Have Patience... on Ode to Hugh Tipton.

I was 10 years old.

We were living in Plainfield, Indiana. We’d only been there a few months, having moved away from Mooresville, where I’d lived most of my 10 years of life.

It was evening time — dark outside — I remember that. But I don’t remember exactly what time he knocked on the door. Mom answered, and there stood Hugh and Nancy Tipton.

We’d been attending Mt. Gilead church in Mooresville for the last couple years. At least that I remember. Memories prior to your 10th birthday can tend to be kinda fuzzy, but what I do remember is that Mom would take me to church, and we would often sit in the same pew as Hugh and Nancy.

Yes, we had pews. And they were wooden. Those a bit younger than me might remember Mt. Gilead two buildings ago. But if you’re my age and older, you remember Mt. Gilead THREE buildings ago. Today, the previous Mt. Gilead location is known as MG2, and it stands on Kitchen Rd. as it has for the past 30 years or so and serves as a satellite building to the current campus.

But in the open yard just to the front of MG2 is where the building before that stood for nearly 100 years. (In fact, the cafe area in the basement of MG2 today was a part of the original basement to this earlier building.)

It was in THAT building I first remember Hugh and Nancy, and as a young pre-ten-year old child, when I’d get bored at church — as kids of that age are wont to do — I’d crawl out of the pew and play around on the floor and under the pews under Hugh’s and Nancy’s feet. I remember that well.

And so here they were, at our house, and they weren’t there to see Mom. They were there to see me. Actually, Hugh was there to see me, and talk with me, as Nancy chatted up Mom. Hugh asked if I’d considered asking Jesus as my Savior, and if I was interested in getting baptized. I was — I guess he’d sensed something in me at that young age. He talked with me for quite awhile, and left me with a little handbook that detailed the ins and outs of the plan of Salvation, and what it meant to get baptized and ask Jesus into my heart. We’d go over the book, Huey said, and we’d reconvene in a week or two to talk some more about my decision.

A few weeks later I was baptized, as a ten year old boy, because Hugh Tipton came to my house and talked to me about Jesus.

In the interest of full disclosure, I must admit that I re-upped, so to speak, a few years later, and was re-baptized by my friend Kenny Fulk as an older teenager. Even though I realize now it was unnecessary to do so, I felt at the time that I hadn’t had a full grasp on what it meant to follow Jesus when I was baptized as a 10 year old, and felt it best to do it right after I had a better understanding.

But it doesn’t change the fact that Huey left his home one night and drove to the next town so he could share the Gospel with a 10 year old.

Because that’s the kind of man Hugh Tipton was, and that’s how much he loved Jesus.

If you’re reading this, and you know Huey, then you probably have a hundred stories, just as I do. And individually, those stories can’t possibly capture the man he was. It is only when they are examined as a whole that you can begin to see the true and more complete picture. All the stories — yours and mine — that really tell the story.

But I’d like to tell one — one that most people younger than me probably wouldn’t recall, and more likely wouldn’t believe if you came to know Huey in the latter half of his life.

Many years ago, Mt. Gilead began periodically putting on musicals. Perhaps they even predate my memories, I can’t say for sure, but they started innocently enough, with adults within the church performing in them. Those led to some great youth musical productions (The Light Brigade and The Race is On, anyone?) Over the past 15-20 years, they’ve morphed into full blown, near-professional theatre productions. We’ve always had great talent at Mt. Gilead for as long as I can remember, especially musical talent. And there’ve been some great performances along the way.

Somewhere along the line — I do not recall if it was before or after my baptism — the church put on a musical entitled The Music Machine. It was fantastic! It was a story about this magical machine that would spit out songs about Christianity if you fed Biblical words into it. In this case, the words of the fruits of the Spirit. You know… love, kindness, joy, self-control, patience, etc. It was wonderful! A conductor (portrayed by Clyde Grammon, if I recall) would turn the big crank on the side of the machine, and it would start chugging this great noise…

{Whir-whir, chicka, chicka, bom-bom, psst….}

And out would pop a song about a certain Christian attribute. Each song sung, of course, by members of our own church.

While I remember precisely the sound the machine would make, I really don’t remember much of the songs themselves.

Except one…

The song about patience. In the musical, the song is sung twice by two different characters, first a snail named Herbert and secondly by his wise old father who had a very deep voice. I honestly do not remember who sang the father’s part.

But I remember Herb the Snail, and he was portrayed by — you guessed it — Hugh Tipton.

Have patience, have patience.

Don’t be in such a hurry.

When you get impatient, you only start to worry.

Remember! Remember! That God is patient too,

And think of all the times when others have to wait for you!

Yes, indeed, sung with vigor in a unique, rich baritone that could only belong to Huey!

Believe it or not.

To this day, I do not know why that has stayed with me so vividly. Not only Hugh singing it, but the exact words to that part of the song. I can only guess, but I think it’s because it was such a different facet of Huey — before or since — than any one of us was used to. Oh, I believe over the years I might have seen Huey in a random choir performance at the church here or there, but if you knew Huey, you knew singing, dancing, performing, or being on stage — in any capacity — wasn’t his forte, and certainly wasn’t his burning desire.

