BALLPOINT
By Allen Ball
http://www.beaufortobserver.net/
April 11, 2010
We cannot continue to rely on our military in order to achieve the national security objectives that we've set. We've got to have a civilian national security force that's just as powerful, just as strong, just as well-funded. --BARACK OBAMA --[my emphasis --Allen Ball]
From the moment the organizer enters a community he lives, dreams... only one thing and that is to build the mass power base of what he calls the army. Until he has developed that mass power base, he confronts no major issues.... Until he has those means and power instruments, his 'tactics' are very different from power tactics. Therefore, every move revolves around one central point: how many recruits will this bring into the organization, whether by means of local organizations, churches, service groups, labor Unions, corner gangs, or as individuals -- Communist/Marxist SAUL ALINSKY, Rules For Radicals -- [my emphasis]
*****
Too bad most people are still at work or on their way home from work as Glenn Beck is exposing the Machiavellian machinations of the current White House administration--- every day of the week on Fox News Network. So many people I talk to don’t know the following:
1. Obama hired at least one self-avowed communist to work for him as a czar.
2. Every czar in Obama’s employ, it appears, is a radical and a socialist.
3. The entire Obama administration, it appears, is composed of ardent devotees of Communist/Marxist Saul Alinsky and mass murderer, Mao Zedong.
I’m doing my part to spread the word about this sad and dangerous state of affairs.
Saul Alinsky developed and wrote Rules For Radicals, a book describing a methodology he designed for radicals, to employ, to collapse America, in order that it might be rebuilt to the satisfaction of atheists, in general, members of the A.C.L.U., the CNN Network, NBC, ABC, CBS, MSNBC, Chris Matthews, Hollywood, Jon Stewart, Bill Maher, and David Letterman.
I’ve collected a series of quotes and excerpts below, from various sources, that shed much light on the mindset of Saul Alinsky and his followers. I hope you find the information as disturbing and frightening as I found it to be. If so, maybe then you’ll do your best to spread the word.
*****
Born to Russian-Jewish parents in Chicago in 1909, Saul Alinsky was a Communist/Marxist fellow-traveler who helped establish the dual political tactics of confrontation and infiltration that characterized the 1960s and have remained central to all subsequent revolutionary movements in the United States. He never joined the Communist Party but instead, as David Horowitz puts it, became an avatar of the post-modern left.--JOHN PERAZZO
When I worked at Nevada Policy Institute in Nevada several years ago, the Post-election analysis of the 1998 election uncovered the fact that family pets received absentee ballots in crucial districts. Dead people were counted as well.
Democratic Senator Harry Reid's slim, 428-vote win against Republican John Ensign raised eyebrows and the juices of some who understand how the modern DNC and its phalanx of wheelers and dealers, lawyers and opportunists really work.
A part of the tactic includes breaking the law when you can and where you can get away with it. Remember, in the minds of the hijacked Democratic Party the ends do indeed justify the Luciferian means. -- DIANE ALDEN (Jan. 7, 2003),
graduate of the University of Minnesota with degrees in political science, economics and history.
Marxist radicals of Alinsky's era denounced Alinsky, but that was because of Alinsky's tactics, not his end goals. The following is from a 1972 interview of Alinsky in Playboy discussing why Alinsky always sought limited goals and incremental progress towards a Marxist utopia rather than a total and immediate revolution such as occurred in Russia and China:
PLAYBOY: Spokesmen for the New Left contend that this process of accommodation renders piecemeal reforms meaningless, and that the overthrow and replacement of the system itself is the only means of ensuring meaningful social progress. How would you answer them?
ALINSKY: That kind of rhetoric explains why there's nothing left of the New Left. It would be great if the whole system would just disappear overnight, but it won't, and the kids on the New Left sure as hell aren't going to overthrow it. Shit, Abbie Hoffman and Jerry Rubin couldn't organize a successful luncheon, much less a revolution. I can sympathize with the impatience and pessimism of a lot of kids, but they've got to remember that real revolution is a long, hard process. Radicals in the United States don't have the strength to confront a local police force in armed struggle, much less the Army, Navy and Air Force; it's just idiocy for the Panthers to talk about all power growing from the barrel of a gun when the other side has all the guns.
America isn't Russia in 1917 or China in 1946, and any violent head-on collision with the power structure will only ensure the mass suicide of the left and the probable triumph of domestic fascism. So you're not going to get instant nirvana -- or any nirvana, for that matter -- and you've got to ask yourself, "Short of that, what the hell can I do?" The only answer is to build up local power bases that can merge into a national power movement that will ultimately realize your goals. That takes time and hard work and all the tedium connected with hard work, which turns off a lot of today's rhetorical radicals. But it's the only alternative to the continuation of the present system. . . .
The following profile was written by John Perazzo in April 2008. Perazzo is the Managing Editor of DiscoverTheNetworks and the author of The Myths That Divide Us: How Lies Have Poisoned American Race Relations. [my emphasis]
After completing his graduate work in criminology, Alinsky went on to develop what are known today as the Alinsky concepts of mass organization for power. In the late 1930s he earned a reputation as a master organizer of the poor when he organized the "Back of the Yards" area in Chicago….
In the Alinsky model, "organizing" is a euphemism for "revolution" -- a wholesale revolution whose ultimate objective is the systematic acquisition of power by a purportedly oppressed segment of the population, and the radical transformation of America's social and economic structure. The goal is to foment enough public discontent, moral confusion, and outright chaos to spark the social upheaval that Marx, Engels, and Lenin predicted -- a revolution whose foot soldiers view the status quo as fatally flawed and wholly unworthy of salvation. Thus, the theory goes, the people will settle for nothing less than that status quo's complete collapse -- to be followed by the erection of an entirely new system upon its ruins. Toward that end, they will be apt to follow the lead of charismatic radical organizers who project an aura of confidence and vision, and who profess to clearly understand what types of societal "changes" are needed.
"[W]e are concerned," Alinsky elaborated, "with how to create mass organizations to seize power and give it to the people; to realize the democratic dream of equality, justice, peace, cooperation, equal and full opportunities for education, full and useful employment, health, and the creation of those circumstances in which men have the chance to live by the values that give meaning to life. We are talking about a mass power organization which will change the world … This means revolution."
But Alinsky's brand of revolution was not characterized by dramatic, sweeping, overnight transformations of social institutions. As Richard Poe puts it, "Alinsky viewed revolution as a slow, patient process. The trick was to penetrate existing institutions such as churches, unions and political parties." He advised organizers and their disciples to quietly, subtly gain influence within the decision-making ranks of these institutions, and to introduce changes from that platform. This was precisely the tactic of "infiltration" advocated by Lenin and Stalin.
As Alinsky put it: "A reformation means that the masses of our people have reached the point of disillusionment with past ways and values. They don't know what will work but they do know that the prevailing system is self-defeating, frustrating, and hopeless. They won't act for change but won't strongly oppose those who do. The time is then ripe for revolution."
http://www.discoverthenetworks.org/individualProfile.asp?indid=2314
*****
Alarmingly, much of what Obama is doing to our country fit’s the profile of what was advocated and promoted by Saul Alinsky, in Rules For Radicals, to bring America to her knees. The problem we face, as Americans determined to disallow the overthrow of America, is to educate the millions of Americans who are still walking about in the darkness of ignorance concerning the existential threat Obama poses to the United States.
I risk being branded an alarmist by some. A single voice cried out to warn the world of the intentions of Adolph Hitler, in the twentieth century. That voice was the voice of the man who was credited for being greatly responsible for having saved the world from Nazi world domination. The man was Winston Spencer Churchill, one of my favorite heroes.
Please check out the videos I have provided for you this week and please forward them to friends and family members. We must stand together to save America.
MILTON FRIEDMAN-what alinsky never told Obama...
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vjH4QBSwWlg
Saul Alinsky and Barack Hussein Obama
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WoYMzwIHAtc
DIANE ALDEN
http://www.tysknews.com/Articles/dnc_corruption.htm
QUOTES
"Obama learned his lesson well. I am proud to see that my father's model for organizing is being applied successfully beyond local community organizing to affect the Democratic campaign in 2008. It is a fine tribute to Saul Alinsky as we approach his 100th birthday." --Letter from L. DAVID ALINSKY, son of Neo-Marxist Saul Alinsky
"Obama is also an Alinskyite.... Obama spent years teaching workshops on the Alinsky method. In 1985 he began a four-year stint as a community organizer in Chicago, working for an Alinskyite group called the Developing Communities Project.... Camouflage is key to Alinsky-style organizing. While trying to build coalitions of black churches in Chicago, Obama caught flak for not attending church himself. He became an instant churchgoer." --By RICHARD POE, 11-27-07)
“Lest we forget at least an over-the-shoulder acknowledgment to the very first radical: from all our legends, mythology, and history... the first radical known to man who rebelled against the establishment and did it so effectively that he at least won his own kingdom — Lucifer.” --SAUL ALINSKY
"From the moment the organizer enters a community he lives, dreams... only one thing and that is to build the mass power base of what he calls the army. (my emphasis) Until he has developed that mass power base, he confronts no major issues.... Until he has those means and power instruments, his 'tactics' are very different from power tactics. Therefore, every move revolves around one central point: how many recruits will this bring into the organization, whether by means of local organizations, churches, service groups, labor Unions, corner gangs, or as individuals."
