” has had a heck of a day and a big adventure, but he is ready to go home now. 

His owner and I shake hands and then he turns to “Lux” giving him a couple of firm pats on the side and says much to my surprise:

“Come on “Buddy” Let’s go home”.

Yes, there is a God who takes care of us in so many ways.

Memorial Day 2024

 Memorial Day May 27, 2024 

Just a reminder its Memorial Day Weekend and while most of us know it as the unofficial start of summer it will also be known as High School graduation week for nephews Sean and Alex who will leave the safety of grade school and are college bound to Alabama and UNC-Charlotte respectively.

But lest we forget I'm going to offer up my take.

And then there is this:

The Western Union Telegram dated 27 March 1945

DEEPLY REGRET TO INFORM YOU THAT YOUR SON PRIVATE FIRST CLASS DONALD H DUFAULT USMC WAS KILLED IN ACTION 5 MARCH 1945 AT IWO JIMA.....

I imagine that my great aunt, the divorced single mother, didn't read much further as Donald was her only child.

Weeks later this letter from her son Donald would arrive:

Dear Mother,

Of course, I guess you know where I am now and why you haven’t heard from me in so long. We just came off the line for a little rest and cleaning up and will probably go “back up” pretty soon. I’ve been awfully lucky so far – Received your’s of the fifteenth today. I’m sorry that you have had to wait so long for word, but I’m afraid that it can’t be helped. 

A few more days should see Iwo Jima “secured” and quiet – and if any luck can hold out just a little longer – why everything should be alright – I don’t hardly know what to say – So I’ll Just close will write again as soon as possible – So – So long for now Love, Don.

Oddly enough the letter is dated 3 days after Pfc. Dufault was killed on Iwo Jima. Perhaps in the "fog of war" the days ran together or the date he was killed was simply recorded in error.

18 months later she would receive a medal awarded posthumously, a Presidential Unit Citation with two Silver Stars, which reads:

"For extraordinary heroism in action during the seizure of enemy Japanese-held Iwo Jima, Volcano Islands, February 19 to 28, 1945...."

The cost of taking Iwo Jima was high; 17,372 Marines Wounded, 5,931 Killed In Action. In total 6,862 US Service Members were Killed In Action during the battle which ran from 19 February – 26 March 1945. 

Today The Marine Corps War Memorial stands in tribute to all Marines including those like Private First Class Donald H Dufault gave the last full measure of devotion in the service of our Nation. 

Chester W. Nimitz said of those who fought on Iwo Jima, “Uncommon valor was a common virtue.” That statement is underscored by the 27 Medals of Honor awarded to Marines and Navy servicemen who fought there, the highest number awarded in a single battle.

And so we remember those who gave so much.

Hope you have a wonderful weekend and God Bless The United States of America.

The link below is to the Marine Corps History and Museums Division PFD about Iwo Jima which gives an in-depth overview of why the Battle for Iwo Jima was so important and how one photograph 73 years ago became an iconic symbol of heroism. 

Iwo Jima

One more thing:

Years ago I was in a antique shop in Bangor Maine where in the far back corner of the store was the flag of our nation with 48 stars. The flag was in a dusty and yellowed cardboard mailing box. The words Official US Government Department of Defense stamped on the outside of the box on both sides. The address was that of a Bangor residence and written across the address were the words REFUSED!

Inside a short typed note explaining that the flag "herein" was the one that covered Seaman First Class and his name before his body was submitted to the sea. It gave his full name and the coordinates and the date. 

I held the box the flag the note and imagined the emotion of the parent who held that box knowing what was inside and refusing to accept the package that symbolized that last full measure of devotion their son had given to our nation. 

I laid the box down and walked away. I needed to access my own feelings and thoughts. A few weeks later I returned to the store on a mission to claim the box, the flag and to properly memorize the young man I did not know. 

The flag was gone. Perhaps I was disappointed or maybe even relieved. I trust the flag was given a proper place of honor in someone's home and knowing that they did not die in vain. 

And So

This brings me to the current violent hate for America within own border. It is time to stand up for our nation. To the immigrants that have unlawfully crossed our border, and to the college students from Sudan, and Congo, from China and Iran that shout "death to America" your time here is over it is time for you to go.

