Lionized, at the Dallas zoo!

My dad's Mom was a pretty stern woman. She was capable of having fun, but most of the time, seemed pretty serious to me. My Dad never told too many 'funny' stories about his Mom (who didn't want to be called 'Granny', 'Grams', or any of the other endearing old-sounding names that most grandmothers settle into). No, she insisted that we call her by her first name...Tennie. Her full name, in all its glory was: Tennie Hortense (Childress) Shoemake, until late in life when she remarried when my grand dad died and her last name became Houston. She and her husband, Eugene, and her twin boys, Jack (my dad) and Gene (for whom I am named), lived in Sherman, Texas.

The story as related to me, went like this: One nice winter day, my grand dad took Tennie and my dad to the zoo. Dad's twin brother had died, when he was two years old, so my Dad was an only child. Tennie was sporting a new fur coat, of which she was very proud. They strolled along the paths, in front of the cages. Back in those days, the animals were not sealed away from humans with walls of glass AND massive bars and moats. The animals were behind bars, and people with common sense stayed on the paths and didn't get up in the face of the animals -- within reach of massive arms and teeth. Most people back then had a brain in their heads, unlike some people today who want to climb into the animals' homes and 'bond' with the wild beasts!

Anyway, Tennie and her husband, Eugene, and Jack were strolling along, enjoying their outing when they paused in front of the lion's cage. As they stood there, something like 'coat envy' must have been aroused in the male lion nearest the path where Dad and his parents were standing. Suddenly, the lion turned his back to them, raised his tail and shot a stream of the most foul-smelling urine directly onto Tennie and her brand new coat! That event ended the trip to the zoo on, shall we say, a 'sour note'...and the Shoemake family hurriedly exited the zoo and returned home, smelling, all the way home, from Dallas to Sherman, Texas -- an hour and a half away -- like a zillion, fermented, urine-soaked cat boxes on a hot day in August!!

Arriving home, my grand dad, now in a decidedly somber, funereal mood, took the expensive fur coat out behind their home, and reluctantly, almost ceremoniously, holding the fur coat out on the end of a stick, deposited it in a large steel drum, normally used for burning their garbage. He doused the fur coat with coal-oil and threw in a match. He then moved away -- and upwind -- from the barrel with uncharacteristic speed. The smell of the burning urine-soaked fur coat ran a few neighbors out of their homes. They all asked about the whereabouts of dear Tennie, who was inside their home, scrubbing her skin in a tub of hot water, in an attempt to cleanse her body of the foul-smelling lion urine.

This event at the zoo may have been the catalyst that caused her to become a compulsive user of bleach. I remember Tennie bleaching dishes, even silverware (causing them to turn black from the action of the bleach). EVERYTHING in her home got bleached...EVERYTHING...even the concrete steps on her front and back porch. The bleach didn't hurt her, though -- she lived to be 102. That was one clean woman.

It is said that Tennie never again wore a fur coat...or visited a zoo...after being 'lionized' at the Dallas zoo on a brisk winter day!

It made no scents...no scents at all!

One hot summer night in Dallas, my brother George and I got into a bunch of trouble. I was 16, George was 14, and we were out, after dinner, looking for a little trouble to get into. We walked east, about two blocks, with no particular destination in mind, enjoying the night air, the loud crickets and tree frogs. We had enjoyed a nice meal at home, but, in those days, Mom and Dad didn't have central air conditioning in their home. We had a 'swamp cooler' and a couple of window air conditioning units. We preferred being outdoors in the evenings, until bedtime, and often would run into friends and spend time with them.

As we walked east on Circle Drive, we noticed a street light up ahead, and what appeared to be a small dog, under the street light, eating the June bugs that had been attracted to the light. As we got closer, however, we realized that this was no dog -- it was a SKUNK! We had never been this close to a skunk, and, knowing how 'ripe' skunks can be, when aroused, we couldn't resist the temptation to stir up a little trouble.

We hurried over to the flowerbed of one of our neighbors, and picked up a number of dirt clods, which we began 'winging' at the skunk. We were lousy shots, and a number of our earthen missiles missed our intended target. The skunk, however, was becoming agitated, and did a little dance, and sort of stomped his feet as he pivoted around and around. One dirt clod, however, nailed the skunk and the skunk responded with...well, you know what he responded with! The skunk turned away from us, raised his tail, and let fly! Out of range, and laughing, we continued throwing clods of dirt, and the poor skunk appeared to continue his 'olfactory retaliatiion!' Finally, we noticed the smell! It was unbelievably strong! That smell was also beginning to be 'noticed' by homeowners in this part of the neighborhood, who had the retching scent pulled into THEIR swamp coolers, and into their homes! People began leaving their homes, in a vain attempt to get away from the terrible odor. That is when some of the neighbors noticed the Shoemake boys -- and the skunk -- and putting two and two together, knew we were the cause of the scintillating episode, and the authors of their distress! It was hard to tell which exhibited more anger, the homeowners or the skunk.

