In 1957, I was 13. I had a paper route in the afternoons after school in Oak Cliff. I had somewhere around 120 papers to deliver every day. The papers were Dallas newspapers, and they were heavy. It was a tough route to walk every day. It was good for me, though. It made me tough. I carried two bags of papers -- one over each shoulder. I walked for a couple of miles, delivering those papers. Delivering papers was a way I could contribute to the 'Shoemake family income.' I helped buy groceries with my paper route money and never minded doing it one bit. I felt like a real asset to the family. I felt important--I 'contributed' and that's a good thing for a kid (then or now!).
I was still an immature kid, however, and once or twice I got into trouble via the afternoon paper route. My papers were delivered each day on the north side of the Sunset church of Christ parking lot, out by the curb on Jefferson Boulevard, just west of Hampton Road. On one particular day, I decided to take my pellet rifle with me. I chose a day when the papers were pretty light, and the added weight of the air rifle was not going to be a burden. While waiting for the papers to arrive by delivery truck, I started plinking at things -- cans and bottles that I found next to the church parking lot. I got bored with those targets and soon spied targets I could not resist! The large floodlight bulbs esconced within metal reflectors, situated high up on the auditorium building of the Sunset church where we were members. I knew it was wrong, but I was a dumb kid, with no sense of the cost of things or the mess that I would make. I was tempted and I gave in to temptation. I began aiming at, and exploding the bulbs. I was having great fun, until Jack Hardcastle, our pulpit minister, drove up and got out of his car.
Mr. Hardcastle asked me if I was the one who was responsible for the glass on the ground under the reflectors on the sides of the building. I was standing there with a pellet rifle. I was the only person for a hundred yards. The glass had barely stopped 'tinkling' on the concrete, and, if this had been a Western film, my rifle barrel would still have been 'smoking' from the firing of the rifle! No, I didn't look guilty...NOT MUCH! A reasoning person, 'caught with the goods', would have instantly confessed to the crime, knowing that it was all over. Instead of doing this, I stood my ground and came out with what I remember as the first whopper I had ever told in my life. I denied what I had done! I LIED!
Mr. Hardcastle was not pleased, but he outwardly expressed his acceptance of my denial as 'the gospel truth'....and he never told my parents! I would have been beat within an inch of my life had he told Mom and Dad. I was ashamed, but kept my conscience in check, and covered up the lie. The guilt in me festered like a boil.
My conscience bothered me for years. In 1964, after having enrolled at Oklahoma Christian College, Jack Hardcastle was on campus, for the OCC Lectureship, if memory serves me correctly. I saw him from a distance and worked my way through the crowd, wanting to talk with him. When I got my chance, I introduced myself to him...hesitantly. He remembered me, and smiled a kind smile -- not the reproving scowl I deserved and half-expected. I told Mr. Hardcastle that in the summer of 1957 when he drove up and saw me with the air rifle and asked me if I had been the one shooting out the flood lights and had denied doing so ---that I WAS the one who had been doing just that! He smiled a forgiving and understanding smile, put his hand on my shoulder, and told me that he had known it all along. He told me that he forgave me for what I had done and had watched me over the years following my 'Sunset shootout', and knew that I had become someone different...someone with 'admirable qualities'. He told me that he knew that I had done things for my family and that he appreciated who I had become -- adding that he had often inquired about me over the years. He told me that he could tell that I was truly sorry, and that now I had to forgive myself.
I walked away from my talk with Mr. Hardcastle, and as I left him I felt like I had been reborn! I had confessed something that had bothered me for years, and had been forgiven. I had never known that kind of forgiveness from my own Dad, who I am sure, loved me and my brother George and my other siblings, but we were never TOLD that we were forgiven...or loved. Forgiveness, or an arm around the shoulder, or kind words were not something that we got from our Dad. We were disciplined, and we were provided for, but what we really wanted and needed was always missing from Dad. I know he meant well, but all four of us kids wished things could have been different.
As a consequence-- in my adult life, I have 'seized' on the qualities I have seen in men whom I have respected. At Fort Worth Christian College (1962 and 1963), I locked in on Elmo Hall, one of my professors. I also homed in on Marshall Keeble, a fiery black minister, who was the best preacher I had ever heard in my life to that point in time. I admired Jimmy Allen, the evangelist.
When I transferred to OCC in the fall of 1964, I again saw and watched Elmo Hall. I saw how he treated his family, and how he treated people with whom he came into contact every day. I saw his compassion, his love of the Lord, and the constancy of his devotion to family and the church. I watched and learned from Ralph Burcham, Mickey Banister and Bailey McBride, in whom I have seen an uncommon kindness and a gentleness of spirit that is magnetic! I found wisdom in all of these men, and a 'composite' of all the things I hold dear, and treasure in godly men. I have never told any of these men what I am sharing with you now, but I will. They need to know what an impact they have had on my life (and the lives of countless others).
People are watching all of us all the time, observing how we treat others...looking to see if we are the 'genuine article.' Lives are being changed all the time by the way we live our lives...by the way we treat people...by our words, our actions...a warm smile, a word of forgiveness or encouragement or a hand around a shoulder. Let's all remember to love each other. Life is over so quickly...each of us has a chance...as well as a responsibility...to be a light in this world.
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