My Friend's Remembrances of Ted Kennedy

From Tranquilla II on The Back of Eddy Creek on Lake Barkley --- Senator Edward "Ted" Kennedy (D-MA) was finally laid to rest this weekend. He joins his brothers John F. Kennedy and Robert Kennedy both of whom I had some fondness for actually. The good Senator Ted I were never quite able to warm up to one another and I suspect there are others who had an equally difficult time. I actually met the Senator at an event I was honored to be at on September 11, 2002 at the Kennedy Center. He looked as many of us do as if he had lived a hard life. He was polite and gracious.

Despite his perseverance to do good for the "common man," I just found it incredibly difficult to believe he could truly relate to the "common man" but then many did relate to him especially his union followers and those who wanted the legacy and myth of the Kennedys' to live forever.

Senator Kennedy had a difficult life. He lost brothers and a sister and his first wife lost at least two children due to miscarriages. I know how difficult it is to lose those you love early in life and those you want to love that were never meant to be.

He was I am sure hounded by his Father to continue the myth and legacy of the family at all costs through his public service. I quite suspect it would not have been a life even as privileged as it was that most of us could have probably dealt with for long.

I have hoped for a long time that the Senator would lay to rest all the speculations about what really happened to Mary Jo Kopechne that fateful night at Martha's Vineyard. I at least hope that he made peace with his God, her family and himself over all this.

Just as many of us were saddened by the death of the great Conservative President Ronald Reagan this was a weekend of mourning for those who revered the great Liberal/Progressive Senator Ted Kennedy.

My friend and colleague, who also at one time was a student of mine as well when I taught at St. Mary's High School in Paducah, reminded me today of the need to stop and reflect on those whom we might hold in less than honorable esteem because of our politics.

I appreciate her comments and her remembrances. She did a fine job of articulating that which I could not bring myself to do adequately. Her comments and thoughts come from one who is definitely not a liberal or a fan of the Senator rather they are thoughtfully delivered comments from one human being about another; from one who can see the need for compassion and I am not at all surprised that I agree with her. I thank her for doing that which I could not do nearly as well.

So from my friend Lynn Beckman in St. Louis ...

I don't consider myself a liberal (far from it!), and I disagreed with many of Ted Kennedy's aims in the Senate. But I have to admire a man who steadfastly, doggedly pursues achievement of what he firmly believes to be good and fair, on behalf of those less fortunate.... a man who perseveres in the strength of his conviction in what he believes to be fundamental human rights. This is not to heap accolades upon him in death.

What he said in his eulogy for his brother Bobby, also applies to him: "... need not be idealized in death beyond what he was in life."

Later in life, Kennedy made a public speech in which he acknowledged his faults, flaws, and personal failings, and accepted personal responsibility for them. (It has been remarked that perhaps his remarriage had something to do with that turn-around).

It appears that from that point forward, he did better in his life.... perhaps particularly his private life... the part that occurs when TV cameras are absent. Good news rarely makes the press, especially the main stream media.

There are privileges and burdens of carrying the legacy of a famous name and living a life of public service; an example of the latter is that the world was instantly informed of his every mistake and misstep.

The world was also immediately aware of the crushing personal tragedies that filled his life, beyond what most of us would ever suffer or could begin to comprehend, the most recent loss occurring just a few weeks ago, with the death of his sister, Eunice; even in these most intimate occasions of personal pain and grief, privacy was a luxury he could not buy.

I am glad I do not have to attempt to live my life under such an unflinching microscope.

I watched as much of the TV coverage of his services as possible, and learned things that I didn't know about the man. I was touched by the heartfelt remembrances of him as a loving father and grandfather. I noted the stories and photos of him attending the funerals of as many fallen servicemen from Massachusetts as he could.

I heard about him keeping a weekly standing appointment with children attending school in a rough neighborhood, to read to and with them.

In the end, God alone will judge Ted Kennedy on the events of what, by any measure, can only be called a remarkable life. - Lynn Beckman

"I'm Cured" - Kind of Sorta ....

From Tranquilla II on the Back of Eddy Creek - Lake Barkley -- Have you ever met a fellow and just knew from the outset you would be good friends? Such was the case when I met my buddy Matt Figert. It has been a while since I had a hunting, running, drinking and shooting buddy and certainly a while since I had a friend with as weird a sense of humor as I have.

My old pal Doug, as many of you will recall, got killed in a car accident a few years ago. One of the toughest eulogies I have ever delivered was at his services attended by law enforcement officers from across Tennessee and a most humbling experience to hear Amazing Grace played on the bag pipes followed by the lonely words that "Doug Bailey has gone 10-7." Doug was like a brother to me. He actually got me out of my shell from the loss of my dear old friend Bert Ballard and had me enjoying shooting and hanging out again.

When Doug died I kind of went back into the shell I am known to occupy from time to time in my life. I kept on "chopping wood and hauling water" but with little joy.

Then along came John - er I mean Matt.

A retired CPO and now a resident expert on an offshore oil rig, Matt and his wife Janette became fast friends. Matt liked good food and a variety of books, wine, beer, hard liquor, dogs and guns. He enjoyed deer hunting and breakfast at Miss Peggy's! Who was I to question the Universe? What more could you ask for in a good buddy?

So, when Matt sent me this cartoon it resonated.

This week I had a sonogram of one of those male body parts we don't speak of and having gone to a urologist now for four years I have come to appreciate the humiliation of stirrups and probes that women have long gone through.

The sonogram was fine. The blood tests are fine. The exam went as usual - it sucked. However, I have once again come through another year cancer free.

Am I "cured"? Well that is still to be determined but then I just couldn't resist sharing this cartoon with you as it so aptly sums up my feelings.

Kay and I will be off to work in Florida next week, I will be home for a day and then head to Iowa and Arizona. However, I will stay in touch as best I can.

Enjoy my friends. Simper Fi, De Oppresso Liber, God Bless America and yes Nancy, BHO and Harry those "Tea Parties" are for real and we are serious!

