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ESSAYS FOR MY FAMILY

Thomas E. Hollingsworth, Jr.

To Dody.  For those who know her, no accolades or explanations are necessary.

Acknowledgment:  The primary credit for getting this book published goes to Robbie and Diana, who did all the things I either could not or did not want to do.

Forward

                My father wrote this book in early 2000 for his family—children, nephews, and nieces—under the title Essays for my Family.  Only 15 copies were made.  Soon after I mailed out the books, people began telling my father how much they appreciated this honest, heart-felt memoir.  Some had trouble putting it down, and read it from cover to cover in one sitting.  Then letters began coming in from people who were not family members at all.  Books had been loaned to family friends, and the poignant and sometimes humorous stories had worked their magic even on strangers.

            My father was a private person who avoided talking about himself.  He lived his life according to the admonition of Hebrews 12:1: …let us run with perseverance the race marked out for us (NIV).  This verse was the basis of the hymn he initiated…Let Us Run The Race (see Chapter 5).  In spite of many obstacles and set-backs, he persevered in the race marked out for him with optimism and confidence in God’s plan until his race finally ended in June 2001.  One of his favorite expressions was his paraphrase of a Winston Churchill quotation:

Success is never final;

Failure is never fatal;

Only perseverance counts.

            Although I was close to my father, I would never have heard many of the stories in this book had he not written them down.  May these stories provide encouragement for all of us as we seek to live out our faith in this world.

Robert Hollingsworth

Hilo, Hawaii

February 9, 2004

Preface

“Ve get too soon oldt, und too late schmart.”  My first boss in industry, a master mechanic in his sixties, had a plaque on his desk inscribed with the above Pennsylvania Dutch aphorism.  Who, among those of us in our “golden years” has not felt this way?

Maybe for the same reason that old men plant trees, they also think they need to pass on to future generations what they perceive to be nuggets of wisdom.  It occurred to me that it is conceivable that some of my observations from living more than threescore and ten years might be of interest to my children, nephews and nieces.  Perhaps the best credential for these observations is that I happen to be a member of what Tom Brokaw calls, “The Greatest Generation.”  But whether or not my generation is truly the greatest, every generation should pass on its observations to succeeding generations.  Otherwise, every generation is forced to rely on its own experience, which evolves so slowly that by the time it is absorbed, it is too late to capitalize on it.

I suspect that some of you, when you have lived three score and ten years, will do what I am doing here.  Maybe you will find, as I have, that it is fun to do—more fun even than planting trees.

PART ONE

My Spiritual Journey

Introduction

When a person writes anything autobiographical, he tends to write too much.  In case I have done that, I recommend that you read PART TWO first; otherwise, you might give up on the book, and never get around to reading about the two greatest soldiers of the Twentieth Century, and the most unusual dog of the last millennium.  Also, you will never know about a one-stanza hymn writer—possibly the only one who has ever lived.  Nor will you know the rationale for the soon-to-be-launched crusade which ultimately will emancipate nursing home residents from the scourge of long-winded preaching.

It is likely that Chapter 1 will be of interest only to family historians.

Chapter 1

The Journey from Dawn to Late Afternoon

I am a native of East Tennessee.  Tennesseans are never just from Tennessee.  They always tell you from which grand division of the state they hail—East, Middle or West.

I grew up during the Great Depression.  At the peak of this bleak period in our nation’s history, more than a third of the work force in the U.S. was unemployed.  My family was fortunate in that my father had work throughout this period.

Since my parents were Christians, my two sisters, Ann and Erwin, and I were brought up, to use a good church expression, “in the nurture and admonition of the Lord.”  In my tenth year, I made a public profession of my belief in Jesus Christ and joined the First Presbyterian Church in Johnson City, Tennessee.  I made this profession primarily because it was expected of me—not because of any deep conviction.  I don’t remember much about my public profession of faith.

Following our parents’ examples, my sisters and I attended church regularly.  I can’t say I enjoyed going; I went because it was expected of me.  I distinctly remember that Mother wanted me to attend Christian Endeavor, a Presbyterian youth group, which met on Monday afternoons after school.  For reasons I can’t recall, Christian Endeavor didn’t appeal to me, and I began to find excuses for not attending.  I’m sure this was a disappointment to Mother, who was an unusually strong Christian.  During my teen years, it would be fair to say that my spiritual life was a low-priority item on an over-scheduled agenda.

After graduating from high school, five of my friends and I joined the Civilian Conservation Corps (CCC) for the summer, thinking that we would be kept together.  However, we were sent to different camps.  Two lucky ones went to the West Coast.  I was sent to Camp 1455 in Unicoi, Tennessee (eleven miles from home) and found that I was a city boy among mountain men and boys.  Our work consisted of building roads, planting trees (to control erosion) and fighting forest fires.  I didn’t get home all summer.  The work was good experience for what was soon to come.

After entering the University of Tennessee, I joined the Army Reserve Corps (1942) and shortly thereafter was called to active duty.  I served throughout World War II—primarily in an airborne division.  Three times our division was scheduled to drop behind the German lines in front of Patton’s Third Army, and each time the mission was canceled because the Third Army was moving so rapidly.^[1]

 I returned to civilian life in early 1946, but remained in the Army Reserve Corps.  In 1948, I graduated from Georgia Tech and started working for a large corporation which manufactured rayon yarn.  Shortly thereafter I married a girl from Rome, Georgia (probably the best thing that ever happened to me).

            Probably the best thing that ever happened to me” (January 1, 1949).

In early 1951, when the Korean War was only a few months old, I was recalled to active duty with an Aviation Engineer Battalion.  After several months of training I was pulled out of my unit and sent as an industrial engineering officer to Headquarters, Far East Command, located in the Dai Ichi Building in downtown Tokyo.  Later, I worked as an industrial engineering officer at Yokohama Engineer Depot where we coordinated the work of ten Japanese industrial plants engaged in rebuilding heavy engineer equipment—which was then sent back to Korea.

Dody and two-year-old Tom III joined me in Tokyo, and in due time, Joe was added to the family—just prior to our return to the States.  Unfortunately for Joe, he is not eligible to run for President of the United States because of his birthplace.