In this book [RULES FOR RADICALS] we are concerned with how to create mass organizations to seize power and give it to the people; to realize the democratic dream of equality, justice, peace.... "Better to die on your feet than to live on your knees.' This means revolution." --SAUL ALINSKY
“Alinsky's tactics were based, not on Stalin's revolutionary violence, but on the Neo-Marxist strategies of Antonio Gramsci, an Italian Communist. Relying on gradualism, infiltration and the dialectic process rather than a bloody revolution, Gramsci's transformational Marxism was so subtle that few even noticed the deliberate changes.”
--Notes from an article by Phyllis Schalfly titled "Alinsky's Rules: Must Reading In Obama Era," posted at www.ibdeditorials.com/IBDArticles.aspx?id=318470857908277 (2-2-09)
"'The organizer's first job is to create the issues or problems,' and 'organizations must be based on many issues.' The organizer 'must first rub raw the resentments of the people of the community; fan the latent hostilities of many of the people to the point of overt expression. He must search out controversy and issues, rather than avoid them, for unless there is controversy people are not concerned enough to act. . . . An organizer must stir up dissatisfaction and discontent.'" --SAUL ALINSKY
"The qualities Alinsky looked for in a good organizer were:
ego ("reaching for the highest level for which man can reach — to create, to be a 'great creator,' to play God"),
curiosity (raising "questions that agitate, that break through the accepted pattern"),
irreverence ("nothing is sacred"; the organizer "detests dogma, defies any finite definition of morality"),
imagination ("the fuel for the force that keeps an organizer organizing"),
a sense of humor ("the most potent weapons known to mankind are satire and ridicule"), and an
organized personality with confidence in presenting the right reason for his actions only "as a moral rationalization after the right end has been achieved.'...
--Notes from an article by Phyllis Schalfly titled "Alinsky's Rules: Must Reading In Obama Era," posted at www.ibdeditorials.com/IBDArticles.aspx?id=318470857908277 (2-2-09)
"Ridicule is man's most potent weapon. It is almost impossible to counteract ridicule. Also it infuriates the opposition, which then reacts to your advantage." --SAUL ALINSKY
"An organizer must stir up dissatisfaction and discontent... He must create a mechanism that can drain off the underlying guilt for having accepted the previous situation for so long a time. Out of this mechanism, a new community organization arises....
"The job then is getting the people to move, to act, to participate; in short, to develop and harness the necessary power to effectively conflict with the prevailing patterns and change them. When those prominent in the status quo turn and label you an 'agitator' they are completely correct, for that is, in one word, your function—to agitate to the point of conflict." --SAUL ALINSKY, RULES FOR RADICALS, p.117
Saturday, May 1, 2010
Christians
BALLPOINT
By Allen Ball
http://www.beaufortobserver.net/
April 18, 2010
From now on, many of my columns will be about how God-fearing Christians can restore America to its former pre-1960s configuration. We can grow a nation of God-fearing, God-loving children to fill the halls of Congress, to fill the halls of universities, to fill the check out lines at Wal*Mart, K Mart, and the seats of every movie theatre and sports arena, from North Dakota to Texas, from California to North Carolina.
If I live to be 82, I could see that dream fulfilled. If you're 82 or younger, you could see that dream fulfilled.
Aren't you fed up with rude, insensitive, overbearing, and down right hateful people? I am. Real Christians---real Christians don't behave that way.
All I've heard all week, from the liberal media, is that tea party people are the scum of the earth…they're stupid hicks…they're evil…they're hateful. Of course the liberal media are without blemish or sin. Read on to see what anti-Christian, anti-humanity things occurred within the last few days.
A frustrated mother called Rush Limbaugh on his radio show this week. She called to tell Rush that her young son called her, that same day, from school, to say that his teacher told the classroom of children that "old people" are the problem with the world. This fountain of wisdom went on to say that the world would a good place if all the old people were dead. That kind of thinking---demonizing a group of people and wanting them dead---is reminiscent of------who else? Adolph Hitler.
A federal judge in Wisconsin ruled the National Day of Prayer unconstitutional Thursday, April 8, 2010, saying the day amounts to a call for religious action. This comes about a week after our commander-in-chief declared that he and his wife would not attend public church services. Ironically, he finds no problem attending black churches, giving his best imitation of idiomatic ghetto-speak, when he's pushing his agenda.
Police in Guatemala say a 13-year-old boy has confessed to shooting a woman to death for a payment of about $12.50. The National Police say the suspect was carrying the fatal gun when arrested. Spokesman Donald Gonzalez says the boy told police he was paid to shoot the woman as she took her two children to school on the outskirts of Guatemala City.
Twenty-some states still legally practice corporal punishment in America. A school teacher, interviewed on Fox News Network, said that he paddles disobedient students. A representative for the A.C.L.U. expressed its disapproval of corporal punishment in schools, citing non-specific, unverified injuries of students in the past. What about teachers who've been assaulted in schools and beaten by unruly, hateful students? Many years ago I saw a teacher interviewed on, I believe, "60 Minutes". He could not talk about his experience of being severely beaten by a student, without having, as he put it, "a halting speech pattern".
Jon Stewart, comedian, on Comedy Channel, spoke ill of everyone on Fox News Network, this week. He looked straight into the camera and said: "F--- 'em".
Christians, due to indifference or due to scripture, remain passive in the face of the onslaught of attacks on Christians and Christianity and the population, in general.
Obama, following the instructions of Communist/Marxist, Saul Alinsky, says we must have a civilian army as big and powerful, and well-funded, as our military forces. [Who does he plan to go to war with?] Well, we good Christians already have an army. The problem is we don't counter the attacks of Christian-hating atheists in America. And believe me, I know that not all atheists hate Christians. We are too passive. We sit around and complain about the incremental deconstruction of the rights of Christians in America, but never raise a hand to do anything about it.
Well, there is one thing you can do about it. You can raise your children to believe in and adhere to biblical injunctions and principles that have provided stability in our homeland these many years. Have lots of children to take care of you in your old age, who'll mourn your passing when the time comes, who'll keep Christianity alive in America. In twenty years, we could have an even greater army of Christians to battle the evil in the world.
The following is an excerpt from Tempest at Dawn, by James D. Best, which I am reading, at his request, to provide a review of the book, which I already find fascinating, enlightening, and entertaining:
Dr. John Witherspoon: an old teacher of James Madison.
James Madison: One of the Founding Fathers of the United States.
"John, the government must remain secular," Madison said, exasperated. "You're wrong. The government must not force a particular religion on any one, but it must never interfere with the free expression of faith." Witherspoon reached out and touched Madison's forearm. "James, a government can never be secular when filled with God-fearing men."
By Allen Ball
http://www.beaufortobserver.net/
April 18, 2010
From now on, many of my columns will be about how God-fearing Christians can restore America to its former pre-1960s configuration. We can grow a nation of God-fearing, God-loving children to fill the halls of Congress, to fill the halls of universities, to fill the check out lines at Wal*Mart, K Mart, and the seats of every movie theatre and sports arena, from North Dakota to Texas, from California to North Carolina.
If I live to be 82, I could see that dream fulfilled. If you're 82 or younger, you could see that dream fulfilled.
Aren't you fed up with rude, insensitive, overbearing, and down right hateful people? I am. Real Christians---real Christians don't behave that way.
All I've heard all week, from the liberal media, is that tea party people are the scum of the earth…they're stupid hicks…they're evil…they're hateful. Of course the liberal media are without blemish or sin. Read on to see what anti-Christian, anti-humanity things occurred within the last few days.
A frustrated mother called Rush Limbaugh on his radio show this week. She called to tell Rush that her young son called her, that same day, from school, to say that his teacher told the classroom of children that "old people" are the problem with the world. This fountain of wisdom went on to say that the world would a good place if all the old people were dead. That kind of thinking---demonizing a group of people and wanting them dead---is reminiscent of------who else? Adolph Hitler.
A federal judge in Wisconsin ruled the National Day of Prayer unconstitutional Thursday, April 8, 2010, saying the day amounts to a call for religious action. This comes about a week after our commander-in-chief declared that he and his wife would not attend public church services. Ironically, he finds no problem attending black churches, giving his best imitation of idiomatic ghetto-speak, when he's pushing his agenda.
Police in Guatemala say a 13-year-old boy has confessed to shooting a woman to death for a payment of about $12.50. The National Police say the suspect was carrying the fatal gun when arrested. Spokesman Donald Gonzalez says the boy told police he was paid to shoot the woman as she took her two children to school on the outskirts of Guatemala City.
Twenty-some states still legally practice corporal punishment in America. A school teacher, interviewed on Fox News Network, said that he paddles disobedient students. A representative for the A.C.L.U. expressed its disapproval of corporal punishment in schools, citing non-specific, unverified injuries of students in the past. What about teachers who've been assaulted in schools and beaten by unruly, hateful students? Many years ago I saw a teacher interviewed on, I believe, "60 Minutes". He could not talk about his experience of being severely beaten by a student, without having, as he put it, "a halting speech pattern".
Jon Stewart, comedian, on Comedy Channel, spoke ill of everyone on Fox News Network, this week. He looked straight into the camera and said: "F--- 'em".
Christians, due to indifference or due to scripture, remain passive in the face of the onslaught of attacks on Christians and Christianity and the population, in general.