National Police Week - Open Invitation

It’s National Police Week and therefore as was the case last year any CMPD Officer current and or retired who might find themselves out at the Carolina Coast this Saturday the invitation from retired CMPD Sgt Whit Neal is "come on by" Ocean Isle Beach 1530 hours til the beer runs out. Y'all know the address if not contact the man for his 20.

Bill Fehr May 21, 1969 - May 9, 2020

I miss my conversations with Bill Fehr. Now four years on and I still think of Bill. Of Road Irish and Plans and Dreams. At the time of his death we were just weeks away from a trip to Beaufort and drive by of Parris Island on my Hatteras Yacht. 

As some know Bill was my source for everything Uptown and more.

Just four months prior to Bill's sudden death Jimmy Humphrey convinced Bill to sit down for a podcast. It's epic long but worth the listen even better while enjoying a few beers.

The Cosmic Career Of A Bike Messenger: Bill Fehr

Episode #44 by Jimmy Humphrey January 27, 2020

Today we are going to talk about taking the path less traveled, and what it means to be successful in America. I think today’s show will be a fascinating one. Not only because the topic itself is interesting, but because the person I am talking with today is one of the most interesting and intense people I have ever had the privilege to work with. 

For today’s podcast, I am sitting down to talk with Bill Fehr.  I worked with Bill almost a decade ago when I was a mailroom clerk at a law firm in uptown Charlotte. Bill is a professional bike messenger, and has been zooming in and out of traffic for the past 22 years in uptown Charlotte.

His career as a bike messenger is unconventional, as was his path to get where he is today. I don’t think it’s a career many aspire to while they are in school. In fact, it’s one that many probably would discourage their children from pursuing. But that’s what I love about Bill. He is in fact an unconventional man. But as you will hear in today’s show, Bill is passionate about living life fully, and I think he has a story worth sharing, especially for those who feel in their gut that they need to be doing something other than working in a cubicle for the rest of their lives. 

My interview today is rather long, and runs over an hour, but I think it is one you we really enjoy. I would encourage you to listen to our fascinating conversation in full. I would also like to give a shoutout to all my former co-workers from Nova Office Strategies, which is the company Bill works for, and that I used to work for as well.

The podcast is here. 

Monday April 29, 2024 - It's Been a Hard Day

U.S. Marshals Fugitive Task Force Officers were attempting to serve an arrest warrant on a career felon when the subject shot 8 members of the team killing 3. Wounding five others. One of the wounded was CMPD Officer Joshua Eyer who succumbed to his injuries hours later. Two of the dead are NC Adult Correction Officers Sam Poloche and Alden Elliott. The deceased US Deputy Marshal has been identified as Thomas Weeks. The four injured Task Force Members including CMPD Officers are expected to recover from their injuries.

This is a tragedy that not only weighs heavy on Charlotte but also our entire Nation.

This afternoon at just after 2 pm Mrs. Cedar did what 100s of other CMPD family members did, she checked in with those who know. She ran through a list of friends and family asking if they are they OK? 

A buddy check just to be sure everyone was safe. The response was thankfully a short "We're OK I've got to go".

But we are not OK we are all family and we all hurt.

Prayers for all our CMPD Officers and their families, prayers for the members of our United States Marshals Service and their families. Prayers for our North Carolina Department of Adult Correction Correction Officers and their families. Prayers for our Nation.

To those who step up to form that thin blue line, we will never forget. We are forever indebted to you and your families.

CP

The above was posted to Meckburbia By Cedar Posts on Monday April 29th.

Cedar Update: Its been a long hard week. We have opened our home to friends and family attending the funerals which leaves little time to answer emails or comment further. There will be time for that in the future. Right now we are taking care of those who matter most.

Confederate Memorial Day

Truth is I don’t fly the Confederate Battle Flag in my front yard. 

But I have many friends who like to hoist it at gatherings of the “Red Neck” yacht club all summer long. They raise it in Camden in April and at one time again in November. 

It flies proudly during Memorial Day from their $100,000 motorhomes at the Charlotte Motor Speedway. As best I can tell not one of them is a racist bigot or mass murderer in the making.

Yet, I fully supported the idea of removing the Battle Flag from the South Carolina State Capitol. Dylan Roof made that a given but the way Nikki Haley did was nothing more than a political stunt. 

However,

It is unfortunate that skinheads, the KKK and the white supremacy movement have hijacked the flag in support of their causes. Ditto with the Rainbow.