Yes, Huey was many things, to many people. That’s my story, and I’m not alone, I’m sure, in recalling it. You most assuredly have your stories. I’ve known Huey for nigh on 40 years, and we traveled a long road together — from the little boy crawling under his feet under the pew, to working on staff as an adult at the church under his Eldership. Along the way, he showed me tremendous amounts of love and respect and grace and mercy. And we shared laughs and tears. To me, he was a friend, even when he was my boss or colleague, and a brother in Christ. I’ve seen others who knew him post great things about him on social media sites in the last couple days. Impressive lists of who he was, and what he did, and how he touched people, and to what I’ve read, all true, and still don’t come close to accurately describing what a massive Man of God he was.

There are, and will be, multitudes of people in Heaven because of Hugh Tipton. I dare not attempt to even estimate the number. It won’t come close. How many other people can you say that about?

I’ve missed him, and will still, until we meet again, which we will. That makes me smile.

EPILOGUE: As a child, we actually had the album (yes, the LP) of the soundtrack to The Music Machine musical. I listened to it often, and remember marveling at how closely the voices and characters I heard on the album matched those who’d performed it church. I remember being particularly amazed at how closely Huey’s voice matched Herb the Snail from the record.

After writing this column, I decided to poke around on the internet to see if I could find anything from The Music Machine, and wouldn’t you know it? There it was, the full album, start to finish, on YouTube. Amazing thing, that interweb!

Check out the link here. I listened to it all over again. Tell me I didn’t nail the sound of the machine! And my recollection of the lyrics to “Have Patience” was dead on accurate!

And just in case you’re wondering, which you should be by now, the “patience” song starts at the 13:00 minute mark. Herb the Snail is just how I remembered — and he sounds just like Hugh Tipton!

Greetings from South Carolina!

Greetings from South Carolina!

Down here, we call it the Lowcountry. People on the news call it part of the Coastal Empire. We tell people who don't know where it is that we live in Hilton Head. That sounds snooty enough. For everyone else, we live in Bluffton.

Bluffton, SC, is now our hometown. And we love it!

It's hard to believe, but it's now coming up on 2 months since we've moved. And I haven't communicated a whole lot with the outside world during that time, as we've been consumed with getting our new house in order.

We left December 4, and spent a week in Nashville, TN, to watch our son and daughter-in-law graduate from college. Set to close on our house December 12, things got a little bit hairy with underwriting during that last week. (Anyone who's ever gotten a mortgage knows what I'm talking about.) So we arrived in Bluffton on Sunday night, Dec. 11, not knowing if we would actually have a place to live following the next day.

But, as God always does, He provided, and smiled, and we closed on Monday evening. After, as it would happen, the builder's office closed, so we couldn't get the keys! Finally, they dropped them off in the new mailbox (which is more than the Post Office could do, but that's for later.) So there wasn't any big key ceremony. We grabbed them, unlocked the door and walked in.

And thus began the next journey in our lives. And it's been great! It's been wonderful, exhilarating, frustrating, fun, exhausting, and exciting all at the same time! The events of our lives over the past two years had put us so much in flux that we didn't really know what all we had until we got here and unpacked it all. So we've had fun rediscovering things we'd forgotten we owned, shopping for things we realized we needed, and unpacking old favorites and memories. It's been a ride.

And the weather here has absolutely rocked! It's been as advertised and then some. Everywhere I go, the locals peg me as a Northerner because I'm always wearing shorts and short-sleeves. Even the chilly days would be days we would rejoice over in Indiana in December and January. With the exception of some hairy storms that roamed throughout the South a week or so ago, most of the days have been mostly sunny, with temps in the 60's and 70's. The chilly days here have been in the 50's with the occasional dip into the 40's. Absolutely beautiful.

Christmas came and went without much fanfare from us this year. We just got here too late in the cycle to really get into the season, and before we knew it, it was over. But, we had our kids and some of Ginger's family in town with us, so at least we got to share some of it with loved ones.

The boys and the daughter-in-law showed up and worked their tails off for 3 weeks. And for that, I'm deeply thankful, and sorry that the time wasn't more jovial than it was. But I was glad they were here. We love that Cody is nearby, and visits often with his new squeeze: a precious little Carolina girl with a killer southern accent! And we can't wait to see Cory and Amanda again.

It's taking time for Grandma Jean to acclimate. She loves the weather and the house as we do, but misses her grandbabies. I don't blame her. And she is not as familiar with the area as we are, so it's taking her time to get her bearings. But little by little she's coming along, and if you've been following along on Facebook, you know that she recently purchased her some new toys, which has perked her spirits. Won't be long for Grandma!

The house is just fantastic! We love it beyond measure, and couldn't be happier with how it turned out. And we've had a blast furnishing and decorating it. I love it so much that right now, I don't care if I ever go anywhere again! I love it right here.

I've begun my sales efforts here locally, and have already made some sales and met with some great business people. I've no worries at all about how things will go. And business from my clientele in Indy has been brisk, so all is well right now on that front.

There have been some setbacks. First and foremost was the post office. Apparently, nobody in the history of mankind has ever built a new home, because our doing so threw the USPS into a complete tizzy! Even with a big, black, shiny, new mailbox installed by our builder before we ever arrived, and even though we are just one block away from an existing mail route, delivering mail to us was unfathomable to them during those first few weeks. But, after much arguing and huffing and puffing (and many trips to the post office) I think we finally got it all worked out.

Second was the license branch. Drop what you're doing right now, go to your closest branch and kiss one of the workers smack on the lips, and then, write a letter to former Governor Daniels for streamlining things so well in Indiana, because, believe me, you don't know how good you have it until you have to go back to the way it USED to be in Indiana.

