Waiting on the Lord

This is a message I sent to my church family on Sunday morning, March 22, 2020, the second Sunday of the COVID-19 Crisis.

       “This is the day the Lord has made, let us rejoice and be glad in it!”

       For the second consecutive Sunday we will “rejoice and be glad” in the Lord’s day without having the opportunity to attend church.  And to think that only ten days ago life was fairly normal.  

       We had been studying the book of Acts that tells the story of the birth of the church.  I am now seeing the first chapter of Acts from a different perspective.  Jesus commanded his disciples to “not depart from Jerusalem, but wait for the promise of the Father.”  (Acts 1: 4)

       The story of the church begins with the disciples being on lockdown, they were mandated to “shelter in place.”  

       They had just experienced the resurrection and stood on the top of the Mount of Olives as Jesus ascended into heaven.  They wanted all the world to know this glorious news, but they could not go anywhere because they were under a mandate to “wait.”

       We learned in our Bible Study that the word “wait” in the first chapter of Acts is not the normal word for “wait” in the Bible.  Luke, who also wrote Acts, was the “beloved physician.”   He was a medical doctor who used many medical terms.  The word “wait” that is used in Acts 1 means to wait for the result of a medical test or treatment.  

       Most of you know about waiting for the results of a medical test—a CT Scan, a MRI, an Ultrasound.  It is often anxious waiting—fearing the worse, hoping for the best—waiting with uncertainty.  This was the waiting that the disciples experienced.  They did not know what to expect, whether it was going to be good or bad.  They did not know how long they would have to wait. 

       That is the situation we find ourselves in.  We are hoping for the best, but fearing the worse.  We don’t know how long this will last. 

       What did the disciples do while they were waiting?  They devoted themselves to prayer and they studied the Scriptures.  It wasn’t long before their waiting was over and the Holy Spirit came with power.  

       I invite you to join me in prayer during these uncertain days.  Study the Scriptures to find hope and comfort.  We need to reminded that God is still in control, that he is our refuge and strength, a very present help in times of trouble. 

       It is not easy to wait, but remember the powerful words from Isaiah 40:  “Those who wait upon the Lord shall renew their strength. They shall mount up with wings like eagles, they shall run and not be weary, they shall walk and not faint.”  

When the World Falls Apart We Won't Be Afraid

It took less than 24 hours for our world to fall apart.  We all heard about the Coronavirus, but it was a long way from us.  Life was going on as usual.  The ACC Tournament was back in Greensboro and Carolina finally played a complete game dominating Virginia Tech.  NC State was on the bubble, as usual, but showed great promise as they dispatched Pitt setting up yet another critical game with Duke.  

       

I attended a Minister’s meeting Wednesday morning and we talked about how the Coronavirus was beginning to change things in worship.  No more “passing the peace” in some churches and a couple of ministers said they were not going to pass the offering plate either, which I thought was a little extreme at the time.  We talked about plans for the Community Palm Sunday Celebration that would focus on the proposed “Unity Statue.”  I told the ministers that since we were rained out last Palm Sunday, I was confident April 5 would be a beautiful spring day!   We were getting a Children’s Choir together to sing “Let There Be Peace on Earth.”  It would be a grand celebration!

       

I was also planning for a great Sunday of worship on March 15.  I was preaching my “Census Sermon” that the city asked me to write.  We had invited the Mayor, the City Council, and City Administration to attend our worship.  Our wonderful Music Minister had enlisted a small orchestra and the music was going to be moving and powerful.  

       

Our Thursday morning men’s Bible Study met as usual at the YMCA and I went to Kiwanis at noon.  During the Kiwanis meeting I saw a news alert that the ACC Tournament had been cancelled.  Even though there was no basketball to watch, I was busy Thursday afternoon preparing for Sunday worship.  Then came the word that the Governor was requesting that there be no gatherings of more than 100—including churches.