Love peace and grace,

Dr. D

When You Know You Have Friends - Bert Ballard 1929-2002

Brother Bert Ballard, Brother Jim Suitor, and Me

From Tranquilla II on the Back of Eddy Creek - Lake Barkley -- My ole buddy Bert Ballard (Sept. 30, 1929 - March 25, 2002) is sorely missed. Bert and I were friends from the first day we met and shared a beer at the old Holiday Inn in Bardstown.

Older than me, Bert was that older Brother I always wanted but he also served as a mentor, hunting buddy and sometimes a Father figure. We went through our divorces together and I had the privilege of being able to spend a year of Thursdays with Bert while he was in Hospice care.

I credit the old man with saving my own life when he sternly pointed out to me to never ever take blood in your urine lightly. Bert died from complications of bladder cancer.

Bert dished out some good advice over the years. Some of it hard to take at times. He believed you probably truly only loved one woman ever in your life and that most men had unrequited love in their hearts. He and I shared the belief that you never sit with your back to the door.

That southern gentlemen were always gentlemen, irrespective of the situation. That dogs will almost always die before you do and your heart will be broken by it. That the only good Bourbon was Kentucky Bourbon and to stay away from anything else. He razed me alot about liking Scotch as much as Bourbon but that was okay, because he was my buddy.

Bert and I hunted together for 30-years in Alabama, Kentucky and Georgia and I use the term "hunting" lightly since many years our idea of the sport was to go to the woods and watch and listen and never take a shot. But we always ate and drank well. We always told the same stories so they must have been true.

When Bert finally decided there would be no more chemotherapy, this occurred after his daughter Julie preceded him in death from breast cancer, I decided that I could not allow him to just go gently into the night. So, every Thursday I would trek to Bardstown and in the early stages of the dying process we would go to lunch and for a drive and come back for cocktails around 4 p.m.

We would tell some of the same stories. He would show me his old home place and talk about his childhood and his days as the general manager of the Stephen Foster Story. He would brag on his kids and sometimes cry about the loss of his daughter. Some days we would "plink" with his old .22 or .38 and some days we would just sit quietly and be with each other.

As the time grew nearer I sat down and wrote the following letter. I share it with you because I believe that we owe it to those we love and believe in to tell them that. So many times we forget that life has no guarantees and that the next minute could be our last.

This is what I wrote to my best friend. Maybe in some way it will inspire you to sit down and write a letter to your best friend. I hope so. They are few and far between and are so very precious.

February 8, 2002

My dear Brother Bert,

To simply tell you I am grateful for the shotgun would be an understatement. However, I really don’t like the conditions under which I am having to accept it.

It seems just like yesterday that we met at the Holiday Inn during one of the travel show planning meetings. I recall afterwards we escaped and had a beer with Dawn Ford and some other folks. That was 30-years ago.

The time has flown by. I knew from that day that we would be good friends. I never had any idea that you would end up being my very best friend, confidante, and most dependable hunting buddy.

Ah, the times we have shared. And I guess that is what saddens me. To think that we won’t get to create any more of those memories. But what wonderful memories they are. I will always cherish them. And as long as my mind stays in tact, I will always be able to take them out and recall them with as much fondness as the days and nights we created them.

Some of my earliest memories are of you and Hank Lindsey and me. Working the Cincy travel show, meeting Miss Mississippi, and you guys trying to drop me off with some old broad that was strolling the sidewalk in the wee hours of the morning!

Then there was the days of the go-go girls and the old soul singer in the cabaret that we went to that was a hospital theme. Remember that one? They used bed pans to pass around pretzels. But you may remember she had a voice and moves like a 30-year old.

Hell, she had to be 90 if she was a day.

There was the days of the peanut bar in the old Hilton. The time we got snowed in in Cincy and Cleveland and probably other places that I forget.

There was the Milwaukee trip where we ate raw hamburger, red onion slices, on a piece of bread and drank cold Pabst beer. There were the St. Patty Day parades and the two of us cold as could be bundled up and leaning back to back to hold each other up after a night of drinking.

Then there was the year of being on the wagon. Remember when we carried our root beer wherever we went? Most people didn’t think we could do it. But we did. I recall having to do it to prove to myself that I didn’t have to wake up in a city and not know which city I was in. I got tired of looking for phone books to remind me of the town I had slept in the night before.

There were the musical rooms on nights when snow and ice was so deep no one could travel, or at least shouldn’t have. Then there was the infamous Indy night when Dawn Ford played room arranger and none of us except you ended up in the proper room!

There were the antics with Brother Jim in Indy and East St. Louis. And yet, we all got out alive, God surely protects children and fools!

There were all the opening nights and your hospitality to all of us all those years. Of course, after the first two times of watching “The Story” I looked forward to just sitting in the office with my Bro. And having a drink and laughing and clowning around as we often did.

There were the AAA tours and the bartending, baggage carrying and always the promoting of our properties and the dances and meals and busses. Through it all you maintained your good humor.

Remember our writers’ tours and you guiding for me? I never told them you weren’t from Lake Barkley. I just told them all they had one of the best damn guides and he happened to be my best friend.

They all seemed okay with that. And you even caught some fish!

Remember those scary houseboat rides at night on Lake Cumberland and Lake Barkley?

And then there were all our hunting trips. I will miss them the most. Alabama and then Georgia and finally Kentucky. All those years of Daddy Paul and Mrs. Reed and Mrs. Nixon. Then Brother Jim had to screw it up killing the largest deer ever taken off their property and not telling them before someone else did!

The years we got deer and the years we didn’t. It never really mattered to me. It was about having time with my best friend that mattered.

I am so grateful you could hunt this year although I know it had to be tiring on you. I will forever be grateful for that though and for Elmer’s stand building abilities.

Some of my friends have never understood that it wasn’t about hunting. It was about being together as friends. Spending timing catching up and laughing and talking and drinking and playing cards and cooking meals and sitting in deer stands watching squirrels.