Long waits, ridiculous amounts of paperwork and red tape just to get a license and registration here. My 75-year-old mother clearly looks like a terrorist to these people because despite her current legal Indiana license AND her birth certificate AND her Social Security card AND her new mortgage papers, they insisted she produce a copy of her marriage license from 1962 just to prove her name change 50 years ago. Oh yes they did.

But we got it all worked out, and aside from those couple items, everything else here has been fantastic.

And to the most pressing question we've been asked: Yes, Ginger feels better. She picked up the cold bug a couple weeks after we got here, and she's had a headache or two from time to time. We weren't naive enough to believe she'd instantly be healed of all her ills and never feel sick again, but overall she's felt much better than before, and doesn't nearly have the daily struggle she had with Indiana weather.

Yes, it's been good. And being here has been everything we'd hoped it would be and more.

I miss friends and family. But I want to make a confession now publicly: I don't miss the stage. For the last 25 years of my life it just seemed that I was on the mic for one thing or another seemingly every day. Either I was playing guitar with some band, or announcing a football or basketball game, or DJing someone's wedding, or talking on the radio, or emceeing some community event and playing worship every Sunday.

And please know this: I loved it all. I truly did. I love all those things. I've cherished every wedding, every gig, every game. But together, I just got wore out. I was very tired, and I was desperately ready for a break. The myth about me has always been that I looked for the spotlight. But the truth is that the spotlight always found me because it's what I'm good at. Some people are good at fixing brakes, or drywalling, or designing the next big technology. I'm good at singing, and playing, and talking to crowds. It's just what I do. I was proud to do it, but I needed to step away.

Perhaps someday I'll miss it all tremendously. I've learned to never say never. And I'll be playing music in my first worship service here in just a couple weeks. But for now, it's very nice to just be anonymous for awhile. I'm really enjoying being out of the limelight, just being a regular guy. Someday I might seek again. Right now, I just wanna play for me.

So I've set up my drums, and my guitars, in my Reds Room, just for me. For when I want to go and just play, and not have to work. And I have a few things lined up to scratch the itch, should it occur. In a few weeks, I'll be home to emcee the Spotlighter Invitational, which is something I'm really looking forward to. And on July 4, I'm coming back to emcee and play for the celebration and fireworks at Pioneer Park. Because I choose to. That's nice.

So, meanwhile, we are now officially open for business! We are ready for our friends and family to come and visit. The house is unpacked and decorated, and the guest bedrooms are ready to be utilized! For those who wondered before... no, we were not kidding or just "being nice." We REALLY want people to come down for a stay, so we can show off a little about what made us fall in love with this place. If you've ever been to this area, you already know. If you've never been, you're in for a treat.

So come on down! Give us a buzz or drop us a line and let us know when you're coming, just so we can make sure someone else hasn't already spoken for your bed. If we're full up when you want to come down, there's plenty of places I can recommend for you to stay while you're here. Otherwise, our home is your home.

(The only caveat is that we aren't allowing smoking anywhere on the property. Sorry, but even out on the porch, the smoke can really get to Ginger and Grandma. My house, my rules, I guess you could say, but I know you all understand and appreciate your sensitivity in this matter.)

There's lots to see and do, but I do have to work, so even though I'm pretty flexible with my schedule, you might have to entertain yourselves a bit while you're here. But if we can't get out to show you around each day, we'll point you in the right directions, and just enjoy the fellowship!

Now that we're settled in, I'll be sure to try to check in a little more and keep you all updated on how things are going here, and perhaps, you'll keep me posted on how things are back in Mooresville. Remember, you can take the boy out of the town, but...

Cheers. See you soon!

A Love Story.

The first time he saw her was in the cafeteria at high school. She was young — just a freshman — and he thought she was cute. What he noticed immediately was her huge smile. It spread from ear-to-ear, and lit up the whole room. It was clear she was reserved, but it would be some time before he found out just how shy she really was.

He was rebounding from a breakup with his first love. That’s tough, and if you’ve ever been through it, you know how much it hurts, and what a confusing time it can be. He was currently dating a crush he’d had since junior high school, but it was on and off, because of his own immaturity, and it was now cooling off.

He was outgoing, and fairly popular, and president of his Junior class. But mostly he just loved being a musician, and playing music for Jesus. As fate would have it, the younger sister of the crush he was dating, was herself dating another musician — a young keyboard player. They met one evening and formed an instant friendship.

The keyboard player’s cousin was the shy girl from the cafeteria.

They were introduced for the first time at a school music program. And as the musician friends began to hang out together, so did the shy girl hang around as well. And so the friendship began.

She was beyond shy. Not popular — not because she couldn’t be, but because she didn’t want to be. She was nearly an introvert. But for some reason, not with him. Oh, she was always quiet — still is, to this day — but she could talk to him. And she would listen as he would unload all the hurt from his recent breakups. She was a good listener. They would secretly talk on the phone until the wee hours of the morning, whispering into the phones to each other as they hid in their beds. And the friendship blossomed.

They were accused of secretly dating long before they actually were. In fact, as the accusations flew among their friends and family, he took her aside to assure her his intentions were only to be friends, and that he wasn’t interested in dating her romantically. She nodded in agreement, but he knew later she was hurt to find the friendship would go no further.

But he was stupid. And it only took him a few weeks to figure it out. She was a great girl. Quiet, and shy, and cute, and supportive, and loyal, and loving. And they had developed into great friends. And he loved being with her — near her. Two days after Christmas, 1986, he asked her for a date, and kissed her for the first time. Oh boy…

Dating for them was an uphill battle in many respects. Most of their family and friends didn’t believe the two completely diverse personalities could succeed. But what the others couldn’t see or possibly understand was how the two complemented each other. He providing spontaneity, and excitement, and a silliness in her life that she might not have had on her own, and she providing quietness, serenity, and unconditional love that wouldn’t be there otherwise for him. Opposites attracted a perfect match.