       

My first thought was that since we had no known cases in Davidson County, that we should proceed as usual.  The Governor was just suggesting this guideline, it was not a mandate.  I decided to call Lillian Koontz who is our Health Department Director.  I really thought Lillian would say something like, “Ray, we need to be careful, but it’s not really an issue for us yet in Davidson County.”  But that is not what she said.  

       

Lillian told me that this was much more serious than most of us realized and it would get a lot worse before it got better.  She strongly recommended following the Governor’s guidelines.  

       

We decided to have our service on Sunday without a congregation.  Since our service would be broadcast on the radio, we would have a large audience.  We would have a choir and I would preach.   I went to bed Thursday night thinking that would be our plan.

       

Around 5 a.m. on Friday morning I got up and saw an email from my brother in Alabama.  My mother had been admitted to the hospital and was critically ill.  It didn’t look like she would make it.  

       

In less than 24 hours my world had fallen apart.  We cancelled services altogether on Sunday and replayed a previous service on the radio.  I was in Alabama saying good-bye to my mother.

       

The COVID-19 crisis is escalating every day.  Schools are out and no one knows when they will return.   Life for everyone has been turned upside down.   But in a strange way, sitting by my mother’s hospital bed and waiting for her to die was a reminder that God is still in control.  There is a time to be born and a time to die and it was my mother’s time.  I was with her on Tuesday when she took her final breath.  I knew I was on Holy Ground.  Her death is a blessing because she is released from the limitations and the awful curse of Alzheimer’s that has dominated her life in recent years.  

       

The 46^th Psalm reads: “God is our refuge and strength, a help always near in times of great trouble.  That’s why we won’t be afraid when the world falls apart . . .” (CEB). 

       

In these unprecedented times of great trouble in which our world is falling apart, don’t be afraid.  God is our refuge and strength.  He is with us.

Davidson County Has Every Reason to Celebrate Black History Month

        The month of February is celebrated as Black History Month because both Abraham Lincoln (Feb. 12) and Frederick Douglass (Feb. 14) had February birthdays.  But here in Davidson County we have our own remarkable reasons to celebrate. 

        Davidson County had a population of 16,601 in 1860.  This number included 3,076 slaves and 147 free people of color.  It is hard to believe that 160 years ago over 18% of our county’s population was slaves.  It probably will not surprise you to learn that nearly 2,000 Davidson County men fought for the Confederacy, but you may be surprised to know that many local people were opposed to the war.  There was a peace rally in Thomasville in 1862.  

        The post-war south was difficult for everyone, white and black, but at least there were schools for white children.  It was almost six decades after the war before black children had a school of their own.  Julius Rosenwald, the self-educated son of a German-Jewish immigrant had become a multi-millionaire as President of Sears Roebuck.   He wanted to address the inequality that black citizens experienced in the south by building schools.  There were 813 Rosenwald Schools in North Carolina, including Dunbar School on 4^th Street in Lexington that opened in 1924. 

        Rosenwald’s next project was to provide public library services for black citizens.  The Davidson County Public Library opened in 1928, but was in serious financial distress.  The Rosenwald Foundation offered the county financial assistance on the condition that services would be provided to all citizens, regardless of race.  At the time around 10% of the county’s 40,000 citizens were black.  In the summer of 1929, two new branches of the Davidson County Library opened to serve the African-American population.  When this happened, our county became the first county, not just in North Carolina, but the entire south to offer public library services to all of our citizens—an amazing accomplishment!  And the first month the new branches were open, black citizens checked out 4,000 books.  That was one book for every African-American in the county!

        In 1951, Dr. Lacy Caple became the first African-American dentist in Lexington.  He was an early advocate for civil rights along with Harvey Henderson, Rev. A. T. Evans and Rev. F. D. Betts.  In 1958, Dunbar High School won the first of three state football championships under the leadership of Coach Charlie England. 

        In 1963, the Lexington “Race Riot” received international attention after a man was killed.  No one who was present that night will ever forget the fear that they experienced.  The News Media had already left town when only one week later the Lexington City Council ordered the immediate desegregation of all city offices.  A bi-racial council was formed to find ways to work together.  Four years later all schools in Davidson County were totally integrated.   