You have been more than just a friend of mine Bert. You have truly been my best friend.

You hung in there with me through all of it. The good and the bad. You stayed beside me when I went through the Rebecca and Judy thing. You were still there after I screwed them up and had foolishly broken my heart more than once.

You were there when Kay came into the scene and you were there when David and Dad died.

You have been here for the July 4th celebrations and the fireworks. And to think you won’t be here for those is really very difficult for me.

You were more than just a friend to me Bert. You taught me a great deal about marketing and tourism. I thank you for that. You and Bill Knight and Ray Scott took me under your wings and helped me learn from some real professionals. I am appreciative.

You are the big brother I never had. The Father that paid me more attention than my own Dad. You are my running buddy, my hunting buddy, my mentor, my touchstone.

If there was anything I could do other than pray I would. Yet, I must confess that I prayed lots in 1991 and those prayers were answered for eleven more years. God was good to us. I think he understood from my prayers that I just couldn’t stand to loose you then. He comforted me as he comforts you now. Through his grace I shared eleven more years of your friendship. I am so grateful for that.

I pray that there will be a miracle. That something will happen and reverse all this yet I am realistic and I understand the reality. I just don’t want you to suffer and I do want you to know how much I love you.

I will never forget you. Your shotgun will always hang in a special place in my cabin. Every time I look at it will recall our fun times together.

And if you can Bro. Please stop by now and then. Put your hand on my shoulder or hug me in that way you hug so well. Whisper to me when I get too far afield - I will listen hard.

I have told a few people about this but not many. The evening after we buried Weldon Petty I was en route to Chattanooga. I had Weldon and Sue Weller on my mind. I don’t know if I said it out loud or not but I said something to the effect of “Sue if you and Weldon are okay give me a sign that I can’t miss.”

Just about that time I topped Monteagle and was heading down when the biggest, brightest explosion I have ever seen in the sky happened. I thought a plane had blown up. I rushed into Chattanooga and stopped at the Tennessee Patrol station just outside of town to report what I had seen. They had heard about it already. They said no planes had gone down. No explanation.

The news later that night said NASA nor NORAD had an explanation but thought it was probably space junk.

Then it dawned on me that Sue and Weldon probably sat back in Heaven and chuckled to themselves. I am convinced that was a sign from them.

If you can let me know you are okay when you pass over. Don’t scare me. Just comfort me. You don’t have to do explosions. Just an overwhelming feeling of you hugging me will be okay.

I love you Bro. I always will. I will be up to see you later this week.

Love, peace and grace your younger more handsome Brother,

Darryl

What are 545 Politicians at the Bottom of the Sea?

A start ... read on ...


Politicians are the only people in the world who create problems and then campaign against them.

Have you ever wondered why, if both the Democrats and the Republicans are against deficits, we have deficits?

Have you ever wondered why, if all the politicians are against inflation and high taxes, we have inflation and high taxes?

You and I don't propose a federal budget. The president does.

You and I don't have the Constitutional authority to vote on appropriations. The House of Representatives does.

You and I don't write the tax code, Congress does.

You and I don't set fiscal policy, Congress does.

You and I don't control monetary policy, The Federal Reserve Bank does.One hundred senators, 435 congressmen, one president, and nine Supreme Court justices - 545 human beings out of the 300+ million - are directly, legally, morally and individually responsible for the domestic problems that plague this country. I excluded the members of the Federal Reserve Board because that problem was created by the Congress. In 1913, Congress delegated its Constitutional duty to provide a sound currency to a federally chartered but private central bank.

I excluded all the special interests and lobbyists for a sound reason. They have no legal authority. They have no ability to coerce a senator, a congressman, or a president to do one cotton-picking thing. I don't care if they offer a politician $1 million dollars in cash. The politician has the power to accept or reject it. No matter what the lobbyist promises, it is the legislator's responsibility to determine how he votes.

Those 545 human beings spend much of their energy convincing you that what they did is not their fault. They cooperate in this common con regardless of party. What separates a politician from a normal human being is an excessive amount of gall. No normal human being would have the gall of a Speaker, who stood up and criticized the President for creating deficits. The president can only propose a budget. He cannot force the Congress to accept it.

The Constitution, which is the supreme law of the land, gives sole responsibility to the House of Representatives for originating and approving appropriations and taxes.

Who is the speaker of the House?

She is the leader of the majority party. She and fellow House members, not the president, can approve any budget they want.

If the president vetoes it, they can pass it over his veto if they agree to.It seems inconceivable to me that a nation of 300+ million can not replace 545 people who stand convicted -- by present facts -- of incompetence and irresponsibility.

I can't think of a single domestic problem that is not traceable directly to those 545 people.

When you fully grasp the plain truth that 545 people exercise the power of the federal government, then it must follow that what exists is what they want to exist.If the tax code is unfair, it's because they want it unfair.

If the budget is in the red, it's because they want it in the red.

If the Marines are in IRAQ , it's because they want them in IRAQ .

If they do not receive social security but are on an elite retirement plan not available to the people, it's because they want it that way.

There are no insolvable government problems.

Do not let these 545 people shift the blame to bureaucrats, whom they hire and whose jobs they can abolish; to lobbyists, whose gifts and advice they can reject; to regulators, to whom they give the power to regulate and from whom they can take this power.

Above all, do not let them con you into the belief that there exists disembodied mystical forces like 'the economy,' 'inflation' or 'politics' that prevent them from doing what they take an oath to do.

Those 545 people, and they alone, are responsible.

They, and they alone, have the power.

They, and they alone, should be held accountable by the people who are their bosses - provided the voters have the gumption to manage their own employees.

We should vote all of them out of office and clean up their mess!

And this column is from Charlie Reese a former columnist for the Orlando Sentinel and I thank him for writing it.

Tony Snow

There are a few men that I wish I had known well enough to call them a friend. Tony Snow was one of them.

