Table of Contents

Dedication: Silas Kai Dunaway

Your Short Time on Earth Changed my Life Forever

Introduction: Reverend Sonny D. Wilkes

Introduction: “ONE VOICE CAN MAKE A DIFFERENCE”

STORIES

The Old Leather Jacket (Haskel “Hack” Ayers)

The Good Neighbor (Haskel “Hack” Ayers)

Please Forgive Me (Jason Crabb)

Finding God’s Will for My Life: Three Voices (Dr. Mark L. Williams)

A Coonskin Cap and A United States Senator (D. Bruce Shine)

Friends Who Made A Difference In My Life (Reverend Delmus Bruce)

Hughes Fellowship Hall (Haskel “Hack” Ayers)

The Person Who Most Influenced My Life (Senator Ken Yager)

Angel at the Crossroads (Kiley Phillips and High Road)

Eulogy To Hazel Clear (David H. Dunaway)

A Gift from Lili-Grace (Coleman Peacock)

Mighty Mites (David H. Dunaway)

A Tribute to Linnie McMillan (By David H. Dunaway)

Coach Bob Fry (By John Shearer)

Going Home (By Sarah Elizabeth Dunaway)

Dr. Martin Luther King, His Voice Made a Difference (By David Duggan)

The Silas Story (By David H. Dunaway)

Graphic Design Artist ~ Pamela K. Olivio

Editor ~ David H. Dunaway

Copyright 2016 Legal Properties, Inc. All rights reserved.

This material may not be published, broadcast, rewritten, or redistributed.

This book is dedicated to

Silas Kai Dunaway “Your Short Time on Earth Changed my Life Forever”

INTRODUCTION

In his letter to the church at Thessalonica, the Apostle Paul asked the

church to encourage each other and build each other up. (1 Thessalonians 5:11)

One Voice Can Make A Difference announces the true and inspirational

stories of individuals whose voices made a difference in the lives of the authors.

This book was born out of the 97th Celebration Weekend held at the

LaFollette Church of God in the summer of 2014 and the message, songs, and

ministries and experiences of Dr. Mark Williams, International Bishop, Hack

Ayers, LaFollette businessman, Bishop Delmus Bruce, Pastor of Stanfield

Church of God, Jason Crabb, Grammy Award winner, High Road III, rising

gospel trio from Belmont University, D. Bruce Shine, Kingsport attorney and

former aide to Senator Estes Kefauver, State Senator Ken Yager, Dr. Coleman

Peacock, Director of Public Relations for Smoky Mountain Children’s Home,

Knoxville News Sentinel Freelance Writer, John Shearer, Miami Attorney

Sarah Elizabeth Dunaway, Blount County Circuit Judge, David Duggan and

Knoxville/LaFollette, Tennessee attorney Dave Dunaway.

Underlying this book is the concept that “One voice can make a

difference and that voice is yours.”

Those who read this book will be informed, inspired, and renewed by

each message.

This book is being published at an appropriate time. Discussions of good

character, right and wrong, heroes and angels encourage that which is best in

our human spirit.

The people whose stories are told in this book are voices that made a

difference.

Reverend Sonny D. Wilkes

THE OLD LEATHER JACKET

By Haskel “Hack” Ayers

THE OLD LEATHER JACKET

By Haskel “Hack” Ayers

In the lobby of the Hampton Inn in Caryville, Tennessee, hangs an old leather jacket. The jacket

belonged to my father, Johnny Ayers.

Johnny Ayers stood 6’ 4”. He was born and raised in the small Appalachia community of Stinking

Creek, Tennessee. He married my mother Lassie Clepper in 1929. Among my brothers and sisters are Jerlene

and my younger brother, R.L. My father was a hard-working businessman involved with coal mines, farming,

and sawmills. Unfortunately, something that was also quite common in the hills of East Tennessee was the fact

that my father was a third-generation moonshiner.

In October of 1943, my father purchased a farm in LaFollette near the Colonial Cottages and Restaurant.

Among frequent patrons were workers from the Clinton Engineering Works (a/k/a CEW, formerly named Oak

Ridge in 1949) -- these facilities were utilized as a part of the top-secret Manhattan Project.

On Friday, October 29, 1943, on a day when there was no school, my father woke me to ride with him to

Middlesboro, Kentucky. We arrived by daylight, filled our truck with whiskey at “Ball’s Court,” which was the

local distributor for the area, and then we drove back to our farm and stashed the goods in a chicken coop by the

barn. We then drove back to my father’s place of business.

Around 5:30 p.m. on October 29, 1943, my sister Jerlene called to let us know that there were some

Tennessee Highway Patrolmen at my father’s barn with a search warrant. My father and his brother, Roscoe

Ayers, put me in the back of dad’s pickup truck. On the way, they stopped to retrieve my father’s twelve gauge

double barrel shotgun from a friend. By the time we got to our home, my sister Jerlene said the patrolmen had

gotten into dad’s whiskey and were drunk. Dad had the shotgun and Uncle Roscoe had a .45 caliber pistol. Dad

told me to go back to Mom. I found my mother in the kitchen cooking for the men from Clinton Engineering

Works just as all hell broke loose. My mother, Lassie, dropped what she was doing and ran toward the barn. I

was just steps behind. When we crossed the first fence, shots were still being fired. Then all of a sudden, the

shots stopped. Someone said, “I got him.” With pistols drawn, the lawmen ordered us to stop. My mom ran to

Dad, and I stopped with my hands raised.

My father’s vehicle was riddled with 32 bullets. A single shot had hit him just below the top zipper

pocket of his Sears and Roebuck leather jacket over his heart. He was killed almost instantly. I was still

standing at the gate when the funeral home hearse drove my father away.

I saw my father being transported inside the hearse. A dome light

inside was shining down on him. That scene has stayed with me all my life

for nearly 70 years.

More than 200 people came to my father’s funeral. My mother was

so distraught. She later told me she felt as if she had been slapped up

against the wall. She said, “I have lost everything.” I crawled up into her lap

and said, “Mother, you still have me.”

With the help of my sister and brother, our family joined together

and made a go of the family’s motel and restaurant after my father’s death.

I worked in the motel and cooked in the restaurant kitchen before going to

school.

Those 25 cases of whiskey cost $3,200.00 in 1943. The check

didn’t clear until after my father’s funeral. The day my father was killed,

my mother took Dad’s jacket and hung it on a nail in the attic of our home.

The Old Leather Jacket

My mother, Lassie, died in 1971. In the 1990’s I found the jacket again and put it in a frame where it now hangs

near the elevator of our family’s Hampton Inn. The jacket is worn with a tiny hole over the heart.

The troopers always claimed that my father had shot back four times with his shotgun, but no shotgun

shells were found. The troopers were only 10 feet away from my father when he was shot. There were even

gunshot holes in the bottom boards of the barn where Daddy was on the ground.

The troopers were charged with first degree murder, but a grand jury refused to indict them. The jacket today

tells the true story.

My mother, Ms. Lassie, became my guiding light and raised our family on three principles: God comes

first; be a productive worker; and get along with people.

It was against these circumstances that my mother led me to become an entrepreneur in many fields.

I started as a cook in the family’s motel kitchen, I then sold furniture, became a Realtor and auctioneer, served

as Campbell County Clerk, and two terms in the Tennessee General Assembly. I am still married to my one and

only wife, Tomi, and we are blessed with three daughters and several grandchildren. An old leather jacket and

my mother, Ms.

Lassie, made the

difference.

THE GOOD NEIGHBOR

By Haskel “Hack” Ayers

THE GOOD NEIGHBOR

By Haskel “Hack” Ayers

“Thou shalt love the Lord thy God with all thy heart,

And with all thy soul, and with all thy mind.

This is the first and great commandment.

And the second is like unto it; Thou shalt love thy neighbor as thyself.

On these two commandments hang all the law and the prophets.

Matthew 22:37-40

I was nine in the fall of 1945. I was in the fourth grade at Jacksboro Elementary School. I had been

running, had taken a bad fall, and found that I had broken my nose completely flat, along with other cuts and

bruises. My mother was across the mountain in the Jellico Hospital. It was determined that I needed to see a

doctor as quickly as possible. Minton Sharp, a neighbor, lived across the road from my house, and I asked if I

could call him to come and get me. He came quickly and took me to Dr. Lindsay, whose office was across from

what is now (in 2014) Long John Silvers restaurant in LaFollette, Tennessee. After the examination, Dr. Lindsay

told Mr. Sharp that I needed to go the Christenberry Clinic in Knoxville, Tennessee, where they had an ear,

nose, and throat specialist. This was during World War II and everything was still rationed, gas, tires, and even

car parts. This was also before the time of striped roads, or for that matter, even paved roads. The only route at

that time was the old Highway 25-W. It took one and a half hours to get to Knoxville then. Mr. Sharp was in the

mortuary business and he made the decision to take me to Knoxville, and we went in his funeral home/family

car. It was a late model DeSoto. It was a very nice car and I had the whole backseat to lie down. Mr. Sharp

ended up spending the whole day with me and took me home late that evening.

The Christenberry Clinic doctor determined that I would need to be seen every week for the next four

Saturdays. With my mother still in the hospital, my sister Jerri was the next in charge. But Jerri was only 13 at

the time. We found that we could ride the Greyhound bus line from LaFollette to Knoxville. The bus stopped on

its way from LaFollette at the Colonial Cottages that Mom owned and where we worked. We would get on the

bus there. It was always full when it loaded in LaFollette, and there were never any seats left by the time they

picked us up. So both of us stood holding onto the straps for two hours, all the way to Knoxville.

My return visit to Knoxville was my sister Jerri’s first trip into the city I had been with Mr. Sharp

previously, but he had gone directly to the Christenberry Clinic.

The bus station people were nice enough to give us a map of

how to get to the doctor’s office. The directions told us to leave

the bus station on Gay Street (in the middle of downtown), go

six blocks down Gay Street, then two blocks West to the clinic,

now where the John J. Duncan Federal Building is located. Jerri

and I were both so scared that we would get lost in this huge

place and never get home again. However, we did find the clinic

and our way back home, as well as repeating the trip three more

times thereafter.

While my nose and body eventually healed, albeit a little

crooked on the inside, we always appreciated Mr. Minton Sharp

for his kindness and sacrifice that day, all of which was just to

help a neighbor. He taught us to use our time to serve another.

PLEASE FORGIVE ME

By Jason Crabb

PLEASE FORGIVE ME

By Jason Crabb

The Crabb Family’s first number one song was written by our

father, Gerald Crabb. This song was his rededication to the Lord.

My father, at one time, was at the end of his rope. He was near the

bottom of the pit, and had lost everything that he had. He was running a

little car wash in a little town called Beaver Dam, Kentucky. He was

making a living cleaning cars, and was about to lose his business. One day

it rained, and he was sitting there on a little couch thinking to himself how

he had let everyone down, His God, his family, and his community. He

felt unworthy to live. Then all of a sudden, he heard the sweetest voice,

that inner voice of God speaking to him, and told him that He loved him.

He fell on his knees in a mud floor, and asked the Lord to forgive him. My

father had a brand new song in his heart, and he’s been singing it ever

since that day!

Have you ever thought that you had made a mess of everything?

You got mad about something, and you just “showed yourself”. Did you

ever make the wrong turn? You might feel so unworthy at night, when you

lay your head down on your pillow, to even think about all the mistakes

and all the many times you have let the Lord down throughout the day.

You feel so unworthy.