 Rev. Dr. Arnetta Beverly became the first African-American to be elected to the Lexington City Council in 1987 and in 2002 the Davidson County Commissioners voted to approve the Martin Luther King. Jr. Holiday. 

There have been many brave and courageous men and women of all races who have worked for equality and justice through the years.   There have been times of great progress and there have also been times that we have failed to love our neighbors as ourselves.  There will always be those who are insensitive and those whose hearts are full of hatred which is why it is so important for us to focus on our accomplishments and the positive efforts to bring about justice for all.  Light is always stronger than the darkness and love is always stronger than hate. 

I hope you will join me in celebrating the many wonderful accomplishments of African-Americans and others who have worked for racial reconciliation and unity.   No, we are not where we should be, but thank the good Lord we are not where we used to be.  We keep moving forward, even though there are setbacks.  We keep striving to reach the goal of a society where all people are respected because we have been created equal.  Every person is an individual of worth because all of us, of every color and every culture, have been created in the Image of God.  One day we pray we will reach our goal where there will be true liberty and justice for all!

Leading From the Divide or Leading From the Dream

       This past weekend as our nation remembered the life and legacy of Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr., there were millions of references to his iconic “I Have a Dream” speech.  I can still remember as a nine year-old boy being riveted to the grainy image on my grandmother’s black and white television.  My heart soared with Dr. King’s lofty rhetoric and I knew that I wanted to be a part of that dream!

        His famous speech almost never happened.  The scripted speech on that hot, muggy August day in 1963 centered on the image of a “bad check.” America had failed on its promise of liberty and justice for all.  Black Americans had received a bad check and it was time to demand restitution.  After enumerating the different ways that America had failed her minority citizens, the prepared script had Dr. King calling on the crowd to “go back to our communities as members of the international association of creative dissatisfaction.” 

        Can you imagine school children 50 years later reciting a speech calling for creative dissatisfaction?  

        The arguably greatest speech of the 20^th century was not planned; it was the result Dr. King’s willingness to improvise and his gifted genius as a skilled orator. 

        The speech that was planned and scripted was not going well.  The huge crowd was hot, tired, and impatient.  The dedicated reformer’s words were falling flat.  Right before he spoke, the great Gospel singer Mahalia Jackson sang and she was standing close to him as he stepped up to the podium.  She could tell that something wasn’t right as he struggled with his words and in a moment than can only be explained as divine intervention she cried out, “Tell them about the dream, Martin!  Tell them about the dream!” 

        What happened next was a moment that changed history.  Observers said that Dr. King’s body language and his demeanor changed.  He ceased to be a lecturer—he pushed his prepared notes aside and he became a powerful preacher.  He was no longer speaking from his head, but from his heart.   Everything changed with his transformative words, “I have a dream today.” 

        There is a powerful lesson in leadership in what happened that day in our nation’s capital.  We can choose to lead from the divide, or we can lead from the dream.  African- Americans didn’t need anyone to tell them that they had received a bad check in 1963.  They saw it every day in segregated schools, restaurants, water fountains, buses and neighborhoods.  The prepared speech was only reinforcing their dissatisfaction and sending them home with a mission to make their problems known.

        This seems to be the default type of leadership we see today.  It focuses on what is wrong and delineates a clear separation between people of differing views.  It plays on people’s fears and results in reactionary defenses.  It fosters an “us against them” mentality.  We see the result of this type of leadership playing out at the highest levels.

        There is a better way, a much better way.  In that split-second decision when Dr. King pushed his notes aside, he radically altered his leadership approach and it resulted in the defining moment of the civil-rights movement.  In speaking of the dream and not the divide, he was suddenly appealing to all Americans, not just those who had been disenfranchised.  In that Providential second of destiny and fate, it was fitting that he was standing on the steps of the Lincoln Memorial because Dr. Martin Luther King was now appealing to “the better angels of our nature.”