Obama, following the instructions of Communist/Marxist, Saul Alinsky, says we must have a civilian army as big and powerful, and well-funded, as our military forces. [Who does he plan to go to war with?] Well, we good Christians already have an army. The problem is we don't counter the attacks of Christian-hating atheists in America. And believe me, I know that not all atheists hate Christians. We are too passive. We sit around and complain about the incremental deconstruction of the rights of Christians in America, but never raise a hand to do anything about it.
Well, there is one thing you can do about it. You can raise your children to believe in and adhere to biblical injunctions and principles that have provided stability in our homeland these many years. Have lots of children to take care of you in your old age, who'll mourn your passing when the time comes, who'll keep Christianity alive in America. In twenty years, we could have an even greater army of Christians to battle the evil in the world.
The following is an excerpt from Tempest at Dawn, by James D. Best, which I am reading, at his request, to provide a review of the book, which I already find fascinating, enlightening, and entertaining:
Dr. John Witherspoon: an old teacher of James Madison.
James Madison: One of the Founding Fathers of the United States.
"John, the government must remain secular," Madison said, exasperated. "You're wrong. The government must not force a particular religion on any one, but it must never interfere with the free expression of faith." Witherspoon reached out and touched Madison's forearm. "James, a government can never be secular when filled with God-fearing men."
Parents: Teach your children to behave
BallPoint
By Allen Ball
April 26, 2010
When actor Steve McQueen, one of the coolest stars to ever grace the silver screen, developed cancer, he turned to "the Lord" for comfort and help. After 9/11, many people in America turned to God for comfort. Members of Congress, Democrats and Republicans, stood on the steps of our nation's Capitol and sang Irving Berlin's soul-stirring "God Bless America.
Tragedy is the catalyst that can turn a heart of stone into malleable putty. It can turn a cocky swagger into a humble, ponderous gait. Suffering that comes as a result of almost unbearable emotional or physical pain, that leads one to seek God's grace and comfort, is called redemptive suffering.
Many children have never known hardship. They've never known poverty. They've never felt debilitating grief. They've never experienced adversity. And adversity builds character.
It's a sad fact that, counterintuitively, the humanity of nations lessens in direct proportion to its increase in prosperity. Albert Einstein said that technology dehumanizes people. He was spot on. Many children and many adults are addicted to their cell phones, iPods, and Blackberries. These gadgets are detrimental to developing social skills. Today, on Fox News Network, (Sunday, April 25, 2010) it was reported that some "young adults are addicted to social media." Without it they experience "cravings and withdrawals."
There is a way for children to develop character and compassion, without experiencing tragedy and hardships. That way is through parents. Parents can instill those qualities in their children. The first thing to do is take children to a good church. You may be saying to yourself, no way, church is not cool. After all, Hollywood and the liberal press have given Christianity a bad image. Christians have been portrayed as hate-mongering, homophobic, ignorant weaklings, by liberals, gays, and atheists. But if you want your children to grow up with character take them to church where they will learn about Jesus Christ, a man of character who spoke only of love, mercy, faith, and compassion.
Unfortunately, many parents are too busy trying to be "hip" like their children or too busy trying to be a friend to their children, rather than being a teacher imparting wisdom to their children.
Is Tiger Woods cool? He's not a Christian. He is a liar and a cheater. Is Jesse James, soon to be ex-husband of lovely actress Sandra Bullock, cool? He's no Christian. He is a liar and a cheater. Were Hitler, Mussolini, Mao Zedong, Stalin, and Saddam Hussein cool? They weren't Christians. They were, however, mass murderers.
Did you know that some of the coolest people on the planet are Christians? Bob Dylan is a Christian. George Harrison, of the Beatles, was a Christian. Did you know that John Lennon consulted, I believe it was, with Oral Roberts, once, for spiritual advice. Elvis Presley was a Christian. William F. Buckley, Jr. was a Christian. Dolly Parton is a Christian. Despite their failings and public humiliations, Glen Campbell and Mel Gibson are Christians. Johnny Cash was a Christian.
World War I was not started by Christians, neither was World War II, the Korean War, the Vietnam War, or the Civil War.
Christians didn't bomb Pearl Harbor. Christians didn't fly planes into the World Trade Center towers. It wasn't a Christian who fired a bullet into the body of President Ronald Reagan. It wasn't a Christian who mercilessly shot John Lennon multiple times, killing him outside of the Dakota Building in New York City. It wasn't a Christian who shot and killed John Kennedy. It wasn't a Christian who shot and killed Robert Kennedy. It wasn't a Christian who shot and killed Martin Luther King. It wasn't a Christian who shot and killed Lee Harvey Oswald. It wasn't a Christian who nailed Jesus to a cross.
The Red Cross was not created by atheists. Harvard was not built by atheists. America was not founded by atheists. They were founded by Christians. Harvard College was founded in 1636 as Puritan/Congregationalist institution, and trained ministers for many years.
It is not Christians who have threatened the lives of the creators of South Park; it is Muslims, offended and angered by a one-time mocking of Muhammad. Jesus is mocked routinely on South Park, but unlike Muslims, Christians don't kill people who disagree with them or mock their leader and savior, Jesus.
A Roman emperor used Christianity to stabilize the Roman empire, where Godless rulers took the lives of their own children, mothers, fathers, and siblings to obtain and maintain power.
If a Godless Roman emperor recognized the value of Christianity in his world, why can't we recognize the value of Christianity in ours?
Parents---teach your children to behave. And allow them to learn from the greatest teacher of all---Jesus Christ.
By Allen Ball
April 26, 2010
When actor Steve McQueen, one of the coolest stars to ever grace the silver screen, developed cancer, he turned to "the Lord" for comfort and help. After 9/11, many people in America turned to God for comfort. Members of Congress, Democrats and Republicans, stood on the steps of our nation's Capitol and sang Irving Berlin's soul-stirring "God Bless America.
Tragedy is the catalyst that can turn a heart of stone into malleable putty. It can turn a cocky swagger into a humble, ponderous gait. Suffering that comes as a result of almost unbearable emotional or physical pain, that leads one to seek God's grace and comfort, is called redemptive suffering.
Many children have never known hardship. They've never known poverty. They've never felt debilitating grief. They've never experienced adversity. And adversity builds character.
It's a sad fact that, counterintuitively, the humanity of nations lessens in direct proportion to its increase in prosperity. Albert Einstein said that technology dehumanizes people. He was spot on. Many children and many adults are addicted to their cell phones, iPods, and Blackberries. These gadgets are detrimental to developing social skills. Today, on Fox News Network, (Sunday, April 25, 2010) it was reported that some "young adults are addicted to social media." Without it they experience "cravings and withdrawals."
There is a way for children to develop character and compassion, without experiencing tragedy and hardships. That way is through parents. Parents can instill those qualities in their children. The first thing to do is take children to a good church. You may be saying to yourself, no way, church is not cool. After all, Hollywood and the liberal press have given Christianity a bad image. Christians have been portrayed as hate-mongering, homophobic, ignorant weaklings, by liberals, gays, and atheists. But if you want your children to grow up with character take them to church where they will learn about Jesus Christ, a man of character who spoke only of love, mercy, faith, and compassion.
Unfortunately, many parents are too busy trying to be "hip" like their children or too busy trying to be a friend to their children, rather than being a teacher imparting wisdom to their children.
Is Tiger Woods cool? He's not a Christian. He is a liar and a cheater. Is Jesse James, soon to be ex-husband of lovely actress Sandra Bullock, cool? He's no Christian. He is a liar and a cheater. Were Hitler, Mussolini, Mao Zedong, Stalin, and Saddam Hussein cool? They weren't Christians. They were, however, mass murderers.
Did you know that some of the coolest people on the planet are Christians? Bob Dylan is a Christian. George Harrison, of the Beatles, was a Christian. Did you know that John Lennon consulted, I believe it was, with Oral Roberts, once, for spiritual advice. Elvis Presley was a Christian. William F. Buckley, Jr. was a Christian. Dolly Parton is a Christian. Despite their failings and public humiliations, Glen Campbell and Mel Gibson are Christians. Johnny Cash was a Christian.
World War I was not started by Christians, neither was World War II, the Korean War, the Vietnam War, or the Civil War.
Christians didn't bomb Pearl Harbor. Christians didn't fly planes into the World Trade Center towers. It wasn't a Christian who fired a bullet into the body of President Ronald Reagan. It wasn't a Christian who mercilessly shot John Lennon multiple times, killing him outside of the Dakota Building in New York City. It wasn't a Christian who shot and killed John Kennedy. It wasn't a Christian who shot and killed Robert Kennedy. It wasn't a Christian who shot and killed Martin Luther King. It wasn't a Christian who shot and killed Lee Harvey Oswald. It wasn't a Christian who nailed Jesus to a cross.
The Red Cross was not created by atheists. Harvard was not built by atheists. America was not founded by atheists. They were founded by Christians. Harvard College was founded in 1636 as Puritan/Congregationalist institution, and trained ministers for many years.
It is not Christians who have threatened the lives of the creators of South Park; it is Muslims, offended and angered by a one-time mocking of Muhammad. Jesus is mocked routinely on South Park, but unlike Muslims, Christians don't kill people who disagree with them or mock their leader and savior, Jesus.
A Roman emperor used Christianity to stabilize the Roman empire, where Godless rulers took the lives of their own children, mothers, fathers, and siblings to obtain and maintain power.
If a Godless Roman emperor recognized the value of Christianity in his world, why can't we recognize the value of Christianity in ours?