TONY SNOW'S TESTIMONY
This is an outstanding testimony from Tony Snow,
President Bush's Press Secretary, and his fight with cancer.
Commentator and broadcaster Tony Snow
announced that he had colon cancer in 2005.
Following surgery and chemo-therapy,
Snow joined the Bush Administration in April, 2006, as press secretary.
Unfortunately, on March 23, 2007,
Snow, 51, a husband and father of three,
announced that the cancer had recurred, with tumors found in his abdomen,
leading to surgery in April, followed by more chemotherapy.
Snow went back to work in the White House Briefing Room on May 3,
but has resigned since, 'for economic reasons,'
and to pursue 'other interests.'
It needs little intro . . . it speaks for itself.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
'Blessings arrive in unexpected packages,
- in my case, cancer.
Those of us with potentially fatal diseases
- and there are millions in America today -
find ourselves in the odd position of coping with our mortality
while trying to fathom God's will.
Although it would be the height of presumption
to declare with confidence 'What It All Means,'
Scripture provides powerful hints and consolations.
The first is that we shouldn't spend too much time
trying to answer the 'why' questions:
Why me?
Why must people suffer?
Why can't someone else get sick?
We can't answer such things,
and the questions themselves
often are designed more to express our anguish
than to solicit an answer.
I don't know why I have cancer, and I don't much care.
It is what it is, a plain and indisputable fact.
Yet even while staring into a mirror darkly,
great and stunning truths began to take shape.
Our maladies define a central feature of our existence:
We are fallen.
We are imperfect.
Our bodies give out.
But, despite this - or because of it -
God offers the possibility of salvation and grace.
We don't know how the narrative of our lives will end,
but we get to choose how to use the interval
between now
and the moment we meet our Creator face-to-face.
Second, we need to get past the anxiety.
The mere thought of dying
can send adrenaline flooding through your system.
A dizzy, unfocused panic seizes you.
Your heart thumps; your head swims.
You think of nothingness and swoon.
You fear partings;
you worry about the impact on family and friends.
You fidget and get nowhere.
To regain footing, remember that we were born not into death,
but into life - and that the journey continues
after we have finished our days on this earth.
We accept this on faith,
but that faith is nourished by a conviction
that stirs even within many non-believing hearts
- an institution that the gift of life, once given,
cannot be taken away.
Those who have been stricken
enjoy the special privilege of being able to fight
with their might, main, and faith
to live fully, richly, exuberantly
- no matter how their days may be numbered.
Third, we can open our eyes and hearts.
God relishes surprise.
We want lives of simple, predictable ease -
smooth, even trails as far as the eye can see -
but God likes to go off-road.
He provokes us with twists and turns.
He places us in predicaments
that seem to defy our endurance and comprehension
- and yet don't.
By His love and grace, we persevere.
The challenges that make our hearts leap
and stomachs churn
invariably strengthen our faith
and grant measures of wisdom and joy
we would not experience otherwise.
'You Have Been Called'.
Picture yourself in a hospital bed.
The fog of anesthesia has begun to wear away.
A doctor stands at your feet,
a loved one holds your hand at the side.
'It's cancer,' the healer announces.
The natural reaction is to turn to God
and ask him to serve as a cosmic Santa.
'Dear God, make it all go away.
Make everything simpler.'
But another voice whispers: 'You have been called.'
Your quandary has drawn you closer to God,
closer to those you love,
closer to the issues that matter
- and has dragged into insignificance
the banal concerns
that occupy our 'normal time.'
There's another kind of response,
although usually short-lived...
an inexplicable shudder of excitement
as if a clarifying moment of calamity
has swept away everything trivial and tiny,
and placed before us
the challenge of important questions.
The moment you enter the Valley of the Shadow of Death,
things change.
You discover that Christianity
is not something doughy, passive, pious, and soft.
Faith may be the substance of things hoped for,
the evidence of things not seen.
But it also draws you into a world shorn of fearful caution.
The life of belief teems with thrills, boldness, danger, shocks,
reversals, triumphs, and epiphanies.
Think of Paul, traipsing through the known world
and contemplating trips
to what must have seemed the antipodes (Spain),
shaking the dust from his sandals,
worrying not about the morrow,
but only about the moment.
There's nothing wilder than a life of humble virtue,
for it is through selflessness and service
that God wrings from our bodies and spirits
the most we ever could give,
the most we ever could offer,
and the most we ever could do.
Finally, we can let love change everything.
When Jesus was faced with the prospect of crucifixion,
he grieved not for himself,
but for us.
He cried for Jerusalem before entering the Holy City.
From the Cross, he took on the cumulative burden of human sin and weakness,
and begged for forgiveness on our behalf.
We get repeated chances
to learn that life is not about us,
that we acquired purpose and satisfaction
by sharing in God's love for others.
Sickness gets us part way there.
It reminds us of our limitations and dependence.
But it also gives us a chance to serve the healthy.
A minister friend of mine observes
that people suffering grave afflictions
often acquire the faith of two people,
while loved ones accept the burden
of two peoples' worries and fears.
'Learning How to Live'.
Most of us have watched friends as they drifted toward God's arms,
not with resignation, but with peace and hope.
In so doing, they have taught us not how to die,
but how to live.
They have emulated Christ
by transmitting the power and authority of life.
I sat by my best friend's bedside a few years ago
as a wasting cancer took him away.
He kept at his table a worn Bible
and a 1928 edition of the Book of Common Prayer.
A shattering grief disabled his family,
many of his old friends, and at least one priest.
Here was an humble and very good guy,
someone who apologized when he winced with pain
because he thought it made his guest uncomfortable.
He restrained his equanimity and good humor
literally until his last conscious moment.
'I'm going to try to beat [this cancer],'
he told me several months before he died.
'But if I don't, I'll see you on the other side.'
His gift was to remind everyone around him
that even though God doesn't promise us tomorrow,
he does promise us eternity,
filled with life and love we cannot comprehend,
and that one can, in the throes of sickness,
point the rest of us toward timeless truths
that will help us weather future storms.
Through such trials, God bids us to choose:
Do we believe, or do we not?
Will we be bold enough to love,
daring enough to serve,
humble enough to submit,
and strong enough
to acknowledge our limitations?
Can we surrender our concern
in things that don't matter,
so that we might devote our remaining days
to things that do?
When our faith flags, He throws reminders in our way.
Think of the prayer warriors in our midst.
They change things,
and those of us
who have been on the receiving end
of their petitions and intercessions
know it.
It is hard to describe,
but there are times
when suddenly the hairs on the back of your neck stand up,
and you feel a surge of the Spirit.
Somehow you just know:
Others have chosen,
when talking to the Author of all creation,
to lift us up,
to speak of us!
This is love of a very special order.
But so is the ability to sit back
and appreciate the wonder of every created thing.
The mere thought of death somehow makes every blessing vivid,
every happiness more luminous and intense.
We may not know how our contest with sickness will end,
but we have felt the ineluctable touch of God.
What is man that Thou are mindful of him?
We don't know much, but we know this:
No matter where we are,
no matter what we do,
no matter how bleak or frightening our prospects,
each and every one of us who believe each and every day,
lies in the same safe and impregnable place:
in the hollow of God's hand.'
T. Snow