        Leading from the dream lifts people up, it doesn’t put people down.  It inspires people rather than inciting them.  It is unifying, not divisive.  Focusing on the dream is liberating, not oppressive. 

        People all across this land were inspired and moved by Dr. King’s soaring rhetoric including a nine year-old white boy in Alabama.  That was the day that I wanted Dr. King’s dream to become my dream.  And while I didn’t realize it at the time, that was the day I learned that the most effective leadership is found when we lead from the dream, not the divide.

Start the New Year with a Box of Luden's Cough Drops

       Whenever I see Luden’s Cough Drops in the store I have this great desire to purchase a box, even if I don’t have a cough.  It takes me back to the 4^th grade when the most popular kid in the class was the one with the box of Luden’s. 

We were not allowed to bring candy to class, but this was medicine—right?   Watch a kid start coughing and bring out a box of Luden’s.  Remember what happened?  Every other kid sitting close to him also starting coughing and the next thing you knew, the newly anointed most popular kid was passing out Luden’s Cough Drops to all of his friends. 

There is a reason that Luden’s Cough Drops taste a lot like candy.  In its heyday, in addition to the much desired cough drops, the company produced more than 500 varieties of candy.  Sure, they do help a little if you have a cough, but their greatest benefit is being able to share something good with your friends.

I think I will buy a box of Luden’s for the New Year.  It’s always good to have something to share.  There are some more important boxes that need sharing in the New Year, beginning with the box of kindness. 

I can’t think of anything we need more in today’s world than kindness. There is something that is more important than being right and that is being kind.  Kindness is contagious.  Be kind to someone, and they will be kind to you. Kindness can not only make a difference in our world, it can transform it. 

Along with kindness, we need to have a box of compassion.  Compassion is powerful because it enables us to defeat indifference, intolerance, and injustice.   Compassion is impossible unless we place ourselves in the situation that evokes our concern.  When we do, we are able to treat everyone as equals, realizing that every human being is a person of worth, created in the image of God.  Acts of compassion can transform people, both the one who gives and the one who receives.  Compassion is the bond that unites all of humanity.   

The New Year is a great time for us to focus on the needs of others and make a positive difference.  When we do, we realize that our problems are not as big as we imagine them to be.  We also find a tremendous amount of fulfillment and well being, knowing that we can give hope to many who are suffering.  It felt good to be the most popular kid in the class, passing out those Luden’s Cough Drops.  It feels good as an adult to know that you are passing out the gifts of kindness, compassion, love, and mercy to those who have great needs.

There is one more thing I need to go.  I believe I will buy some boxes of civility and cooperation and send them to our friends in government.  We place our hand over our heart and pledge that we are “one nation, under God.”  Is this still true?  The poisonous rancor of division and hatred has replaced reason and cooperation.  The art of political compromise has been lost in a sea of vitriol and acrimony.  I pray that we will see the day when our leaders will show respect and have a sense of dignity for those with differing views.  Until then it is impossible to have a government “of the people, by the people and for the people.” 

The great German pastor and Christian martyr Dietrich Bonhoeffer wrote that we should “Live every day as if it were our last, yet live in faith and responsibility as though there were a great future.”  I would add to have a box of Luden’s Cough Drops so that you will have something good to share!   Happy New Year!

I Thought I Knew the Story of Silent Night: I Didn't

       Disaster struck at the Baptist Church back in the ‘80s.  The majestic pipe organ stopped playing just days before the big Christmas Eve service.  Our venerable organist, Miss Mabel (bless her heart), was in a tizzy. 

        Back in the day when I was working at the Baptist Church in LA (Lower Alabama), the organ quit and the deacons employed Leroy’s Machine Shop to rig up a replacement motor.  That story did not have a happy ending so I advised our deacons to contact the organ company.  But there was no way we would have an organ for the Christmas Eve service.