Parents---teach your children to behave. And allow them to learn from the greatest teacher of all---Jesus Christ.
TEMPEST AT DAWN By JAMES D. BEST
TEMPEST AT DAWN By JAMES D. BEST
Book Review by Allen Ball
For Beaufort Observer Online
http://www.beaufortobserver.net/
Why have we not thought of humbly applying to the Father to illuminate our understandings? During the war with Great Britain, we prayed daily in this room, and our prayers were graciously answered. Have we forgotten that powerful friend? Do we imagine that we no longer need his assistance? If a sparrow can't fall without his notice, can we raise an empire without his aid? If we don't seek his guidance, governments will only be created by chance, war, or conquest. I move that clergy-led prayers be held in this assembly every morning. --BENJAMIN FRANKLIN, from TEMPEST AT DAWN, A Novel, by James D. Best, Copyright © 2010 James D. Best.
*****
At this critical juncture in time, in our nation, except for spirited tea parties, that are springing up across America, I find little to inspire hope and confidence that I our nation will rise above and survive its current radical upheaval. However, I find hope and confidence in the wonderfully written Tempest At Dawn, by James D. Best. I would have written this review ealier if not for all the highlighting I did, on almost every page. In his novel, Mr. Best sheds light on another critical juncture of our nation---a time when it was neccessary to revise the Articles of Confederation or write a new constitution. He does it with eloquence. I wanted to read Tempest At Dawn, from cover-to-cover, after reading the first couple of pages. I'm a great admirer of our Founding Fathers, which made Tempest At Dawn all the more difficult to put down.
After battling the British for eight years and winning it's independence, the United States stood on the precipice of dissolution. The instablity of the United States government threatened its very existence. Like a vulture, Europe was perched to pounce the fledgling nation at the first opportunity. The privileged elite plotted to overthrow the government. It was imperative that the United States create a stable government to avert these lurking dangers.
Fifty-seven delegates convened in Philadelphia, in 1787, for what was known as the Federal Convention, to hammer out a document to provide the means to maintain a durable, strong, and lasting government. It was the goal of these men to create a strong national government, while maintaining state sovereignty. Slavery was another issue that posed a major problem as well.
As I read Tempest At Dawn, I felt as though I was present at the proceedings of the Convention and the private and secret meetings of James Madison, George Washington, Robert Sherman, and others.You cannot help but feel pride as an American, as Tempest At Dawn reminds us of the seemingly impeccable integrity of our Founding Fathers---George Washington, Benjamin Franklin, and James Madison, to name a few. The words "protocol" and "etiquette" come to my mind, while reading how they and the delegates of the Federal Convention regarded one another with utmost respect and civility.
Our Founding Fathers have been maligned and denigrated in recent years by liberal press and others with a progressive agenda. If you want to know the truth about the character of those gentlemen and you want to learn about the evolution of one of the greatest documents ever created by man---the Constitution of the United States---relax in your bed, favorite chair or recliner, and enjoy Tempest At Dawn, by James D. Best.
Book Review by Allen Ball
For Beaufort Observer Online
http://www.beaufortobserver.net/
Why have we not thought of humbly applying to the Father to illuminate our understandings? During the war with Great Britain, we prayed daily in this room, and our prayers were graciously answered. Have we forgotten that powerful friend? Do we imagine that we no longer need his assistance? If a sparrow can't fall without his notice, can we raise an empire without his aid? If we don't seek his guidance, governments will only be created by chance, war, or conquest. I move that clergy-led prayers be held in this assembly every morning. --BENJAMIN FRANKLIN, from TEMPEST AT DAWN, A Novel, by James D. Best, Copyright © 2010 James D. Best.
*****
At this critical juncture in time, in our nation, except for spirited tea parties, that are springing up across America, I find little to inspire hope and confidence that I our nation will rise above and survive its current radical upheaval. However, I find hope and confidence in the wonderfully written Tempest At Dawn, by James D. Best. I would have written this review ealier if not for all the highlighting I did, on almost every page. In his novel, Mr. Best sheds light on another critical juncture of our nation---a time when it was neccessary to revise the Articles of Confederation or write a new constitution. He does it with eloquence. I wanted to read Tempest At Dawn, from cover-to-cover, after reading the first couple of pages. I'm a great admirer of our Founding Fathers, which made Tempest At Dawn all the more difficult to put down.
After battling the British for eight years and winning it's independence, the United States stood on the precipice of dissolution. The instablity of the United States government threatened its very existence. Like a vulture, Europe was perched to pounce the fledgling nation at the first opportunity. The privileged elite plotted to overthrow the government. It was imperative that the United States create a stable government to avert these lurking dangers.
Fifty-seven delegates convened in Philadelphia, in 1787, for what was known as the Federal Convention, to hammer out a document to provide the means to maintain a durable, strong, and lasting government. It was the goal of these men to create a strong national government, while maintaining state sovereignty. Slavery was another issue that posed a major problem as well.
As I read Tempest At Dawn, I felt as though I was present at the proceedings of the Convention and the private and secret meetings of James Madison, George Washington, Robert Sherman, and others.You cannot help but feel pride as an American, as Tempest At Dawn reminds us of the seemingly impeccable integrity of our Founding Fathers---George Washington, Benjamin Franklin, and James Madison, to name a few. The words "protocol" and "etiquette" come to my mind, while reading how they and the delegates of the Federal Convention regarded one another with utmost respect and civility.
Our Founding Fathers have been maligned and denigrated in recent years by liberal press and others with a progressive agenda. If you want to know the truth about the character of those gentlemen and you want to learn about the evolution of one of the greatest documents ever created by man---the Constitution of the United States---relax in your bed, favorite chair or recliner, and enjoy Tempest At Dawn, by James D. Best.
Wednesday, July 22, 2009
HOW IRONIC!
HOW IRONIC
How ironic, the Holy Cross Cemetery of Cleveland, Ohio, being forced to remove the Holy Cross from its cemetery---maybe. If it is city-owned, the crosses must go.
I assumed---and you know what they say about assuming---that church cemeteries are church-owned. Not so, at least not so in all cases. St. John’s Cemetery, of Cleveland, is city-owned.
The city of Cleveland, concerned about "rising maintenance costs" are implementing cost-saving measures, such as the enforcement of a “14-year-old rule” that prohibits crosses and other “decorations” in city cemeteries. Letters have been mailed to relatives of people buried there telling them to "remove crosses and other decorations from graves or have them taken away." Although the city says its policy has been in place for 14 years, now that it's actually going to be enforced, the question of its legality with inevitably arise.
For me, the ultimate consideration of all decisions made, in all matters involving governmental policy, governmental law, and all matters of morality, whether great or small, should be: Is it right? If one must choose between two things that are good, the choice should be in favor of the thing that provides the greater good.
As far as I’ve ascertained, there is no subplot to this story. So far, I’ve found no evidence that the A.C.L.U. is behind the edict to remove crosses from Cleveland city-owned cemeteries. Naturally, in any issue that arises that concerns the removal of anything religious, the A.C.L.U. comes to mind, because the A.C.L.U. has played, and continues to play, a major role in efforts to remove all references to religion from American government.
The important question of this issue, that needs to be answered is: Is it more important to lower the budget of the city, by removing crosses from cemeteries or----Is it more important to maintain a tradition that dates back two thousand years, not only in American history, but in world history, of placing a cross on the grave of a deceased loved-one.
What is the significance of the cross on a gravesite?
It is a silent message of faith in Almighty God. It is an emblem that represents faith in all things good and lovely. It is a symbol of acknowledgment of the Holy Bible and its inspired teachings. It is a reminder of the greatest sacrifice one person can make for another.
Should we now take down the thousands of white crosses scattered across vast landscapes, of foreign lands, where American soldiers have been laid to rest? American soldiers, mostly young men, in their salad days, who gave their lives for God and country?
Shall we just take down all of the crosses from North Carolina to California and North Dakota to Texas, because we now face budget crunches brought on by power-seeking, money-hungry politicians, who use the Bible as a prop.
We need the cross more than we’ve ever needed it before in America, to remind us of love, sacrifice, mercy, and forgiveness---qualities that some parents find unnecessary to instill in their children.
For those of us who grew up before, or during the 1960s, we have seen the devastating results of the removal of prayer in school. In the fifties and sixties I lived in homes where doors were left unlocked overnight. In the sixties, I shopped for Christmas presents, for hours, on Main St., in Washington, North Carolina. When I could carry no more bags, I went to our family car, on Main St., slipped the bags through the open windows of the car and continued my shopping. I may have left the keys in the car, for all I know, because no one would steal your car in our community.
Things could be that way again if people simply adhered to the Ten Commandments. You think not. Read them and you’ll see. There would be no need for security locks on your bicycles, automobiles, homes, schools, and businesses. Morality and religion would once again dictate the behavior of society. The decent mores that make a happy society would be re-established.
I watched a television show, where families lived the way families lived in the 19th century. I watched as the face of a young boy lit up with a smile upon receiving---an orange! When the family returned, from the prairie, to their brand-new, never-before-lived- in home, I watched as the boy sat alone in his bedroom, staring blankly, at the hand-held electronic game he was playing, saying: “I’m bored. I’ve got too much stuff.”
It bears repeating. The same boy who, deprived of the excesses of life, on the prairie, who was thrilled at the sight of a simple orange, sat in his bedroom like a zombie, bored with his expensive, electronic toy, in his expensive home.