Four years of dating gave way to marriage in 1991. She worked in the healthcare field, while he pursued his music and self-employment endeavors. She supported him completely, and always encouraged him. And he loved her all the more for it. Like most young couples, they had little money. They dreamed of living at the beach someday. But all they really wanted to do was hang out with each other. And they did that a lot. They still do.

But things weren’t simple, and they certainly weren’t easy. Her health has always been precarious at best, and life-threatening at worst. Non-working sinuses sent her back and forth to the doctors and the operating tables, and continue to cause problems to this day. The really rough stuff was still to come.

Five years of marriage saw their first child arrive. The second two years later. The former, a beautiful baby boy, put her in pre-term labor and 10 weeks of bed rest, and arrived a full month early. The latter, another beautiful baby boy, put her in the hospital mid-term as he arrived 11 weeks premature. And it was here that he began to see just how strong and courageous she really was.

And she was a world class mother. A real pro! Quite frankly, the best he’s ever seen. She has the pure, ingrained skills that most mothers envy, but not all have. Watching her with his boys melted his heart. She gave up working to stay home with the boys. And she joyfully handled the bulk of the day-to-day work of raising two boys, while he worked to provide for the family. And when she’d fall ill, he’d take care of her. But she was always better at taking care of him and the children.

Five years of marriage turned into 10. Through each chapter, and every hardship, he fell further in love with her. They still dreamed of living at the beach someday. Money stayed tight, but they managed to earn enough to pay the bills (mostly!) and create memories with the family. Going to Reds games was the favorite past time, and they went to a game every time they could save up the few extra bucks to do so. They’re so glad they did. And so are the boys. With every game, every new adventure, and every new memory, he fell in love even more.

It was the year between their 10th and 11th anniversary that changed their lives forever. In the previous few years, she’d had some serious health setbacks. More sinus surgeries, a battle with a nasty little fungus that attacked as a result of some of the meds she’d taken for her sinuses, and a hysterectomy brought on by complications (and negligence) from the second pregnancy.

But 2002 was the year of the brain tumor.

Fifteen hours of surgery, and six weeks later, 11 more. Massive complications resulted in 3 spinal fluid leaks, and 3 more surgeries. The whole ordeal left her with deafness in one ear, and half a smile. But he thinks its the biggest, most glorious half smile on earth. And still brighter than most others.

He loved her ever more. But he learned as he never had before that she was the strongest, toughest person he’d likely ever know. She powered through things that would have broken normal people. She stood up to pain that would have leveled most anyone else. And through it all, she made sure the children were covered, made every practice and activity, and got all their homework done. Amazing.

She survived, and they celebrated with a trip to Disney World, thanks to her parents. Vacationing near an ocean, in the warmer climates, would become more regular. She felt better near the ocean. And they dreamed of living there even more.

Ten years became 15. Self-employment had given way to an everyday job. He still played music, and she still supported it. They made a little headway in the world, and still spent all their time together as a family. As 15 years turned into 20, their love continued to grow even more. He became his own boss once again, and with her continued support and encouragement, he was able to grow the business into the most prosperous years of their marriage.

The boys were growing up. And he was becoming more and more clingy. The older he got, the more he just wanted to be with her. He didn’t realize it all those years ago, but from the moment he first saw the shy girl, the rest of his life would be consumed with being with her. They began spending twice a year at the ocean. The salt air helped her headaches and cleared her sinuses. And he loved when he could see her feel good.

The boys graduated high school and left town to pursue their own lives and dreams. But there was sadness too. They lost two good friends, and another family member. Very suddenly, and very sadly, and far too young. And as God blessed his business and their marriage, the dream of living at the ocean became much more. It became a quest.

As 20 years came and went, they put the wheels in motion. But the wheels got stuck one night when a flood visited their home and took away well over half their possessions. But it couldn’t take away their dream, and couldn’t slow down their love as it grew for each other through every hardship. They’d long since learned that nothing could stop them. Certainly not three feet of water.

Twenty-five years arrived. Their children threw them a party, and their friends and family gathered to celebrate with them. Many who’d never thought it would work over 25 years earlier. And they were happy to be there, and happy to share it with the people they love.

And now the dream is coming true. In a couple weeks, they’re moving to the beach. In a brand new home they never could have imagined when they were kids just learning what love was really all about. They’re older now, and their bodies a little more wrinkled and broken down. But not so old and broken down that they can’t enjoy holding hands on the beach. He’ll still work, and she’ll still take care of him and their home, and still encourage his endeavors. And she’ll still love him in that innocent, quiet, unconditional way she always has.

And she’ll still take his breath away every time she’s near him.

And for maybe the first time in her whole life, she’ll get to wake up every morning in a place where she doesn’t feel sick all the time. A place where her head doesn’t hurt every day. In a home she’s always dreamed of, with the man she’s loved for 30 years.

For him, he’ll be happy to see her feel better, to be sure. But mostly, he’ll just be glad to wake up next to her every day. Doesn’t matter where it is.

That’s all I’ve ever wanted.

Thankful for Friends and Family!

I've been around the block long enough to have learned you should never say never.

That being said, today is our last Thanksgiving as Indiana residents. And so today, we're especially retrospective. As cliche' as this is going to sound, today we are thankful for good friends.