I want to tell you; however, His Grace is beautiful. He is a loving and just God. That should be what the

Church is all about. That’s why I love Him so much. It doesn’t matter what you’ve done. If you feel unworthy,

as my father did, you need to know He will cover you. All you have to do is ask.

If you listen to the words to the song “Please Forgive Me,” He can make a difference in your life.

The year was 1990 when my father, Gerald Crabb, fighting for his life against alcohol, found himself

seated on an old couch in a muddy car wash. He had drifted far from the Lord and his addiction had all but taken

over his existence. He even found it difficult to do his work properly at his car wash. Life held little meaning for

my father, and the devil began to convince him how badly he had fallen and what a loser he had become.

As he very often does, Christ showed up suddenly and said to my father, “I love you.” At that very

moment, my father fell to his knees and said to Jesus, “Please forgive me.” From that day forward, his life began

to take on a brighter glow. He began, with the Lord’s help, to put his

life back into order.

At that point in his life, my father had written about 25 songs.

As he began to progress in his resolve to live for Christ, he took his pen

and wrote a verse and a chorus of the song which became The Crabb

Family’s first number one song called “Please Forgive Me.”

In 1994, while working in a newly established church, my father

formed the singing group that he named The Crabb Family. The Lord

blessed us in so many ways and, in a short span of only three years

thanks to our family’s love for God and our joy in singing together new

doors were opened for our ministry.

During a 12 month period after beginning to sing “Please

Forgive Me,” the Lord created a larger platform on which we could

carry His message in a much bigger way. For example, we were privileged to sing at the Brooklyn Tabernacle in

New York City. “Please Forgive Me” became our family’s first of several number one songs.

God works and he wants to work for you. He wants to do things you can’t even imagine. He will

turn your life around if you will just humble yourselves and say, “God, I’ve got to change the way I’m living.

I’m going to put away those things that are wrong in my life.”

The song “Please Forgive Me” made a difference in my singing career. However, the difference that the

song has made in the lives of others is the most important difference.

I would like for you to read the words to the song written by my father, Gerald Crabb:

(Verse 1)

My sleep is gone. My heart is full of sorrow; I can’t believe how much I’ve let you down. I dread the

pain that waits for me tomorrow, when the sun reveals my broken dreams scattered on the ground.

(Chorus)

Please forgive me; I need Your Grace to make it through.

All I have is You. I’m at Your mercy;

Lord, I’ll serve You until my dying day.

Help others find the way. At Your mercy, please forgive me.

(Verse 2)

I can’t believe the God of Earth and Glory

Would take the time to care for one like me.

But I read in the Bible that old story

How He plead for my forgiveness

While He was dying on a tree.

My father tells this story everywhere he goes. He reminds us

that no matter what you are going through, no matter how bad it may

look, you may have already counted yourself out, but He hasn’t

counted you out yet.

Hopefully, my father’s message and his song have made

a difference in many lives.

God will turn your life around if you will just humble yourselves

and say, “God, I have got to change the way I am living. I’m going to

put away sins and idols of my life and the bad practices, the bad habits,

the bad relationships.” It all changes in a minute. The minute you say,

“I’m wrong!” and when we turn from it and plead the blood of Jesus,

then every enemy starts to back up in your life. The Holy Ghost’s power

will come into your life.

The inspiration from my father and the numerous songs which he has written reminds me that whatever

we do, we need to do with our desire to serve God. We need to lead only by the way we live. The words from

“Walk On Water” say it best: “Everybody covets, everybody lies, everybody has done it at some time in their

lives, and we all slip. We don’t mean to. That don’t mean you can’t make it right.” And the chorus goes on to

say: “It’s the path you take; the steps you make that make you who you are. It’s the life you live, the gifts you

give, the love that’s in your heart. Just try to do the best you

can to be a better man. You don’t have to walk on water.

It’s how you walk on land. Everybody judges, everybody

else. Everybody has done it, to everyone but themselves. We

know what’s right, but we still go on, and life still goes on

even when we fail. You don’t have to walk on water.

It’s how you walk on land.”

Finding God’s Will for My Life:

Three Voices

By Dr. Mark L. Williams

Finding God’s Will for My Life: Three Voices

By Dr. Mark L. Williams

Mark L. Williams is the presiding bishop of the Church of God,

occupying the highest office of the denomination. In this chapter, he tells

of the development of his ministry and emphasizes the importance of

hearing voices and responding to voices that can mark significant

changes in life direction.

Life for me began in the small west Texas town of Brownfield.

My father, Bill, and mother, Rose Marie, had prayed 13 years for a

child. After several failed attempts at adoption, my parents became

convinced that only a miracle would bring the desire of their heart to

pass. At the 1962 Texas Camp Meeting Evangelist T.L. Lowery prayed

for my mother and prophesied that God was going to give her a child.

The following October 4, in the West Texas Hospital, I was born.

At the age of 10 months, my family moved to Iowa Park, where

my dad would serve as pastor for 18 years. Iowa Park is a small

community in the north central plains of Texas. It was here I grew up, attending public schools, participating in

sports, band, and drama. It was at the Iowa Park Church of God that I accepted Christ as my Savior, was

baptized in water, received my first communion, was discipled, sanctified, and filled with the Holy Ghost.

After graduating from high school in 1982, I moved with my family to Denver, Colorado, where my

father was assigned to serve as Church of God state overseer. I enrolled at the North Campus of Denver

Community College to begin my undergraduate work, planning to complete a

bachelor’s degree and go on to medical school. In the fall of 1983, I transferred to

Lee University on an academic scholarship.

I graduated from Lee University in 1986 with a bachelor of arts degree in

psychology and enrolled at the Church of God Theological Seminary to pursue a

master of divinity degree. After graduation in 1989, I spent the next six years in

full time itinerant evangelism.

On December 29, 1989, I married Sandra Kay Collins, and together we

ministered throughout the United States and in several countries abroad

conducting local church crusades, youth camps, regional and state camp meetings.

In June 1995, we accepted the pastorate of the South Cleveland Church of God in

Cleveland, Tennessee, and in February, 1999 accepted the position of senior

pastor of the Riverhills Church of God in Tampa, Florida. In 2004, our ministry

would take us to the West to serve as administrative bishop of churches in California and Nevada. In 2008, my

peers elected me to serve on the denomination’s five-man International Executive Committee as second

assistant general overseer, and in 2012, presiding bishop of the Church of God.

The words of the psalmist say it best, “The lines are fallen unto me in pleasant places; yea, I have a

goodly heritage” (Psalm 16:6). My father, Bill Williams, before his retirement spent more than 46 years in full

time Christian ministry, serving Christ and the Church of God as an evangelist, pastor, state director of youth

and Christian education, and state overseer. He possessed and demonstrated the leadership traits of integrity,

care, and faithfulness. I especially remember his taking me with him to visit hospitals and shut-ins, allowing me

to go with him to state council activities, permitting me to accompany him to funerals, and observe him

responding to the many needs of our congregation in times of crisis. I saw him weep with those who wept and

rejoice with those who rejoiced. His amazing ability to adapt to any situation and speak a word in season

inspired me to want to learn the leadership art of flexibility, put people ahead of policy, and mentor others

by giving them the opportunity to accompany me before sending them out to do ministry.

Early in my Christian discipleship, I was greatly influenced by the mothers and fathers of the faith,

particularly teachers in my home church. Sunday School teachers such as Flora Skinner, Glenna Headings,

Cerita Robinson, John Baldwin, Jimmy Skinner, Barbie Johnson, Norma Jean Fox, and Debbie Herder taught

me what it really means to be a disciple. Grace Churchman, an elderly lady who never married, inspired me to

memorize Scripture. More than that, these women and men showed me the importance of teaching in the

leadership experience.

As great as these influences have been, there were strategic times in my journey when a singular voice—one

voice—would help affirm God’s call and provide direction for decisions I needed to make. I think of three

distinct occasions when this happened.

The first influential voice came to me during the 1982 Church of God General Assembly, a biennial

gathering of pastors and laity of the denomination from around the world. For almost a week, several thousand

delegates attend business meeting and worship services, conducting the business of the church and celebrating

its victories. We made the daylong drive from Denver to Kansas City, Missouri, for the meeting. It was a

typical Assembly, like many I had attended before. I met a lot of friends whom I saw only infrequently, and I

took part in the activities of the week.

The culmination came for me on Saturday night, the final service of the

week. It was Youth Night, when the music and message were directed primarily to

young people. The preacher was Raymond F. Culpepper. I entered that church

service with no intimation that I would hear the first voice through which God would

speak to give me a strong sense of life direction.

Culpepper was an animated, engaging speaker with a no-nonsense, full-bore

seriousness in his manner. His sermon, in keeping with the theme of the Assembly,

was, “Lord, Show Us Thy Glory.” I sat almost hypnotized as he called on the young

people of the audience to see God’s glory as manifested in Jesus Christ and to

reflect that glory in their own lives of Christlikeness and service.

Throughout his sermon, he effectively and repeatedly quoted a Bob Dylan rock song with a gospel

message that had been popular during the previous couple of years, “You Gotta Serve Somebody.” It was one

of those songs whose lyrics had about seven verses, each followed with the powerful claim: You’re gonna have

to serve somebody, yes indeed,

You’re gonna have to serve somebody.

It may be the devil, or it may be the Lord,

But you’re gonna have to serve somebody.

It seemed as though Culpepper was speaking directly, one-on-one to me. It

was a transformative moment. I could hear the voice of Christ through the voice of the preacher. He was

calling on me to make a definitive choice to make my life meaningful with no thought for my own self, but

only for Jesus Christ. Even now, I can recapture the raw emotion of the moment.

I did not have to wait long to hear the second voice. Responding to the preacher’s invitation, I made my

way immediately to the front of the vast auditorium, joining hundreds of others who also were touched by the

message, and found a place where I could kneel and pray alone in that huge crowd. I was on my knees only a

few minutes when someone knelt at my side and began praying with me. I recognized Raymond Pettitt, a

young minister a few years older than me. He happened to be a friend of Culpepper, and—like Culpepper and

me—had grown up as the son of a pastor and church leader. I believe this second voice was directed by God

when he began counseling me as we prayed. “Mark, like you I grew up as a preacher’s kid. I have the idea that

it might be harder for people like us to hear the voice of the Lord, for whatever reason. But I’m here to tell you

that you need to be open to what God is saying to you. I believe He is talking to you tonight.”

Raymond F. Culpepper

I have always been sensitive to the influence an individual can have when counseling in prayer with another, but

the truth of that impact was nailed home to me that night. Since that moment, I have sought to be increasingly

spiritually insightful and discerning when praying with others. The second voice did indeed encourage me to be

open to what God had said to me through the preacher.

Although I now had a distinct sense that God wanted my life to be dedicated solely to Him, I saw

no conflict with the desire I had to become a doctor. Following through with my earlier plans, I entered college

in Denver and devoted my freshman year to the pre-med program. The most I can say about that year was that it

was fulfilling, but there was an underlying sense of unrest or unease that I could not exactly define. I finally

decided to transfer to Lee University in Tennessee, the church’s flagship school. I entered classes as a

sophomore in the fall of 1983.

I can precisely identify the moment I heard the third voice. It was November 27, 1983, in a chapel service, as the

president, Ray H. Hughes preached a sermon he called, “What Does the Cross Mean to You?” In it he explained

what the Cross meant in redemptive history and what it meant to Jesus himself. It is the center

of Christianity, it is God’s estimate of the cost of sin, it is the remedy for sin, and it is an

exhibition of God’s love. Then, in a gripping challenge, he confronted me with the need to

answer the question personally, “What does the Cross mean to me”? It was the moment of

truth, and in that instant I sensed that through these three voices God had been speaking to me

and calling me to be a preacher. I accepted His calling.