"Angels Without Wings"

"Angels Come in Many Shapes and Sizes"

Christmas, 1995: This year's Christmas story is a very personal one. Some of you may
want to stop right now and read no further. This would be especially true if you find that reading about a person's deepest feelings would embarrass you or make you feel uncomfortable in any way. This is a true recounting from my perspective of a very troubling experience I had this past year. I have deliberated a long while to try and decide whether to share it or not. I recognize, since I am trained in psychology and counseling, that part of this sharing is my own therapy. I also realize how vulnerable writing this story and sharing it makes me. Further, I fully recognize that I didn't follow the advice I would have given any client in a similar situation -- get professional help when you need it. Yet, I believe if this story helps just one of my friends to put their life into perspective, the sharing of it -- even as deeply personal and painful as it is -- will have been worth it. Therefore, this story begins on a down note yet it ends on a much more upbeat one. No names have been changed to protect anyone :-)


"Angels Come in Many Shapes and Forms," Marilyn King, dear friend and psychotherapist, San Francisco, CA, September, 1995

When January, 1995 rolled onto the scene, things in my life were already less than satisfactory. Although my business had taken off and I had been quite pleased with the income and work load, the project that meant the most to me -- a Department of Energy land use planning activity, known as "The Common Ground Process" -- had been placed in a 'black hole' by the senior management at Oak Ridge.

Now, you would expect that someone who had spent 21-years working in and around the
government would not have been so distressed over such asinine actions. Quite the opposite, however, was my reaction. For the first time in my own business I felt, not thought mind you at first that is, I felt as if my personal and professional self-esteem had been ripped from me. I felt as if the government and contracting associates who were making such decisions were personally and professionally attacking me and my credibility as a person and professional. Combine these feelings with the painful losses I had not mourned from the death of my beloved Donna Walls and the anxiety I had for my Dad, Bert and Diane's health and you have some sense of my angst.

It wasn't as if I didn't have work and billable hours -- the most important aspects of working for yourself is the scared billable 60-minutes. The work continued at a slower pace, the bills could be met, and we weren't going to starve. What I didn't have -- it seemed to me-- was a voice, or a way in which to influence, educate, inform, and elucidate the importance of not screwing up such an important undertaking as this land use work. What I experienced again in my life --- I had experienced it before at TVA --- was government and its management pointing the proverbial gun at the foot and beginning to pull back on the trigger. Yet, this time my foot was within striking range and I damn well didn't like it!

Days and weeks dragged by while decisions weren't made and in reality avoided. Commitments to interact and involve the public began to fall to the side when government and contract managers began to realize that the efforts being undertaken could really mean that the taxpayer, the public, the stakeholder -- was indeed being asked to speak up and speak out about a subject that could impact them for years to come. "My gawd," as my dear friend Bob Mundy used to say, we were actually providing a forum for government and its contractor to not just play the game of public participation but to actually participate by listening and responding not in a "spin-control" way but rather in a true problem-solving, conflict resolving mode.


Before I proceed, let me state that I recognize that such a mode of operation is foreign to any government agency. Further, I understand that it makes absolutely no difference what the Secretary of a department says, or for that matter a President -- "the will bee's" ("we will be here long after any President or Secretary is gone") actually run government. I used to think like a 'will bee' and I knew the 'seemingly powerful' position that such a government manager thinks he has.

However, I had been optimistic enough to believe that maybe, just maybe, government
really was changing it stripes. Now, in reality I should have known that when I was hired as a subcontractor -- the last of the food chain and lowest of the low in the contracting business -- to ostensibly 'manage and coordinate' this project from a community relations viewpoint that the management of such a process was not possible. I had recognized early on the issues, problems and frustration associated with such an untenable position. Eventually I got myself from the middle of that position and into one where I could provide counsel, consult and practice those skills, which I could excel at.

Perhaps, it was the culmination of all this angst, frustration, and bafflement that ultimately led to the feelings that were about to erupt in me. Whatever, they simmered only briefly and then erupted in a fury. Questions of self-worth, self-respect, and self-esteem began to haunt my sleep and waking hours. My consumption of alcohol increased, sleep either evaded me or encompassed me, irritability, and anxiety became daily and constant companions.

Perhaps, it wasn't until the day that I knew beyond any doubt that the bullets for the rifle had to be locked in the storage house outside did I realize how deep a depression I had. That realization came to me one day when I found myself sitting alone in the floor in the guest bedroom rifle in hand.

I felt and believed for this period of time that I was totally and completely alone, unloved, uncared for, and lost. Kay's presence, nor the cats, or those occasions where our dear friends Robby and Diane visited changed that feeling. I found it made no difference what I did. I threw myself into what work I could focus on, I wrote some of my feelings down but that got too painful.

Some of you will recall that at the first of January I had spent a few days in the hospital. I began to drift back to that time and think about how cared for I was but that didn't help stop the spiraling downward depression from relentlessly attacking me.