Toys and Corvettes ain’t gonna make you happy---in the long-run. The short run yes, but not the long-run. Only God-given spiritual joy is everlasting. You will experience as many or more trials and tribulations in life as before, but with God-given spiritual joy, you will face them and embrace them with uncharacteristic optimism. I cannot explain “peace that passeth all understanding;” I can only tell you, from experience, that it is real.
In the 1970s, my dad and I saw a man pushing himself down a street in Kinston, North Carolina. He had the biggest smile on his face that I’ve ever seen. He had no body, from the waist down! That’s not all. My dad said he’d seen the man’s girlfriend and she was pretty!
I know a man who lost his arms and shoulders as the result of touching electric wires on a utility pole. He teaches and preaches in church whenever given the opportunity. He turns the pages of the Bible with his tongue. He has a wonderful, faithful wife, who’s been by his side for many years.
You think Mayberry was just a figment of someone’s imagination? Sure there are exaggerations of the way life was then, in the South, in the Andy Griffith Show, but much of what you see was real before the revolutionary years of the sixties. People were much kinder to one another back then. They were much more courteous and mannerly in public.
I believe people, in general, are kinder than we know, today, we’re just conditioned to expect the worst from everyone, today, thanks to television, especially cable TV, and we’re afraid to talk to strangers, afraid we’ll be rebuffed.
Even when my faith dissolved or waned in temptations and explorations of life, I was still fortified by the faith my parents and grandparents maintained throughout the years and their moral teachings of knowing things like the difference between wrong and right.
Now, whenever I see a cross, I see my grandparents. I see my parents. I see fallen soldiers. And I see my other loved-ones, who cherish the cross and what it stands for.
For those who say America is not, and never was, a Christian nation, I say, read the works of our founding fathers. Read the stories of the early settlers. Read about the old west. Have you ever seen a movie in which words of the Koran were read over the gravesite of an old cowboy, on the prairie? No. Someone said a few words from the Holy Bible. Afterwards, the camera would pan back to the wooden cross with a lonely-looking cowboy hat hanging from it.
Someday when “White Christmas” and “God Bless America” will no longer be allowed to be sung in America. When Bibles must be smuggled into America as they are in China. When churches have been replaced by statues of Obama. And when crosses are outlawed across this once great land, I will curse the ones who made it so. I will raise my arms in defiance, looking heavenward, and, at the top of my lungs, say to them: Go to hell! Then I will look all around me and realize that----Hell is all around us!
How ironic, the Holy Cross Cemetery of Cleveland, Ohio, being forced to remove the Holy Cross from its cemetery---maybe. If it is city-owned, the crosses must go.
I assumed---and you know what they say about assuming---that church cemeteries are church-owned. Not so, at least not so in all cases. St. John’s Cemetery, of Cleveland, is city-owned.
The city of Cleveland, concerned about "rising maintenance costs" are implementing cost-saving measures, such as the enforcement of a “14-year-old rule” that prohibits crosses and other “decorations” in city cemeteries. Letters have been mailed to relatives of people buried there telling them to "remove crosses and other decorations from graves or have them taken away." Although the city says its policy has been in place for 14 years, now that it's actually going to be enforced, the question of its legality with inevitably arise.
For me, the ultimate consideration of all decisions made, in all matters involving governmental policy, governmental law, and all matters of morality, whether great or small, should be: Is it right? If one must choose between two things that are good, the choice should be in favor of the thing that provides the greater good.
As far as I’ve ascertained, there is no subplot to this story. So far, I’ve found no evidence that the A.C.L.U. is behind the edict to remove crosses from Cleveland city-owned cemeteries. Naturally, in any issue that arises that concerns the removal of anything religious, the A.C.L.U. comes to mind, because the A.C.L.U. has played, and continues to play, a major role in efforts to remove all references to religion from American government.
The important question of this issue, that needs to be answered is: Is it more important to lower the budget of the city, by removing crosses from cemeteries or----Is it more important to maintain a tradition that dates back two thousand years, not only in American history, but in world history, of placing a cross on the grave of a deceased loved-one.
What is the significance of the cross on a gravesite?
It is a silent message of faith in Almighty God. It is an emblem that represents faith in all things good and lovely. It is a symbol of acknowledgment of the Holy Bible and its inspired teachings. It is a reminder of the greatest sacrifice one person can make for another.
Should we now take down the thousands of white crosses scattered across vast landscapes, of foreign lands, where American soldiers have been laid to rest? American soldiers, mostly young men, in their salad days, who gave their lives for God and country?
Shall we just take down all of the crosses from North Carolina to California and North Dakota to Texas, because we now face budget crunches brought on by power-seeking, money-hungry politicians, who use the Bible as a prop.
We need the cross more than we’ve ever needed it before in America, to remind us of love, sacrifice, mercy, and forgiveness---qualities that some parents find unnecessary to instill in their children.
For those of us who grew up before, or during the 1960s, we have seen the devastating results of the removal of prayer in school. In the fifties and sixties I lived in homes where doors were left unlocked overnight. In the sixties, I shopped for Christmas presents, for hours, on Main St., in Washington, North Carolina. When I could carry no more bags, I went to our family car, on Main St., slipped the bags through the open windows of the car and continued my shopping. I may have left the keys in the car, for all I know, because no one would steal your car in our community.
Things could be that way again if people simply adhered to the Ten Commandments. You think not. Read them and you’ll see. There would be no need for security locks on your bicycles, automobiles, homes, schools, and businesses. Morality and religion would once again dictate the behavior of society. The decent mores that make a happy society would be re-established.
I watched a television show, where families lived the way families lived in the 19th century. I watched as the face of a young boy lit up with a smile upon receiving---an orange! When the family returned, from the prairie, to their brand-new, never-before-lived- in home, I watched as the boy sat alone in his bedroom, staring blankly, at the hand-held electronic game he was playing, saying: “I’m bored. I’ve got too much stuff.”
It bears repeating. The same boy who, deprived of the excesses of life, on the prairie, who was thrilled at the sight of a simple orange, sat in his bedroom like a zombie, bored with his expensive, electronic toy, in his expensive home.
Toys and Corvettes ain’t gonna make you happy---in the long-run. The short run yes, but not the long-run. Only God-given spiritual joy is everlasting. You will experience as many or more trials and tribulations in life as before, but with God-given spiritual joy, you will face them and embrace them with uncharacteristic optimism. I cannot explain “peace that passeth all understanding;” I can only tell you, from experience, that it is real.
In the 1970s, my dad and I saw a man pushing himself down a street in Kinston, North Carolina. He had the biggest smile on his face that I’ve ever seen. He had no body, from the waist down! That’s not all. My dad said he’d seen the man’s girlfriend and she was pretty!
I know a man who lost his arms and shoulders as the result of touching electric wires on a utility pole. He teaches and preaches in church whenever given the opportunity. He turns the pages of the Bible with his tongue. He has a wonderful, faithful wife, who’s been by his side for many years.
You think Mayberry was just a figment of someone’s imagination? Sure there are exaggerations of the way life was then, in the South, in the Andy Griffith Show, but much of what you see was real before the revolutionary years of the sixties. People were much kinder to one another back then. They were much more courteous and mannerly in public.
I believe people, in general, are kinder than we know, today, we’re just conditioned to expect the worst from everyone, today, thanks to television, especially cable TV, and we’re afraid to talk to strangers, afraid we’ll be rebuffed.
Even when my faith dissolved or waned in temptations and explorations of life, I was still fortified by the faith my parents and grandparents maintained throughout the years and their moral teachings of knowing things like the difference between wrong and right.
Now, whenever I see a cross, I see my grandparents. I see my parents. I see fallen soldiers. And I see my other loved-ones, who cherish the cross and what it stands for.
For those who say America is not, and never was, a Christian nation, I say, read the works of our founding fathers. Read the stories of the early settlers. Read about the old west. Have you ever seen a movie in which words of the Koran were read over the gravesite of an old cowboy, on the prairie? No. Someone said a few words from the Holy Bible. Afterwards, the camera would pan back to the wooden cross with a lonely-looking cowboy hat hanging from it.
Someday when “White Christmas” and “God Bless America” will no longer be allowed to be sung in America. When Bibles must be smuggled into America as they are in China. When churches have been replaced by statues of Obama. And when crosses are outlawed across this once great land, I will curse the ones who made it so. I will raise my arms in defiance, looking heavenward, and, at the top of my lungs, say to them: Go to hell! Then I will look all around me and realize that----Hell is all around us!
ACT OF GOD
ACT OF GOD
There are only two possible explanations for what happened in 1876. It was either the most phenomenal coincidence that ever occurred, or it was, literally, an Act of God. The events of that day are supported by numerous sworn statements and legal documents.
Swan Quarter, North Carolina is a lowland community. When heavy rains come, the residents closer to sea level fair better than those further away.
In the 1870s, the Methodists of Swan Quarter had no church. The only land available to them, on which to build a church, was a piece of low-lying property on Oyster Creek Road. It was not by desire, but by necessity, that the Methodists acquired the land and construction began.
The church was to be a small, but sturdy, white clapboard-framed building propped up on brick pilings. In 1876, the building was completed. On Sunday, September 16, a dedication ceremony was held. Three days later, on Wednesday, a terrible storm ravaged Swan Quarter. All day long the wind howled as torrential rains poured down upon the quiet community. The townspeople could only wait out the storm helplessly as it continued its ruinous damage. By nightfall, devastated by the force of nature, the town began to flood as many roofs were ripped from homes by cyclonic turbulence. The storm raged through the darkness of night into the bleak light of day.