We couldn't help laughing, however, and as we ran back toward our home, we had no idea that the stinky business had enveloped OUR home as well! To make matters worse, one or more of the neighbors up the hill had called Mom and Dad and had expressed their displeasure with the Shoemake boys. We got into trouble, but, in a day or two, when the stink had abated a little, all was forgiven...at home. Some of the neighbors never did seem to 'forgive and forget'. To this day I don't know why we did it...it made no scents then...and it still makes no scents at all! :)

My 'break-up' with Norwich Pharmaceuticals

I was a gawky kid. Skinny and buck teeth that stuck out so far I should have been required to put red flags on the ends of them so people could see me coming and not get impaled on them! Socially I was ill-at-ease, due to my looks. On the outside, I was sort of a misfit. On the inside, however, I lived a rich, fulfilled life. By
5th grade I had read every book in the elementary school library in Houston, Texas. I read voraciously (still do!), and loved to learn. I did not, however, care for learning 'classroom style'. On the outside, I probably appeared to be a little socially challenged, while on the inside, life was good! I was a quiet kid, preferring solitude to being with 'the crowd.'

When I was 15, in 1959, and had just started the 10th grade, I was asked, by one of the deacons at the La Marque church of Christ, to 'wait on the table', and was further asked to offer prayers for the bread, the fruit of the vine and then, later, before the offering. I practiced all week long, trying to 'get it together' for the big event.

When it was time to assemble before the congregation, I looked out at the crowd and, at the moment when it was time for the prayer for the bread, I 'double-clutched'---froze up!---and just stood there, for what seemed like minutes. People began raising their heads and looking at me. I stared back at them. I was dying inside, but I couldn't make a sound! Finally, at long, long last, one of the grown men standing there beside me, offered a prayer for the bread, while I stood there, red-faced with shame.

The communion service seemed to take hours, and, as I passed the plates and trays with the other kids and men who were helping, I just wanted to run out of the building. I had never before been humiliated at church. I had been humiliated plenty of times at school, but church had always been a 'sanctuary'. Now, I felt I had been 'discovered' at church -- I had been been plopped down in the 'scales of life' and had come up short!

When the communion service was over, I sneaked out of the back of the building and went to Dad's car and got in and got down in the floorboard in the back seat, and stayed there, out of sight, until church was over and my parents came to the car and we left. This was my high-water-mark of shame, and it would be years before I would lead another prayer in public.

Fast forward to 1985, 26 years later. Teeth now straightened. Married with two kids, Gena and Jeff. I had graduated from OCC and entered sales work -- insurance sales. Then sales of data communications equipment. Most of my adult life has been spent in sales of some kind. However, getting up in front of a lot of people had still always been difficult for me. Then, in 1985, a friend of mine -- Bill Thompson (he and Kathy are members at Memorial Road), asked me to be his guest at Edmond Toastmasters on a Friday morning. I went with Bill -- a little reluctantly -- since the idea of getting up in front of a group of people had always given me, shall we say, 'severe intestinal distress'....oh, what the heck, let me be blunt: raging diarrhea!

In this group setting, I saw other people trying to overcome their fear of public speaking. This setting, however, was different: instead of receiving ridicule at every slip-up, here were people who were understanding and sympathetic. I found camaraderie and wonderful support. The others in this Toastmasters group represented a wide range of speaking ability. Some were new, like I was. Some had been involved with the group for awhile and were steadily improving. Others were seasoned, competent speakers. Everyone was made to feel welcome. We were given a manual, with specific assignments made for our level of competence (or lack thereof). The assignments gradually became more challenging sequentially. One would start out with an 'Icebreaker', telling about oneself. Other elements were added over the weeks ahead, including things like: eye contact, gestures, voice modulation, voice projection, vocabulary, speech organization, the use of humor, and so many other elements to successful public speaking. I have never been in another organization more supportive of an individuals attempts at self-improvement. One is not 'judged' by comparison with others in the group...one's performance is compared, week by week, with the objectives in ones' manual for that specific assignment. Now, back to my story -- the reason for this post on my blog!

After I had visited the Toastmasters #170 group in Edmond, with Bill Thompson, I was given a manual and with it, my first assignment: My 'Icebreaker'. I agreed to give my Icebreaker the following Friday morning. I left the meeting all fired up, but, once I was back home, reading the manual, my old fears surfaced again. 'What have I gotten into?' I thought. My mind began racing as I tried to figure a graceful way of bowing out of this commitment. One well-worn excuse after another kept popping into my mind. I mentally tried on different excuses -- to see if any of them would sound solid. No luck. Finally, I resigned myself to going through with it. The fear of public speaking, they say, is greater than the fear of death itself. I believed it! My mind became like a racehorse, speeding around the track, looking for a gap in the fence that I could charge through and get away from the stress and anxiety --- the raw fear that gripped me!

Thursday night came and I found myself, in the bathroom, on the throne, for hours----as I contemplated Friday morning and the fate that awaited me at 7:00 a.m., just hours away. I heard the ticking of the clock on the wall, and the ticks started sounding like the pounding of a blacksmith's hammer on his anvil, as he finished attaching the ball and chain to my ankle, sealing my destiny, as a prisoner of fear!