Being the type of person who has never asked for help I found it was no easier when I was in such pain. I called friends under the pretense of checking on them. One night when Kay was gone to a meeting I drank very heavily and called to talk to Jim, Bert, and Marilyn. Jim was out, Bert and I visited a brief while but superficially, and at Marilyn's I got a recorded message. Still I couldn't bring myself to tell anyone I needed their help. I couldn't admit the need to Kay -- for the fear that I would be seen as weak and immature. Kay had warned me that one of the most difficult things I would experience working alone would be the loss of companionship. Those words haunted me as I tried to decide what was best for me, for her and my friends.

I honestly can tell you that I thought seriously about suicide. This had not been the first time in my life -- the other times, as I reflected, all had similar traits to this occasion. I had had similar thoughts as a teenager when my Dad left home, after my divorce, and after the aborted relationship I had with the married woman while I was single. Each of those times, however, I had been able to talk with someone that I worked with or a friend that was nearby and available that could provide me an objective perspective. This time I felt I had no such outlets. I considered seeking private counseling -- something that I have always suggested to my own clients and friends. Yet my ego wouldn't allow me the courage to ask for help from a stranger.

Then, one weekend when Kay and I were walking in the woods on the ridge behind Oak
Ridge an 'angel' appeared in my life. Too say that this angel saved my life wouldn't be an understatement. Like many people who experience angels I really didn't know what to make of the situation. I was scheduled to go on a trip to Vegas on business and frankly I just didn't feel I had time for an angel or anything else. But it seems the Universe and God had other intentions.

We still have this angel in our family. We call him 'Stempy.' Although Kay realized only after naming him that 'Stempy' is the cat in the cartoon series, 'Ren and Stempy.' His official name is H.J.D. Stempson -- at least that is what I say to any one who wants the 'official' name. That stands for "Happy Jumping Dog Stempson." He has brought a totally new meaning of joy, love, compassion and feeling to my life. I have named him the Chief Financial Officer for The Armstrong Group -- one bark for "yes" buy it or do it; two barks for "no" let's take a walk! More importantly, he has provided me a focus and a depth of understanding about myself that didn't previously exist.

You see this dog, a combination -- at least in my eyes-- of perhaps, wolf, coyote, shepherd,and husky brought perspective back to my life. I had dogs as a child -- cats too. Yet, as an only child, I always hesitated getting too close to them for fear that they would leave me. I always felt that to provide unconditional love to them would somehow end up hurting me. This is not to say that I wasn't warm and affectionate toward them, as I am toward many of my friends, yet it is to say that I still withheld a small part of me. Stempy would bear no quarter in letting me withhold anything. His soulful brown eyes and smiley face captured my heart and wormed its way into my very soul.

Somehow he helps me open up and talk again --- if just to him --- about those things which trouble me. Things that have long haunted me from the 60s and 70s. Things that keep me awake at night. He helps me to show genuine and uninhibited affection, attention, and generosity. He helps me better understand what sharing of the spirit can mean in feeling okay with yourself.

I love this dog unconditionally. Perhaps, more than I ever loved any other dog in my life. He has become my best friend and constant companion. My friend Bert reminded me this year at deer camp that we shouldn't get too close to our dogs since too often something happens to them.

He's probably right. But for now in my life I want to be close to this dog. He listens to me and doesn't judge me. He shows me respect and kindness and he loves me back unconditionally.

Perhaps, the lesson that this funny little angel brought me was one that I have known all along but that needed reinforcement --- sometimes in life we must take risks and when we do sometimes we are generously rewarded --- we are at all times better for it because we are then and only then fully living life.

The feelings of depression began to subside when Stempy came into our home. My level
of emotion and depth of feeling about life however is deeper and more meaningful to me than ever.

Perhaps, I have finally begun the slow and arduous process of forgiving myself for not being the perfect son and husband. Perhaps, I have recognized through this dog that life is too short to not live it too its fullest; that laughing and crying and feeling the depths of my emotional world are okay. And maybe I am learning that at 45 years old there is much more to life than just trying to make money, stay up with the Joneses, and be something that I was never cut out to be.

It is these life lessons that Stempy has helped bring into perspective. You may say that it is all part of going through the middle age crisis. Maybe it is. Yet, somewhere within me I know that angels do come in all shapes and sizes and sometimes they are a funny little dog that makes you smile and laugh just thinking about him.

So, as we wrap up 1995 and plunge into 1996, we prayerfully hope that you and your
families will be richly blessed. May you have the happiest and most prosperous of New Years' ever.


END
December, 1995

In Memory of Stempy 1994 - June 14, 2008

Eulogy for a humble man - Robert Raymond Sykes

Grace to you and peace be with you from God our Father and the Lord Jesus Christ.

I’m honored to have been asked to participate this evening in the celebration of the life of Mr. Robert Raymond Sykes, known by many of us as Mr. Robert.

Mr. Robert slipped from the surly bounds of this Earth and touched the face of God Sunday around noon while a resident at a nursing home in Oak Ridge, Tenn.

He was a dear and special person to all that knew him.

On behalf of all the family, --- Miss Vi, Carter, Dianne, Robby and Robert’s daughters Ginny and Barbara we thank each of you for coming to celebrate and remembering his life this evening.

Although the passing of our loved ones can be a tragic and sad occasion, I hope this evening I will leave you with some loving, caring and comforting memories of Mr. Robert Raymond Sykes--- for I do believe that he would want us to not mourn his passing but rejoice in his new birth and release him for his next great adventure.

For those of you whom I have not yet met --- my name is Darryl Armstrong.

Dianne and I have known each other more than a quarter of a century --- she is like a sister to me. Miss Vi and Robert, Robby and Carter have treated us like family from the first day we met them.

Dianne and I have lived through and shared many good and bad times, the triumphant and the tragic, and this evening the sad occasion of the passage of Mr. Robert.