After returning to civilian life, Dody and I and our boys (the final count was four) lived in a number of places, mainly in North Carolina.  Wherever we went we joined and became active in a church.  I must confess, however, that for the first eighteen years of my married life, the primary motivation for my church activity came from a deeply ingrained sense of duty.  The church was just one of a number of compartments in my life.  Undoubtedly, I fit the mold of a “nominal” Christian.

Then something happened that changed my spiritual outlook.  In July of 1967, I was en route to pick up some Boy Scouts at a summer camp.  As I was driving through the resort town of Tryon, North Carolina, I stopped to stretch at a small Episcopal church.  The church was open, so I walked into the sanctuary and sat down in one of the pews.  As I sat there alone, I felt something I cannot easily describe.  I have no idea how long the feeling lasted.  Later, I read a description of John Wesley’s conversion which occurred years after he had begun to preach.  He said that his heart had been “strangely warmed.”  That, in a general way, describes the feeling I had in that small Episcopal church.  It was my conversion experience and, from that time on, for the first time in my life, I had a keen interest in reading and trying to understand the Bible.  I began getting up early in the morning so I could study the Bible without interruption.  This became a lifelong habit.

About a year after my conversion experience, I accepted a job offer in High Point, North Carolina.  At this time, the Charismatic Renewal Movement was strong in this area.  Dody and I not only joined the First Presbyterian Church but also attended home-church meetings with charismatic Christians.  The people in these groups were also denominational church members—Methodists, Presbyterians, Episcopalians and Baptists.  They were more joyful, more loving, and more enthusiastic about their Christian faith than any I had ever seen.

In some ways, those house churches were like an underground church.  Most of the members would not have wanted their pastors to know they were attending the meetings.  In theory, there was no conflict of interest; in practice, it sometimes resulted in divided loyalties.  This, I thought, must be somewhat like the young church described in the Book of Acts.

            Not long after Dody and I began attending house-church meetings, one of the leaders asked me if I would like to receive the baptism of the Holy Spirit.  He briefly explained the process and said that the evidence that one has received the baptism is that one speaks in a heavenly language.  God, he said, is controlling the tongue and there is a feeling of great joy.  I was a bit skeptical, but agreed to submit to the process.  After coaching me and reading Scripture, he laid hands on me and prayed.  But nothing happened—that is, I had no unusual emotional feelings.  Nor did I speak in tongues.  My “mentor” told me that something was wrong—that apparently I was not yet ready for the baptism.  He said that when a person does not receive the baptism it is because there is a blockage in the flow of the Spirit.  Often, he said, it is because of a spirit of unforgiveness on the part of the person seeking the baptism.

            Needless to say, I was disappointed and somewhat disillusioned by the experience, but still felt that those charismatic Christians had something I wanted.  They were bold witnesses who believed in miracles.  And I had observed healing miracles in some of the meetings.

            One night a well-known charismatic evangelist came to nearby Greensboro, and spoke to a large audience.  One of the stories he told was how, when he was coming down with a severe head cold and was getting more and more hoarse (which was adversely affecting his preaching), he rebuked Satan over and over again.  Finally, after rebuking him hundreds of times, he was suddenly and miraculously healed, which enabled him to maintain his tight schedule of evangelistic services across the country.

Shortly after hearing this evangelist, I came down with the flu.  I, too, rebuked Satan over and over, and continued to work.  But instead of being miraculously healed, I ended up in the hospital with pneumonia.  During the week I spent at the hospital, I did some soul-searching concerning the charismatic movement.  Whatever its merits, I decided that this type of Christian walk was not for me.  And so I discontinued attending Charismatic meetings.

            Dody went along with my decision.  She grew up in the Episcopal church, but adjusted exceptionally well to being a Presbyterian—which incidentally is not an easy transition.  Whatever her feelings were about the charismatics, she didn’t want to go to house-church meetings without me.

            This decision required very little adjustment because throughout our association with Charismatics, we had remained active in our Presbyterian church.  It was as though we had been living in two spiritual worlds, and were now going back to only one.

As the years went by, and as we continued to move around the country, I often thought about the love, joy, and enthusiasm I had encountered among the charismatics—qualities that for the most part were in short supply in the churches we attended.  From time to time, I questioned in my mind which group is more effective—the Charismatics or the Mainliners.

Charismatics have the zeal and boldness that Christians are supposed to have.  But to an outsider they seem brash.  They tend to “wear their religion on their sleeves,” which turns many people off.  But couldn’t these same things have been said about those bold first-century Christians who turned the world upside down?

On the other hand, those in mainline denominations are just what you would expect them to be: organized—and maybe overly so.  They have a rich spiritual heritage and a solid doctrinal foundation.  But they often lack the enthusiasm and the freedom to express love and joy that Christians are supposed to have.

Throughout the years, I kept thinking that if these two types of Christians (Charismatics and Mainliners) could be hybridized, the result would be a Christian type more effective than either of the originals.  Someday, I kept thinking, I will do some research on Christian effectiveness.  I knew a little about managerial effectiveness, but Christian effectiveness is a different proposition.

Finally, I started work on my research project.  During the early morning hours for several years, I searched for answers to such questions as, “What is the primary goal of a Christian?” and “How can this goal be achieved?”  My approach was to use the Bible as my primary source material, and the standard against which all other materials would be measured.  In addition I would read the biographies of outstanding Christians in search of clues as to why they were effective.

As I came to grips with these questions which had been on my mind for so long, my spiritual life slowly but surely shifted into a higher gear.  I began to want to put into practice the truths that I was discovering.

A major influence during this time came as a result of taking an extension seminary course on church growth.  The author of the text wrote about the need for a 50-50 balance in each local church between Class I workers and Class II workers.  A Class I worker was defined as one who works within the four walls of a church.  A Class II worker was defined as one who works away from the church building, i.e., doing outreach.

My impression was that an exceptionally high percentage of church members work only on internal church projects (Class I work).  It was the only church work I had ever done.  I decided to try doing some Class II work (outreach).

For several years I was involved in a jail and prison ministry.  For many years I have been making weekly visits to nursing homes.  I have found Class II work to be more challenging and rewarding than Class I work.