For the past several weeks, we have been scheduling get-togethers with as many friends and family as possible before we scoot out of town. And what a joy it has been. No matter the breakfast, lunch, or dinner, we have had an absolute blast catching up with loved ones, and it is an endeavor I'm so glad we've undertaken.

And after each, I've left thinking, "Why haven't we done this more often?"

Wonder why that is, ya think?

Why did we wait to make this effort now, right before we're leaving town?

I get it. I fully understand how busy everyone is, because our own lives can get really busy, really often. Especially when we were raising our boys, our time could be filled up quickly with little else than dealing with all their activities. The reality is we're all busy. And it's probably been that way for most generations.

But then, we all set our own priorities, don't we? Don't get me wrong, our immediate families should always be our first priority. I know mine was to me, and I make no apologies for the fact that often, other friends and family in my life got pushed aside for anything I wanted to do with my wife and kids. I would expect the same treatment in return.

But sometimes I do think we lose focus. Outside of immediate family, how many other things -- and I do mean "things" -- do we put in front of spending time with loved ones? As I look back at my own life, and especially as I get older, I can reflect on numerous times when I chose to occupy my time with something that now seems completely meaningless, over spending time with a good friend or family member.

How many times have I been invited to do something with someone, only to tell them no, I'm simply covered up right now? I regret a lot of that now.

To be fair, and completely honest, the Mrs. and I have always been really good hanging out with just each other. In fact, there's nothing I enjoy more than just being with her. And so while we have many friends and family to whom we feel very close, we've never been that couple who always goes out with that other couple, or always vacations with those particular friends. And that's OK. We know others who virtually always go out or vacation with another particular couple or group. And that's OK too.

In either case, in the larger scheme of things, how many times have we put off spending time with loved ones for something far less important?

A good friend of mine recently told me that they have a rule in their family: If another friend or family member asks them to do something together, the answer is an automatic yes. Life is too short, he says, to pass up those opportunities. So they always say yes.

I like that. I like that very much. I wish I'd adopted that mantra a long time ago.

And so here we are, just over a week away from our big move. And we will be leaving everything -- and most everybody -- we've ever known. Don't misunderstand... we're VERY excited for this new chapter in our lives. And moving across the country isn't the same today as it used to be. With social media, friends can sometimes now stay in touch better than ever before.

But it isn't, of course, the same as being able to sit down over dinner and just fellowship with each other. Or just hang out in each other's living room and catch up, face to face.

Yes, today, we are especially thankful for all our friends.

Which is why it was so important to us in this move to find a home that had space for people to come visit. We've never lived in a home that was really big enough to house visitors. And it was a priority of ours to make sure we got one in this move.

And we have. Plenty of space, in fact, at the risk of sounding boastful. We're moving to a vacation spot, and we'd love nothing more than for our friends and family to come and enjoy it as much as we do. To everyone we've invited to come visit... yes, we're serious. To each of you who may be reading this... yes, we're serious. It would be our absolute pleasure for you to come visit us.

There may be times, to be sure, as we'll have to handle the responsibilities of our everyday lives, that you may have to come and entertain yourselves a bit while in town. But to the best of our ability, we'll strive to be good and gracious hosts. We'll make time over dinner a priority, and perhaps we can play a round of golf, or explore Savannah for a day, or just relax on the beach.

We'd like that very much.

And so, on this Thanksgiving Day, please know beyond a doubt that we are are deeply thankful for all the friends and family in our lives. And we hope to see you all again very, very soon.

Happy Thanksgiving to you and yours. May your lives be as blessed as ours.

The Late Night Coon Kill

It was late at night. Actually, it was early morning, ‘round about 1:00 am or so. I remember that much, although on a normal ride home, I probably would have remembered very little other than walking in the door and going to bed.

My buddy and I, Kenny Fulk, had spent most of the evening at another friend’s house in Paragon, IN, playing music. We’d made this trek a few times before, but we always had a good time playing guitar at Dan’s house. And so, this Friday night we’d decided to head down again for the jam session.

If you know anything about Paragon, IN, then you know it doesn’t matter where in Paragon you find yourself — either out in the ‘burbs, or in the beautiful, downtown Metropolis — you are out in the sticks. Paragon is one of those small southern Indiana towns that is rural no matter where you go. Even though IN State Road 67 runs right through the middle of town, there’s nothing uptown about it. Paragon is in the woods.

The home we visited when playing guitar together is not in the downtown Metropolis. It is off the beaten path, to say the least. So the drive home, at one in the morning, involves a lot of backwoods roads that, save the headlights of the van, and maybe the moon, are bathed in darkness. “Pitch” black is the term we like to use.

After a night of singing and playing guitar, as the passenger in the van and not old enough to have my license anyway, I was nodding off to sleep, and quick. Kenny was driving.

Just as I was almost out completely, I felt the van swerve suddenly, and vaguely heard Kenny exclaim, “Oh man, that’s a $20 bill!”

The van came to a screeching halt as I was instantly snapped awake. By the time I realized what was going on, Kenny was exiting the van — in a hurry. “Come on!” he yelled at me.

It’s here where I should digress a bit and tell you that Ken Fulk is a hunter. And while he’s good at hunting many things, he is, beyond measure, a raccoon hunter of the highest order. I mean, this guy’s a pro! Raccoon hunting, as you may or may not know, involves hunting with dogs. Coon hounds, to be more precise. Really, one doesn’t necessarily hunt raccoons in and of itself. One actually releases Coon Dogs into the wild, and THEY hunt the raccoons. The hunter, in turn, just chases the dogs around in the woods until they “tree” a raccoon, which means they’ve chased the raccoon up a tree. And now, as the coon tries to hide up in the tree, the hunter then tries to shoot the raccoon out of the tree. It’s big fun.