God speaks to different people in distinct ways. With

some, He uses miracles. With others, He uses dreams and visions.

With me, He used three voices—a young evangelist in a General

Assembly, a young friend praying at my side, and a college

president ministering in a campus chapel service.

Never underestimate the power of one

voice. The voice of one woman—Rosa Parks—

broke through racial barriers by refusing to give

up her seat on a bus. The voice of one survivor of

genocide—Corrie ten Boom—told their story and

empowered others to accept their neighbors. In the

words of Barry Manilow:

Just One Voice

Singing in the darkness,

All it takes is One Voice,

Shout it out and let it ring.

Just One Voice,

It takes that One Voice,

And everyone will sing!

Ray H. Hughes

Corrie ten Boom

Rosa Parks

A Coonskin Cap

and

A United States Senator

By D. Bruce Shine

A COONSKIN CAP AND A UNITED STATES SENATOR

By D. Bruce Shine

A coonskin cap is a hat fashioned from the skin and fur

of a raccoon. The cap has its origins as traditional Native

American headgear associated with American and Canadian

frontiersmen of the eighteenth and nineteenth century. The cap

eventually became a part of the iconic image associated with

Daniel Boone and Davy Crockett, both characters of which were

portrayed by Fess Parker and made famous in part by Walt

Disney in the 1950’s. The Davy Crockett episode made Fess

Parker one of the most popular men in the country portraying a

frontier hero wearing a coonskin cap.

But another Tennessee hero first utilized the coonskin cap in 1948 as a trademark against established

political bosses to champion justice, equality, and fairness for all of our citizens. U.S. Senator Estes

Kefauver, for whom I paged and served as his State Field Secretary, taught me by example that the highest

calling is public service and service to our fellow man.

Between 1939, when Estes Kefauver was first elected to Congress, until his death the same year as

President Kennedy, Senator Kefauver made a massive imprint upon our nation. His public service initially

from the Third Congressional District in the U.S. House of Representatives from Tennessee resulted in his

selection by Look Magazine as one of the ten best Congressmen of our nation. During his initial tenure in the

United States House of Representatives, Estes Kefauver defended civil liberties, supported aid to education

and co-sponsored the G.I. Bill, which gave benefits to our American servicemen.

Kefauver was elected to the Senate in 1948. Tennesseans re-elected him

again in 1954 and a third time in 1960. He was also honored on the cover of Time

Magazine. He became the first political television star after leading Congressional

investigations of organized crime. It was one of the first Congressional

hearings to be televised and attracted a lot of viewers who were curious on how

their Congressional representatives worked. But it was Senator

Kefauver’s crusade against organized crime, which brought him

national attention.

As a result of his popularity, Senator Kefauver ran for the

Democratic Presidential nomination in 1952, winning 14 of 17

primaries. But at the convention, Senator Kefauver lost to Adlai

Stevenson, Governor of Illinois. In 1956 when Stevenson was again

the nominee, Senator Kefauver was chosen as his Vice-Presidential

nominee. The Stevenson/Kefauver ticket was defeated by President Dwight D. Eisenhower.

Senator Kefauver supported the 1954 United States Supreme Court decision of Brown v. Board

of Education, which ended segregation in this country. Senator Kefauver was one of two Tennessee Senators

who refused to sign a Southern Manifesto opposing the U.S. Supreme Court decision. Many believed that

Senator Kefauver’s support of the Supreme Court decision was a factor in keeping Tennessee from the deep

racial strife that visited many of our sister Southern states.

Kefauver went on to seek the 1956 Democratic Presidential Nomination, but the Democratic

Convention again selected Stevenson and supported Kefauver over Senator John Kennedy, the only electoral

defeat that Kennedy ever suffered. Stevenson was the choice of the Democratic Party political bosses and

went on to lose the general election again to General Dwight D. Eisenhower. It is interesting to note that in

the 1952 Democratic Party Presidential primaries, Kefauver received 3.1 million votes while Governor

Stevenson received only 78,000 votes. Primaries were not, at that time the main method of delegate

selection for the Democratic National Convention. It is my firm belief that Senator Kefauver was in part

responsible for the more recent change to primaries.

In 1960, Senator Kefauver was considered the frontrunner for the 1960

Democratic nomination. In 1959, however, he let it be known that he was not

going to campaign a third time for the Presidential nomination, which led to the

eventual selection of Senator John F/ Kennedy of Massachusetts.

When Senator Kefauver ran for re-election to a third term in the United

States Senate in 1960, he swamped his opponent, winning nearly 72% of the

vote.

It was Senator Kefauver’s tireless work in the United States Senate,

however, which set him apart as a coonskin cap champion.

Senator Kefauver’s committee officially known

as the Senate Special Committee to Investigate Crime

in Interstate Commerce held hearings in 14 cities and

heard testimony from over 600 witnesses. Many of the

witnesses were high-profile crime bosses, including such well-known names as Willie

Moretti, Joe Adonis, and Frank Costello. The Committee’s hearing, which were

televised live, just as many Americans were buying televisions, made Senator

Kefauver nationally famous and introduced many Americans to the concept of a

criminal organization known as the Mafia for the first time ever. The FBI, at that time, had failed to investigate

the Mafia. Kefauver embarrassed the FBI Director, revealing ties to the mafia with the FBI Director’s

associates. It was as a result of those hearings that Senator Kefauver became admired for his integrity.

Senator Kefauver was an early supporter of consumer rights. He guided the Celler-Kefauver Act of 1950

through the United States Senate, which amended the Clayton Act regulating monopolies by plugging loopholes

allowing corporations to purchase a competing firm’s assets. Between 1957 and 1963, Senator Kefauver’s

Senate Anti-Trust and Monopoly Subcommittee investigated concentration in the United States economy

industry by industry and issued a report exposing monopolies in steel, automotive, bread, and pharmaceutical

industries. In May of 1963, Senator Kefauver’s subcommittee concluded that

within monopolized U.S. industries, no real price competition existed and

recommended changes to encourage competition in favor of preserving the

American dream.

Senator Kefauver’s Anti-Trust and Monopoly Subcommittee also held

hearings on the pharmaceutical industry between 1959 and 1963 that led to the

enactment of his most famous legislative achievement, the Kefauver-Harris Drug

Act of 1962. Senator Kefauver expressed his shock about the excess profits that

U.S. drug companies were taking at the expense of U.S. consumers. Witnesses

discussed various conflicts of interests, for which the American Medical

Association’s Journal was receiving millions of dollars in drug advertising, and

had been reluctant to challenge claims made by drug company ads. The drug

companies themselves were shown to be engaged in frenzied advertising

campaigns designed to sell trade name versions of drugs that otherwise could be

prescribed under generic names at a fraction of the costs. Competition in the drug

industry had led to the marketing of new drugs that were of no improvement on

drugs already on the market, but had been heralded by the pharmaceutical industry as dramatic breakthroughs

without proper concern for either effectiveness or safety. At the same time, the United States Food and Drug

Administration had limited authority to require efficacy standards or to disclose risks with these medications.

At the end of 1961, both European and Australian doctors were reporting that an epidemic of children were

being born with deformities of their arms and legs caused by the use of Thalidomide, which had been heavily

marketed to pregnant women. Senator Kefauver’s legislation was his finest achievement for consumer

protection. It imposed controls on the pharmaceutical industry and required drug companies to disclose to

doctors the side effects of their products. It allowed the products to be sold as generic drugs after the

pharmaceutical company had held the patent for a certain period of time and required the pharmaceutical

industry to prove on demand that their products were, in fact, effective and safe.

In 1963, I was working in the International Secretariat of the North Atlantic Treaty Organization (NATO), housed

in a building near the Arc de Triomphe near Paris, France. I had obtained my job as a direct result of Senator

Kefauver’s influence. On August 9, 1963, I received a phone call from the U.S. Ambassador to France telling me

he had a present for my 25th birthday from Senator Kefauver. Senator Kefauver had sent me a sterling silver I.D.

bracelet, which I wear to this day. I had indicated to him previously that I had hoped to acquire one someday.

It was on the next day, August 10, 1963, that I learned that Senator Kefauver had suffered a heart attack on

the floor of the United States Senate while attempting to place an anti-trust amendment into a NASA

appropriations bill that would have required that companies benefitting financially from the outcome of research

subsidized by NASA reimburse NASA for the costs of the research. Senator

Kefauver died two days after his heart attack at a Bethesda, Maryland hospital.

Newspapers from around the world eulogized Senator Kefauver’s

contributions to America. The New York Times best stated Kefauver’s contribution

when it wrote: “Every American is a beneficiary of his dedication, his indomitability,

and the primacy he assigned human values.” He was a caring human being. I think of

his wisdom and kindness to others nearly daily. His wife, Nancy Kefauver, placed on

his tombstone: “Courage, justice, and loving kindness,” which best expressed his

nature and character. He is buried in the family cemetery in Madisonville, Tennessee.

In November 1963, President Kennedy named Nancy Kefauver to be

the first Head of the New Art in

Embassies Program, President

Kennedy’s program, President

Kennedy’s last Presidential

appointment. The federal

courthouse in Nashville,

Tennessee was renamed the Estes

Kefauver Federal Building and

United States Courthouse in his

honor following his death

Senator Kefauver instilled in me

that a goal of every American is to provide for themselves and their

family. Generally, they don’t seek preferential treatment, but merely to

be treated fairly, and to be judged by their own personal merit and

character. I have also learned that outside of legislation, it is only

through the practice of law and our judicial system that the individual

rights of our citizens are protected. As a result of my work with

Senator Kefauver and his tireless examples, there was inculcated a

desire to assure individuals that the American dream remains in

existence, and that the rule of law can make that

dream a reality.

Everyone can talk

about justice,” but to those

denied justice,” the term is

an empty phrase. As a

society, our job is to

achieve actual justice. A

coonskin cap and a United

States Senator made a

difference.

Friends Who Made a Difference

In My Life

By Bishop Delmus Bruce

FRIENDS WHO MADE A DIFFERENCE IN MY LIFE

By: Bishop Delmus Bruce

“For we are His workmanship, created in Christ Jesus unto good works, which God

hath before ordained, that we should walk in them.” (Ephesians 2:10)

My story is short, but it is real. I was born in Campbell County to my parents, Garrett

and Margret Campbell Bruce along with eleven other siblings. We were a very close

family. I had a lot of love for my family and deep respect. Things were not always

easy. We never had running water in our house, electricity or modern appliances until

I was a teenager. I recall helping my Mom go down to the creek to wash all the

clothes on a scrub board for the entire family. I walked about two and a half miles to

school and back, and as the weather got cooler, we pulled our coats much closer and

could hardly wait until spring came. It was not convenient, but we didn’t know it. It

sounds like a hard life, but we fared better than many, because my Dad was a great

provider, and Mom was a great cook.

I have always been thankful for my family. My older sister, Jessie, was the greatest

influence as far as spiritual leadership. She became a Christian in the early 40s and a charter member of the

Stanfield Church of God in 1944. She had a great influence on my life. She took me to Sunday school with

her. She, as well as many other people, made a difference in my life.

For example, back in those days, we didn’t have a lot of company, but there was an older gentleman, my

Dad’s Great-Uncle, who would come to our house ever so often. We never said grace over our food but when

Uncle John sat down at the table to eat Dad would say, “It’s time to listen to Uncle John,” and he would say a

beautiful prayer. He was one of the first people that made a difference in all of our lives

about God. That I never forgot. Thank God for a table prayer.