Simply, today the world is a little sadder --- because we have lost a truly humble, decent and caring man. And in today’s times that is a great loss.

Robert Raymond Sykes was the husband of Miss Vi for ____ years, he was a devoted husband and a precious friend.

He was a caring, loving, gentle, smiling giant of a spirit with lots of tobacco chewing teddy bear qualities --- we will not soon forget him and so many of us felt honored to have had him touch our lives in some small way.

The past few months have seen a steady decline in his health and yet not once did he ever complain.

I believe it is during these times that all of us face and deal directly with our relationship with our Creator.

And I am confident that Robert’s relationship with his Creator was a personal one and that when he passed from this life at age 89 – he would have been 90 in July --- that he was greeted warmly and lovingly by all those who had proceeded him in death.

Make no mistake about it, Robert Raymond Sykes lived a remarkably full, historic, inspiring and optimistic life.

Here was a man --- one of the Greatest Generation --- that many of you may not realize qualified as an Expert Marksman --- was promoted to Tech Sgt and survived five battles of WWII and yet rarely ever spoke of his military career --- a man who rode down the Waco Glider behind the lines at Normandy and who struggled through the fierce, devastating Battle of the Bulge --- here ladies and gentlemen was one of the men whom we can thank for our freedom today ---

That was just one of the reasons I liked and admired Mr. Robert --- I came to love him when I came to realize he was of the same stock that my grandparents were from

--- and much like my dear friend Dianne and her brother Carter --- we understand and cherish the fact that we have come from and been associated with loyal, solid, and down to earth --- indeed “salt of the earth” people like Mr. Robert and Miss Vi ---

These are kind and gentle souls that have raised us, taught us, disciplined us and that have graced our world with a unique and humbling presence that comes from a life filled with experiences of love, and laughter and yes pain.

Everyone who took the time to know Robert Sykes was blessed by him and the genuineness of his spirit.

Robert Sykes was one of those unique and special people that understood the meaning of and lived the words from Micah 6:8 ---

“...The LORD has told you what is good,
and this is what he requires of you:
to do what is right, to love with mercy,
and to walk humbly with your God.”

Many years ago, while working in North Georgia, I came across an old farmhouse.

When I went to knock on the door I noticed there was a handwritten poem taped in an old frame beside the door jam.

I believe that poem summarizes my personal vision of the spirit of Robert.

Sam Walter Foss wrote the poem. Foss wrote:

“There are hermit souls that live withdrawn
In the peace of their self-content
There are souls, like stars, that dwell apart,
In a fellow less firmament:
There are pioneer souls that blaze their paths
Where highways never ran;
But let me live by the side of the road
And be a friend to man.

Let me live in a house by the side of the road,
Where the race of men go by ---
The men who are good and the men who are bad
As good and as bad as I.
I would not sit in the scorner’s seat,
Or hurl the cynic’s bane;
Let me live in a house by the side of the road
And be a friend to man.

The life of Robert Raymond Sykes was one of joyous living by the side of the road ---
First in Possum Holler, where he enjoyed the status of being Pronounced Mayor by Miss Dianne

And then later on at Leatherwood Creek with Miss Vi and her “hidey house” and later still in the mountains of Oak Ridge, Tenn.

And in each of these places Mr. Robert was a simple man with simple pleasures who was never heard to complain about anything to anybody.

After all how many of us would have “stars in our crown” after having worn a catheter for the past three years? And yet never once did he complain --- instead he always took time to personally say thank you to Dianne after each trip to the doctor.

Robert was brought up right --- as my Momma would say --- he understood the importance of courtesy, good manners and civility.

Robert and I shared a mutual passion --- and maybe this is why he became so dear to me – you see we enjoyed books --- books of all kinds of books –—

Goodness knows how many he read in his lifetime --- for sure at least 5-7 a week

Now, many of you may know this but others may not ---

Robert never went beyond the middle of elementary school --- he was in the words of Dianne, who should know having been a teacher and in education for 3 plus decades --- Robert was the most well read and self-educated man she has ever known – I would agree.

Yet, he was not pretentious or arrogant or conceited about his “learning” – rather he was curious, skeptical, and excited --- he was always seeking knowledge and seeking answers to questions – be it through fiction – Louis L’Amour or Zane Grey – or nonfiction books about the civil war or WWII – or just something that caught his fancy that day – he consumed books – and with that he honed his knowledge and lived lives that you and I would never be a party to ---

He always said that his secret to a long-life was his consistent Rough Cut chews mixed with King B tobacco, and his daily pipe filled with cuttings from this chaw –

I always knew that when Mr. Robert stopped chewing that he and God had an understanding that he was soon on his way.

Now I don’t know about your God, or your beliefs, yet like Mr. Robert I will surely respect them,

However, I can tell you that the Heaven he entered the other day probably has gold spittoons –

Yet I suspect Mr. Robert will be content with his Styrofoam cup – he held onto it and went through the motions until just a few days before succumbing to his illness.

By the way Dianne and Miss Vi tell me that there are drawers full of King B and Rough Cut and if there are any of you that would want it I can personally assure you Mr. Robert would have wanted you to have it – just let us know after the service.

Robert Raymond Sykes was a lover of life and of all the people he met in it --- I can still see the dance of mischievousness in his eyes when Carter --- or my wife Kay --- known affectionately by him as Dimples --- would walk through the door at Christmas --- life was joyous to Robert even if he spent many years of it, especially in his 80s, comfortably seated in his recliner

Make no mistake though – let you or I walk in to visit and he was the first to put down his book and stretch out his hand of fellowship – he never met a stranger.

Which leads me to the first time I ever met Robert --- I worked at TVA at Land Between The Rivers --- he worked at Fort Donaldson --- one bright spring day in 1973 I walked through the door of the visitor center there to see Mr. Robert entertaining some Yankees and telling the real story of the War of Northern Aggression – what a story teller – what a raconteur he was!