        Miss bless-her-heart Mabel was inconsolable.  She had planned a grand Prelude, a powerful rendition of Panis Angelicus that she had been rehearsing for months.  I told her that while we were saddened we would not be able to hear her masterpiece, we could still make this a memorable service.  I could tell the story of Silent Night—how the Priest discovered the organ was broken on Christmas Eve morning and he hurriedly wrote some words and then had the organist to compose a tune that they played on a guitar.  Since our organ was broken we could close our service by singing Silent Night, accompanied by a guitar.   

        That was exactly what we did.  People thought it was the best Christmas Eve service ever, much to Miss bless-her-heart Mabel’s chagrin!  It would be 35 years before I discovered that I had the story all wrong. 

        In May, we visited Obendorf, the birthplace of Silent Night.  The minute we stepped off the train we felt like we were in a fairy tale.  This idyllic Austrian village was friendly, neat, and clean. The Salzach River winds through this beautiful hamlet with the breathtaking snow-covered Alps in the distance. Five months earlier they had celebrated the 200^th anniversary of the iconic Christmas carol and it was evident they had gone all out to accommodate the multitude of visitors.

        A small chapel rests on the site where Silent Night was first heard.  A hand-carved nativity and two beautiful stained glass windows create a quiet and peaceful sanctuary.  The windows honor Father Joseph Mohr, the Parish Priest, and Franz Gruber, the organist of St. Nicholas Church.   Two centuries ago the town was in a crisis.  The bargers made their living transporting salt down the river to Salzburg, but the river had flooded and the bargers were helpless.

        Father Mohr was a man of the people.  He visited their taverns where he ate and drank with them and sang their festive songs.  On Christmas Eve he was thinking about their desperate plight when he remembered a poem he had written two years before during a time of crisis in a previous Parish.  It was the year of 1816, the summer without a sun, as the entire Northern hemisphere was suffering from a global disaster resulting from a super-volcanic eruption in faraway Indonesia.  The volcanic ash had circled the earth, blocking the sun and creating a natural disaster resulting in starvation, poverty, and death. 

        Father Mohr found solace in front of a painting of the holy family.  He reflected on the contrast of the heavenly peace of the Nativity and the pain and suffering that he and his people were experiencing.  He wrote “Silent Night, Holy Night, all is calm, all is bright . . .”   

        Finding the words he wrote two years earlier, he went to see his friend Franz Gruber.  Agreeing to compose the music, they decided that they would sing the new song after the Christmas Eve service was over, for a guitar would not be appropriate for formal worship.

        When the Christmas Eve service ended in Obendorf in 1818, no one left the church.  Father Mohr and Mr. Gruber stood before the people and for the first and only time, sang the words that would touch millions of people for the next two centuries.  It wasn’t that the organ was broken; it was that the spirits of the people were broken and this compassionate Priest wanted to leave them with comfort and hope.

        Silent Night is now the most popular Christmas carol of all time.  Tonight, on Christmas Eve, we will sing these beautiful words again.  May they continue to bring comfort, hope, and heavenly peace.

I Was "Little Brother" Growing Up in My Sister's Shadow

        I was probably four or five years old before I knew I had a name.  Because I had an older sister, I was simply called “Little Brother.”   My sister, Nancy, was three years older and I grew up in her shadow.

        Nancy was a brilliant student.  I don’t think she ever made a B in school.  She graduated as Valedictorian of her High School class and number one in her Law School class.  That was a tough act for me to follow!

        The first day of school usually went something like this:  “Oh, you are Nancy’s little brother.  She’s so smart.  I’m sure you are just as smart as she is.”

        Wrong!

        Not that I was a bad student, but growing up in my sister’s shadow was an ominous burden to bear.  Education was always a priority for us.  We attended elementary school in a building that had our great-grandfather’s name on the cornerstone.  Our principal, “Fessor Burleson,” taught our father and our grandfather.  Our grandmother taught in a one-room schoolhouse and our father was on the School Board.  Yes, education was very important.

But even more important was our faith.  We had a great-grandfather who was a Baptist minister.  Our father was a deacon in the church and taught Sunday School.  Our mother worked with mission groups.  Our grandmother was in charge of the Missionary Society and I always had a suspicion that she really ran the church!  Our church was not just a part of our life; it was the foundation of our life. 