I also had a very special Sunday school teacher whose name was Lydia Gibson. She

was good and kind. I thought she was an angel. She taught me my first Bible verse. When

she would ask us to say a Bible verse, I would take the shortest verse in the Bible, which is

John 11:35, “Jesus wept.” It wasn’t until several years later I realized how much of a

difference she made in my life as my Sunday School teacher.

(which is one reason we put such a priority on Sunday school at

the Stanfield Church of God.)

In the mid-50s, I went to the Pacific Northwest for

work. I stayed one year, then went to the state of Michigan,

where I worked for two years and returned back to Washington

state. I began missing a beautiful young lady with whom I went

to school in Tennessee. I started going

to church where she went with her

family in Leavenworth, Washington.

We dated for about a year and a half,

and on April 19, 1958, she became my

bride. My wife, Rose Baird, was beau-

tiful then, and she is still beautiful now. In Proverbs 31, verses 10-31, it is written,

”Who can find a virtuous woman? For her price is far above rubies The heart of her

husband doth safely trust in her, so he shall have no need of spoil. She will do him

good and no evil all the days of her life. She seeketh oil, and flax and worketh willingly

with her hands. She is like the merchants’ ship; she bringeth her food from afar. She

riseth also while it is yet night, and giveth meat to her household, and a portion to her

maidens. She considered a field and buyeth it: with the fruit of her hands, she planteth a vineyard.

She girth her loins with strength, and strengthened her arms. She is

perceiveth that her merchandise is good: her candle goeth not out by

night. She layeth her hands to the spindle, and her hands hold the

distaff. She stretcheth out her hand to the poor; yea, she reacheth forth

her hands to the needy. She is not afraid of the snow for her

household: for all her household are clothed with scarlet. She maketh

herself coverings of tapestry; her clothing is silk and purple. Her

husband is known in the gates, when he siteth among the elders of the

land. She maketh fine linen, and selleth it; and delivereth girdles unto

the merchant. Strength and honor are her clothing; and she shall

rejoice in time to come. She openeth her mouth with wisdom; and in

her tongue is the law of kindness. She looketh well to the ways of her

household, and eateth not the bread of idleness. Her children arise up,

and call her blessed; her husband also, and he praiseth her. Many

daughters have done virtuously, but thou excellest them all. Favour is

deceitful and beauty is vain: but a woman that feareth the Lord, she

shall be praised. Give her of the fruit and of her hand; and let her own

works praise her in the gates.” My wife Rose, has made a great

difference in my life.

The greatest day of my life was in August 1958 when

Rose and I gave our hearts to the Lord Jesus Christ. We

started our life and marriage as new Christians. Soon after, I

got saved, I felt God was calling me to the ministry. In 1959,

we were members of the Leavenworth Church of God in

Leavenworth, Washington, working under the leadership of

our Pastor, Reverend Jim Boggs.

Reverend Boggs was another person who made a

difference in my life. In 1960, I became the youth leader of

the local church. Then later in 1960, I became the District

Youth Director of the Wenatchee Washington District. In

1961, we became the proud parents of our son, Ronald Gene

Bruce. Then in 1962, we became the Pastor of a small church

in Chelan, Washington. Even though the church was small,

we were happy pastoring the church and working full

time. The church and the people were great, but in late 1963, we

resigned the church because we felt God was leading us to move to

Tennessee.

After we moved to

Tennessee, little did we

know at the time that in

August of 1964 we

would begin pastoring at

the Stanfield Church of

God in Stinking Creek, Tennessee, where we grew up. Progress

was slow, but we remained faithful, working various jobs

including mining coal among others, to help support our

family. We are in our fourth building project since 1964. We

thank God who has given us many souls saved during these

many years of ministry. We thank God for the dedicated

members, friends of the church, and community who have

allowed me and my wife to be their pastor.

In 1966, we became the proud parents of our first daughter, Debrah Lynn, and five

years later in 1970, we were blessed with another beautiful daughter, Marsha Gail. Our

children have also made a difference in our lives. They are all three involved in ministry, and

we are very proud of them. We are blessed with one grandson, Josh, and three

granddaughters, Jennifer, Megan, and Candice. All are married and have blessed us with four

great-grandchildren, Keegan, Kate, Lofton, and Rae. We are thankful for them. They are a

blessing to us. A final couple who made a difference in my life were

my father and mother-in law, Luther and Ellar Baird. They set a good example of how to

raise a Godly family, who spent time on their knees in prayer, not only for their family, but

for their church and community. They raised a Godly family. They, too, made a difference

in my life. Other special people were my wife’s Aunt, Mary Baird Ayers, as well as How-

ard and Essie Ayers. In the early days of our Christian minis-

try, they were a tremendous help and encouragement to us.

There have been lots of others who have made a difference in

our lives in our fifty-seven year journey through our ministry

for Christ. Fifty years have been spent pastoring at the

Stanfield Church of God, and it has been an honor and brought

many rewards, but when the gate closes behind me, and I hear

Him say “well done,” it will be the greatest reward of all times.

The Bruce Family

Howard and Essie Ayers

Hughes Fellowship Hall

By Haskel “Hack” Ayers

HUGHES FELLOWSHIP HALL

By Haskel “Hack” Ayers

Around 1970, the East Beech Street

Church of God in LaFollette,

Tennessee, decided to build a new

larger church. To stay in the same

neighborhood, they purchased

property four blocks from the

present church on Cumberland

Avenue. Mr. and Mrs. Homer

Hughes lived between the old church

and where we planned to build the

new church. Mr. Hughes was a retired miner and did not attend church, but

his wife, Ms. Sally, had been a faithful member for years. When it came

time to layout the church, nothing was mentioned about a basement. The

church roof was finished and Mr. Hughes asked “When are you going to

start the basement?” The reply to Mr. Hughes was we were not having a

basement because of the expense and the finances of the church would not

permit it. Mr. Hughes, who was seventy years old at that time said that he

would put in the basement. He showed up the next day with his

wheelbarrow, mattock and shovel and started digging for a

basement and rolling out the dirt. He was a regular sight each

morning. Mr. Hughes filled his wheelbarrow with dirt, rolled it out,

dumped it and then would roll the wheelbarrow back in. This

process continued numerous times during the day. His wife was a

very dear Christian. She had witnessed for years to Homer about his

situation. Homer came in from digging one afternoon and told his

wife “You know I was working today and this wonderful spirit

came over me. I said ‘Please forgive me of my sins and I will accept

you as my personal Savior’. I just had a wonderful feeling and just

wanted to tell you I’m his and He’s mine.”

Homer Hughes finished digging the basement, finished

the concrete floor and the Church named the basement the

Hughes Fellowship Hall. It served as our fellowship hall for

dinners, Sunday school class meetings and many other

causes, all because one person felt the need. Now over forty

years later, Brother Hughes has gone on to receive his

reward. The Hughes Fellowship Hall is still serving the needs

of our community. Homer Hughes, a small voice and a

wheelbarrow made the difference.

The Person Who

Most Influenced My Life

By Senator Ken Yager

Senator Ken Yager

The person who most influenced my life – My Mother

I have been blessed by many individuals who have

influenced my life, particularly teachers who inspired me in

so many ways. School is one of the first places where a

child’s behavior and future educational success is shaped

by caring teachers who often go the extra mile. When I was

in the eighth grade, my teacher encouraged me to run for

public office. I had another teacher who taught me the rules

of baseball, which was important because I did not have a

father in the home. I could write several chapters about the

wonderful teachers who motivated me.

That being said, home is the first school and

mother is the first teacher, and my mother left an indelible

positive mark on me in every way possible, making her the

most important influence upon my life. There are not

enough words to describe all of the ways that she

influenced me so I will concentrate on four: family,

education, faith and ethics.

I am the product of a single mother as my father

died when I was four years old. His untimely death, due to

a heart attack at age 41, left my mother solely responsible

for raising me and my three sisters before she remarried

later. This was a time in our nation’s history when there

were no programs to provide assistance for families in financial distress. She went against the advice of others

who urged her to put us up for adoption. Mother, having grown up in an orphanage, chose to keep the family

together despite the hardships. Family was at the heart of everything my mother did and she was more than

willing to work as hard as necessary to provide us a good home.

My mother dropped out of school in the sixth grade due to the Great

Depression and the poverty that came to so many who endured those years.

I have tremendous respect for my mother’s generation who lived through

these difficult times and upon whose shoulders we stand. They were devoted

to duty, a trait that marked their era and built this great nation.

Just because my mother left school at an early age did not mean that

she placed a lesser value on education. It was quite the opposite. Really, her

encouragement to succeed academically is why I graduated from college,

received a Master’s Degree and a Doctor of Jurisprudence. She deeply

instilled in me the value of an education and insisted that I go as far as I

could.

Mother put me in kindergarten before it was required and always

made sure that I attended classes. She never gave the trade secrets up, but she

always knew when I got in trouble at school. If I got in trouble at school, I got

in trouble at home. I may add though, that her discipline was

Christian-oriented, fair and tempered with love.

Faith was not only important to my mother, but a way of life. She led us by example. She took us to

Sunday school and church each week. This established a pattern for observing the Sabbath which has

followed me all of my life.

Mother’s faith molded the ethics which she instilled in each of her children, including a strong work ethic.

She worked at a bakery after leaving school and to support us, she ran a grocery store out of the basement of

our home. She also worked as a lunchroom cook, often taking two jobs in order to make ends meet. She taught

me that the integrity of work. She always told me that whatever job you take, you do it well whether you’re a

cook, cashier or the president of the bank. She used to have a saying, “If you accept a check from somebody,

you do your best. If you don’t like what you’re getting paid, find another job.”

I’ll haste to add, my mother helped me through undergraduate school by babysitting. She would take

that money and send it to me to use for my college expenses. I will never forget that as long as I live. She

would take care of children, and you could tell it was the very cash that had been paid to her because they were

little bills, all folded together, wadded up in an envelope and mailed to me. That same sacrificial giving was

exhibited at Christmas. It was very important to my mother that we have a happy Christmas because most of

her early Christmases were spent in an orphanage. My mother did not have the opportunity to enjoy the life

that I have enjoyed as a result of these sacrifices.

At the end of her earthly life, she suffered from several debilitating conditions and I think she knew she

didn’t have a long time left. The last thing she asked me was, “You won’t forget me, will you?” I said, “No,

never. Never.” I could never forget what she’d done for me. You know, I’m really what I am today because of

her and her influence.

Ken Yager has committed his life to public service as an educator, government official and community

leader. His priorities are God, family and community. In 2006, Yager completed 24 years of service to Roane

County as its County Executive. Two years later, he was elected to the State Senate representing District 12

consisting of Roane, Rhea, Campbell, Morgan, Fentress and Scott Counties. (Pickett County was added to

District 12 in 2012.)

Ken has a Bachelor of Arts (Liberal Arts/history) and Master's Degree (Education) from the University

of Tennessee. He earned his J.D. (law) from the University of Memphis. He worked his way through college

and law school as a janitor and cashier.

Ken is married to the former Malinda

Raby of Oliver Springs. They have been married

for 29 years and have two children,

Bonnie-Marie and Will. He and his family are

members of South Harriman Baptist Church.

Senator Ken Yager checking out Scott County

The Yager Family

Angels At The Crossroads By Kiley Phillips and High Road

"Angel at the Crossroads"

By Kiley Phillips and High Road

I've been kickin' stones

Down this gravel road

I've lost all sense of direction

And I'm just tryin' to get back home..."