And Kenny is a master. He’s also a maniac — when it comes to coon hunting, I mean. When he’s hunting raccoons, he’s absolutely ruthless. Yelling and cussing and kicking and screaming, mushing the hounds like an Iditarod racer, rambling head on through briars and bushes and thickets in search of the kill. Kenny is a great man of God, and one of my dearest friends and mentors, and I can say this without any reservation whatsoever: When he’s huntin’ coons, he’s an absolute madman!

Now, you can’t really eat raccoons. Or so I’m told. But raccoon hunting is popular, A) because it’s big fun, and B) there’s money in the pelts. Skin a raccoon, and good coon fur is worth some money.

And that brings us back to our story. It was the aforementioned “…that’s a $20 bill” exclamation that caught my attention. Apparently, as I slipped off into dreamland, an unlucky raccoon had rambled across that Paragon backroad right into the path of Kenny’s van. Recognizing the financial opportunity, Kenny had swerved the van and ran him down!

To secure his bounty, Kenny stopped the van and jumped out to retrieve the dead coon from which he could extract the $20 pelt.

Except he wasn’t dead.

Apparently, the run-in with the van — literally — hadn’t killed the raccoon, but rather had merely wounded him. And now, though injured, the little critter was making a break for it down the dark road. Kenny opened up the back of the van, shoved a big, black flashlight into my hands, and, not having a hunting rifle in the van, grabbed a hatchet. Once again yelling, “come on!” he gave chase.

Now get this: the van — running, with the lights on and the doors open — is sitting cockeyed in the middle of this dark road. Here I am, still barely awake and not really sure what’s going on, following a hatchet-wielding wild man as we’re running right down the middle of the road chasing a limping and retreating raccoon.

At 1:00 am.

In my memory, it looks like a chase from the TV show, Cops. Just as we reach the raccoon, in a last ditch effort to escape, the little critter darts off the road to the right, down a ditch and up the other side, and get’s stopped by a fence. Kenny, of course, heads into the ditch in full chase. Realizing the only option is to turn and fight, the raccoon spins and snarls. Before the little guy can launch the attack, Kenny pounces.

Remember, I’m holding the flashlight.

Kenny leaps upon this spitting and snarling and scratching and biting and screaming and injured critter and starts pounding away at his head with the butt end of the hatchet. Through it’s squeals and Kenny’s grunts, I can hear it’s little skull cracking. And I stood there and watched Kenny beat this thing to death.

When the carnage was over, Kenny turned around, all sweaty and out of breath, and said, “I can get $20 for this guy.” Or something of that nature.

And so, he picks up his prey, and we trudge back to the van. Not surprisingly, not one car had driven by to witness the battle, not that they could have gotten by anyway, what with the van blocking the road as it was.

Lest you forget, we’d been playing guitar together earlier in the evening, singing songs that were loving and touching and meaningful. Now, Kenny dumps this dead, bloody carcass in the back of the van, right alongside our guitars and amps. It was a touching tribute, I thought, to the valiant fight the little guy had waged.

We got back in the van and drove off. We didn’t say much to each other, and I didn’t fall back asleep. I was never really the same after that.

That was over 30 years ago, and in case you’re wondering, Kenny and I are still best friends. He and his family mean the world to me and my family. We still play a lot of music together, and yes, he’s still a maniacal raccoon hunter. This is just one of probably a hundred hilarious stories I can tell involving experiences with Kenny.

Most of my friends, and virtually all of our mutual friends have heard the story about the time Kenny beat a raccoon to death with the butt end of a hatchet in the middle of the night. As it is seared into my memory, I’ve told it many times, often in the presence of Kenny himself just so people know I didn’t make it up. There are other raccoon stories as well. Funny ones. But none as fascinating as this one.

Tonight, Ginger and I had the pleasure of having dinner with him and his wife, along with other great friends of ours. We sat and ate Japanese food together, and laughed as we told old stories. And yes, the infamous raccoon story was mentioned. As we’d all heard it before — and Kenny and I lived it in all it’s glory — I didn’t have to retell it. I just had to mention it. And we laughed.

It occurred to me that I had never written the story down, to save it, you know, for posterity sake. So here it is. And it was all true. I promise.

We look forward to our good friends coming to visit us in our new home. There’s no raccoons where we’re going to live in South Carolina. Well, actually, I don’t know if that’s true or not. What IS true is that where we’re gonna live, its not uncommon for alligators to ramble around, even out in the middle of the road.

And what a story that will be when Kenny tries to get money for some alligator boots!

Biff's!

The title should tell you all you need to know. Perhaps my all-time favorite part of Mooresville, Indiana, is Biff's Bakery. Equally for the food, the sweets, the experience, and the memories. The official name was Biff's Pioneer House. The staff answered the phone by simply saying, "Bakery!"

My Mom and Dad were taking me and my brother and sister to Biffs as early in my life as I can possibly remember. Opened on Main St. in 1956 by Al "Biff" Hornaday, ol' Biff ran things until he passed in the late 80's. By that time, most of the day-to-day operations were run by his son Larry, and Larry's wife Alice. Larry passed away in 2007, and ownership was subsequently transferred to his children, but Alice ran things -- mostly by herself in the past few years -- until her death last year. Sadly, despite multiple offers and options to keep it open, the children chose to close the doors upon Alice's death.