I understand that many people see it as a sign of racial intolerance and there are those who claim they feel threatened by it and tremble in fear at the sight of it. To them it represents slavery and oppression, but here’s why that reasoning is wrong.

In the fall of 1861, my great great grandfather grabbed his musket and signed up with the "Dixie Boys" of Company "A" of the 26th Alabama Infantry Regiment in Tuscumbia, Alabama.

During the following 21 months he marched with his neighbors to some of the war's most famous battles.

Yorktown

Richmond

Williamsburg

Seven Pines

Mechanicsville

Cold Harbor

Marven Hill

Boonesboro

Antietam

Fredericksburg

Chancellorsville

Gettysburg

"From the siege of Yorktown, April 5 to May 3, 1862, in which it took part, until the close of the war, the regiment was always in the battle front and won imperishable renown." – Robert E. Lee

Captured at Gettysburg on July 3, 1863 John Edmonds was neither slave owner nor rich.

A farmer who was born in Laurens in the upstate of South Carolina. He raised sheep, hogs and cattle on land too poor to grow cotton with too little water to grow rice. They had no reason to own slaves rather his father had relied on 11 sons and 3 daughters. Yet when the call to arms went out he joined the cause without a second thought. In fact 1 million southerners joined the fight all but a handful were slave owners, most like my grandfather lived far from the plantations of the Carolinas, Georgia and Mississippi.

I suspect that the whole mess could have been resolved had the politicians worked things out in a civil manner and paid attention to the fact that the world around them was rapidly changing.

The abolitionists in 1861 found that slavery was a hot button in the North and used it as the rallying cry to end a practice that was less than 30 years from becoming outdated and inefficient as mechanized farming began to sweep across the nation.

Now 150 years later revisionists continue to create a war that was nothing more than an epic battle to free the black man from the abusive plantation owners. A battle where in the end good triumphed over evil.

As the line between fiction and fact continue to erode, there are those among us who are left to remind those less knowledgeable and more gullible that the war was not entirely about slavery. In fact now to suggest that the war was about anything but slavery is considered politically incorrect.

The fact is the war of "northern aggression" came about because the Southern States no longer wanted to be a part of the Union. The reason for their departure was the erosion of states’ rights. By standing up to the inherently corrupt Northern Bullies the South threatened to upset the Union's balance of trade with Europe.

Southerners simply saw a federal government that had overstepped the bounds of sensibility and had infringed on state's rights and the right of self-governance far too long.

Many Southerners had just earned for the first time the right to own property, as less than 100 years prior all property was owned by the crown. The North’s power grab along with the election of Abraham Lincoln convinced many Southerners that the North would soon seize the property they had just recently earned a right to. Keep in mind that in the 1860’s property rights were determined by the states.

I imagine that my grandfather saw the future of our Federal Government, a Federal Government much as it is today and he didn't like what he saw.

At the end of the war, out of 1,111 known members of the 26th Alabama; 360 are known to have been killed, 93 finished the war in prison or on furlough after being released, 2 escaped from a prisoner of war camp, 10 joined the Union Army, 146 are known to have been discharged or resigned, 39 are known to have deserted and 387 have some partial records.

John Edmonds was one of the 10 who were offered enlistment in the Union Army, and given the deplorable conditions at Fort Delaware and later Point Lookout, I would imagine it wasn’t a hard choice.

In October of 1863 he joined Captain George W. Alh's Independent Battery, Delaware Heavy Artillery of the Union Army. On July 25, 1865 he was given back his rebel musket, mustered out of the Union Army and walked the 872 miles back home to Alabama.

In the years after the war he returned to Natural Bridge Alabama where he married the widow of a follow soldier killed in action while a member of 1st Alabama Calvary.

There he raised a family and often “flagged” his monthly Union Army pension check he would pick up at the local post office, making a point to ride his horse by the homes of his brothers waiving his $6.00 a month check and reminding all who would listen that they fought for the wrong side.

John Edmonds died on July 31, 1918 and is buried at Concord Baptist Church Cemetery in Natural Bridge Alabama.

Post Script -  a replica of that flag above hangs in my garage. Out of sight to most my neighbors but a reminder of my grandfathers unwavering loyalty to God, Family and his home state of Alabama. Oddly enough my great grandfather and I share the same birthday April, 7th.