It was now 3 a.m., and in the solitude of our master bathroom, once again seated on the throne of my misery while reading the label on my last bottle of Pepto Bismol, I idly read the contents of the bottle, wondering when the action of the pink liquid would begin to quell my insides. Then I read on the label that the product was made by Norwich Pharmaceuticals, and a light went off in my head! That's it, I nearly yelled out loud! THAT'S IT! I'll give my Icebreaker as a humorous speech...about my lifelong fear of public speaking and how I intent to change all of that through Toastmasters! I'm going to learn to speak in front of groups with no fear!

A few hours later, I dressed in a suit and delivered my Icebreaker. The title of my Icebreaker was: 'MY BREAK FROM NORWICH PHARMACEUTICALS' The butterflies in my stomach were not gone, but as someone else once said: "the butterflies are not gone, but now they're flying in formation!" That was my first speech in Toastmasters, but I won 'Best Speaker of the Day', and, from that point forward, speaking in public has never again been a source of unbridled fear. I was able to cut my depencence on Pepto Bismol. I was free at last!

Fear is not a bad thing...it can allow you to focus wonderfully, as it can make your brain feel like it is on fire....and you can call on mental resources you do not even know that you have. Too much fear is debilitating. Too little fear and your mental preparation may be sluggish. Preparation, as through Toastmasters, and the training it provides, can help you 'organize and control' your fear and help you say what you want to say.

The training one receives from Toastmasters can also help you improve your speech, helping you leave out all the extraneous 'you knows'...and 'uhs'....and, uh, uh, you know.....that mark the speech of many people. Did you hear Caroline Kennedy's interview recently? Someone said that in a matter of a couple of minutes, she said 'uh' and 'you know' dozens and dozens of times.

If the fear of speaking in public is something that you feel is holding you back, and if you want to change, I would suggest that you drop in sometime, here in Edmond, at Edmond Toastmasters #170, and start down a path that may change your life! It changed mine! I only remained in Toastmasters for a few years, but, in that time, I was given some great training and some great evaluations, and, once I had completed the first manual of assignments, I became a 'Competent Toastmaster.'

I am grateful to the Toastmasters International organization for a life-changing experience.

Winner-winner, chicken dinner!

This message is for the winners of the putter drawing for those faithful readers of my blog. (See an earlier post) To Matt Gayle and Neil Arter, your putters will be ready on Monday, January 19th. Devynna, your putter will be ready the following weekend, since I got your artwork a little later than I did from the others, and had to wait until I had about 40 names of people for the next batch of putters, and I included your name with theirs. I will have that artwork back by next Wednesday, I hope, and can have your putter ready for Justin by the weekend, when I get back from a fast trip to Texas. I never heard from the other winner, so I will do a 'makeup drawing' for the last putter....and will select from names of people who comment in January. I'm enjoying your comments, and I also enjoy the putter drawings. Thanks for making this so much fun!

Paula and I are just reviving our golf club company, after a 7-year hiatus, while we looked for a foundry that could make high quality stainless steel putter heads. We never found one in the U.S. that would work with us, so we went offshore. Didn't want to, but, that's why we did what we did. Our order came in in late fall and we have been putting everything together again in order to 'open our doors' again for business! We're there, and we're having fun already. Our company name is CustomPutt, Inc., (not a typo--CustomPutt is one word), and the name of the putter is One Stroke. It's 'not just a pretty face', but it is a fully-functional putter, that is so beautiful it almost looks like a piece of jewelry.

It has taken awhile, due to a heavy work load in the roofing business, to be able to put all the pieces together again, to be ready to start production of the clubs, but we're there, finally! For you winners, we hope you'll enjoy them!

Fore!....or, was that four...as in 4? That's it! Four! Four winners! Leave your comments and maybe you'll win a beautiful, custom-personalized putter, with your printed name or actual signature, prominently displayed in the club head (see the earlier post, for a picture of the club head).

Later! :)

Christians shouldn't call it "Pot Luck"

Today, at Memorial Rd., I was mentally right square in the middle of another really good sermon from Mark Taylor, about the qualifications of elders, when my stomach started talking to me....I was really hungry because we got up late and did not have time for breakfast. Don't tell the preacher, but, for a minute or two, I got really sidetracked, thinking about food. I don't take orders from my stomach, (not that you'd know that by looking at me...I, like my Dad and my siblings always have looked like we were ready for market!), but, for just a minute or two, I was slopping around in a mental world of caloric indulgence!