My sister excelled in church just as she did in school.  Once again, I was “Little Brother” who was growing up in her shadow.  But as I look back on it now, I realize that growing up in her shadow was not detrimental, but instrumental—for she set the standard for excellence and I was always inspired to work a little harder, to climb a little higher, to run a little faster because my big sister inspired me to give my very best.

        My big sister was always there for me when we were growing up.  Her legacy not only preceded me through Elementary and High School, but when I enrolled in Samford University, she enrolled in their law school.  She married after   graduating from Law School and asked me to perform the wedding.  I didn’t have a clue what to do, but I had been trying to keep up with my big sister my whole life and I wasn’t going to let her down now.  When she moved away to New York I realized that for the first time in my life, I was no longer in my sister’s shadow.   

        She was a busy lawyer in New York and later in Alabama.  I was a busy minister in North Carolina.  As the years went by we grew apart.  Over twenty years ago my sister was diagnosed with Multiple Sclerosis.  She battled valiantly and courageously until four weeks ago when the battle ended.    

My nieces and nephews asked me to speak at her funeral service.  While I conduct funerals on a regular basis as a minister, this was different.  I felt as inadequate as I did when she asked me to perform her wedding.  But this was my big sister and once again, I wasn’t about to let her down.

        My thoughts went back to those formative years when I was simply, “Little Brother.”  The shadow that she cast over me was one of exceptional achievement.  Within that shadow I learned about hard work, honesty, integrity, commitment, and loyalty.  Together our family and our faith community instilled deep and lasting spiritual values within us.  We learned about service, sacrifice, compassion, forgiveness, and faith. 

        As I stood before her church family in Tuscaloosa and later in our hometown cemetery, I felt her shadow over me once again.  Only this time her shadow was not an ominous burden to bear, but a comforting presence that surrounded me with faith, hope, and love.  And because of those values that I learned within her shadow, I could share the good news that my big sister had fought the good fight, she had finished her course, and she kept the faith.  Once again, she has excelled!

The Washington Post Article

        The Washington Post has published an article on Davidson County, North Carolina titled:  “Facebook post exposes racial divide.”  The article paints our county as being bigoted, backwards, prejudiced and racist.   The reporter called me and said he was told I knew a great deal about the history of our county.  He said he wanted to understand the true culture and the true spirit of Davidson County.  I took him at his word, but he didn’t take me at mine.  I was not only misquoted, but the Davidson County that I described to him was not the one he portrayed in the article.  

        The article first appeared in the Post and then was reprinted on Monday, October 28 in both the Winston-Salem Journal and the Greensboro News and Record.   I want to share two responses.  The first is a reflection on the article I shared with City leaders.  The second is a Letter to the Editor that I am submitting to both the Journal and the News and Record.



         I want to share my reflections on the Washington Post Article.  Obviously, I am greatly disappointed in the article.  The reporter told me he really wanted to understand the culture and the spirit of our county.  I told him that if he really wanted to accomplish this, he needed to know the name of Charlie England.  I also referenced the 1963 incident as an example of how our community responded to a racial crisis in a positive and redemptive way.  He never mentioned the name of Charlie England and he used the 1963 incident in the same way the national media did in 1963—never bothering to tell the full story.

            I was misquoted also.  I never told him people cautioned us about living in the city.  When he asked about the perception that the county was more prejudiced than the city, I told him that first of all, things were much better now than they were 30 years ago when I moved to Lexington.  I told him that some people told us that we should have our kids in county schools and others said they should be in city schools.  No one ever told us not to live in the city.  We did buy a house in the city.  I also told him that it was only a perception.

            I was quoted correctly when I told him that our church and most mainline churches are all white.  I told him that while most of our members have acquaintances who are black, we don’t normally socialize and go out to eat together.  He made the leap to say most of my members don’t have black friends.  Oh, goodness!

            This is a good example of how a reporter can skew a story in a certain direction.  

Editor:

          The Washington Post story “Facebook post exposes racial divide” doesn’t tell the whole story, in fact, it misses the real story.