Home. How I love that word. One of my favorite places

on earth. My safe place. My roots. My heart.

I grew up in the small town of Newton, IL. Population

3,000. Many would say Newton has little to offer in the

areas of recreation, dining, and diversity… But one thing

that it does not lack is heart. The community also has a

quiet strength. It has seen many trials and has weathered

the storms.

Newton will forever

have my heart. It's where I want to go in times of retreat, in times of rest,

in times of celebration.

If you've ever had the privilege (or maybe misfortune) of driving through

central and southern Illinois, you're all too aware of the fact that it is

mostly flat land. Flat, long, never-ending, boring. Filled with fields of

corn, soy beans, and wheat, this part of the world is fairly

consistent. You're guaranteed to see fields and fields of crops, or what's

left over from last season's harvest. As far as the eye can see, this ground

in heart of the country is being worked and worked hard.

I was born the day after Christmas in 1986. My parents recall me

singing anything and everything since I learned to speak. My memaw

(grandma) loves telling the story that happened when I was very young.

She'd taken me along while shopping and even in my earliest days, I was

singing along to every word that was playing in the background music of

the store. Music was always what my ear was drawn to... It was

everywhere. If I heard it, I felt it was natural a for me to add my little voice to it. The stereo system in my

parent’s living room was, you might say, the best babysitter I ever had.

I had my "first gig" at the age of 6 singing in my

aunt and uncle's wedding. My parents were both

nervous wrecks while I stood behind the microphone as

cool as a cucumber, fiddling with the beading on my

flower girl dress. Much to their surprise, I got through

the performance without missing a beat. I think I was

hooked on performing since that moment.

When I think back to my childhood, I often go to a

vivid memory that may have started my journey in the

music business. One Sunday morning while attending

Sunday school, our teacher asked us a rather simple

question. He asked, “what do you want to be when you

grow up?” Going around the room, we each were to

share our dream jobs. As most children shared their hopes of being a firefighter, an astronaut, a

veterinarian, a teacher, I was so eager to share my dreams. When it came to be my turn, I proudly announced,

“I want to be a professional singer.” The teacher was polite, nodded his head, and moved on. I had no idea

that my childish dreams would prove to be an almost impossible task.

After giving my life to the Lord as a 12 year old girl, I knew that God held a plan and had placed a

calling on my life that was so much bigger than I could begin to understand. I continued singing in choirs at

church and school, began taking voice lessons, took years of piano lessons and became a pretty decent little

trumpet player. If there were any events where was music involved, I was there.

When it came time to start realistically thinking about my future and college plans, I started asking my

mentors and teachers for their opinions and advice. My question to them was usually something along the

lines of, “I want to major in music and be a performing musician, but what exactly should I get a degree in?"

Most often, the answer to my question was unanimous among each of them. There advice was to forget my

dreams of becoming a performer and become something more realistic, like a music teacher. No matter how

many times I got that answer, I never grew to agree with them. Despite all of the harsh realities and

dead-ends I was coming to, God placed someone in my life that encouraged me to dream bigger than I ever

had.

Mr. Bob Hills was an older

gentleman that lived about 45

minutes away from my small town

of Newton, IL. He had recently

returned to the area to take care of

his elderly mother. Bob, or Mr.

Hills as I called him, was a retired

performer… he was one who could

truly say he’d, “been there, done

that,” but thanks to his humility, he

never would say such a thing. He

had been on Broadway,

performing in musicals and dramas

for years. He had taught and

directed very prestigious choirs

and orchestras in his years, became

a professor at Milikin University in

central IL, and had chosen to retire

home to his small hometown of

Martinsville, IL.

After seeing me perform in a talent show on a dusty stage at the Clark County Fair, Mr, Hills approached

me and told me he’d like to work with me by giving me voice lessons. Surprisingly enough, I was flattered

upon his request and not offended. I was lucky enough to take voice lessons from him for nearly 3 years. When

my college plans came up with Mr. Hills, he recommended a school in Nashville, TN called Belmont

University. The more I learned about the school, the more I fell in love with the idea. My dreams had only

gotten bigger and were continuing to expand. After traveling to Nashville for a visit and auditioning for spot in

the Vocal Performance studio, I was hooked. I couldn’t imagine any other path for me. In March, I found out

that I had been accepted into the program and was so overwhelmed with joy.

“The things I’ve left behind,

are heavy on my mind,

and the weight that’s on my shoulders,

I just want to let go…"

I spent 4 years studying vocal performance at Belmont University. They were wonderful years, but

definitely weren’t without trials. I spent a lot of time wrestling with the temptations that naturally come with

moving away from home and no longer under the authority of your parents. My friends and I would sporadically

go to church together on Sundays and had big

plans of doing Bible studies together, but there

were always distractions that seemed to get in the

way of our aspirations. My relationship with the

Lord suffered, and eventually became

something that I chose to ignore. Praying made

me feel guilty because it had been so long since

the last time I had spoken to God. Along with the

guilt of my absence and abandonment of my

relationship, I felt guilty because when I did

pray, I would only ask God for things… I felt

selfish and needy. I struggled in my prayer life.

As time went on, I graduated from

Belmont I started working at a restaurant in

Nashville to pay the bills. A year passed by of

working part-time at the restaurant and I was

ready for a little change. I wanted to sing.

I wanted to perform. I wanted to have fun.

Nashville’s famous Broadway strip is

filled with honkytonk bars and cover

bands. Tourists from all over the world come to

hear live music and party until all hours of the

night. For musicians and servers who work on lower Broadway, it can be a great source of income. It also serves

as a short of wood-shedding platform that allows musicians to gain experience on stage and practice their

craft. When looking for a little change in my everyday restaurant job, I considered playing downtown on

Broadway. After placing a few calls to some friends, I was able to score an audition at Tootsie’s World Famous

Orchid Lounge. A week later, I had wrangled together a band of friends who quickly learned almost 20 songs and

we fumbled our way to the completion of the audition. After that day, we were invited to take a weekly spot on

Thursday and Saturdays from 10pm - 2am. It was unlike anything I had ever done before. Providing 4 hours a

music, begging musicians to learn enormous amounts of music, playing for hardly nothing, and putting on a show

for numerous tourists.

One evening while playing at Rippy’s BBQ downtown, I saw a group of men enter the room that

looked somewhat out of place. They were dressed very well, didn’t have a beer in their hand, and they weren’t

dancing like fools and singing along to our music. They stood in the back and simply watched. After they had

heard us play 3 songs, one of the men approached the stage and asked to speak to me. I was somewhat nervous

and confused, but I quickly asked my guitar player to sing a song for me while I spoke to the gentleman.

After proceeding through a few different rounds of auditions for American Idol in the next few months,

my hopes were crushed when I was eliminated. The words, “your voice just isn’t really strong enough for this

competition” haunted me for months after the last audition. I was quickly shot back to reality… of paying bills,

working as a waitress, and trying to find my place in the music business.

After a couple of years of the same tumultuous restaurant job and inner-struggle in my faith and my

career choices, I started to dust out some of the cobwebs that had accumulated in regard to my dreams of

having a career in music. I started seriously looking for work as a vocalist doing background vocals, session

singing work, or anything I could get my hands on. Continuing to work to pay the bills and seeking out music

opportunities was enough to fill most of my days. Chasing after these seemingly impossible goals

continuously drained my patience and spirit, but an email from the new TV show called The Voice gave me a

glimmer of hope.

I had been invited to audition for the new reality show and couldn’t wait to show ‘em what I had! The

whole premise of the show was so exciting and encouraging to me. They listened to singers while holding

“blind auditions” and having their backs to the performers, letting the true voice really excel. After making it

through a few rounds of auditions, I was not invited to continue the process in Hollywood. Once again, I had

been rejected, shut down, and sent home to return to my normal life as a part-time waitress and struggling

musician.

As time went on, it seemed like every music opportunity that I’d happen upon would get snatched out

from under me. Every door that I tried to open would get slammed shut in my face. The competition and

rejections of Nashville started getting to me. I started becoming discouraged. I started feeling bad about

myself. I started feeling burdened that I needed change. I hated the season of life that I was in.

After a weekend retreat with my parents to North Carolina, we were driving back to Nashville when I

suddenly became overcome with emotion and defeat. I thought that I had failed. I felt my dreams would never

come true. Expecting my parents to be disappointed in me, I had been trying to hide my feelings from them. As

it turned out, it seemed that I could no longer hide. The three of us tried working out solutions to the problem…

maybe I could move home and get a music teaching

job, or a “real job” of some sort. I didn’t know what I

wanted to do, but what I did know was that I didn’t

want to be in Nashville anymore. I didn’t want to be

faced with the defeat I felt. I didn’t want to feel like a

failure. That Sunday evening on our long drive home,

my parent’s encouraged me to do whatever my heart

led me to. They assured me they would support any

decision I made, but I was devastated and saddened to

know that I would be starting on a new journey of even

more uncertainty.

“Like a preacher needs a Bible,

a sinner needs revival,

I’m looking for the answers

to the things that I don’t know.

I’m like a moth to a flame

when the devil calls my name.

And I go to those places I know I shouldn’t go.

I need an angel at the crossroads."

The next day after returning back to Nashville from being with my parents and telling them my plan to

move home to Illinois, I received an email that Monday evening. The email was from two ladies that I had

gone to college at Belmont with. I didn’t really know them, only knew their names and that they played

music. The subject line read, “Auditions.” As I opened the email, my heart started pounding.

The girls, Sarah and Anna Grace, wrote that they were looking for a singer who played an instrument

to be a part of their group called HIGHROAD. They wanted to meet with me and asked me to learn some

songs for an audition. As I read through the email, I felt a peace and an excitement that covered me… It was

so evident God was at work. The night before I had nearly given up, and the very next day, He had presented

me with this amazing opportunity.

After meeting with Sarah and Anna Grace, sharing our hearts, many laughs, and a few songs, it was

pretty clear to all of us that this was a good fit. We did a few shows together and had an absolute blast. About

a week later, they officially invited me to be a part of their group, a part of their ministry, and to be a

friend. My heart was so happy and I felt so loved and treasured by my God. He had shown me that He wasn’t

done with me. My plans to leave Nashville because it had gotten tough and I wanted to give up was not His

plan at all. He had plans for me that I never

believed or imagined. He sent me 2 angels

named Sarah and Anna Grace. They not

only allowed me to be part of their group

and part of their ministry, but they had

picked me up and encouraged my walk

with the Lord. They were and forever will

be my Angels at the Crossroads.

“Eulogy to Hazel Clear” By David H. Dunaway

EULOGY TO HAZEL CLEAR

By David H. Dunaway

In 1953, after returning from Japan at the end of World War II, Carl

Clear went in search of a queen and he found a jewel of an angel, Hazel

Ruth Teague, who became Hazel Clear. Together Carl and Hazel Clear became Seven Star Coal Company, which

was eventually conveyed to Robert Clear Coal Corporation, and whose mining operations were eventually

conveyed to National Coal Corporation, which became one of the largest coal mining operations in the State of

Tennessee. For over 40 years, the Clears were loyal patrons and customers of Stowers Equipment Company, Rice

Oil Company, and Terry’s Pharmacy. They were also original contributors to the Christian Academy of Campbell

County, charter founders of the Speedwell Volunteer Fire Department, contributors of land to the Haynes Flat

Baptist Church, members of the Elm Grove Baptist Church, contributors to a host of charitable and political

causes, and for nearly 18 years were my mother and father-in-law.