I then carried the food thought to tonight, when our Brother's Keepers group will get together and I thought of how much I always look forward to that event! Then I thought of what they call the randomness of the food selections that are always brought to these wonderful fellowship events. They call the food part of the get-together, a "Pot Luck". Tongue-in-cheek, I smiled at the thought that Christians are not about 'luck', and perhaps we should have another name for it. I instantly settled on the name: "Pot Providence", since I firmly believe that God is in control of this world. Whether or not God has anything to do with the apparent randomness of our selection of food dishes for Brothers Keepers, I do like the new name much better, and, think we should immediately adopt this new descriptive name for our fellowship events. Naturally, I want full credit for the name, and would appreciate all of you honoring my ownership of this name. Accordingly, I expect an immediate and continued influx of royalty payments, as you pick up on and begin using this new name-- a name that is more reflective of our true sentiments regarding God's interest in and direction of our lives as Christians. I realize that 'Pot Providence' is a mouthful...and it might be simpler to just abbreviate it and call it 'P-P', but....on second thought, that might not be a great name. Let's just stick with the game change and call it 'Pot Providence'...agreed?

Let the royalties begin!

P.S. Mark smiled at me as he and his family walked by where Paula and I were sitting. Mark is a wonderful preacher, and he always speaks to my heart. I've asked God to forgive me for my inattention for a couple of minutes. If I knew their names, I would apologize to the people sitting in the first five rows nearest where we were sitting, who had to listen to the yearnings of my stomach. Sorry! (I hope that Mark wasn't smiling as he walked by because he heard me all the way up front to the pulpit! I'm almost paranoid enough to believe just that!).

The Night in 1961 When We Went 'Holy Rolling'

One night, after church, when I was 17, five guys-- all of us members of the Sunset church of Christ in Oak Cliff, in Dallas, were 'out' after church one night. We had often driven by a converted movie theater on the west side of Oak Cliff, and we decided to go into what was now called 'Soul's Harbor'. We knew this to be a church of what people back then called 'Holy Rollers', and we were curious about them. We parked the car we were in and went inside. The group consisted of Lloyd (the son of Loyd Smith, our preacher), my brother George and I, James Morgan and John Bixby.

Once inside, we found our way to the auditorium. We just followed the sounds of the loud music. We sat near the back of the old theater -- all of us in a row -- and were amazed at what we saw! The semi-darkened auditorium was comfortable and clean, and we could see a woman down front on the stage. She was dressed in a long, flowing gown of some kind, with what looked like red roses all over it. She had the microphone, and she was 'talking, gesturing, exhorting and at times, almost shouting' -- working the crowd. She had a number of people on the stage with her, and a number of them had musical instruments. We could not tell that they were playing any kind of music, in particular. It seemed like the guitars and the drums were more for emphasis to her spoken words than anything else....much like what one sees now when watching Jay Leno at night.  While this woman was walking around and stirring up the crowd, many people in the audience were doing things as well. Some people had their hands up in the air, and were waving back and forth, like people one sometimes sees at a sporting event.  Others were writhing around, while still more or less in a standing position. Some seemed to be under some kind of spell, and a few were down on the floor in the aisles, being attended to by people, in an unhurried, nonchalant manner.  We assumed that those prostrate on the floor had been 'slain in the spirit.'

I assumed that this was a pretty regular occurrence-- we had never seen anything like this all our lives!  We had all grown up in a very conservative church of Christ, our services being predictably: announcements, a song and a prayer, two more songs and a sermon with an invitatiion, followed by another song and a closing prayer, and all of it timed to net out to an hour, or, a little less.  Any longer than that and people would be looking at their watches...and at each other, with those telltale looks that spoke volumes.  The 'weak brothers and sisters'...those who sat on the 'cafeteria early-bird pews' at the back, would get up, family-by-family, with somber, 'we don't want to leave early, but we have urgent business somewhere to take care of' looks on their faces, and they would load up in their cars and head for Wyatt's cafeteria.  These were never the elders and deacons, nor those who were 'involved' in anything.  These people were the 'fringies'...people on the fringe of things at church....not the 'movers and shakers' who sat further up toward the pulpit. (Halfway kidding here). Things at Sunset were sedate, and predictable.  Nothing like this!

As time went on that evening, it got louder and louder. At one point, a bunch of big, burly guys took up a collection. People were getting up and moving about, and it was not at all like what went on at the Sunset church of Christ. We were astounded at the racket, the loud music, the drums and cymbals, and the activities on stage and in the audience. While there were likely over a hundred people in the old converted theater, it was not a packed crowd, and a lot of people were constantly getting up and down, moving around. It was a restless bunch of people. At one point, we were having a little trouble being respectful and considerate. We were getting tickled at what we saw, and it was about time for us to leave. My brother, George, reached into his pocket when they were taking up another collection, and he threw a penny from the back of the auditorium toward the stage.

What happened next brought our visit to Souls Harbor to a screeching halt! The penny appeared to strike the woman on the stage right in the forehead and she reeled back. Her shouting stopped and she shielded her eyes against the bright stage lights and looked out over the audience. She spotted us, as we were making our departure, and she shouted something --in a surprisingly husky voice-- that sounded very much like: 'GET 'EM!!'