By Thursday afternoon, the wind subsided as the rain diminished, leaving behind, in its wake, an eerie calm. One by one, weary citizens threw open their shutters and doors and emerged from what was left of there homes.
Most of the people walked into the flooded streets or peered from there windows to witness a desolate waterscape, a community savagely rocked by nature. But those within, in sight of Oyster Creek Road, looked upon a more astonishing sight: the church --- the newly constructed Swan Quarter Methodist Church --- the whole building, intact, was floating down the street! The flood waters had gently lifted the entire structure from the brick pilings, on which it had rested, and had launched it slowly, silently, down Oyster Creek Road.
Within minutes, stunned, concerned townsfolk were wading in and sloshing about in waist-high water, in the street, fighting the rushing current, trying desperately to reach the journey-bound church so that they could moor it with lengths of rope.
The ropes were fastened to various structures, but to no avail: none were sturdy enough to withstand the weight of the church being swept away in the flood waters. The traveling chapel attracted other onlookers who immediately joined the struggle to secure the building. The church moved on.
By now, the church had floated to the center of town, still on Oyster Creek Road. And then, as if this phenomenon had not already been an amazing sight to behold, the church, as helpless townsfolk watched, spellbound, made an inexplicable right turn and continued down that road. It was as though the chapel were alive --- as though it had a mind of its own.
For two more blocks, the townspeople fought, with the ropes, to gain control of the church, unsuccessfully. And then, in the same decisive manner in which it had moved, all along, the church veered off the road, heading for the center of a vacant lot ... and there ... stopped.
While the flood water receded, the church remained --- and is there to this day --- almost a hundred and thirty years later.
But that's not the end of this incredible story. You see, that most desirable piece of land where the church settled, on that fateful day in 1876, was the first choice, of the Swan Quarter Methodists, for the site of their church. However, the rich, unsympathetic landowner, whose property it was, originally refused to sell his land to the Christian churchgoers.
On the morning after the flood --- after discovering the church in the middle of his lot --- that landowner went to the Methodist minister and, with trembling hands, presented him with the deed. --From Carolina, My Sweet Home, by Allen Ball
There are only two possible explanations for what happened in 1876. It was either the most phenomenal coincidence that ever occurred, or it was, literally, an Act of God. The events of that day are supported by numerous sworn statements and legal documents.
Swan Quarter, North Carolina is a lowland community. When heavy rains come, the residents closer to sea level fair better than those further away.
In the 1870s, the Methodists of Swan Quarter had no church. The only land available to them, on which to build a church, was a piece of low-lying property on Oyster Creek Road. It was not by desire, but by necessity, that the Methodists acquired the land and construction began.
The church was to be a small, but sturdy, white clapboard-framed building propped up on brick pilings. In 1876, the building was completed. On Sunday, September 16, a dedication ceremony was held. Three days later, on Wednesday, a terrible storm ravaged Swan Quarter. All day long the wind howled as torrential rains poured down upon the quiet community. The townspeople could only wait out the storm helplessly as it continued its ruinous damage. By nightfall, devastated by the force of nature, the town began to flood as many roofs were ripped from homes by cyclonic turbulence. The storm raged through the darkness of night into the bleak light of day.
By Thursday afternoon, the wind subsided as the rain diminished, leaving behind, in its wake, an eerie calm. One by one, weary citizens threw open their shutters and doors and emerged from what was left of there homes.
Most of the people walked into the flooded streets or peered from there windows to witness a desolate waterscape, a community savagely rocked by nature. But those within, in sight of Oyster Creek Road, looked upon a more astonishing sight: the church --- the newly constructed Swan Quarter Methodist Church --- the whole building, intact, was floating down the street! The flood waters had gently lifted the entire structure from the brick pilings, on which it had rested, and had launched it slowly, silently, down Oyster Creek Road.
Within minutes, stunned, concerned townsfolk were wading in and sloshing about in waist-high water, in the street, fighting the rushing current, trying desperately to reach the journey-bound church so that they could moor it with lengths of rope.
The ropes were fastened to various structures, but to no avail: none were sturdy enough to withstand the weight of the church being swept away in the flood waters. The traveling chapel attracted other onlookers who immediately joined the struggle to secure the building. The church moved on.
By now, the church had floated to the center of town, still on Oyster Creek Road. And then, as if this phenomenon had not already been an amazing sight to behold, the church, as helpless townsfolk watched, spellbound, made an inexplicable right turn and continued down that road. It was as though the chapel were alive --- as though it had a mind of its own.
For two more blocks, the townspeople fought, with the ropes, to gain control of the church, unsuccessfully. And then, in the same decisive manner in which it had moved, all along, the church veered off the road, heading for the center of a vacant lot ... and there ... stopped.
While the flood water receded, the church remained --- and is there to this day --- almost a hundred and thirty years later.
But that's not the end of this incredible story. You see, that most desirable piece of land where the church settled, on that fateful day in 1876, was the first choice, of the Swan Quarter Methodists, for the site of their church. However, the rich, unsympathetic landowner, whose property it was, originally refused to sell his land to the Christian churchgoers.
On the morning after the flood --- after discovering the church in the middle of his lot --- that landowner went to the Methodist minister and, with trembling hands, presented him with the deed. --From Carolina, My Sweet Home, by Allen Ball
FRANCES MAE POWELL BALL
FRANCES MAE POWELL BALL
Frances Mae Powell Ball is my mother. She was born, at 4 pm, on Saturday, May 14, 1927, in a “plain, wooden house…un-painted,” in Jacksonville, North Carolina.
In 1927, “Whiskery,” ridden by Linus McAtee, won the 53rd Kentucky Derby, in 2:06. "Ain't She Sweet?" by Ben Bernie, hit #1 on the pop singles chart. A baked ham cost 30 cents per eight-to 12-pound slabs, averaging each pound at about 3 cents. Milk in 1927 was 25 cents, for three tall cans, averaging 8 cents per can. Eggs cost 24 cents per dozen. A 24-ounce loaf of wrapped, split bread sold for 9 cents. Refrigerators in 1927 cost $195. Mowers were self-propelled.
In 1927, a dollar sounded more exciting and valuable than it does today. Today when you walk down the street and see a nickel or dime, it seems easier just to walk on by than take the effort to pick it up. In 1927 though, a nickel or dime was enough to buy a whole pound of baked ham or a tall can of milk. If you found a couple nickels or dimes, you could have purchased dinner for the whole family.
My brother, Arnold, and I used to pick up soft-drink bottles, wherever we could find them, in the ‘50s and ‘60s, and take them to grocers, for the deposit money, which we used to buy more Pepsis.
I was at the Dollar General, the other day, and saw Randy Wade, a member of my brother’s church: the La Grange Church of God. Someone said something about the value of pennies, these days. I told Wade that it’s an unbreakable habit, for me, of picking up pennies, so much so, that “I’ll pick up a penny, in the parking at Wal*Mart, in a rain storm.”
Times have changed, but my mother is the same: sweet, kind, compassionate, and generous-to-a-fault. She once loaned $465.00, to a hospice woman , who had given her a sad story. My mother then sat on the edge of her bed, for days, depressed and angst-ridden, wondering if she’d ever she’d ever get her money back. She had asked for no documentation, for proof of the loan. My mother lives on a fixed income.
I discerned that something was wrong, other than the fact, that my dad, mama’s husband, of 61 years, had recently passed away. She explained. I got the money back from the woman, who, interestingly, asked mom for a receipt, although she’d deemed it unnecessary, apparently, to give my mother a receipt for the money she’d borrowed from her. The woman, by the way, drove a big, late-model automobile. It is illegal, as a hospice worker, to borrow money, from a client.
I had always heard that my maternal grandmother, Addie Powell, never enjoyed holidays that most of us look forward to with great anticipation. But Mama Powell, as we grandchildren knew her, had good reason. She was no stranger to tragedy. Her two-year-old, “Little” Elbert, was accidentally killed, on Thanksgiving Day, by her six-year-old, Horace. Uncle Horace died on Easter Eve, in the ‘70s. She witnessed, along with other family members, the fatal shooting of her father, by a son-in-law, on Christmas Eve, 1916. Two brothers were killed in Philadelphia, mysteriously. Another brother was killed when a stack of lumber, at a lumber yard, rolled down over his body.
Vaden and Addie Powell had ten children; they outlived four of them.
*****
Mama’s family lived in Jacksonville, North Carolina. Irene was the third child born of Vaden and Addie Powell and the first girl. She died of croup, at age five.
On Thanksgiving Day, in 1931, My Uncle Horace Powell, six-years-old, was in the back yard with his mama. He was playing with a metal rod from a screen door, throwing it around. His mama, Addie Powell (my maternal grandmother), was washing clothes in a big, black pot filled with water that she heated by burning wood underneath, to bring the water to a boil.
On this fateful Thanksgiving Day, in 1931, two-year-old Elbert, (called “Little” Elbert) and my mama, Frances, four-years old, were emerging from the back door of the house to walk outside just as Uncle Horace had, once again, tossed the screen door rod. The rod pierced “Little” Elbert’s tender, fragile skull. If he hadn’t been in front of Mama it would have injured her instead.