From doing Class II work, I have learned that the warm feelings we get from “doing good”—or talking about it—can be an ego trip; also that it is easy to fall into the trap of setting goals which are “of ourselves.”  Our cleverly deceptive enemy is always at work causing problems.  The Apostle Paul wrote that Satan can change himself into an angel of light.  It took me a long time to learn that in our partnership with God, we should not be concerned with results; results are God’s responsibility.  Our responsibility is simply to be surrendered to the divine will, minute by minute of every day.

As can be seen, it would be more accurate to call my spiritual journey an odyssey, which means an extended wandering.  I spent a lot of time wandering in the wilderness—not unlike the Israelites of old.  Why did the wandering last so long?  In our secular lives, some individuals “find” themselves sooner than others; the same is true in our spiritual lives.  Obviously, the sooner we find ourselves, the better.

Chapter 2

The Journey At Sunset

            Early in 1998, I began having serious physical problems for the first time in my life.  For several months, my doctor was convinced that the pain in my chest area was muscular.  Eventually, a growth was discovered in the thorax area of my vertebra, which led to a diagnosis of multiple myeloma—a rare, leukemia-type, systemic cancer which can be treated, but not cured.

            Obviously my spiritual background helped me to accept this diagnosis.  But also I looked back on my life from a logical, common-sense standpoint.  Consider this:

·        I had lived to age 75 in almost perfect health.

·        I served in an airborne division in Europe during World War II, was recalled to active duty during the Korean War, and didn’t get a scratch in either war.

·        I had wonderful parents; I have two wonderful sisters, four wonderful sons and have recently celebrated fifty years of marriage with my wonderful wife.

Can anyone doubt that in spite of my present problem, I am among the most fortunate people of my generation?

Someone might say, “Yes, but wouldn’t it be even more fortunate if you suddenly dropped dead with a heart attack, instead of having to face what lies ahead?”  Of course, a question like that is academic; we have to play the hand that is dealt us.  But let us suppose we could be given choices in these matters.  Suppose I were told, “If you will tell me now when you are willing to have a sudden, painless, fatal heart attack, in lieu of staying the present course, it will happen.”

What is the present course?  My doctor, an oncologist, told me that the average life expectancy of someone diagnosed with multiple myeloma is three and one-half years.  The end could come in less than a year, but there is a fifty percent chance it will come after three and one-half years.  A small percentage have lived more than ten years.  If you were in my shoes, when would you pick to have a sudden, painless, fatal heart attack?

A professor of theology at Duke University recently made the observation that what people of the Middle Ages feared most, and prayed would not happen to them, was a sudden death. They wanted time to make things right with God.  They did not fear death; they feared God.  “Today,” the professor said, “people don’t fear God; they fear death.”

But has human nature really changed since the Middle Ages?  Maybe what people of every generation have feared is not death, per se, but that their lives will end before they are ready.  They fear that they will be cut off before they have finished with living.

In a sense, a cancer survivor’s situation is no different from that of a healthy person.  Since no one is going to get off the planet alive, everyone—consciously or unconsciously—is fighting a delaying action with the enemy (death).  Sooner or later, everyone loses this battle.  The main difference for a cancer survivor is that time is compressed.  But knowing this can be a “silver lining”; he may consider his diagnosis as a wake-up call.  For the balance of his life, he will be more focused in setting his priorities.  He will do more of the things that are important (and correspondingly less of the things that are trivial).  His awareness of his time limitation may prompt him to complete projects which he always intended to finish but kept putting off.  It is likely that he will get more satisfaction out of each day.  He may appreciate the beauty and wonders of nature more than before.  He may more intensely feel the music of the great masters.  By contrast, a man who departs from this planet via a sudden, fatal heart attack, an accident, or incapacitating stroke, does not have the benefit of a wake-up call.  While one might not choose cancer as an exit route, this disease does provide time to prepare an exit.  The more effective the delaying action he fights, the more time he will have. 

There is a challenge implicit in having a terminal illness.  When a person is diagnosed, he is likely to react in one of two ways: he can fatalistically surrender and drift into the whirlpool which will soon take him under.  There is no challenge or satisfaction in that; in fact, it is nothing less than suicidal.  There may be a time to surrender, but not before one has given it his best shot.  Or he can challenge the fate that is knocking at the door and do everything possible to beat the odds, knowing full well that there are longevity factors beyond his control. 

There is always the chance that medical research will come up with a “magic bullet”, and the longer he can fight a delaying action, the better that chance will be.  Even if his time turns out to be short, he has the satisfaction of knowing that he has gone down swinging (to use a baseball metaphor), rather than being called out on strikes with the bat on his shoulder.

For the cancer fighter, there is an apt quotation by the late Jim Valvano.  His 1982-83 N.C. State basketball team made it to the N.C.A.A. tournament with a mediocre record for the season (compared to the other teams selected).  None of the pundits gave N.C. State a chance to go all the way.  But the “Cardiac Kids”—as they were dubbed—did go all the way.  Almost every game was a nail-biter—won by a point or two, typically at the final buzzer.  When asked how they did it, Valvano said, “You survive and advance.”  That should be the goal of anyone with a terminal illness—survive and advance—not one game at a time, but one day at a time.

When Valvano became a cancer fighter, he said, “Today, I’m fighting a different battle.  But what cancer can’t take away is my faith, my heart, and my soul.”[2]  On another occasion he said, “Cancer can take away all my physical abilities.  It cannot touch my mind, it can’t touch my heart, and it can’t touch my soul.”[3]  In that same speech, he said, “Never, ever, ever quit.”  Yogi Berra gave a good reason for not quitting: “It’s never over till it’s over.”

Why wouldn’t anyone choose to fight?  Those who believe Romans 8:28 will do at least one additional thing.  They will look for possible “silver linings” that may unfold.  God guides us not only through the unbeatable combination of His Word and Spirit, but through providential circumstances.