At once, those same big burly men --- now identified to us by their demeanor and appearance as bouncers -- came running toward us from different places in the auditorium! We headed for the exit doors at a dead run. We all arrived at the bank of exit doors pretty much at the same time, but as we approached the doors and had our arms out in front of us, to 'hit the doors running', we heard a deep, angry voice shout, 'COME HERE, RED!' RED?! Not me! -- I had blond hair! The guy was going for John Bixby, who had flaming red hair. John was also over 200 pounds back then. The rest of us were in the neighborhood of 140-150 pounds. As the bouncer shouted at John and reached out toward him (all of us were running) -- John didn't open the door -- he more or less crashed through the doorway in panic-- sending the door flying open. The rest of us, having heard the booming voice of the bouncer, also were through our doors with...shall we say...a bit of a sense of haste, mixed with thoughts of impending doom.

We were now flying down the sidewalk, heading, not for our car, but for the adjacent neighborhood, where we split up and ran through the alleys. The bouncers-- four or five of them, as I remember -- were in hot pursuit. That proved to be a good thing-- the bouncers were big men, and they couldn't run like the five of us. As the expression we often used in those days went: We were 'hookin' 'em!'...running like the wind! We ran into the alleyways, hiding behind trash cans, garages, bushes, etc. John Bixby, scared witless, outran most of us! John's athletic skills, born of sheer terror, were only matched by James Morgan, who leaped over a fence that I had trouble climbing over! I had never seen Morgan move at greater than a snail's pace. He walked slowly and talked slowly. I had no idea he could move like that! We were so scared we were laughing some...nervous, scared-to-death laughter.

Eventually, the bouncers, who had searched for us for some time in a car, gave up the search. We had seen them cruising up and down the streets and alleyways in their big car -- windows down, big, burly arms hanging out the windows, making their 1950's Ford look like a giant, menacing, many-legged bug as they 'trolled the area around the church', looking for us. We clearly felt that they were not searching for us, like Good Shepherds, looking to find the lost sheep...rather, we felt like they were more like Avenging Angels, eagerly seeking to introduce us to the wrath of God, swift Judgment and Eternal Doom!

Much later on, we sneaked back into the parking lot, next to the 'Temple of Doom' and retrieved Lloyd's car and went home. Much, much later, we were all ashamed over our behavior. I didn't know that George was going to throw a penny. George didn't have any idea that his penny would do anything more than clatter around on the stage. It didn't matter that we had not gone there to cause trouble. What mattered is that we DID cause trouble, and had shown disrespect to people who, no doubt, were worshipping God and seeking miraculous healing for their afflictions. Most of the people in the audience were probably sincere -- everyone except the leaders of that Souls Harbor outfit. (For more information on that organization, and its leaders, and what they allegedly did in the name of God, do a Google search and read all about it). What we did was still wrong. No doubt about it. We all laughed about it back then. As we got older, we realized that what we had done was clearly wrong. One can disagree with religious error, and recognize when some people are apparently taking advantage of other people's pain and fear and ignorance. Ridicule, and disrespect, however, are always wrong, and we all eventually learned lessons from the evening we went 'holy rolling.'

Caught Playing Hookey

In the fall of 1959, I had just started the 10th grade. I was 15, and didn't care much for school. I was younger than my classmates, and didn't fit in very well. Besides, I was skinny (believe it or not!), and had a really flashy set of Mortimer Snerd buck teeth. All these things combined to make me wish I could be invisible.

We lived in La Marque, Texas, right outside Galveston, and many of the townspeople were of German or French origin. I mentioned in an earlier blog about the name of my high school principal, Mr. Schlegelmilch. My boss, at the grocery store where I worked after school, was Mrs. Meisetschlager. A lot of the names were a mouthful, to say the least. The high school I attended wasn't bad -- I was just not very happy being there.

One fine, sun-shiny day, after arriving at school, a friend of mine from the next street over --- Bobby Frankovitch -- who was a year older and much more mature (NOT) than I was, talked me into skipping school with him. So, we skipped out and left school in the early afternoon. As we meandered down neighborhood streets, heading in a general direction toward the neighborhood where we lived, we stopped and picked ripe fruit from someone's kumquat tree (a delicious orange-like fruit, with an edible skin -- oval shaped). We loaded up on fruit and then continued slowly walking down the street. It was warm, so we both took off our shirts and tied them around our waists. We couldn't go home --- our Moms were stay-at-home Moms and we didn't want to get 'busted', so we picked a vacant lot next to a large, 2-story home and made ourselves comfortable under the shade of a big moss-festooned oak tree.

We were enjoying ourselves immensely, when, suddenly, a really old, very thin woman, wearing an apron and brandishing a broom, came from the 2-story house and told us, in decidedly unfriendly tones, to 'march ourselves right back to school'. I was not brought up to be disrespectful to my elders, but Bobby had no such inhibitions. He talked back to the lady, and she swatted him with the broom. Bobby grabbed the business end of the broom and didn't turn loose for a few seconds. The little old lady didn't like that a bit. She returned to the house. We continued laying out on the ground, but then decided that maybe we should move on down the street.

We continued walking and eating fruit, and before long, a police cruiser, with lights flashing, pulled up next to us and told us to get in. As it turned out, the little old lady with the broom ran a boarding house for retired school teachers! We really could pick great places to skip school, swipe fruit and take naps!