Mom told me: “When Mama pulled that rod out of ‘Little’ Elbert’s head, his brains came out with it.” He was taken to the hospital in Wilmington because there was no hospital in Jacksonville. Little baby Elbert died that night.
In the early ’40s, Uncle Horace enlisted in the navy. According to my mother, he was in Philadelphia, at one time, during his two-year tour-of- duty. She said she didn’t “know if he was cruising around or just walking with friends” or alone when, suddenly, Uncle Horace saw a woman who fell or jumped off a bridge. He jumped in and rescued her from drowning. An article appeared in a Philadelphia newspaper about the rescue. Uncle Horace mailed the article back home to his mom and dad.
Many years later, in the early ‘70s, Uncle Horace called Mama one night, from a motel in South Carolina, where he worked as a maintenance man. (My family lived at 303 Tyree Rd., in Kinston, at the time. I was stationed with the 440th Army Band, Ft. Bragg, North Carolina). Mama said: “He sounded like he was drunk or on drugs. He was so out of it; he said: ‘I’ll talk to you tomorrow morning; I’ve got to go,’ then I heard the phone drop. And that’s the last I ever heard of him….”
After not showing up for work, someone from the motel called a woman “that he (Uncle Horace) liked” and “she went to the motel to check on him,” Mama recalled.” Unable to enter his room when she arrived at the motel, someone there told her: “We’ll have to call the law.
“He (Horace) must have left evidence,” Mama told me, “for someone to call Leon (their brother) if something happened to him; because somebody called him the next day, on Saturday, to say he (Horace) was dead. Leon called me and told me he was dead. It broke my heart. He said, you can tell Mama, but don’t tell Papa. I’m afraid he’ll have a heart attack.” When Papa Powell was told that his son was dead, Mama recalled that he said: “He’s not dead. He’s comin’ home.” And “he waited up for him,” she added. “He just couldn’t get it in his head that he was dead.”
When I asked Mama if she thought Uncle Horace’s death was intentional she said: “I don’t think he meant to, he just over-dosed…did too much. I don‘t think he ever got over ‘Little’ Elbert‘s death.”
Mama told me, from her sick bed, that when Uncle Horace was a grown man, he asked his mama to forgive him for “Little” Elbert’s death. Her answer was wrapped in silence.
*****
Mama’s Uncle Henry James worked in a lumber yard in Wilmington, North Carolina, in the 1970s. He went to the lumber yard on a Monday morning. While working, a stack of lumber fell on him, killing him.
*****
Mama’s uncles, Uncle Lacy and Uncle Cyrus James, operated tugboats in Philadelphia, in the early ’40s, and often worked as far down the coast as Florida. They moved to Philadelphia together. Uncle Cyrus lived with a woman named Frances and Uncle Lacy lived with a woman, whose name my mom could not recall. They both lived in common law marriages. They lived much of the time on their tugboats.
Uncle Cyrus died mysteriously. He was found “stuffed down a hole on his tugboat naked,” Mama said. The James family never learned who the killer or killers were.
Within a year, Uncle Lacy, too, died a mysterious death. He was found somewhere in Philadelphia with “the back of his head beat off,” according to my mom. His killer or killers were never discovered.
*****
Robert Lee Powell was the last of the children. My grandmother was 50-years-old at the time she gave birth to him. “Mama was not happy about it,” my mother recalled. “People were talking about it.” Robert Lee developed “colitis” and died in the “old Parrott Hospital, in Kinston, North Carolina, at the age of six months.
“I was staying with Aunt Clara and Uncle Henry, in Raleigh,” my mother said, “when Robert died...they were mama’s youngest brother and his wife. They always liked me and wanted me to stay with them.
“They [mama’s family] came and got me...He [Robert Lee] was in a little, white coffin. I picked him up. He was wearing a little white dress.” mama recalled, wistfully, at age 77, head bowed.
*****
My mother sat in the bleachers, many times, with my sisters, Carolyn and Carlene, as Arnold and I played baseball, in the Little Tar Heel League, in Washington. When Arnold and I were afraid to ask daddy for a dollar, to buy a cheeseburger, fries, and Pepsi, on out-of-town, high school band trips, mama asked for the money. When daddy was unable to make a payment on the drum set he was buying for Arnold, mama gave the seller the five-hundred-dollar diamond ring she’d won, recently, in a contest. It was the most expensive item she’d ever owned. A picture of her with her new ring was published in the Washington Daily News.
In 1965, my dad became a born-again Christian. My sisters, at the height of mini-skirt popularity, were allowed, by my dad, to wear ankle-length dresses only. Mama had to make the dresses for them. “I was sneaky,” my mother said, I would drive the girls to school in their long dresses. In school, they changed into appropriate, normal-length dresses, that we had hidden in the car.
My mother sacrificed, her entire life, for the husband she adored, and her children, she adores. I cannot properly convey the love she’s given us and the devotion to our happiness and well-being, that she’s exhibited these many years.
But that’s not all. My mother cared for her mother and father the last few years of their life. They were totally dependent on her for everything. My mother was up until 7 am, with Mama Powell, my grandmother, when she laid down in her mother’s room, saying: “Mama don’t get up without calling me first.” She got up, fell, hit her head on a dresser, dying two weeks later. Papa Powel died in his sleep, about a year later, from, literally, grief over the death of his wife, of 62-years. When mama went into his room, his body was still warm.
In a column by the late well-known writer, Lewis Grizzard, he spoke, wistfully, of his recently departed mother. The column ended with words that rattled my heart: “I wish I had called her more.”
I promised my mother, in the mid-1980s, that: “As long as I’m able, you’ll never go to a nursing home.”
My long journey on the treacherous road of life has brought me safely, thus far, to La Grange, North Carolina, the most recent home of my mother and my dad, who passed, peacefully, after his evening meal, at Britthaven of Snow Hill, on July 10, 2008.
I live in my mother’s home, where she requires 24-hour, around-the-clock, attention. There’s no place I’d rather be and there’s no one, with whom I’d rather be. I’m twice- divorced. A roving minstrel come home. I’ve chased a dream of becoming a successful songwriter, for forty-two years. I do so to this day. But not in New York, where I lived, briefly, in 1975, and not in Nashville, Tennessee, where I lived for five years.
My priority now is to see that my mother never, never, never is placed in a nursing home, where some precious souls, are unavoidably placed. Unlike my dad, who, with Parkinson’s disease, a bad heart, prostate cancer, and a newly broken hip, was placed in a nursing home, after thoughtful consideration. My brother and sisters felt that I would not be able to care for both my parents any longer. My dad had become bed-ridden.
I will, however, no matter what her condition, stay with my mother, until the light in her pretty blue eyes no longer sparkle and angels come to lead her home. She has a great fear of nursing homes, born of nursing home stories of horror and tragedy, of abuse and neglect.
Unlike Lewis Grizzard, I will never regret not calling my mother more, because I’m blessed; my mother is with me every day.
When I needed my mother, she was there. She needs me now, so I am here.
*****
If you go to the following URLs you can listen to “What Would I Do,” written for my mother, after another cancer scare; and you can listen to “Mother,” “God Gave You To Me,” and an instrumental song I wrote: “Purple Rose,” all appropriate to send to mothers on Mother’s Day, May 10, 2009.
The songs were written, arranged, recorded, and performed by me, at home, using an I4S Korg keyboard.
HAPPY MOTHER’S DAY!
Allen Ball
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=M1UwWs3JeCs
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=078WoBRE_nM
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=a3sFzV8v3p0
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=25bG9uQ7rD0
Frances Mae Powell Ball is my mother. She was born, at 4 pm, on Saturday, May 14, 1927, in a “plain, wooden house…un-painted,” in Jacksonville, North Carolina.
In 1927, “Whiskery,” ridden by Linus McAtee, won the 53rd Kentucky Derby, in 2:06. "Ain't She Sweet?" by Ben Bernie, hit #1 on the pop singles chart. A baked ham cost 30 cents per eight-to 12-pound slabs, averaging each pound at about 3 cents. Milk in 1927 was 25 cents, for three tall cans, averaging 8 cents per can. Eggs cost 24 cents per dozen. A 24-ounce loaf of wrapped, split bread sold for 9 cents. Refrigerators in 1927 cost $195. Mowers were self-propelled.
In 1927, a dollar sounded more exciting and valuable than it does today. Today when you walk down the street and see a nickel or dime, it seems easier just to walk on by than take the effort to pick it up. In 1927 though, a nickel or dime was enough to buy a whole pound of baked ham or a tall can of milk. If you found a couple nickels or dimes, you could have purchased dinner for the whole family.
My brother, Arnold, and I used to pick up soft-drink bottles, wherever we could find them, in the ‘50s and ‘60s, and take them to grocers, for the deposit money, which we used to buy more Pepsis.
I was at the Dollar General, the other day, and saw Randy Wade, a member of my brother’s church: the La Grange Church of God. Someone said something about the value of pennies, these days. I told Wade that it’s an unbreakable habit, for me, of picking up pennies, so much so, that “I’ll pick up a penny, in the parking at Wal*Mart, in a rain storm.”
Times have changed, but my mother is the same: sweet, kind, compassionate, and generous-to-a-fault. She once loaned $465.00, to a hospice woman , who had given her a sad story. My mother then sat on the edge of her bed, for days, depressed and angst-ridden, wondering if she’d ever she’d ever get her money back. She had asked for no documentation, for proof of the loan. My mother lives on a fixed income.