My Dad worked there as a teenager in the 50's, alongside Alice, who met Larry at the diner as she waitressed there as a teen. And my family remained friends with the Hornaday family until it closed. So my connection to Biffs goes all the way back to practically when it opened.

My first memories of Biffs came sometime in the 70's when my Dad, by then a trucker, would stop at Biffs before coming home from a run, and bring home a bag of chocolate chip cookies. I loved those cookies! Eventually, my memories morph into actually going to the diner and having breakfast. After my parents divorced, we continued to go to Biffs regularly.

By the time I was a teenager, but still years away from driving, I would ride my bike there on summer mornings and buy donuts. Often, friends and I would walk up there in the evenings to eat. And when my buddy and I, Ken Fulk, (refer to my last Fond Memory) started playing music together every Friday night, we would end our jam sessions every week with a trip to Biffs, often well after midnight.

And let me tell you, you haven't lived unless you've been to Biffs after midnight.

Until the last decade or so, Biff's was open 24 hours, and in addition to the normal late-night clientele, if you hung around long enough, Pat's Tavern would close up just down the street, and a good deal of their inebriated crowd would ramble down to Biff's for a late night (early morning!) meal. And that's when the real fun would begin!

My friends and I, and subsequently, my family and I, continued to patronize Biffs up until it closed. And I miss it tremendously.

I could write a book full of memories from Biffs alone. But there are some highlights:

First, of course, is the food. Oh, the food. From a breakfast standpoint, there has never been, and likely never will be, anything better than Biff's biscuits and gravy. Many loved the sausage gravy, indeed some of the best. But for me, it was their chipped-beef gravy.

OMG! The best ever. It's bad enough that one can hardly even find chipped-beef gravy these days, but to this day, I've never had any, anywhere, as good as Biff's, and I doubt I'll ever find any. There was magic in their gravy, I'm convinced of it, and it is to our detriment that we'll never get to experience it again.

After breakfast, they made a killer Beef Manhattan that may not have been the best ever, but it was pretty darned good! A full lineup of great, down-home, small-town, Indiana country cooking.

But what made Biff's famous was it's bakery, and what put Biff's on the map, was the Bismark. There are many who believe Biff's may very well have invented the entire concept of the Bismark, the standard by which all the other imitators today are measured. The Bismark, simply put, is a cinnamon roll, topped with white icing and sprinkled with nuts. And it was world famous, as they literally fielded requests for Bismarks from all over the world, as far away as Russia! They would cook 'em up, box 'em up, and ship 'em out. And they were in demand from all corners of the States and beyond.

As for me -- and I realize this is almost sacrilegious -- I wasn't a big fan of the Bismark, primarily because I like chocolate, and I don't like nuts. For me, it was the Long John! The Long John was a creme-filled (not gross custard!) pastry, topped with chocolate icing. And it was pure Heaven and Hell all in one donut! I miss them tremendously, as, again, no one has been able to quite duplicate it. I'm sure many of you miss the Bismark just as much.

As for the people, well, who doesn't remember Ruby?! Ruby Gregory was old when I was a baby, and old when I became an adult. And all the while, waitressed at Biff's like a boss! For those who may not remember, Ruby was about 3 feet tall, with white hair, and if you complained about the food she brought you, she'd smack you in the back of the head. You never really had to tell her your order, because she already knew it anyway, and it was fun to watch the drunks from Pat's come in and hit on her, only to receive their own smack in the head!

And I never walked out without giving her a hug. Ruby was an absolute angel, and I miss her to this day.

Alice, of course, was the constant for the entire 50+ years Biff's was open. She was the owner, the waitress, the bus boy, the cook, the dishwasher, the bill payer, and register girl. For the final few years, as her children were content to let it die, Alice did most of it all by herself just to keep it going. Many was the time I'd go in the diner and Alice would be the only one working in the whole place. And the food would still be as good.

She knew most everyone's name, and knew everyone's order. And for a place that was founded by, and named for, her father-in-law, she was the face of the business for the last decade it was open.

And my other memories are endless. The countless after-midnight meals. My buddy writing my name on the bathroom wall. The bible-studies with friends. That chats with friends. The booth that belonged to Theo Hastings, who would enter the diner through the back kitchen door. Arkie Vaughn. Ruby smacking me on the back of the head. The passed-out drunks with their faces buried in their biscuits and gravy. Donnie. The night a preppie couple chastised my friends and me for being too boisterous. Dirty. The night my very large best friend climbed up on a chair like a baby because he saw a mouse. Biscuits and chipped beef gravy chased by a Long John. Alice's smile. And on, and on, and on...

I went into Biff's hundreds of times over the years, with just as many memories. You probably did too.

But here's today's memory: One night, just a year or two before Larry Hornaday died, my wife and I bumped into him and Alice at the Golden Corral Buffet in Plainfield... of all places. It is the only time I can ever recall encountering either of them outside the diner. Larry's health was failing him, as was his eyesight.

As I approached to say hello, of course Alice gave me a hug, but Larry couldn't see me well enough to recognize me. Alice told him, "It's Paul Uhls." "Paul Uhls?" Larry replied. "That's a fatter Paul Uhls than I remember!"

I laughed. I said, "Of course I'm fatter. It's your fault from me eating at Biff's all those years!"

Indeed... from all the food at Biff's, all those years. And I'd do it all again.