"Oh, great, I thought!

We've done it now! We're gonna get in a lot of trouble!"

Bobby was strangely unconcerned, and said not to worry about it. He said that he had skipped school before. "All they'll do is bust us a few times", he said. My eyes got large. "We're gonna get busted?," I asked. Bobby laughed. I guessed, right about then that Bobby's rear end was a little more calloused than mine was. I didn't want to get in trouble, and I really didn't want to get busted!

The police officer pulled right into the circle driveway on the back side of the high school, and, as bad luck would have it, classes had turned out, and everybody was heading for their last class of the day. Everybody in school, it seemed, was an eye-witness to our shame. As we were escorted to the Principal's office by a big police officer, in uniform, packing all the usual menacing weapons that police officers carry, we were really quite a sight.

Bobby was expelled from school from three days. He had indeed 'played hookey' before-- twice before, as it turned out! Claude Hall, the Principal, then asked me to enter his office. I couldn't have been more embarrassed. Principal Hall was one of the deacons at the La Marque church of Christ, where my parents and I were members. I felt such shame at my public reproach! When he had me seated in his office, he looked at me with those unsmiling, baleful eyes and said: "Gene, I suppose you think I'm mad at you for the stunt that you and Bobby pulled today." That statement was more than a statement--it was a question -- so, I responded with:
"Yes, sir," to which he replied, after a pregnant pause: "Well, Gene, I'm not mad...I'm just really disappointed." Upon hearing those words, I felt like whale poop at the bottom of the ocean...that, according to others of my age at La Marque High School, was 'as low as you can go.'

I was sent home for the rest of the day, and arrived home to my Mom, waiting at the front door, her face full of embarrassment, anger, concern, and sorrow at my having 'pulled such a stunt'. I was too old and too big for her to whip, so she gave me the silent treatment until Dad got home. When he arrived, he ruined the rest of my day...

Needless to say, I had to walk the straight and narrow at home, school and church --but, before long, the shame and ridicule began to die down. I went back to being an awkward kid who never got in trouble. I worked at Evans grocery store, and became pretty good at catching shoplifters. I felt important at home because I bought the family groceries during the 9th, 10th, 11th, 12th grades, and my freshman year at Fort Worth Christian College, with my 6-day a week jobs at grocery stores in La Marque and in Dallas, after school and on Saturdays. That was important to my sense of worth as a family member. I was never a good student-- I was not interested in school-- but I felt validated and needed, and that was a good thing, I think.

Bobby and I were, after a time, allowed to spend time together again-- catching and raising snakes that we caught in the vacant lots near our home. I was not allowed to keep the snakes that were poisonous (Bobby kept all of those, because his parents didn't mind), but the two of us put together quite a collection of beautiful specimens. Catching snakes was pretty much the sum total of my leisure time. To instantly identify a startled snake, and lunge to grab it safely without harming it meant that I had to be quick, and I was. Snagging snakes helped me develop some awesome reflexes! I decided to start lifting weights and then selected self-defense instruction in school as an elective in gym class. Still skinny and scrawny at first, I found something that caught my interest and in which I found an aptitude.

The next year, a freak accident in shop class elevated my standing at school (read about it in one of my earlier posts), and I was then accepted among my peers. For the first time in my life, I felt that I had been accorded a degree of respect from a number of guys at school who had previously picked on me with impunity. That bullying all stopped-- all of it. I began to enjoy school and never again thought of 'playing hookey!' The self-defense training and weight lifting gradually bore fruit. Previously, I had no direction without or within, but, over time, I began to focus on what I enjoyed and then everything -- at home -- at school and at church, began to come together for me. I began to feel a little better about myself and became a happier kid. Life became sweet -- and has been for pretty much all of my adult life!

God is good, and although each of us progresses through life with 'fits and starts' on our part -- sometimes 'one step forward and two steps back' -- He is faithful to mold us and guide us if we'll just let Him. Although I never 'played hookey' again in school, during my adult life, there have been occasions when I have played hookey with God, and have not always lived up to the expectation that God has always had for me. I have played spiritual hookey, and have lost the focus that I have always known that would have been more pleasing to God. God has not punished me over the years, however, and when I fail, I hear, through his Eternal Word, the voice of God telling me: "No, Gene, I'm not mad, I'm just really disappointed." Ouch! Those soft-spoken words --now the words of God echoing in my mind -- rather than the stern words of a high school Principal, prompt me to try to live better each day. I'm so glad that God is patient and forgiving!

What about you...do you sometimes 'play hookey' with the responsibilities that God has put before you?

"ALL ABOARD!"

I grew up around trains.  My Mom's dad, Hoyt E. McElroy, was a railroad man for the KATY in Denison, Texas, until his death in the 1950's.  His name is inscribed in the granite obelisk outside the KATY depot in Denison, along with all the old-time men who were special people at the Katy, also known as the M-K-T.  M-K-T stood for Missouri, Kansas, Texas. 