I discerned that something was wrong, other than the fact, that my dad, mama’s husband, of 61 years, had recently passed away. She explained. I got the money back from the woman, who, interestingly, asked mom for a receipt, although she’d deemed it unnecessary, apparently, to give my mother a receipt for the money she’d borrowed from her. The woman, by the way, drove a big, late-model automobile. It is illegal, as a hospice worker, to borrow money, from a client.
I had always heard that my maternal grandmother, Addie Powell, never enjoyed holidays that most of us look forward to with great anticipation. But Mama Powell, as we grandchildren knew her, had good reason. She was no stranger to tragedy. Her two-year-old, “Little” Elbert, was accidentally killed, on Thanksgiving Day, by her six-year-old, Horace. Uncle Horace died on Easter Eve, in the ‘70s. She witnessed, along with other family members, the fatal shooting of her father, by a son-in-law, on Christmas Eve, 1916. Two brothers were killed in Philadelphia, mysteriously. Another brother was killed when a stack of lumber, at a lumber yard, rolled down over his body.
Vaden and Addie Powell had ten children; they outlived four of them.
*****
Mama’s family lived in Jacksonville, North Carolina. Irene was the third child born of Vaden and Addie Powell and the first girl. She died of croup, at age five.
On Thanksgiving Day, in 1931, My Uncle Horace Powell, six-years-old, was in the back yard with his mama. He was playing with a metal rod from a screen door, throwing it around. His mama, Addie Powell (my maternal grandmother), was washing clothes in a big, black pot filled with water that she heated by burning wood underneath, to bring the water to a boil.
On this fateful Thanksgiving Day, in 1931, two-year-old Elbert, (called “Little” Elbert) and my mama, Frances, four-years old, were emerging from the back door of the house to walk outside just as Uncle Horace had, once again, tossed the screen door rod. The rod pierced “Little” Elbert’s tender, fragile skull. If he hadn’t been in front of Mama it would have injured her instead.
Mom told me: “When Mama pulled that rod out of ‘Little’ Elbert’s head, his brains came out with it.” He was taken to the hospital in Wilmington because there was no hospital in Jacksonville. Little baby Elbert died that night.
In the early ’40s, Uncle Horace enlisted in the navy. According to my mother, he was in Philadelphia, at one time, during his two-year tour-of- duty. She said she didn’t “know if he was cruising around or just walking with friends” or alone when, suddenly, Uncle Horace saw a woman who fell or jumped off a bridge. He jumped in and rescued her from drowning. An article appeared in a Philadelphia newspaper about the rescue. Uncle Horace mailed the article back home to his mom and dad.
Many years later, in the early ‘70s, Uncle Horace called Mama one night, from a motel in South Carolina, where he worked as a maintenance man. (My family lived at 303 Tyree Rd., in Kinston, at the time. I was stationed with the 440th Army Band, Ft. Bragg, North Carolina). Mama said: “He sounded like he was drunk or on drugs. He was so out of it; he said: ‘I’ll talk to you tomorrow morning; I’ve got to go,’ then I heard the phone drop. And that’s the last I ever heard of him….”
After not showing up for work, someone from the motel called a woman “that he (Uncle Horace) liked” and “she went to the motel to check on him,” Mama recalled.” Unable to enter his room when she arrived at the motel, someone there told her: “We’ll have to call the law.
“He (Horace) must have left evidence,” Mama told me, “for someone to call Leon (their brother) if something happened to him; because somebody called him the next day, on Saturday, to say he (Horace) was dead. Leon called me and told me he was dead. It broke my heart. He said, you can tell Mama, but don’t tell Papa. I’m afraid he’ll have a heart attack.” When Papa Powell was told that his son was dead, Mama recalled that he said: “He’s not dead. He’s comin’ home.” And “he waited up for him,” she added. “He just couldn’t get it in his head that he was dead.”
When I asked Mama if she thought Uncle Horace’s death was intentional she said: “I don’t think he meant to, he just over-dosed…did too much. I don‘t think he ever got over ‘Little’ Elbert‘s death.”
Mama told me, from her sick bed, that when Uncle Horace was a grown man, he asked his mama to forgive him for “Little” Elbert’s death. Her answer was wrapped in silence.
*****
Mama’s Uncle Henry James worked in a lumber yard in Wilmington, North Carolina, in the 1970s. He went to the lumber yard on a Monday morning. While working, a stack of lumber fell on him, killing him.
*****
Mama’s uncles, Uncle Lacy and Uncle Cyrus James, operated tugboats in Philadelphia, in the early ’40s, and often worked as far down the coast as Florida. They moved to Philadelphia together. Uncle Cyrus lived with a woman named Frances and Uncle Lacy lived with a woman, whose name my mom could not recall. They both lived in common law marriages. They lived much of the time on their tugboats.
Uncle Cyrus died mysteriously. He was found “stuffed down a hole on his tugboat naked,” Mama said. The James family never learned who the killer or killers were.
Within a year, Uncle Lacy, too, died a mysterious death. He was found somewhere in Philadelphia with “the back of his head beat off,” according to my mom. His killer or killers were never discovered.
*****
Robert Lee Powell was the last of the children. My grandmother was 50-years-old at the time she gave birth to him. “Mama was not happy about it,” my mother recalled. “People were talking about it.” Robert Lee developed “colitis” and died in the “old Parrott Hospital, in Kinston, North Carolina, at the age of six months.
“I was staying with Aunt Clara and Uncle Henry, in Raleigh,” my mother said, “when Robert died...they were mama’s youngest brother and his wife. They always liked me and wanted me to stay with them.
“They [mama’s family] came and got me...He [Robert Lee] was in a little, white coffin. I picked him up. He was wearing a little white dress.” mama recalled, wistfully, at age 77, head bowed.
*****
My mother sat in the bleachers, many times, with my sisters, Carolyn and Carlene, as Arnold and I played baseball, in the Little Tar Heel League, in Washington. When Arnold and I were afraid to ask daddy for a dollar, to buy a cheeseburger, fries, and Pepsi, on out-of-town, high school band trips, mama asked for the money. When daddy was unable to make a payment on the drum set he was buying for Arnold, mama gave the seller the five-hundred-dollar diamond ring she’d won, recently, in a contest. It was the most expensive item she’d ever owned. A picture of her with her new ring was published in the Washington Daily News.
In 1965, my dad became a born-again Christian. My sisters, at the height of mini-skirt popularity, were allowed, by my dad, to wear ankle-length dresses only. Mama had to make the dresses for them. “I was sneaky,” my mother said, I would drive the girls to school in their long dresses. In school, they changed into appropriate, normal-length dresses, that we had hidden in the car.
My mother sacrificed, her entire life, for the husband she adored, and her children, she adores. I cannot properly convey the love she’s given us and the devotion to our happiness and well-being, that she’s exhibited these many years.
But that’s not all. My mother cared for her mother and father the last few years of their life. They were totally dependent on her for everything. My mother was up until 7 am, with Mama Powell, my grandmother, when she laid down in her mother’s room, saying: “Mama don’t get up without calling me first.” She got up, fell, hit her head on a dresser, dying two weeks later. Papa Powel died in his sleep, about a year later, from, literally, grief over the death of his wife, of 62-years. When mama went into his room, his body was still warm.
In a column by the late well-known writer, Lewis Grizzard, he spoke, wistfully, of his recently departed mother. The column ended with words that rattled my heart: “I wish I had called her more.”
I promised my mother, in the mid-1980s, that: “As long as I’m able, you’ll never go to a nursing home.”
My long journey on the treacherous road of life has brought me safely, thus far, to La Grange, North Carolina, the most recent home of my mother and my dad, who passed, peacefully, after his evening meal, at Britthaven of Snow Hill, on July 10, 2008.
I live in my mother’s home, where she requires 24-hour, around-the-clock, attention. There’s no place I’d rather be and there’s no one, with whom I’d rather be. I’m twice- divorced. A roving minstrel come home. I’ve chased a dream of becoming a successful songwriter, for forty-two years. I do so to this day. But not in New York, where I lived, briefly, in 1975, and not in Nashville, Tennessee, where I lived for five years.
My priority now is to see that my mother never, never, never is placed in a nursing home, where some precious souls, are unavoidably placed. Unlike my dad, who, with Parkinson’s disease, a bad heart, prostate cancer, and a newly broken hip, was placed in a nursing home, after thoughtful consideration. My brother and sisters felt that I would not be able to care for both my parents any longer. My dad had become bed-ridden.
I will, however, no matter what her condition, stay with my mother, until the light in her pretty blue eyes no longer sparkle and angels come to lead her home. She has a great fear of nursing homes, born of nursing home stories of horror and tragedy, of abuse and neglect.
Unlike Lewis Grizzard, I will never regret not calling my mother more, because I’m blessed; my mother is with me every day.
When I needed my mother, she was there. She needs me now, so I am here.
*****
If you go to the following URLs you can listen to “What Would I Do,” written for my mother, after another cancer scare; and you can listen to “Mother,” “God Gave You To Me,” and an instrumental song I wrote: “Purple Rose,” all appropriate to send to mothers on Mother’s Day, May 10, 2009.
The songs were written, arranged, recorded, and performed by me, at home, using an I4S Korg keyboard.
HAPPY MOTHER’S DAY!
Allen Ball
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=M1UwWs3JeCs
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=078WoBRE_nM
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=a3sFzV8v3p0
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=25bG9uQ7rD0
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