In 1953, however, in the early years of his life, Carl Clear was at his crossroads. As the song so apply

sung by HighRoad III describes, while pushing stones down a gravel road, he had lost all sense of direction until

he entered the commissary at Eagen, Tennessee one day and met a young girl who looked like Dorothy from the

Wizard of Oz, who was working as a meat butcher, and she helped Carl find his way back home. Carl needed an

angel at his crossroads. At that point of his life, he, like so many of us, had been running and had been running oh

so fast. He lied about his age and entered the Army at age 16.Carl eventually was reunited with his own family

and took a number of jobs as a laborer before owning a service station with Hazel and eventually becoming a

coal miner. While every sinner has a future and every saint has a past, Carl Clear’s saint was Hazel.

Like a preacher needs a Bible, a sinner needs revival. And we’ve all searched for answers to things we

did not know. Carl’s revival and answer came through his angel, Hazel Clear. Carl found his angel at the

crossroads, and she was Hazel Clear.

Hazel has now gone to her Beulah Land.

I am quite sure she would not want us to

weep for her, but to rejoice over the fact that her

pain is gone, her memory and dignity restored, and

through a gift of grace, God has received her with

open arms.

Next to my own parents, Carl and Hazel

were two of the hardest workers that I have known

in my life. It is hard for anyone to fathom these

days the difficulty of living in a home without

running water, and before his marriage to Hazel, as

a child, Carl and his brothers and sisters

wondered from where their next meal would come

or what their future would hold.

But God says to us, and as Carl and Hazel

found after their marriage, all we need to do is pray

because God has all things for us, and when we

ask, we will receive.

God has all this grace and yet sometimes

we live with scarcity.

Carl and Hazel, however, learned that together they need not rush, nor run down a road so fast

because God had everything they needed.

We need to remember that if indeed times are as bad as they say they are, if the darkness in our

world is growing heavier by the moment, if we are facing a spiritual battle in our home or community, then

all we need to do is turn to God, who supplies unlimited grace and power.

Hazel cannot come back, but we can go to her.

James 4:14 says, “How do you know what your life will be like tomorrow? Your life is like the

morning fog – it’s here a little while and then gone.” James 4:17 also reminds us that it is a sin to know what

you ought to do and then not do it. When we do not know what to do, then we need to do what we know.

My wife, Susan, told me the story of when Wes was born, she was a new mother, and even though

she didn’t know what to do, her mother Hazel stayed with her for a week, helping her take care of Wes and

doing what she knew. Hazel did what she did best, and that was taking care of people.

Every day is a precious gift from God. We have no guarantee that we’re going to be here tomorrow.

Life is fragile. We need to live every day like it could be our last. We need to treasure our moments as a gift

from God.

I know that Hazel treasured those precious moments when she could spend time with her children.

There was a time when Hazel and Carl were watching their son Robert play at a basketball game. Robert, as

a member of the Jellico High School basketball team, was making a breakaway play to shoot a layup and

Robert had his legs get cut out from under him by a LaFollette player, knocking Robert to the floor and

cutting open his head. Carl was sort of chuckling to himself and looked over to where Hazel was sitting

only to find that she was the first person on the basketball court. Her son was bleeding, she attended to him,

but yet she stayed to watch the game until it was over and another player shot Robert’s foul shots and won

the game. Those who did not know also learned that you don’t mess with Hazel’s children or her family. At

least in the presence of Hazel.

Job 14 tells us that humanity is frail. How short is life and how full of trouble it is. We blossom like

a flower and then wither like a passing shadow and then we quickly disappear. God knows how many

months we will live.

We need to remember that when we approach people who are hurting, they seldom need a long speech

from us. Just being with them is a great help.

Grief sometimes makes us say things we wouldn’t normally say. When we are going through

sorrow, we may express feelings of anger, despair, or resentment. We don’t need someone to argue with

us; we need someone to remind us that God loves us. And sometimes the best way this can be

communicated is through a simple, quiet presence. If we receive that kind of support, we will eventually

get to the place where we remember that God is acquainted with our grief. God knows our pain. He lost a

son. He watches His children make huge mistakes every day. He understands our sorrow. Grief is one of

the valleys of the shadow of death. We don’t have to fear as long as we remember that God is with us.

Hazel experienced much grief during her life, the loss of her parents, a loss of her brothers and

sisters, a loss of her physical health and a loss of her ability to participate in her community causes and

activities that she loved. Her great niece, Sheryl Tanner, and granddaughter of her sister Georgia, wrote her

thoughts about Hazel as follows:

I was blessed to grow up with a very large, extended family. While my

immediate family was small and my parents were absent for most of my

childhood, I had lots of aunts, uncles, and cousins that I loved dearly. I said

goodbye to my Aunt Hazel…she was strong, smart, and determined. I like to

think I’m like her. She always seemed to know what I was thinking and

always knew just the right thing to say. I remember when she told me she had

Alzheimer’s. She told me she was going to take the medication because she

didn’t want to miss anything! She loved life, loved God and her family, and I

loved her.

Hazel knew no matter how deep, wide, or long her valley of grief, God was with her every step of

the way. Hazel was convinced that God would be with her through every adversity. And even if she felt

like things were so bad that her life was nearly over – she believed in a God of restoration and resurrection!

We need to remember that as long as God is in the picture, the story is not over. In the Bible, Job was

restored. He ended up with twice what he had before. God gave him back double.

Most of us don’t have to go through nearly as much as Job went through before we start feeling like

him. Nor the suffering and loss of dignity as experienced by Hazel. The story of Job is in the Bible so that

we can rest in the knowledge that God is in control in every circumstance of our life and that he is full of

wisdom and grace. We should eagerly anticipate God taking the difficult times in our lives and gradually

transforming them. It is our journey with the Lord that is precious to us because we realize how close God

is as He walks with us every step of the hard way.

Hazel Clear was a person of integrity, an honorable Godly woman, who could always be depended

on to do the right thing regardless of the situation.

Psalms 30:5 says that weeping may endure for the night, but joy comes in the morning. It also says

that the path of righteous is like the light of dawn shining brighter until the full day. No matter how dark

your circumstances are today, there is a place of victory on the other side of your challenge.

If we were suddenly given only a short time to live, no doubt we would be more loving, generous,

compassionate and kind. We probably wouldn’t get upset as easily. We would take time for what is really

important like our family and friends. We would go on that special date that we promised our son or

daughter. We wouldn’t be too busy to be at our children’s basketball game. We would take five minutes

and write that letter of appreciation that we’ve been meaning to send.

But life is short. We are here but only for a moment. The Psalmists said in Psalms 90:12: “Teach us to

realize the brevity of life.” He was saying, “God, I recognize that I’m not going to be here forever. Help

me to not waste a day of my life complaining, discouraged, worrying and regretting. God, teach me to

number and value my days.”

Life has a way of pushing us down. It’s easy to get up in the morning and think, “God, I don’t

want to go to work. I can’t stand the traffic. My spouse aggravates me. How come I haven’t gotten any

good breaks?” But life’s too short to live that way.

We need to say with the Psalmists: “God teach me to number my days. I have no guarantee of

tomorrow. Help me to really recognize that this day is a gift.” Sometimes life gets busy and it’s easy to

put off connecting with those we love or show appreciation to others because we don’t have the time.

As James 4:14 says: “Life is like a vapor. Life is short and we don’t know what tomorrow holds.

That’s why we need to make the most of each day.” If you will learn to give the best of yourself

consistently, you will live with no regrets.

In John 11:25-26, Jesus said, “I am the resurrection and the life. He who believes in me, though he

may die, he shall live. And whoever lives and believes in Me shall never die.”

We are told that there are two kinds of faith – a delivering faith and a sustaining faith. Delivering

faith is when God instantly turns your situation around. When that happens, it’s great. But it takes a

greater faith and deeper walk with God to have sustaining faith. Sustaining faith is what gets you through

those dark nights of the soul when, like Job, you don’t know where to go or what to do…but because of

your faith in God, you do. Faith tells us the best is yet to come.

In Harper Lee’s much-loved novel, “To Kill A Mockingbird,” Atticus Finch offers his daughter

some invaluable advice: “If you learn a simple trick,” he says, “you’ll get along much better with all

kinds of folks. You never really understand a person until you consider things from his point of view…

until you climb into his skin and walk around in it.” Trying to put yourself into another’s place, to share

for a moment his or her feelings, is often the starting point of compassion. But there’s more to true

compassion than just emotion. To help someone, you usually have to do something, not just feel

something. Compassion takes the name of action. It means exerting yourself and bestowing some effort

for someone else’s sake.

Like anything else involving effort, compassion takes practice. We have to work at getting into

the habit of standing with others in their distress. Sometimes offering help is a simple matter that does not

take us far out of the way – remembering to speak a kind word to someone who is down, or spending an

occasional Saturday morning volunteering for a favorite cause. At other times, helping involves

making some real sacrifice. “The bone to the dog is not charity,” Jack London observed. “Charity is the

bone shared with the dog when you are just as hungry as the dog.” If we practice taking the many small

opportunities to help others, we’ll be in shape to act when those requiring real, hard sacrifice come along.

Of all the virtues, when exercised properly with whole

heart and discerning mind, compassion may be the greatest

degree of fulfillment. It enriches our lives with a sense of

nobleness and purpose, it makes us morally awake, and it

encourages us about life generally. Most people, thinking back

over their lives, remember the times they spent giving, and

helping, and loving as their very best moments. But feeling good

in the future should not be the prime motivation for doing good.

Someone once said, “The way to be comfortable is to make

others comfortable; the way to make others comfortable is to appear to love them; the way to appear to

love them – is to love them in reality.”

In the end, there are few things more beautiful than a kind heart.

Someone very small can be a big help to others. We can’t help everyone, but we can always help someone.

As a sister, Hazel Clear made the path easier for her immediate brothers and sisters. As a mother and

grandmother, she made the path easier for her children and

grandchildren. By cheering on her children and grandchildren, she

found encouragement for herself. She offered kindness and never

expected to be repaid in kind.

Her love and all those frequent dinners she cooked at

“Mom’s house” brought warmth and life not only to her family, but

to Hazel as well.

One way or another, we all depended on her kindness– and

sometimes we depended on her courage as well.

According to the Apostle Paul in his letter to the Romans,

“None of us live to himself.”

Great hearts can give rise to little miracles.

Husbands and wives can raise each other up or they can

bring each other down. To Hazel Clear, her husband, Carl, was her

king. But to Carl, Hazel was his queen. The marriage of Carl and Hazel Clear for over 61 years reminds us that

marriage means trust and tenderness, and it means respect for the work each partner has to do.

In the last 19 years that I knew Hazel and Carl, I never heard them say a mean word to each other nor

did they ever argue.

Whatever Hazel wanted, Carl made sure that she got. On the other hand, Carl wanted very little and

whatever Hazel could give, she made sure that his home was his castle.

On the day of mine and Susan’s wedding, Hazel slipped me a little envelope to help pay for our

honeymoon to Williamsburg, Virginia and Charleston, South Carolina. I am quite certain that she would not

have paid nor would she have ever attempted to experience a trip like that herself, but she obtained great joy

from helping her children and never expected anything in return.

Hazel loved Carl. She loved her children and she adored her grandchildren. She loved the Lady Vols

and I know she longed to see our football team return to its former status of winning. She also loved her

politics.

She and I would have some serious discussions at the dinner table. She finally realized she could not

convert me, and I knew I would never convert her. However, what we did have in common was our belief in

God such that during the later years, we would talk about religion and ceased our discussions about politics.