Those who have a terminal illness, or those who feel anxious about the inevitability of death, may find comfort in the well-known hymn, “Abide with Me.”  Dr. William Henry Monk (1823-1889) was inspired to write the music for this hymn while watching a sunset.  The tune is a perfect setting for the hymn words written earlier by Henry Francis Lyte (1793-1847), an Anglican minister.  Each stanza is a gem, but I particularly like the second and fourth stanzas:

Swift to its close ebbs out life’s little day;

Earth’s joys grown dim, its glories pass away;

Change and decay in all around I see;

O Thou who changest not, abide with me.

I fear no foe, with Thee at hand to bless;

Ills have no weight, and tears no bitterness:

Where is death’s sting?  Where grave, thy victory?

I triumph still if Thou abide with me.

Celebrities who are not expected to live much longer are often asked (typically on the Larry King show), “How would you like to be remembered?”  Family members and friends don’t usually ask this question of a non-celebrity; it might convey the impression that they have given up on him, or they know something about his condition that he doesn’t know.  And yet when there is someone who may not be with us much longer, we would like to ask this question.  Knowing this, I don’t think it is presumptuous for a person to answer the question, even if no one has asked.

I have always liked the words of a sports writer of another era:

When the Great Scorer comes to write against your name, He writes not that you won or lost, but how you played the game.[4]

PART TWO

SOME OF MY FAVORITE THINGS

Introduction

            The title of Part Two was suggested by one of the songs in The Sound of Music.  Maria sang a catchy little tune about some of her favorite things to the Von Trapp children.  Maybe one reason we select favorite things is that we realize that life is short, and therefore we have to be selective.  As an extreme example of being selective, I remember telling my nephew, Andy, that if I were marooned on a desert island, I wouldn’t be bored as long as I had a Bible and the recordings of Beethoven’s nine symphonies.  I still feel that way, although I don’t know why I ever expected to be marooned on a desert island.  I may have been trying to encourage Andy either to read the Bible or learn to appreciate the music of Beethoven—or both.  The only reason I remember this conversation is that shortly thereafter, Andy gave me an LP album of the nine symphonies of Beethoven which I almost wore out before cassette tapes replaced my records.

            What follows are just a few of my favorite things.  I could have written about many others, such as my favorite baseball player (Roberto Clemente), or my favorite football coach (Bobby Dodd), or my favorite composer (Beethoven), or my favorite hobby (gardening), or my favorite mountain (The Roan); but if I wrote about all of my favorite things, I would bore my family to tears.  I certainly don’t want to do that.

Chapter 3

My Favorite Soldiers

            Why do I write about my favorite soldiers when I don’t intend to write about my favorite teachers, or preachers, or U.S. presidents, or any other occupations?  Mainly because I spent five years on active duty in the army during two wars, and since then have developed an interest in military leadership.  Dody sometimes comes in our bedroom when I am watching a Civil War or World War II documentary on the History Channel and asks, “How can you stand to watch all that gore?”  I don’t answer that question anymore; I just make a mental note to wait until she gets absorbed in her addiction, crossword puzzles, and then, counter-attack! 

            My favorite soldier is my father.  When he volunteered in 1917, the University of Georgia graduated him and other members of the senior class several months early, so they could do their part in fighting a “war that would end all wars.”

            Dad was modest to a fault.  He never alluded to his accomplishments as a baseball player, or a soldier, or a business man.  I was his only son, and when I was nine or ten years old I would interrupt his reading, and say, “Daddy, can I see your medals again?” (this always led into a discussion).  Apparently he didn’t talk about his war experiences to anyone else—not even Mother—but he would talk to me at length about his combat experiences in his modest way.

            An unsung hero of the First World War and his bride—my parents.

            After he died, I found among his books, a book on the history of the 38^th Infantry Regiment, written shortly after World War I.  The sobriquet of this regiment was “The Rock of the Marne” (which was the title of the book).  I found references in the book about “Lieutenant Hollingsworth’s brilliant leadership” as a platoon leader and later as a company commander.  Dad was engaged in five major battles, was twice wounded, and awarded the Purple Heart, the Silver Star, and the Distinguished Service Cross—the second highest medal for gallantry in action.

            Unfortunately, I can’t accurately write much about my boyhood talks with Dad (after all, it was almost 70 years ago).  If I had interviewed him with pencil and paper like a good reporter, I would have enough material for an account of his wartime experiences.  However, I can accurately relate a lot—maybe more than you want to know—about my number two favorite soldier, Matthew Ridgeway.  I was in his 18^th Airborne Corps during World War II; also I was in his headquarters during the Korean War.  Because of the difference in our rank (the gap between general and first lieutenant is considerable), I didn’t know him personally, but I have read so much World War II and Korean War history I feel that I know him almost as well as I know my father.

            I was inducted into the army via the Army Reserve Corps and began basic training at age 19.  After basic training, I became a member of an airborne division, and after considerable field training we were sent to the European Theatre of operations.  Our division was one of four airborne divisions which comprised the 18^th Airborne Corps.  Our Corps Commander was General Ridgeway.

            After World War II, I remained in the Army Reserve Corps, and was recalled to active duty during the Korean War.  After a few months of training with an Aviation Engineer Battalion, I was sent to the Far East Command as an industrial engineering officer.  My first assignment there was in Far East Command Headquarters in the Dai Ichi Building in the center of Tokyo.  General MacArthur had recently been fired by President Truman, and my old 18^th Airborne Corps commander, Matt Ridgeway, had replaced him as Commander-in-Chief, Far East Command. 

            I never saw Ridgeway’s daily arrivals at the Dai Ichi Building, but I read about the contrast between his arrivals and those of his predecessor.  Great crowds of Japanese would gather to see MacArthur arrive at precisely the same time every day.  Consummate actor that he was, he would stride dramatically up the steps of the building en route to his office.  By contrast, Ridgeway would arrive much earlier, and not at a predictable time.  There was no fanfare as he briskly went up the steps, two at a time.  There were no hero-worshipping onlookers.  The Japanese could not have imagined that MacArthur’s less-flamboyant replacement was a soldier’s soldier, and would one day be named as the greatest American military leader of the 20^th Century—one who served brilliantly in World War I, World War II and the Korean War.

            The difference between MacArthur and Ridgeway was like the difference between certain U.S. Senators.  Some of them are workhorses; others are show horses.  The following anecdote will illustrate the difference between MacArthur and Ridgeway.