10 reasons attending the Masters is different from any other tournament

Mrs. Cedar asked the other day how many Masters have we attended. I thought I had the answer 8 well maybe 9? No more than that. Of course I have all the badges and they are framed along with dozens of other tournaments. Let's see there was 95 because I remember it was Tiger's first trip to Augusta he tied for 41st the only amature to make the cut.

But I have 87 and 92 chairs.

1997 the year Tiger won, 99, 2001, 2004, 2005, 2009. 2014, 17 and 19 and 2024. I have no explanation for the five year absence except covid and the associated madness.

There's cups from 2008 and 2011 but no badges or even grounds tickets.Truth is more times than I can remember. Nothing has prepared me for this moment. 

My memory hasn't faded. I still remember the first time I walked through the main gates past the masters store and the full leader board and out on to th junction of No. 1 tee and No. 9 green and thought to myself 'my God it is more green than I have ever seen in my life!"

The odd thing is I still feel that way. 

And so if you've never been and you don't trust my opinion here's Kellie Stenzel's thoughts. I think she's spot on:

1. Small-town charm

Augusta is not the easiest place to get to, but that doesn’t take away from the enjoyment. When you drive to the course, you’ll see plenty of stands selling tickets on the secondary market and fans walking over to the tournament. (That’s not to mention the collection of Waffle House locations scattered throughout the town.) The Masters is a global event, and the town of Augusta does a great job welcoming all the visitors. During Masters week, there’s nothing more important in northeast Georgia than the golf tournament.

2. Easy parking

Parking for most huge events is a headache, but not at the Masters. You can park right off Berckman’s Rd (for free) and walk right up to the gates. It’s so simple and efficient, and other events should take note! We met tons of other patrons walking in the gates, and hearing their backstories was very interesting.

3. Efficient lines

Standing in line to get in there is a certain buzz in the air. Everyone is so excited. But while everyone is anxious to get in, there’s no chaos trying to get in. Everyone waits patiently and politely. When you finally get to the front of the line, the workers says, “Welcome to the Masters.” You can’t help but crack a smile.

4. Friendly staff

Speaking of the staff, everyone is so friendly! Whether it’s just southern hospitality or Masters charm I’m not sure, but anytime we had a question it was easy to find an answer. One volunteer told us they’d been working the event for 25 years, and they were rewarded with two week-long passes that they shared with friends. Not a bad tradeoff!

5. Historic back nine

The entire course is special, but I’d recommend walking the back nine first. It’s so special seeing all the historic spots where some of the most famous shots in golf have happened. Once you get to Amen Corner, it’ll take your breath away.

6. Immaculate conditions

It goes without saying, but the conditions at Augusta National are unlike anywhere else. There’s not a blade of grass out of place. The bunkers are white as snow. And the greens are slick as glass. We went the day after a huge storm, and the course was still in perfect condition. It’s amazing how well they maintain the grounds.

7. Excellent concessions

The Masters is known for its affordable concessions, and they live up to the hype. The pimento cheese sandwich is a fan favorite, and it’s hard to go wrong with an Azalea cocktail. The prices might be cheap, but the fare is still high quality.

8. Honor system seating

At Augusta National, patrons can purchase their very own Masters chairs to use on the course. It’s tradition for fans to set up their chairs and leave them while they walk the course, knowing they will still be there when they return. I’d always known of this tradition, but it was cool to see it in person. If you place your chair down in a prime viewing location, you’ve got your spot reserved for the entire day. Pretty cool!

9. Amazing golf

With so much fanfare around the event, it can be easy to forget that there’s an actual tournament going on, but watching the best players in the world compete on such a great course is a real treat. And when Tiger is there, it just takes things to a new level.

10. No phones

There are no phones allowed at the Masters, and while that might seem inconvenient, it’s actually quite nice. Spending time with your family and friends in such a special place, without the distraction of technology, is quite nice. I can’t wait for my next opportunity to go back.

One Striking Tiger Woods Moment You Missed on Masters Thursday

AUGUSTA, Ga. — James Colgan GOLF.com

It never quite occurs to you that the phrase spine-tingling is overused until you’re standing at the bend of Amen Corner on Masters Thursday.

But then suddenly you’re there, with Tiger Woods emerging from the shadows of the 11th fairway at Augusta National just a few shots off the opening round Masters lead, and it occurs to you that your spine is tingling. Not in a sappy, metaphorical way — but in tangible bursts of energy that start at the base of your neck and travel down your spine. 