My Dad also worked for the KATY back during the late 1950's.   I called Grandpa McElroy 'Papaw', and still remember, like it was just yesterday, that kind old man and his soft brown leather jackets, his really cool 'old man hats' that he wore to work each day, his sweet-smelling pipe and cigars, and his gold railroad watch and long, watch fobs that hung from his vests.  I also remember how good he always smelled -- that clean, just-got-out-of-the-tub smell, mingled with the smell of Old Spice.  I remember his easy smiles and good nature.  I never saw him angry or in a hurry, and he always had time for his grandkids.  One of my fondest memories was of Papaw raking and burning leaves in his backyard on crisp autumn days. 

Papaw loved to take me and my brother George, to the local store, a block away, and buy us trinkets.  Little Scottie dogs -- one black and one white -- with magnets that would make the little dogs move around each other like...well, Scotties would move...fast and abrupt!  He would also buy us little pocket knives with pearl handles, or flashlights.  We were always astounded at his generosity.  He also loved to buy us candy.  Our trips to Denison from Dallas were always special treats. On occasion Papaw would take me to the train yard in Denison, four block west of their home at 515 E. Woodard.  He would let me climb aboard the train and explore the little KATY cabooses in the yard.  I still have one of the caboose keys.  It is a huge key. 

It was fun to go outside their home at different times during the day and watch the big steam engines moving about the train yard, assembling the trains.  Those massive locomotives would belch monstrous clouds of steam and soot into the sky, sometimes almost blocking the sun near the end of the day when the sun would lie low in the sky.  Those engines would rev up and then the huge wheels would spin as they sought traction on the steel tracks.  They would spin and then 'catch' and the train would begin to move, ever so slowly.  The sounds of those engines would rattle my chest and I could feel the sounds as well as hear them.  I loved the train yards, and would always breathe deeply to inhale the smells of creosote from the crossties on the tracks, as well as the smells of the diesel engines.  I loved to look at the different cars that made up the trains, with their different shapes, sizes and colors.  I marveled at the size of those cars and how even such massive engines could pull so many loaded cars.  It was fun to imagine the origins and destinations of all those individual cars.  I got hooked on trains!

Later on my Dad worked for the KATY and he, too, had a lot of neat 'gear' that he used in his work.  He taught me, as my Papaw had taught me, about the different signals that railroad men used (and may still use, for all I know).  For most of my life I have enjoyed standing near railroad crosssings and waving to and smiling at the engineers in the locomotives as they pass the crossings.  I love to feel the rush of the wind as they pass by, and feel the vibration of the very ground on which I am standing.  I love the noises from the axles of the cars and the sounds of metal structures scraping against each other as the trains pass.  I enjoy hearing the sounds of the air hoses and the rhythmic clacking of the wheels on the tracks.  My Mom was raised by Papaw and Granny right there in Denison.  She grew up around trains and also loved them.  As a little girl she never minded the soot that always laid like dust all over everything in their home.  The engines produced enormous clouds of soot and the soot, when the wind was just right, was invariably pulled right through the windows of their home when they were open or when they turned on their attic fan. 

When Mom was 81, she moved to Edmond so we could take care of her as we lost her one day at a time due to Alzheimers.  To the end of her life, she and I, while we talked around Oklahoma Christian Home, reciting Rudyard Kipling's 'L-Envoi' to each other and reminiscing about God, family, flowers, our rock collections, Heaven, Eternity...and, yes, trains, we would often hear the far-away sound of an approaching train.  Quickly we would jump into my truck and head a few blocks west of Boulevard, in Edmond, to a train crossing where we would stop and wait for the train.  We would get out of the truck (unless the weather was really bad) and stand there, soaking up the experience -- the sounds and smells and 'train breeze' and, hand-in-hand, with smiles on our faces and with an occasional tear in our eyes, remember days gone by.  Often my tears were not brought about only by the good-old-days, but, as I looked over at my tiny little Mom, I was living in the moment, realizing that I was losing her a little more each day, and before long, I would no longer enjoy these sweet moments with this perfect woman who was my Mom.  Those thoughts would cause me to grip her little hand a little tighter and hold her a little closer, as I tried through sheer will to remember every detail of this moment. 

Mom's gone now -- she, like a lot of old railroads, finally reached the 'end of the line' in November of 2004.   Although I still go out of my way to be the first at a railroad crossing whenever possible, it's not the same to me now, since she's not there to share in something that was so special also to her.  Still, old habits and memories 'die hard' and I imagine that I'll always smile and respond to the sound of Mom's 'choo-choo's' and seek them out, for they provide a visual and auditory portal into the past for me, allowing me to remember, with great clarity, not so much about the trains themselves, but the people in my life who loved them like I love them and thrilled to the sounds and sights and smells of the old KATY railroad..... "ALL ABOARD!"

Observations About Neighbors -- Part 2

My neighbors are, and for the most part, have always been wonderful people. We live in a neighborhood that has been fairly 'stable' for the 33 years we have lived here, since we built our home in 1975. It is the only home that Paula and I have ever lived in since we married in August of 1972. Most of our neighbors have been here for most of that time. I think, though, that we may be the 'oldest residents' of our neighborhood, just east of the OC campus.