            MacArthur blundered grossly—and tragically in sending the 8^th Army all the way to the Yalu River (the border between North Korea and Manchuria).  MacArthur misjudged—in spite of many warnings—the intentions of the Russian-controlled Chinese.  In December 1950, hordes of Chinese soldiers descended upon the 8^th Army in bitter sub-zero weather and forced the most disastrous retreat in U.S. military history.  When the 8^th Army commander was killed, he was replaced by General Ridgeway, who skillfully turned the tide of battle by launching a bold counter-offensive.  When MacArthur was advised of the planned offensive, he invited newsmen to join him in visiting Ridgeway’s headquarters.  MacArthur, in his typical egotistical style, told the newsmen that he had initiated the planned offensive—which was not true.  Naturally, MacArthur got good press in the media from this.  Ridgeway, the quintessential professional, allowed his boss to take credit.  In numerous ways, MacArthur over-played his hand, until finally the show horse was replaced by a workhorse (Ridgeway).  In the long run, truth almost always prevails.

            How effective was Ridgeway as a military leader during World War II?  He parachuted into Normandy on D-Day as commander of the famed 82^nd Airborne Division, and fought with the 82^nd until he was promoted to commander of the 18^th Airborne Corps.  Troopers of the 82^nd gave him the sobriquet “The Eagle” (partly, I suspect, because of his Roman nose). 

            Ridgeway’s greatest test came during the Battle of the Bulge.  The Allies had thought that the German Wehrmacht was on its last legs: the prevailing thinking during the Fall of 1944 was that the war would be over by Christmas.  On December 16, 1944, Hitler unleashed two panzer field armies into the thinly-held Ardennes Forest Sector.  The German build-up of tanks, artillery and infantry had been going on secretly—mainly at night—for several weeks in total radio silence.  When the panzer armies struck, the greatly outnumbered Allied units crumbled and fell back into mass confusion.  It was bitter cold and overcast for many days, which of course grounded our superior air force.  The Allied high command had been caught napping.

            In this crucial situation, Ridgeway not only had command of the airborne divisions, but was given temporary command of some of the units which had been forced to retreat.  He had to relieve some of the division commanders who were unable to cope with the fluid situation.  On one occasion, Ridgeway relieved the commander of the 106^th Infantry Division when he found him “strangely detached” from the battlefield situation.  Two-thirds of the 106^th had surrendered (more than 8,000) and were being marched to German prison camps.

            Throughout the battle (which officially lasted about 5 weeks), General Ridgeway was everywhere at the front, doing whatever had to be done to stop the German penetration, and to begin driving the German soldiers back to Germany.

            Matthew Bunker Ridgeway had a distinguished military career.  He lived to the age of 98.  Next to my father, he is my favorite soldier.

One more thing about Dad.  My sister Erwin has a letter that Dad wrote to his Mother just before going into a major battle.  It came through Jersey City, New Jersey on March 27, 1918.  It reads in part as follows:

Dearest Mother,

      Doesn't it seem wonderful that I am to have the opportunity of a century - and help to make history, as it has never been made before?

      To think that I, like characters in my History books, am about to enter into a campaign of war.

      Do you remember reading stories of war to me, and adding to them by telling me that “my boy will never go to war”, with a pat on the head?

      But you understand how things are now, don't you, Dearie?  And you see how it is nothing but right that I should do all I can for our country, and aren't you proud that I could go over and do my part?  I am so glad that you feel as you do about it, and have the same ideas I have.  I feel closer to you than I have in all my life, I do believe - for you have taken it with your characteristic wonderful spirit, and I am certainly proud of you.

Maybe Tom Brokaw got it wrong; maybe Dad's generation was the greatest.

           
Chapter 4

My Favorite Dog

When I retired, Dody and I moved to the mountains of Western North Carolina.  On a very hot day in August, we took some trash to a dumpster, and saw a scrawny puppy that was looking around for food.  Because we had sometimes seen abandoned dogs and cats at the dumpster, we usually kept some pet food and water in the car.  Often stray animals are difficult to approach, even with food, because they have been mistreated.  This puppy, however, was not shy.  He wolfed down the food, and drank all the water we had.  Dody said, “We can’t leave this puppy here.  He probably lives nearby, and has lost his way home.”  So we took him with us. 

                            A portrait of a noble dog whose name was “Speedy”.

            At that time we lived on what had been a six-acre farm, and it had a trout stream running through it—an ideal home for a dog.  This puppy must have realized it, because he dashed around with joy.  He ran in big circles so fast that we immediately named him “Speedy.”  We had a Basset-Beagle named “Daisy” (who also had been a stray) and she quickly let Speedy know that she was top dog.  She slept on the sofa, and in general, lived the life of Riley.  Speedy was relegated to the barn, but that was O.K. with him; he was happy just to have a home.  We advertised in the local paper, and put up notices in stores around the area, but no one claimed him.  He quickly gained weight and a glossy fur coat.

            When we took Speedy to get shots, the vet said that he was at least half collie, but had no idea what else.  Anyone who ever saw Speedy will tell you he was a beautiful dog, whatever his parental background.  He was often called “Lassie.”

            One of my hobbies is gardening.  About the time Speedy came to live with us, I was having problems with groundhogs.  I put a fence around the garden, but they dug under it.  As time went by, blocking the holes under the fence became a real chore.  One day I went to the garden to harvest some broccoli, and the area around it looked like a war zone—a dozen beautiful plants had been destroyed. 

I was commiserating with a neighbor about this, and he said, “If you will put that collie inside the fence, the groundhogs will leave your garden alone.”  I did, and it worked; the biggest groundhog in the world wouldn’t want to tangle with a 75-pound. collie.  Speedy didn’t enjoy groundhog duty, but as the junior dog on the property, he was in a weak bargaining position.  The interesting thing is that in the process of putting him in and out of the garden, day after day, week after week, a bond developed between us.  For centuries, collies have been bred and trained for sheep herding, so that obedience comes naturally to them.