He had Dianne and Carter believing one night one of the most harrowing and scary ghost tales to ever have been told on Leatherwood Creek ---

They both tell me that they in no way would have questioned his veracity --- why Mr. Robert was always correct and accurate in the telling of his tales --- and so they went to bed that night and tossed and turned a lot --- only to find him back on the door step early the next day sincerely apologizing for telling them an untruthful yarn of great exaggeration.

Such was this man --- this gentle spirit --- this giant of a teddy bear --- this humble, meek and quiet teller of tales.

So, this evening I want us to take a minute to remember Robert Raymond Sykes from what others tell me about him:

Let us remember him as a Father who always looked forward to seeing his children Barbara and Ginny.

Let us remember him as a soldier --- he would never call himself a hero --- heroes are those who don’t come home, and who like so many of the Great Generation spoke little of his decorations and awards from the 5 battles he survived during WWII.

Let us remember Robert as a man who cherished his friends and his family.

Let us remember him as a fighter to the end --- a man who refused to let his illness take him without the good fight.

Let us remember him as the husband who counseled Dianne to be sure to look out for Miss Vi --- even at the end of his life being more concerned about others than himself.

My grandfather, whom I revered as a man, always told me that you can tell the character of a man by how he is with dogs, cats and kids --- let us remember him fondly for his love of Miss Vi’s cat and the way he cherished Dianne’s dogs - Tiffy and Peppie and how much he enjoyed having Peppie sit on his chair with him.

Let us remember Robert as a farmer, a timber man and as a ranger at Fort Donaldson where he knew every nook and cranny by heart and could recite the history to you in his sleep.

Let us remember the fondness and respect he had for his girls at the bank and the grocery store --- where each one had a special name --- “Apple Butter,” “Sugar Dumpling,” “Sweet Pea” and let Miss Vi always know that when she hears the words “Sugar” and “Honey” --- he was always referring to her.

Let us remember Robert Sykes as a man who loved his catfish dinners at Cindy’s and as a man that never met a donut that he didn’t like.

And in those dark hours of our nights when we want to take the precious memories from the recesses of our mind and remember Mr. Robert,

Let us remember him as the loving, and caring and devoted father, husband confidant and dearest friend that through 89 years of perpetual motion could smile and say – that some of life was magic, some was life was tragic but I had a good life always.

The Rev. John Newton was a slave owner.

On board a slave ship on his way back from Africa to the East Indies a nearly “Perfect Storm” overcame his ship.

Hours of fear and terror led him to write the following words and abandon the enslavement of other people. He wrote this poem later set to music:

“Amazing grace! How sweet the sound, that saved a wretch like me. I once was lost but now am found, was blind, but now I see.

T’was grace that taught my heart to fear, and grace my fears relieved; how precious did that grace appear the hour I first believed.

The Lord has promised good to me, his words my hope secures; he will my shield and portion be; as long as life endures.

Through many dangers, toils and snares, I have already come; t’is grace that brought me safe thus far and grace will lead me home...

It was through grace that Mr. Robert was allowed to spend 89 wonderful years with us and we are so grateful for that.

It will be through grace that our grief and sorrow we shall bear in the coming days and months.

For all of you have come today, we thank you and express our sincerest appreciation.

I want to encourage you as you leave today --- in your final moments with the Family and all of Mr. Robert’s friends --- to take time to stop, and give them a loving hug.

Hugs are the beginning of the healing process.

Hug the family and friends gathered here today before you leave --- just as he so warmly hugged so many of us over the years.

As the days progress, and our grief and sorrows lessen - let us not forget that Miss Vi, Carter, Dianne, Robby, Barbara and Ginny and all the immediate families involved, will still need your attention, your love, your support and your encouragement.

Please call them, or stop by and visit them frequently.

In closing, I would like to speak to all Robert’s immediate and extended family.

Please know that many, many of us love and care for you.

We know of the many personal sacrifices of time, energy and devotion you gave Robert these past several years and especially the past several months.

Your commitment to his care in the final months is commendable and was important to him and indeed to all of us.

It’s important to us because it reinforces in our hearts and minds that there are still children who have highly instilled values and understand the importance of being there for the family.

I know that you will deeply miss Robert --- you will miss the very essence of him.

Such devotion to a parent in today’s world is the exception rather than the rule.

Please be comforted by the knowledge that you did all that you could do for him and you did it very well.

And yet, we all know that it is just Robert’s body that is leaving us --- his spirit lives on in each of your smiles, your gentle touches, and your very being.

I believe that Willie Nelson captured it best in the song the “Highway Men” when he wrote:

“I'll fly a starship
Across the universe divide
And when I reach the other side,
I'll find a place to rest my spirit if I can
Perhaps I may become a highwayman again
Or I may simply be a single drop of rain
But I will remain
And I'll be back again and again and again...”

Perhaps as Robert was transitioning from this world to the spiritual realm he was thinking ---

“I could see the white house gleaming welcoming me through the reddening autumn leaves, I could feel the quiet hush of the country twilight coming down over me like a benediction and hear the coyotes, tree frogs and night critters, I could feel the dew falling on the acres of green fields, and see the raw color of the red rocky earth and the dismal dark beauty of the oaks and hickories on the rolling hills and I knew I was going home.”

I hope ladies and gentlemen – family and friends -- that in some small way I have brought you comfort and some peace this evening - and that we shall continue our life journey knowing that the dearest of friends are always cherished.

Let us pray.

“Lord make me an instrument of thy peace;

where there is hatred, let me sow love;

where there is injury --- let me pardon;

where there is doubt --- let me sow faith;

where there is despair --- let me sow hope;

where there is darkness --- let me find light;

and where there is sadness --- let me seek joy;

Divine Creator, grant that I may not so much seek to be consoled as to console;

to be understood, as to understand;

to be loved, as to love;

for it is in giving that we receive;

it is in pardoning that we are pardoned;
and it is in dying that we are born to eternal life.”

May the Grace and Peace of God our Father be with each of you.

Amen

Dr. Darryl

L. Darryl Armstrong
www.armstrongandassociates.org