Every cell in your body, every atom, is strained toward the image of a 48-year-old Tiger Woods in a peach-colored polo shirt trotting down toward his ball at the base of the green. It doesn’t matter that Adam Scott and Cameron Young are about to hit their approach shots into the hole Augusta National chairman Fred Ridley compared to the Mona Lisa just feet away. Nobody can look away, and even though nobody’s said it, you all know why.

The truth is that we don’t know how many more times we’ll see an able-bodied Tiger Woods make it to the fringe of the 11th green at the Masters while still in contention. And though that accomplishment feels small and low on Thursday next to the Masters achievements that have managed to change the course of the club and tournament and sport of golf, it’s an accomplishment that the 2,500 or so of us can cling to together. 

It’s foolish that the golf world hopes Woods can still win a 16th major. The golf world knows that. It’s the first thing most of Amen Corner says when he arrives.

“Well, he’s got a pretty good trot,” one of them says. 

“Doesn’t look too painful,” a woman replies.

But then the scoreboard changes over Woods’ head and a cheer ripples through the crowd. Tiger is one under, good for T17 on a darkness-shortened opening day. Hope may be foolish, but it’s stubborn.

Tiger likely won’t win a sixth green jacket this week. He hasn’t played a 72-hole tournament in 14 months. He hasn’t played 72 holes at the Masters in two years … and 72 competitive holes in longer than that. His odds of hanging with the best golfers in the world over four days — a group that includes Scottie Scheffler, whose game is nearing a Woodsian level of boring inevitability — are still long. And yet it’s after 7 p.m. on Thursday evening and there’s hardly room for a soul to squeeze into the spectator’s mound behind Amen Corner, which means there’s still a chance.

Woods takes a moment to survey his chip shot on the 11th before he addresses his ball. He settles on a sort of high-spinner he’s hit at least a hundred times on this hole, the kind where the ball whizzes through the air before halting on command. The key is utterly perfect contact, but a thousand of these shots rest deep in the memory of those calloused hands. He scares the flag with the shot, which arcs through the air like a wiffle ball and spins like one, resting neatly on the edge of the hole. 

This crowd has screamed a million times for Tiger Woods chip shots on these holes, but this time is different. They roar with a deep, sudden delight. Woods taps in a moment later and the noise follows again.

Woods laughs with Joe Greiner, the caddie for his playing partner Max Homa, as he walks toward the 12th tee box — the hole Ridley called the “most iconic par-3 in the world.” But they’re alone in the laughter. 

Perhaps it’s that the pair realizes they’ve only got two holes left until play will be delayed for darkness, leaving Tiger with some 23 holes on Friday, the latest test of his physical upper limits. Perhaps it’s that they know that one under for Tiger Woods on Masters Thursday is enough to keep open the possibility that he can stick around in contention. Perhaps it’s that they realize the chip shot surprised all of us at Amen Corner, even Tiger.

The rest of the crowd has gotten over the surprise. They’re busy rising, slowly at first, and then all at once — for what will surely be the longest and loudest standing ovation at the 12th hole at the Masters … until Woods returns again tomorrow.

The moment is short. The ovation is gone quickly. But it feels like the least the gallery can do on Masters Thursday. They know they’re running on borrowed time, and it’s difficult to express the depth of the gratitude and appreciation they feel without upsetting the green jackets. So they stand and cheer, and they hope a little too.

And it’s the hope that sticks with you. Even when it’s for the guy with the mangled body and zero 72-hole tournaments played this year. Because just for a moment you feel it too. 

It starts in the spine.

Cedar's Take: Seriously the best I've read on Tiger in sometime. As someone who has been inside the ropes, Wells Fargo, US Open, PGA Championship, Ryder Cup and others I'm not easy to impress. Yet impressed I am. I hope you  are as well.

Years ago I used to take shots at Tiger, he's not really a joy to be around. On the course he's all business. Off the course his personal life has always been a mess. This is a guy who named his 155 foot yacht Privacy and then made his crew cover up the name while in port.

My Tiger Woods story "Tiger Woods and Two Pickled Eggs" is still better. Funny when I read it I'm tempted to update it but no, it will stay as it is because this is my show and I do whatever I like.

Now driving Tiger Woods! 

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.