Speedy was about ten years old when we moved to Chapel Hill.  I immediately began gardening, and was delighted to find that there were no groundhogs in the area.  Speedy may have thought that without a job he was going to be put out to pasture, but shortly after we moved there, I saw a notice in a church bulletin that one of the local nursing homes wanted pet owners to bring their pets for visits with the residents.  It has been proven that pets can have a therapeutic effect on patients in hospitals and nursing homes.  I had the feeling that Speedy would be good at this, although it crossed my mind that an ex-groundhog warrior might be a little rough-around-the-edges for this kind of job. 

It turned out beautifully, however, because Speedy had bonded to me, and wanted to please me.  His job was to go with me from room to room, get close to the resident, and look him or her in the eye while being petted and told what a beautiful dog he was.  It was a joy for me to see how much pleasure he brought to so many people.  Many of them previously had dogs, and enjoyed telling about them.  One lady in her nineties refused to schedule anything during the time Speedy and I were in the building.  She was afraid she would miss seeing Speedy.  His visit with her—which seldom lasted for more than five minutes—was the high point of her week.

Speedy’s reputation spread—mainly from a newspaper article about him—and he began making weekly visits to two nursing homes.  He was twice nominated as “volunteer of the year” by the North Carolina Health Care Facilities Association.  After spending most of his life in obscurity in a remote mountain outpost, Speedy found his true calling in the booming Triangle area.  He had learned patience from long hours in the garden, waiting for groundhogs to show up.

            One day as I was reflecting on Speedy’s obedient nature, I began to wonder if God created dogs to be role models for us.  I thought, “Wouldn’t it be good if I could be as responsive to God as Speedy is to me.”  Speedy never said, “Boss, I’m tired of those nursing homes.  Can’t I stay home today?”  When he was a groundhog warrior, he never said, “Boss, it’s as boring as all get-out inside that fence.  I’d like to have more time to run up and down the creek.  Can’t I have a day off?”  From his actions, he always seemed to be saying, “I want to do whatever you want me to do.” 

Isn’t that the attitude God wants from us?  When the “inner voice” of the Spirit prompts me to do a certain thing, I often say something like, “Lord, please not right now.  Have you forgotten that Georgia Tech is playing the University of XYZ today?  You know I can’t miss that game.  And after the game, I need to water the garden; it hasn’t rained in a week.  Can’t I do what you want next week?”

            Why can’t I be like Speedy?  Just as soon as he knew what I wanted, he was ready to do it.  And he persevered—he kept on keeping on.  Sometimes after a visit to a nursing home, he was so tired that I had to help him get into the car.  After all, his age at that time was equivalent to a 95-year-old person.  But after a little rest, he was ready and raring to go again.

            By early 1998, Speedy had more than three years of pet therapy under his collar, and time was beginning to take it’s toll.  His desire to make the rounds never wavered, but he became unsteady on his feet, especially on the polished floors of the nursing-home hallways.  He had several embarrassing falls.  Also, it was getting more and more difficult to get him in and out of the car.  And so Speedy and I talked things over, and decided that it was time to turn his therapy practice over to younger dogs.  There were several pretty nifty ones coming along; one could do tricks, and a couple of them were small enough to sit in the laps of the residents.

            One day in mid-March, Speedy made his last visit.  No more would he hear the cheerful voices of the nurses saying, “Here comes Speedy,” or “Here comes Lassie.”

            I think if I had left the decision to retire up to Speedy, he would have kept going until one day he would have died with his boots on, in an effort to visit just one more of his ardent admirers.

            Speedy seemed to enjoy his well-earned retirement.  He never alluded to his former celebrity status.  We took him for a neighborhood walk a couple of times a day, and occasionally for a long walk.  He was happiest when we had visits from our children and grandchildren.  In short, Speedy seemed to be at peace with the world.  His doctor said he was in good health—especially considering that larger dogs tend to have shorter lives than smaller dogs.  At 14½ years of age, Speedy had beaten the odds by quite a margin.

            On July 19, 1998, Dody and I knew the time had come.  Despite a daily regimen of aspirin, Speedy’s arthritis was causing him a lot of pain and difficulty.  We called his doctor; she came to our house and administered a shot.  Within seconds, Speedy went quietly to sleep.  Joe buried him at the far end of the upper garden.

            We have had many dogs, and some of them were quite noble.  But Speedy was special.  God must have broken the mold after making him.  Speedy was my favorite dog.

           
Chapter 5

My Favorite Hymn

            The study of hymns has always been a strong interest of mine.  When my church, University Baptist Church of Chapel Hill, offered a Hymnody/Hymnology course, I signed up for it. 

At the first class session, our teacher suggested that we might want to try our hand at writing a hymn.  Several days later, I was reading in Hebrews 12, which is a chapter that portrays the Christian life as a long-distance race.  The imagery suggests an athletic contest in a great amphitheater where the heroes of the past—mentioned in the 11^th chapter of Hebrews—are assembled.  But these heroes are not spectators; they are examples to inspire us as we run the race of life.

            It was the first verse of Chapter 12 that triggered my imagination:

Therefore, since we are surrounded by such a great cloud of witnesses, let us throw off everything that hinders, and the sin that so easily entangles, and let us run with perseverance the race marked out for us.  —Hebrews 12:1 (NIV)

I decided to use Hebrews 12:1 as my theme.  Through a process of trial and error, I managed to come up with one stanza of a poem.  I adjusted the syllables of the poem to fit the meter of Franz Joseph Haydn’s majestic Austrian Hymn tune[5], which has long been a favorite of mine.

Unable to come up with more than one stanza, I challenged my pastor to add to the poem.  He accepted the challenge and wrote a second stanza, and then challenged the minister of music to write a third stanza, in order that University Baptist Church would have its own unique hymn.

The hymn was introduced and sung at the morning worship service on August 20, 1995.  On October 3, 1999, it was selected to be our Homecoming Hymn (bulletin excerpt below).

Homecoming Hymn

LET US RUN THE RACE

Austrian Hymn

(Text by Thomas Hollingsworth, Jr.; H. Mitchell Simpson; and Patti B. Lingafelt; based on Hebrews 12.  First sung at UCB on August 20, 1995.)

Let us throw off all our burdens, As we run the race of life.