          The Davidson County I know is not the county portrayed in this article, nor is it the county I described to the Post when I was interviewed.  I told the reporter that if he wanted to know the true spirit of Davidson County, there was one name he needed to learn—Charles England.  Coach Charlie England was the legendary football coach of Dunbar High School winning five state championships before integration.  He willingly stepped down to become an assistant coach at Lexington High School to facilitate integration.  He spent his entire life working for racial reconciliation. 

          I told the reporter that whenever we had a racial incident in the past, it had always been mediated in a positive and redemptive manner that promoted healing and reconciliation—the Charlie England way.  The name Charles England never appeared in his story and the historical references only reinforced the negative, divisive, and prejudiced picture that he paints. 

          But the biggest mistake that the Washington Post and everyone else made was that they missed the real story.  The story was not the one student who painted the racial slur, but the other students who immediately painted over the unacceptable words.  They made a powerful statement.  The slur did not represent them, their school, their families, or their community. 

          The Post article does not reflect who we are in Davidson County, but the South Davidson students who stepped in certainly do! 

Dan Rather, Charles England, and Two Paths in the Summer of '63

One was a legendary news reporter with CBS Television, the other a legendary football coach in the small town of Lexington, North Carolina.  Their paths crossed briefly in the summer of 1963 due to one of the most unfortunate events in Lexington’s history.  The event propelled their paths in different directions.  The reporter would soon become a celebrity in Dallas, Texas as he reported on the Kennedy assassination.  The coach would soon become a reconciler of races in the community he loved.

        The unfortunate event took place on the night of June 6, 1963.  A large crowd of angry white citizens gathered at the Red Pig.  They were upset over the actions of some black citizens who had been testing the segregation policy in uptown Lexington.  Some businesses had welcomed them, some had not.  The racial tension had been building for weeks, not just in Lexington, but across the nation.

        The crowd left the Red Pig and walked up First Street where they encountered a much smaller crowd of black citizens.  The police department estimated the blacks were outnumbered 10-1.  Insults were shouted, objects were hurled and finally a gunshot was fired.  A man was killed. 

        I have talked to many people through the years about this incident that the media immediately branded as a “race riot.”  Most have told me that it was not really a “riot.”  In fact, the crowd immediately dispersed when the shot was fired.

        But the die was cast and the national and international media descended on our town.  That’s when Dan Rather showed up, reporting for CBS News.  The media left as quickly as they came. That was a shame, because they never bothered to report on the rest of the story.

        The Lexington City Council acted immediately and decisively.  One week after the incident they ordered the immediate desegregation of all city offices and encouraged businesses to do the same.  They also appointed a biracial committee, the “Good Neighbor Council,” to work on race relations.  One of the most prominent members was the highly successful football coach at Dunbar High School, Charlie England. 

        The actions of the City Council and this committee prevented any more major events from taking place.  It also led to the first black student being admitted to a Lexington City School the following September. Three years later complete desegregation became a reality when Dunbar High School closed and Coach Charlie England, who had won five state championships, stepped down to become an assistant coach at Lexington Senior High. 

        Coach England was one of the greatest men I have ever known.  His players will regale you with stories about their beloved coach and share the life-lessons he taught.  His mantra was “Be somebody.”   Everybody can be somebody!  Coach England did more for race relations in this town through his willingness to step down and become the “servant of all.”  He was somebody!

        Dan Rather came to town and focused on a problem; Coach England focused on the solution.

        Dan Rather was a reporter; Coach England was a healer.

        Dan Rather spoke of riot; Coach England spoke of reconciliation.

        Dan Rather only told part of the story; Coach England lived out the rest of the story.

        Dan Rather worked for headlines; Coach England worked for peace.

Dan Rather would later step up to become the anchor of CBS News; Coach England would later step down to become an assistant coach in an effort to facilitate desegregation. 