The family to the south of us (where Neil and Joni now live) moved next door to us back in the late '70's, right after Gena was born. They were nice neighbors. They had three sons, and moved here from Michigan. The husband worked at an automotive assembly plant and his wife was a Registered Nurse. They worked hard and took care of their property and were good neighbors. We tried to interest them in Jesus Christ, but they, while polite, were not interested. I'll come back to their story in a few minutes...

Another neighbor, who lived across the street from us (and still lives there, by the way), is a member at Memorial Road. He and his wife, Shirley, moved here from a much smaller community south and east of the OKC area where they had raised their kids. Leon and Shirley Eldridge were such sweet neighbors, and Paula and I really enjoyed getting to know them. We had the Lord as a 'common interest,' and, over time, got acquainted with their two beautiful daughters, Crystal (Loden) and Jeanette (Zeller). This family had it all together, and they all loved the Lord. They are all wonderful people!

As sometimes happens in life, tragedy befell both of the families mentioned above. Our next door neighbor found out she had inoperable lung cancer, and Shirley found out that she had malignant melanoma. The way that these two women dealt with the realities of their condition, and the way they faced the future, was dramatically different, and this difference is the reason for this posting on my blog.

When the next door neighbor found out that she had inoperable lung cancer, she was, of course, shocked. She had never smoked, but she was a nurse, and worked in an area hospital where smoking occurred in the 'break room' that medical personnel frequented. She immediately launched into an aggressive program, with her doctors, trying to find some treatment -- some cure. She went to and consulted with, doctors all over the U.S. She tried 'alternative treatments'...including shark cartilage, and other potions, in a desperate effort to battle the cancer (I would do the same, I imagine). Nothing helped. She deteriorated steadily. While maintaining a cheery facade, she was clearly distraught. Toward the end of her life, she was panicky, and clearly beside herself with anxiety. With no belief in God or the hereafter, she faced THE END of her existence, in her mind. She told me one day, in a more or less joking way, that she had asked four people to pray for her...a protestant minister, a Jewish rabbi, a Catholic priest and an atheist(??!!!). In disbelief, and saddened by her admission of this -- (in a joking sort of way, as if this was somehow funny)-- I asked her why she had done this. Her answer me shocked me to the core, as she told me: "I WANTED TO COVER ALL MY BASES!" She still had no interest in a relationship with God, but, in an attempt to 'leave no stone unturned', she threw this out, in an off-hand way, as one more straw at which she was grasping, as she approached the end of her life. I was asked to deliver the eulogy at her funeral, and I did -- telling the assembled friends and co-workers of this nice lady, mother, wife and neighbor-- the things about her that were commendable, and
what a nice neighbor she had been. I was aware of people who knew her as a nurse, and they all had wonderful things to say about her. I talked about her, what she was like, as a neighbor -- always doing nice things for people around her. I shared with the audience, stories of Brenda's work in her yard, and how it appeared that she had planted, in her yard, one of everything God had created! I could not, however, say anything to ease the distress her family and friends, because neither she, nor her husband, or any of their children had (or have now), any relationship with Jesus Christ. The eulogy was hard to deliver, for there was nothing of lasting relevance that I could say. No hope of a continued life beyond this earthly life. My words sounded hollow to me, and I left the lecturn sad and unsettled.

My sweet neighbor across the street -- Shirley Eldridge -- fought valiantly as well, but, as she approached the end of her life, she, with a smile told my wife, Paula: "I'm ready to meet the Lord -- He can beam me up right now!" Shirley calmly approached the end of life with peace in her heart - with equanimity, with the assurance that only those who believe in Jesus Christ can understand. Leon and his daughters, Crystal and Jeanette and their spouses and children -- and a vast number of friends and Christians who knew Shirley and her family, ultimately lost Shirley. I was asked by the family to deliver the eulogy, and I was honored to have that privilege. It was a joy to tell a little about this wonderful woman, who graced this world with her life, and influenced so many for Christ as she raised two wonderfully sweet girls, and did so much for so many people during her life. The crowd of people at her funeral service were saddened by the loss of this beautiful lady -- their loss at not seeing her again in this life -- but there was a sustained happiness of those in attendance, at the realization that this fine woman was not dead, but will live forever!...in the eternal presence of God Almighty! I left the pulpit at the Edmond church of Christ, and, although sad over the loss of Shirley, I was simultaneously happy that her struggle was over and life for Shirley would continue -- in another place reserved for those who die in the Lord.

As we enter a new year, full of hope and promise, I think of New Beginnings...and, as I think of New Beginnings, I can't help but to once again, in my mind, re-live the stories of these two very nice women, and be impacted all over again at the contrast between their respective lives....one that is bleak and a heart-breaker, and the other-- a wonderful life, now made perfect through Christ-- a soul that will live for eternity in the presence of our majesstic God!

Thank you for allowing me to share this story with you. I pray that all of you will enjoy a wonderful New Year, basking in the light of the love of the Lord!

Happy New Year!