With our eyes on Christ our Savior, We can win in ev’ry strife.

God will help us if we seek Him; He will mold us as we go.

Through our joys and through our suff’ring, We will more His presence know.

Treating us as sons and daughters, God has called us to endure;

Urging disciplined submission, Sharing holiness so pure.

Come, then, keep thy steps from wavering, Prompt anew thy fainting heart;

That thou might’st again resolve to Serve the God whose child thou art.

Christ has forged the way before us—On the cross He shed His blood;

Thus can we press on toward heaven, City of our living God,

Where the righteous are made perfect Since they, steadfast, ran the race,

Kingdom that cannot be shaken. Thanks to God for all His grace!

Each of us must run his own race.  At the end of our race, presumably we will meet God face to face.  When we do, He is not likely to ask us why we were not an evangelist like Corrie Ten Boom, or a composer like Beethoven, or a medical missionary like Schweitzer.  But He may ask us why we didn’t become the kind of person He wanted us to become, or do the things He wanted us to do.

We cannot know what lies ahead of us in this life.  But if we are surrendered to, and in communication with, the One who loves us and wants the best for us, we can know we are on the right path.  And that’s all we need to know.  As God shapes and molds us, the path will sometimes take us through the swamps of sadness and suffering; at times the path will lead to the mountain peaks of joy and serenity.  We shouldn’t be overly-concerned about our destination; that is God’s responsibility.  Our responsibility is to follow the path of obedience—at whatever the cost—minute by minute, hour by hour, of every day. 

In one of his books[6], Leslie Weatherhead used the analogy of a mariner on the high seas to depict a life journey:

Can you imagine a mariner setting off to sail the seas in a sailing vessel, and saying to himself, ‘I am not going to take any notice of this conventional chart, or this compass, or indeed of the stars in heaven.  I am free of them all.  I am going to do what I like.  I am going to sail my vessel as I like and where I like.  These old, conventional, stuffy rules about navigation, what are they to me?’

How grimly the stormy seas would laugh at him and how soon he and his ship would find the bottom of the ocean!  It is when he accepts the discipline of the chart, the advice of the compass, the tyranny—if you like—of the eternal stars, that he finds at last the harbour.  Let me remind you of that old proverb which says, ‘He who will not heed the stars, shall heed the rocks.’

Do not be, therefore, as the young mariner who, in the name of freedom, throws off restraint.  There is not only a chart and compass and stars.  There is a Pilot.  Take him on board today, follow His guidance, obey His direction, become His willing slave, and you will find …. the only true harbour of the soul.

Weatherhead reminds us that in our life journey God is shaping an molding us not only through the discipline of the “chart, and compass and stars” (meaning the Bible), but through the “Pilot” (meaning the Triune God).

            One way we can know we are being shaped and molded is by the evidence of the fruit of the Spirit in our lives.  The Apostle Paul defines the fruit of the Spirit as love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, and self-control (Galations 5: 22,23). 

LET US RUN THE RACE!

Chapter 6

My Favorite Sermon

            For three years I conducted a weekly devotional service in a large nursing home in Chapel Hill.  Since moving to a retirement community near Greensboro, I have continued to do this, except that I do it only once a month.  Local pastors conduct the other weekly services.

            Shortly before moving here, I was diagnosed with Multiple Myeloma.  As I thought about things to talk about in the nursing home here, I began to realize that it isn’t as easy to talk about some of the things I talked about in Chapel Hill—joy for example.  When our health is declining, we don’t have the joie de vivre that we have when our health is robust.  On an intellectual level, my thinking has not changed, but we all know that there are times when our emotions and intellect don’t coincide. 

It struck me, however, that if I was having difficulty feeling joy, there must be many nursing home folks with a similar problem, and therefore I should not avoid a subject just because of my feelings.  And so I made “Joy” the subject of my first sermonette. 

Incidentally, my sermonettes are nothing like the sermons in a typical church service.  When I first came here, I attended a nursing-home devotional.  The local pastor who conducted it obviously had decided to use one of his regular sermons.  He expounded non-stop for over 30 minutes.  After 6 or 7 minutes everyone except me was either asleep or their eyes had totally glazed over.  But this pastor was determined to deliver the full load!  If there is one thing I learned in the nursing home in Chapel Hill, it is that the attention span of an average nursing home resident is more than somewhat short.  That’s why I throw in lots of rhetorical questions, and intersperse talking with playing the old hymns.  I’m convinced that if I did nothing but play hymns, many would say afterwards, “That’s the best devotional we have ever had.”

            When my turn for a devotional came around the 2^nd month, I was rather busy, and being somewhat lazy, I decided to give them essentially the same sermonette that I had given them the previous month.  Afterwards when I went around shaking hands, I expected someone to say, “Didn’t you talk about joy last month?”  But no one did! 

Maybe they were too polite.  Or maybe a month in a nursing home is like an eternity.  Also, I reflected on the many times at Sunday dinner, someone would ask me, “How was church?”  “Fine,” I would say.  But if someone asked, “What did the preacher talk about?”, I would be at a loss.  For sure, I couldn’t give anyone the three main points in his sermon.  And so I decided to continue talking about joy until someone said, “Don’t you think you have run this joy thing in the ground?”  It’s been 6 months now, and each time I expect someone to comment on the repetition, but it hasn’t happened yet.

            By now you are probably feeling sorry for those poor, defenseless nursing home residents.  I don’t blame you.  But don’t lose any sleep over it, because I am planning to talk to the local pastors and suggest that we get smart, and give them what they want—nothing but hymn singing and hymn playing.  I will tell them that when I play Tennessee Ernie Ford’s rendition of “When the Roll Is Called Up Yonder,” they not only clap their hands and sing along with Ernie, but act like they want to march around the room.  There isn’t a glazed eye among them.

            Whether my repetitious sermonette on joy has helped any resident, I don’t know.  But it has helped me.  In the hope that it will help others, I will walk you through a typical “joy” devotional. 

            The sermonette is not the same every time.  The series could be called “Variations on the Theme of Joy.”

·        Brief introductory remarks: “Glad to be here—isn’t it a beautiful day!” (or some comment about the weather), and other “ice-breakers.”