        Twenty years ago the Lord called Coach Charles England home.  The Smith Civic Center could not hold the huge crowd who came to honor him.  Young and old, rich and poor, black and white—every life had been blessed by this great man.   And he continues to bless our community.  Every day the young students at Charles England Elementary School are challenged to “Be Somebody!”

        The summer of 1963 sent two men’s lives in different directions.  For one, it was a quick stop on the road to notoriety and fame.  For the other, it was the beginning of  the road to redemption and humble service.  Of the two men, I think I know who really was “Somebody!”

                      
        I was blessed to call Coach Charlie England my friend.

Duragno Was A Lexington Icon and the Richest Man in Town

         Kenneth McKinnish, known by most everyone as Durango was a Lexington Icon.  How do I know?  He told me so.  And you know what, he was absolutely, 100% correct. 

        Kenneth lived his entire life in Lexington and earned the nickname “The Durango Kid” for the popular Saturday kids’ matinee Western movies in the 40s and 50s.  Most people didn’t know his real name, he was simply Durango, one of Lexington’s characters, a Lexington Icon.

        There was one person who didn’t like the name Durango, and that was his wife, Annette.  She was listening to the radio broadcast one night from Holt-Moffit Field.  Durango ran the hand-operated scoreboard for years before a modern, electric scoreboard was installed.  She heard the announcers refer to Durango on the scoreboard too many times, so she marched to the ballpark, grabbed her husband whose name was Kenneth, and made him come home!

        It was at Holt-Moffit Field that I got to know Durango.  I worked with Harold Bowen broadcasting the American Legion Baseball games.  Kenneth never missed a Legion game, home or away.  Jim Lippard took care of Durango, even having the bus pick him up at his boarding house for away games and giving him a stipend to buy his meals.  He would sit behind home plate and yell at the umpires, offering them his glasses when they missed a call. 

        Durango was also a fixture at the Davidson County Agricultural Fair every year on the third week of September.  He would help us at the gate, usually handling the “pass out” stamp for folks leaving the fair who planned to return.  There were times that members of the Kiwanis Club would not report for duty, but I could always depend on Durango—he was always there, loving every minute. 

        When Annette died, Kenneth was devastated.  For the rest of his life he carried her picture in his wallet.  He could tell you the day, the hour, the minute, and the room number at Baptist Hospital when she died.  But it wasn’t too long after her death that he told us he had a girlfriend.  I remember Harold talking to Durango as a father would talk to a son, telling him that he didn’t need a girlfriend. 

        “But she loves me,” Kenneth said. 

        “No, she doesn’t,” Harold told him. “She loves your money.”

        Kenneth couldn’t see that what Harold was saying was true.  He was too trusting, too good for his own good.  His “girlfriend” took all the money he had.  He lost his house and moved to the boarding house across from the police station.  He rode his bicycle, smoked his pipe, sat on the bench in front of the police station, attended Legion games, helped us at the fair, and rode with his good friend, Jimmy Snyder, to Wake Forest football and basketball games. 

        He lived a simple life, but a life that was profound in his loyalty, his friendship, and his commitments.  Durango would do anything to help you.  I have a number of little trinkets that he gave me, so proud that he had something to share with me. 

        Kenneth had no material possessions when he died.  We talked about a simple cremation as the least expensive option, but Durango was a Lexington Icon and he deserved better.  Jack and Dan Briggs at Davidson Funeral Home graciously said they would donate their services.  The Wilbert Vault Company donated their services also.  Friends at First Baptist Church, the YMCA Thursday morning Bible Study, and the Kiwanis Club collected money to pay for the rest, and on a cloudy Friday morning we all gathered at the Lexington City Cemetery for a dignified and honorable funeral. 

        Durango would have loved it!  All of his friends were there.  The town’s leading citizens stood by his grave.  Representatives from the Police Department, the City Council, the Kiwanis Club, Legion Baseball, and Davidson Funeral Home were all there.  His friends, church family, and his classmates payed homage to a Lexington Icon.  It was like a scene out of a movie. 

        No, he didn’t have any material possessions, but on this day the Durango Kid was the richest man in town!