There's a little diner just down the street from our new home in South Carolina. It's called the Squat N Gobble. It's little. Homey, and kitschy, and inviting. We've visited a couple times. It's pretty good. Nice, down home cookin'. We'll probably eat there with some regularity. I might even become good friends with the owners and people who work there.

But they don't have chipped-beef gravy. And they don't have Long Johns. And they don't have Alice and Ruby.

It's not Biff's. It could never hope to be.

Time to Make the Right Choice!

This is my final political post for this election. No debate on this one. Comment if you want, but there is nothing left to debate. You’re either voting for our future, or against it.

Tomorrow is the day. If you’ve already voted, I pray you’ve made the right decision. If you have not, then it’s time to face the reality of what you’re about to do.

There are only two candidates with any chance of winning tomorrow. ONLY two. And it’s time to stop playing around and understand exactly what is at stake. A vote for anybody other than Donald Trump tomorrow is a vote for Hillary Clinton. Plain and simple. And before you “vote your conscience” you need to fully understand what you’re doing.

Donald Trump is a flawed man, there is no question about that. He’s done and said things in his life that he himself says he regrets. He has not been a man of extremely high moral character over his life. As a Christian, I understand the apprehension, I really do. It would be far easier if we had a man with the character of a Ronald Reagan or George W. Bush. Unfortunately, we do not.

But let me be clear about this: I believe Hillary Clinton is an absolute snake. She is evil to the core. She is the serpent in the Garden, and don’t you forget it! Since the beginning of her political career (which has been her whole adult life, by the way) she has done nothing that hasn’t been self-serving, to advance her own position, and make herself wealthy beyond measure. The same could be said about Donald Trump, but the difference is that she’s done it at the expense of the taxpayer, not in the private sector. She’s used her positions in public service to advance her own agendas, that benefitted no one outside her own personal circle. She changes her political position as often as the wind changes, to whatever side is most politically prudent at the time to keep her positions. (Think: the Iraqi War and Gay Marriage.) She’s hell bent, as are most Liberals of her ilk, on destroying America as we know it and turning it into a state that serves her own, selfish needs, while creating a permanent lower class of people that keep her in power. She’s a bad, bad person.

So, if you do not vote for Donald Trump tomorrow, here’s what you’re voting for:

1) A party that specifically and on purpose — and by a vote — removed any reference to God from their official platform. (Look it up.)
2) Per her own campaign promises, an all-out assault on the Bill of Rights, including but not limited to the Freedom of Speech, the Freedom of Religion, and the Right to Bear Arms. (Which will eliminate your right to decide how to protect your family)
3) The willingness to murder up to 1 million babies per year.
4) The end of traditional family values as we know them.
5) The continuation of 8 full years of Liberal agenda, with a specific intent to put an end to America’s superiority in the world.
6) The continuation of a path towards the government controlling all costs and decisions about your healthcare. You’re own thoughts, needs, and desires about your own healthcare will become irrelevant.
7) A promise to raise taxes on anyone who becomes successful in business.
8) A promise to allow unfettered immigration, with no attempts to vet radical extremists whose sole goals are to destroy the United States and kill Americans. (See how that’s working out for places like France and Germany.)
9) The possibility that the Supreme Court could be stocked with Liberals for at least the next generation or two. Your children, and perhaps your grandchildren, will be forced to live under a Court system whose entire belief system revolves around the idea that the government should control every aspect of their lives, and that the rights our forefathers envisioned for us are no longer valid.
10) A promise to continue the completely out-of-control government spending that has plunged this country into a deficit that is now virtually un-fixable, with no plan whatsoever to curb frivolous spending.
11) A promise to take the decisions about how to educate your children away from you and the people in your community, and place it in the hands of a few people in the federal government 1000 miles away from your home.
12) A blatant and conceited disregard for the laws of this land. The only presidential candidate in history to be under an active FBI investigation at the time of the election.
13) A history of corruption and scandal, that has left a lot of dead bodies in her wake, and created ridiculous wealth for her and her family.

Remember, everything you think is wrong with our federal government today is the fault of Hillary Clinton and all the other career politicians like her. Donald Trump has never raised a tax, never voted to take away your right to anything, never voted to spend away taxpayer money, and never created any policy or law that furthered our deficit. Everything you believe Hillary Clinton will fix by voting her into office was caused by her to begin with!

That’s what you’re voting for if you vote for anyone other than Donald Trump tomorrow. You can vote your conscience if it makes you feel good about yourself when you’re all done, and yet, all that above will be the only result. You can say that at the end of the day, God will remain in control, and that will be true. But remember this, God routinely let nations wallow in their stupidity, and suffer the consequences of their selfish desires, ambitions, and decisions. God will remain in control to be sure, but it doesn’t mean he will miraculously reach down and fix all the problems we ourselves created. Your children and grandchildren could suffer for years for the decisions you make tomorrow.

Donald Trump might be a creep. He might be off-the-cuff. He might be hot-headed. He might be insensitive. He might not be the best we could have nominated. But in this election, he is the man who represents our platform. He is the man who looked into the camera and admitted that even though he might not always hold the same standards we do, he would fight for our right to hold those standards, believe the way we want to believe, worship the way we want to worship, and not have to bow to the will of the government. Yes, he said that, and promised that. Hillary doesn’t even pretend.

Feel good about yourself if you want. I can’t stop you. But just know the future is in your hands, and regardless of how you cast your ballot tomorrow, your vote will result in either Donald Trump or Hillary Clinton as our next president.

I pray our children can live with the results.