·        “I am going to play a hymn, and I want you to tell me later what feeling you get from this hymn.”  I play an instrumental version of Joyful, Joyful, We Adore Thee—music of Beethoven based on the “Ode to Joy” theme from the 4^th movement of his Ninth Symphony.  During this time, I go around and shake hands.

·        I ask, “What feeling did you get from the music?  Did you feel joy? (they nod).  What is joy?  How do we get it?  That’s what we are going to be talking about today.  Is joy the same thing as happiness?” (Some of them nod).  “No, not really.  Let me give you an example:  I have several favorite sports teams—the Atlanta Braves, the Carolina Panthers and others.  When my team wins, I am happy, but when they lose, I am unhappy.  No team wins all the time, so my happiness is up and down.  Joy is not like that, as we will see.”

·        “What does the Bible say about joy?”  I read and briefly discuss 1 Thess. 5: 16-17 and James 1: 1-4.  I conclude by saying, “You can see that joy is not an up and down thing.  We can have joy in spite of circumstances.”

·        “If I had talked to you about joy a couple of years ago, and if you had known me, you might have said, ‘Tom, it’s easy for you to talk about joy.  Nothing bad has ever happened to you.’  And that was true then.  I had lived 75 years in almost perfect health.  I went overseas in both WWII and the Korean War, was in a dangerous branch of the service, but never got a scratch.  In recent years when I would get a physical, my doctor would look at my records and say, ‘I don’t think you ever had a bad day.’  And that was almost true.  Then, about two years ago, I was diagnosed with multiple myeloma, a rare type of cancer that is incurable.  The average life expectancy from time of diagnosis is 3½ years.  So if my situation is average, I have a year and a half more to live.  Am I happy about this?  No.  Can I have joy in spite of my situation?  Yes.  And no matter what your situation is, you, too, can have joy.  Some of you may have a terminal illness and some of you may have a problem worse than a terminal illness.  After all, we have known all our lives that we were going to die someday.  Having a terminal illness gives us time to prepare for it.  If we die from an accident or a sudden heart attack, we don’t have that time.”

·        “Suppose someone asked you, ‘How can I get a feeling of joy?’  What would you tell him?  I have thought about this, and if someone asked me, I would say that I believe the first thing he must have is a relationship with God.  I’m sure you all have this relationship.  If the person asked, ‘How can I get this relationship?’ I would say, ‘Start by reading what the Bible says about God.’  There are about a thousand references to God in the Bible.  In the very first verse of the Book of Genesis, we read that God created the heavens and the earth, and near the end of the Bible in the Book of Revelation we read ‘The Lord God omnipotent reigneth.’  God not only created the Universe—He rules it; He is in charge.”

·        “Many of the thousand references to God in the Bible tell of His great power and majesty.  A hymn that expresses this thought is How Great Thou Art, and no one sings it better than George Beverly Shea.  Let’s listen to him.”  I play a cassette tape of How Great Thou Art and note that the eyes which were beginning to glaze over are becoming unglazed.

·        “Another thing the Bible tells us about God, which is just as amazing as His power and majesty, is that He loves us!”  I quote John 3:16.  “And because He loves us, He has given us many promises.  I will mention just a couple of them.”  I quote Psalm 23:4.  “In other words, no matter what deep, dark valley we have to go through, God promises to be with us.  He does not promise to eliminate our problems.  But He assures us he will be with us.  Who is the promise for?  It is for those who, like David, can say, ‘The Lord is my Shepherd.’”

·        “Another of God’s promises is in Romans 8:28.”  I quote Romans 8:28.  “In other words, everything that happens to us works not only for our good but also for the Kingdom of God.  Who is this promise for?  It is for those who love God.”

·        “So you can see that the key to having joy is to have a relationship with God, so that we know that His promises apply to us.  Someone might say, ‘How can I know if I really love God?’  Jesus—who was God—said, ‘If you love me, keep my commandments.’  What commandments?  Jesus said, ‘I give you a new commandment—that you love one another.’  He said that if we keep this commandment, we will automatically keep all the others.  For example, one of the Ten Commandments is ‘Do not Kill.’  If you love a person, would you ever kill him?  You might say, ‘I love most everybody, but there are some people who are almost impossible to love.’  That is true, but we have to love everyone—even unlovable people.  After all, God loves everyone—even unlovable people—and He expects us to do the same.  Is it easy to do?  Definitely not, but that’s the challenge.  We know we have to do it.  The Apostle John tells us that if a person says, ‘I love God,’ but hates his fellow man, that person is a liar.

            “So you can see that joy is a by-product of love—loving God and loving our fellow man.  We cannot get joy by seeking it directly; we get joy indirectly through love.  Let me say this just one more time:  We all seek joy in life.  But joy comes as a by-product of love.  It comes from loving God, and loving one another, and that means loving EVERYONE.”

·        “Let us pray: Father, thank you for loving us.  Thank you for all the promises you have given us.  Help us to love everyone—even the ones we think are unlovable.  We know that doing this is the key to feeling joy..  In Jesus’ name we pray.  AMEN.”

·        We sing the hymn, Joyful, Joyful, We Adore Thee.  If Louise, the pianist, is not there, I play a tape of this hymn and then I read the first stanza.

·        “With the time we have left, I am going to play some more hymns.  Is there a particular hymn you would like to hear?”

            When the young assistant pastor at the church we attend found out that I was taking a turn conducting the devotional service at the nursing home, he told me that he has found this to be a difficult task.  I should have asked him why (he has since moved on).  Maybe he didn’t realize that he needed only one sermon.  Maybe he didn’t realize that in combining “proclaiming” with music, the proclaiming should never exceed a third of the time allocated.  The less time spent proclaiming, the better the message will be received.  Maybe he didn’t realize that the only hymns that will be appreciated are the old-time gospel numbers; contemporary hymns don’t appeal to them.

            If I am ever caught, and charged with excessive repetition on the theme of joy, I will plead guilty, take my punishment, and then I will start giving those poor, defenseless nursing home residents what they really want—nothing but music.  And the only music I will give them will be the old gospel hymns that they love so dearly.

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