I am probably the one and only Democrat that Hazel ever supported and I am certain I am the only

Democrat for which she ever voted.

But as a mother-in-law to her son-in-law, our relationship transcended politics.

When one of the family was in the hospital, she sat and told me one day, “You’re the best son-in-law I

have.” That was funny. I was the only son-in-law she had. However, 30 years ago when we first met, I am

quite certain that Hazel looked at me as a Pharisee after I had sued Carl’s mining company on a land dispute

involving what was the base of the mountain in White Oak. I lost the lawsuit, but 15 years later I won her

daughter.

Our relationship grew better as we both grew older.

Hazel was so proud of Carl and Carl loved Hazel.

The greatest thing for which Hazel will always be remembered was her love for her God, her love for

Carl, and her love for her family. The kind of love which could only be seen and not talked about, and

embodiment of all virtues, the kind of love all husbands and wives should give to each other, the kind of love

which Carl and Hazel gave to their children and grandchildren.

The Apostle Paul in his first letter to the Corinthians explained it best as this:

“Though I speak with the tongues of men and with angels, and have no life, and become a

sounding brass or a tinkling cymbal,

And though I have the gift of prophecy and understand all mysteries and all knowledge; and

though I have all faith so that I could remove mountains and have not love, I am nothing.

And though I bestow all my goods to feed the poor, and though I give my body to be burned, and

have not charity, it profiteth me nothing.

Love suffered long and is kind. Love envieth not, love vaunteth not itself, is not puffed up,

Doth not behave itself unseemly, seeketh not her own, is not easily provoked, thinketh no evil,

rejoiceth not in iniquity, but rejoiceth in the truth.

Beareth all things, believeth all things, hopeth all things, endureth all things.

Love never faileth, but whether there be prophecies, they shall fail. Whether there be tongues,

they shall cease; whether there be knowledge, it shall vanish away.

For we know in part, and we prophesy in part.

But when that, which is perfect is come, then that which is in part shall be done away.

When I was a child, I spake as a child, I understood as a child, I thought as a child, but when I

became a man, I put away childish things.

For now we see through a glass, darkly; but then face to face: now I know in part; but then shall I

know even as also I am known.

And now abideth faith, hope, love, these three; but the greatest of these is love.”

Hazel Clear’s love made a difference. Her love of her God,

her husband, and her family will never be forgotten.

A Gift from Lili-Grace

By Coleman Peacock

A Gift from Lili-Grace

By Coleman Peacock

Sevierville, Tennessee– She was just a little girl with a big, benevolent heart, and she wanted so much

to help others. But, what could she do? After all, she was only eight years old, living on a farm in rural

Alabama. What can a third grader do that would be of benefit to anyone? Lili-Grace, the daughter of John and

Chasity McPeek, pondered these questions.

Lili-Grace had heard her parents speak of some distant

cousins on her grandmother’s side of the family who were raised in

the Sevierville, Tennessee-based Church of God Home for

Children. One day while listening to one such conversation, the

bright-eyed little girl experienced what is referred to as a God

moment. She thought to herself, “I should start raising money for

the children at the Smoky Mountain Children’s Home.” But, how?

She was just a little girl!

While sitting in her house near Northport, Alabama,

Lili-Grace received a revelation. She whispered to herself, “I’ll set

up a stand close to the house and sell eggs to the neighbors in my community.”

For the past year, this vivacious third-grader has been selling eggs from her parents’ farm. Her heart’s

desire was to give the funds to the children of Smoky Mountain Children’s Home. Before her egg business,

Lili-Grace raised money in yard sales and padded her funds by saving part of her birthday money, all for the

purpose of helping others.

When Dr. Walt Mauldin, Executive Director of Smoky Mountain Children’s Home, received a check

and a hand-written note from this young lady, he was so impressed with her thoughtfulness and benevolent

heart that he decided to call Lili-Grace personally. A time was set, and the conversation between the two was

heart touching. Dr. Mauldin shared his appreciation for what Lili-Grace is doing for the children in our care.

On the phone, Lili-Grace stated, “If you ever want to do something kind, then give money to others in

need.” She hopes these words will serve as an encouragement for others to give and receive their blessing

through benevolence.

When asked if there was anything she particularly wanted to say to the residents at Smoky Mountain

Children’s Home, she replied, “Say to the kids, in everything…just trust Jesus!” These words of wisdom come

from the lips of an eight-year-old who, seemingly, has found that which some spend a lifetime seeking.

Within the next few months, possibly after school is out for the summer, the McPeeks plan on visiting

the Home for Children so their little, big-hearted daughter can see first-hand where her gifts are being used to

care for the not-so-privileged children.

The administration, staff, and residents of Smoky Mountain Children’s Home extend our thanks of

gratitude to Lili-Grace, for her acts of kindness in blessing this residential child care facility. From the heart of

a child flows God’s protecting love and grace to a body of young people who need it the most. Reverend

Raymond Fowler and his congregation at Trinity Church of God in Fayette, Alabama, where Lili-Grace is a

member, can be very proud of their little parishioner who—by the way—always pays her tithes before giving

to benevolence. She has a novel philosophy on benevolent giving—you can’t out give God!

(Source: Smoky Mountain Children’s Home. By Coleman Peacock)

Mighty Mites By David H. Dunaway

THE MIGHTY MITES

By David H. Dunaway

“Enter to learn, go forth to serve.”

I graduated from Fulton High School in Knoxville, Ten-

nessee in 1967. Dr. James A. Newman was my principal the

four years that I attended Fulton. Because of my portrayal of

Dr. Newman, the 1967 class was the last class to be permitted

to perform a musical and senior skit. I was reminded of that fact

by Coach Bob Black last year at a memorial service for one of

the “Mighty Mites” of Fulton High School, my friend, Douglas

Young.

Dr. Newman was a man of vision, excellence and

integrity who helped shape and mold not only my life, but the

entire Fulton High School community.

“Mr. Newman,” to whom he was so fondly referred by

his students, took over the reins of managing Fulton High

School during the turbulent sixties and helped us to recognize

the value and self worth of each other, no matter your race,

creed, color, or whether you lived in Old North Knoxville,

North Hills. Happy Holler, Oglewood, or Lincoln Park.

Until James A. Newman became principal of Fulton

High School, the school had never experienced a perfect winning season in football, it had few members of a

track team, and it was known as much as a vocational school as it was for academics.

Dr. Newman put together one of the finest teams of

teachers, coaches, athletes, and students that anyone could

imagine. He recruited the best in teachers, including Dr.

Paul Kelley, Agnes Boling, Steve Condry, Linnie

McMillan, and Dan Williams to name just a few. These

teachers were caring and compassionate educators who

were part of the “Newman Mastermind.”

I was proud to claim Dr. Newman as one of my

early mentors in the decade of the sixties, which many of

us now realize was the decade of perseverance.

Dr. Newman was a sharp dresser, but he taught us that the

rich and poor were the same. As long as you were clean,

neat, and well groomed, it matter little as to how you were

dressed.

In addition to hiring a team of excellent teachers,

Dr. Newman wanted and commanded the best in athletics.

He built a new football stadium and track, elevating the

track team to second in the state in 1967. He built the first

tennis courts, which sent the women’s team to the state

finals in its first year after construction. He recruited the

best coaches he could find, including basketball coach Bob

Frye, football coach Lon Herzbron, Bob Black, and track

coach Dickey Sharp.

The year of 1967 marked the first year that Fulton High School’s football team had gone undefeated.

I was present when the Mighty Mites, who had an average weight of its line of 145 pounds, knocked off

Morristown West High School at Evans Collins Field to go undefeated that year. Many years later, Fulton High

School is known as a powerhouse for state championships. It was the Fulton High School community of the

sixties, however, that sowed the seeds for future championships. All-Knoxville Inter-scholastic League lineman

and radio commentator, Douglas Young, in an interview with head football coach of the 1967 team, Lon

Herzbrum, asked Coach Herzbrun the origin of the name of “Mighty Mites”. Coach Herzbrun said that the name

“Mighty Mites” actually started with the team of 1966 when Fulton was playing players like Warren Wade, who

weighed only 95 pounds, but could hit with the best, and tailback Troy Jones, who weighted only 119 pounds.

The Mighty Mites, in the face of adversity and against bigger teams, accepted in their minds that they could

control their destiny.

The background and setting for planting the seeds of future champions began in 1962 during the time of

the Cuban Missile Crisis forward through the death of Marilyn Monroe, the assassination of John F Kennedy,

the invasion of the Beatles, the shooting of Martin Luther King, Jr. the Vietnam War, on through the folk

singing days of Peter, Paul and Mary, through the death of Elvis Presley and on through the everyday life of

Fulton High School that flourished during these turbulent times. Couch Lon Herzbrun said “No one hold a

reunion for losers, but only for champions”.

The story of the Mighty Mites is a story of

perseverance, identity, making a difference, trials and

tribulations and in the end redemption.

Douglas Young said it best: “no seed will

grow on barren ground and no ground will sprout

without a seed. Winning championships is made of

players and coaches, who have the desire and

opportunity, character and confidence, hope and

discipline, and fertile soil”.

Sometimes our history determines the fiercest

with which we fight against that which is in front of

us. We will not be defeated by what people say about

us but what we say about ourselves will control our

destiny. If it is possible in your mind, it’s possible in

your destiny. The Mighty Mites, in the face of

adversity, and bigger teams, accepted in their minds

that they could control their destiny.

Moving forward to the seventies, Fulton High School faced a time of change in seasons, arguably the

worst economic environment, high unemployment, massive inflation, high interest rates, the oil embargo of

1973, as well as political strife when President Nixon was forced to resign and was thereafter pardoned by

President Ford for any wrongdoing.

Skipping forward to the Reagan years, Americans began feeling good about themselves in the 1980’s.

The Fulton High School team of the 2000’s made the community feel good about itself, again.

Dr. Newman passed away December 31, 2007, 40 years after he had taken Fulton High School

from a desert in athletics and academics to the Promised Land. State football championships are now

taken for granted, but it was Dr. James A. Newman who was the “true Moses” who cultivated the

Joshuas, Jacobs, Samuels, and Davids that helped produce a line of community leaders, star athletes, and

Godly citizens who were taught to respect one another, no matter their standing in life.

In 1967, I was privileged to have entered and won a Science essay contest sponsored by the Mead

Paper Company. Dr. Newman accompanied me and my mother to a dinner at the Andrew Johnson Hotel,

where I tasted my first shrimp cocktail. In writing my paper on Eugenics and the Battle of the Brains,

I studied students from Happy Holler, Lincoln Park, Old North Knoxville, North Hills, Baxter, and The

Boys Club area. Dr. Newman helped me realize that it does not make a difference what family a person is

born into. Some of our students were born into wealth, others were born into moderate or wealthy homes,

and a few of us were born into simple habitats. Dr. Newman made us realize that we were all the same.

With the chapel, now known as assembly, which was held each Friday morning, we were all brought

together to listen to the top politicians of the day, to watch the talents of junior misses, and to hear the

songs of music groups including Sing Out ’66 (of which Glen Close was a member), as well as the new

folksingers of the sixties, none of which have again been replicated.

Dr. Newman also later served as the Superintendent of Knoxville Schools, making a difference in

education in East Tennessee, but he will always be known for the tremendous difference he made at

Fulton High School. He instilled in us the one principle that is shared and was shared by many

outstanding graduates of the sixties, including but not limited to D. D. Lewis, Coppley Vickers, All

Americans Ron Widby, Bill Justus, Jackie Walker, Billy Wilson, David Smith, Olympic runner Wilbur

Hawkins, Dr. Douglas Leahy, Dr. John Burkhart, Harry Ogden, Herb Newton, Doug White, Gerald

McGinnis and others (though not mentioned, but remembered), who also profess: “It still matters how we

live and how we serve.”

Dale Norton, who was two years my senior and actually wrote the motto for the school at the request of

Dr. Newman, said it best:

“Enter to learn, go forth to serve.”

Other than Fulton High School, the most serious place where the rich and poor of our community will

meet again is before our Creator at our final test. While not always pleased with our conduct and

behavior, Dr. Newman loved us all and taught us that it still matters how we live and serve God.

We didn’t have to be perfect, we just had to persevere.

The Good Teacher

A Tribute to Linnie McMillan By David H. Dunaway

THE GOOD TEACHER

A TRIBUTE TO LINNIE McMILLAN

By David H. Dunaway

“My children are children in whom there is no

blemish, but they are well favored. They are skillful in

wisdom, cunning in knowledge, and understand

science. They have the ability to stand in the king’s

palace and teach others.” Daniel 1:4

Five decades ago in Knoxville, Tennessee, I

entered the classroom of the best English teacher, with

whom I thought I was favored, but nearly 50 years

later, I now realize that every one of her students was

favored. Her name was Linnie McMillan and she, if

for only a season, as a junior and senior English

teacher at Fulton High School, caused us to have a

thirst for learning and inculcated a desire for

excellence.

In an hour of instruction of reading and

creative writing, she taught us how to climb

mountains of English and American literature and to

express ourselves through our own written

testimony.

Ms. McMillan chose to live in integrity and

always gave us her best. She also encouraged each of

us to surround ourselves with people of excellence and

integrity, not to compromise, and to have big dreams

for our lives.

In the spring of 1967, Ms. McMillan asked me to enter an essay contest called the National English

Teacher’s Exam. She matched me with our 1967 class valedictorian, Gary Reback, and the salutatorian, John

Burkhart, who were students of Eleanor Barnes’ Journalism class. I entered, and I won.

I was also in an advanced biology class when I entered a Science essay contest sponsored by the Mead

Paper Company. I entered and I won. Eight years later, in my final year of law school, at the last minute I

entered the Tulane University Law School Environmental Law Essay Contest and again won. I utilized the

same essay that year and won the Association of Trial Lawyers of America Environmental Law Essay Contest

as well. Twenty-eight years later, I would use the same writing skills in my appellate brief before the Court of

Appeals to argue the case of LaFollette Medical Center v. City of LaFollette to safeguard $10 Million Dollars

of healthcare benefits for the indigent. That same brief led me to be nominated as a finalist for the Trial

Lawyer of the Year sponsored by the Trial Lawyers for Public Justice. As I walked across the stage to receive

the award at the Cow Palace in San Francisco, California, I thought about my senior English teacher, Linnie

McMillan. She saw potential in a young man who was raised in Happy Holler and Lincoln Park, North

Knoxville, Tennessee and helped me develop an aptitude for understanding aspects of literature that would

later provide the wisdom to help change my community.

I thought I was favored and so did a number of other students taught by Ms. McMillan.

Our class salutatorian, with whom I competed, Dr. John Burkhart, has utilized his retirement years to

give back to Fulton High School, as a mentor, the same type service that Ms. McMillan gave to her English

classes before her retirement.

Ms. McMillan also taught us to make sure that the people we choose to spend time with have the

qualities that we want to emulate. The people with whom we spend our time will rub off on us.

Ms. McMillan also taught us that we could rise above our environment by choosing excellent friends and

choosing a life of integrity. To fulfill our destiny, Ms. McMillan taught us to be all that God created us to be

and that our writing would eventually lead to serve us to rise to the highest place that God has for us.

One of our fellow classmates, Sandra Temple, recently returned from Texas to visit our alma mater,

Fulton High School. Dr. Burkhart shared her story that when Sandra

walked into the halls of Fulton High School, she went past the

auditorium, past the office, and into Ms. McMillan’s classroom where

she sat and reminisced. For a short season, Sandra could remember the

experiences of a good, if not the best, English teacher that we had, as

well as the dreams we had for fulfilling Ms. McMillan’s vision.

Someone once said that when the student was ready, the teacher

would appear. The seeds for future service were sown in a small,

desolate room on the third floor of Fulton High School in the classroom

of Linnie McMillan.

After nearly 50 years, the number of students who passed through

Ms. McMillan’s small English classroom stands as a monument to this

wonderful teacher. With each student, for Ms. McMillan, there was a

more personal, private, and intimate relationship. A private victory with

each of us was far more rewarding than a public one. Those who were

fortunate to have Ms. McMillan as a teacher know that her voice truly

made a difference.

Coach Bob Fry By John Shearer

PLESS WAYMON CREDITS FULTON COACH BOB FRY

FOR HIS TRAIL-BLAZING ACCOMPLISHMENT By John Shearer

Copyright 2015 Journal Media Group. All rights reserved. This material may not be published, broadcast, rewritten, or redistributed.

Special to the News Sentinel The 1964-65 Fulton boys basketball team. Front row: Darryl Thorpe, Sid Seals, Bill Justus, Nick Howard,

Roy Prater and Pless Waymon. Back row: Sam Cardwell, David Jenkins, Bill Dunaway, Steve Cockrum, Steve Dill and Rick Privette.

A half century ago, Pless Waymon became the first black basketball player in the Knoxville

Interscholastic League when he joined Fulton High School’s all-white team.

He said the experience helped open doors for him that led to an enjoyable and rewarding career in

insurance and financial-related work.

But from his perspective, the credit for any trailblazing accomplishments goes not to him, but to Fulton

coach Bob Fry.

“Coach Fry was very accommodating and opened up the door for me to play and that led to full-scale

integration in Knoxville,” said Waymon, who is known to his friends in his adopted hometown of Boston as

Gene, a shortened version of his given middle name of Eugene. “He allowed me to play because he thought it

was the right thing to do.”

Waymon recently contacted the News Sentinel to share his story that has been mostly

forgotten, except by those at Fulton at the time.

However, Waymon kept emphasizing that the story was not about him, adding that Fry deserves the

credit for integrating what was then called the KIL. Austin-East had black players, but the Roadrunners were

not part of the KIL when Waymon stepped on the court as a sophomore for the junior varsity in 1963.

“If I had gotten exposure to a racist coach, none of this would have happened,” Waymon said.

Fry, who is now retired, said in an interview from his home on the eastern edge of Fountain City,

that he tried not to look at skin color.

“It had no bearing,” he said, admitting he was touched by Waymon’s compliment. “I didn’t look

whether they were dark or white. They were individuals.”

Waymon said he ended up at Fulton playing for Fry as a result of a loophole in the school system

rules at a time, when the local high schools still were slow to integrate. He had attended the traditional black

school, Vine Junior High, but he and his family felt like he could get a better education elsewhere. However,

none of the white high schools were integrated.

But during his ninth grade year in 1962-63, the Tennessee Supreme Court ruled that a student could

attend another school in a system if it offered a curriculum not available at the other school. And because

Fulton offered a full vocational curriculum, in addition to an academic one, he was able to go there.

“That opened the door for me,” Waymon said. “If not for that, I would have been denied the

opportunity.”

Waymon said that when he enrolled at Fulton in the fall of 1963 he was joined by seven other black

students: Harold Bailey, William Beal, Frank Crosby, Frederick Daniels, Timothy Floyd, Oscar White and

Curtis Woods. The principal was James Newman, who had been superintendent of Anderson County

Schools during the early stages of Clinton High’s pioneering integration in the 1950s.

While Waymon achieved access to Fulton, getting to the school was still a challenge for him

physically and emotionally. He had to take a city bus from his East Knoxville home to downtown Knoxville,

and then catch another city bus from Gay Street near Regas Restaurant north to Fulton.

“Once we got on the bus from Gay Street to Fulton High, it was tough,” he recalled. “We had to get

on the bus with a lot of other hardcore blue collar people. We got called every name. That was something.”

But once inside the halls of Fulton, he found the situation much more welcoming, he said.

Future Tennessee basketball star Bill Justus was a Fulton teammate of Waymon and thinks

integration was basically accepted by that time, even though he admitted that the students did not spend a lot

of time analyzing the changes.

“I don’t think it had any bearing at all, once the doors were open,” Justus said.

Waymon also was unaware of his role in Knoxville school history when he tried out for the

basketball team.

“I assumed if I could get into school, I could play basketball,” he said of the sport that was his love

at that time. “What I didn’t know was that there were no blacks playing.”

What held him back initially was not his skin color, but the team’s talent level. Fry had built a local

powerhouse, leading the Falcons to the state finals in 1962 before losing to Bradley Central and future

Alabama quarterback Steve Sloan.

Among Fry’s other talented players was Ron Widby, who became a multisport athlete at Tennessee

and used to come back and work out and practice at Fulton while Waymon was there.

By Waymon’s first varsity season — 1964-65 — he was doing well enough to be a solid reserve as a

junior on a team that had five talented seniors, and that is when he broke the Knoxville color barrier.

“He was a good guy, a good young man and a good practice player,” said Justus, who passed up a pro

sports career to work for such sports-related firms as Converse and Giant Photos and now lives in the Nashville

area.

Fry, who coached Fulton for 19 seasons beginning in 1958-59 after attending Fuller Seminary in

California and coaching a year at Tyson Junior High, also remembers Waymon as a positive asset to the Fulton

program.

“He played and was a very good player and was enjoyable to be around,” he said. “I was really blessed to

have the opportunity.”

Waymon said he was only 5-foot-8 and not overly talented at basketball. He said Fry let him on the team

for reasons of fairness and not because he thought he could help win more games.

“Coach Fry made this happen,” Waymon said. “It was Coach Fry who took the risks of opening doors.”

A 1951 graduate of Knoxville High and member of its state championship basketball team, Fry played

football at Tennessee. He lettered, but because he left before his senior season to go to seminary, he had never

been properly recognized. But with the help of some other lettermen, his name was recently added to the

Lettermen’s Wall of Fame by the UT practice facilities, his wife, Clyda, said.

As a coach and physical education teacher at Fulton before later becoming an assistant principal at

Central High, Fry was known for his firm-but-fair demeanor, as well as his Marine-style butch haircut.

“He was a strict disciplinarian and you played games as hard as you could play it,” said Justus. “He was a

great basketball coach and a better person.”

Fry’s easygoing manner during the interview gave no hint of his ability to make students quiet just by

walking into their classroom. He admitted that he was strict and demanding as far as practices.

“You didn’t talk during practice,” he said. “We were there to practice, not to play.”

He said he had the philosophy of being fair, firm and friendly as a coach.

The entire team was also fair toward their new teammate, Waymon remembered.

“No one was hostile,” Waymon said. “I was never called a name by any teammate. If they were resentful,

I didn’t pick up on it. I had no close friendships, but I was treated just like the rest of the players.”

Sometimes, though, other schools were not as accepting, Waymon said. West High had more tolerant

fans, but he did receive taunts at South and Central, he recalled.

By his junior year, Waymon was showing signs that he might develop into a solid player. Unfortunately

for him, though, his feel-good story at Fulton hit a temporary bump in the road. He received a D in geometry his

junior year and was ineligible for the postseason, when Fulton, which was assisted by Albert Ogle, finished 19-7

and lost in the district tournament to South.

Although Fry wanted Waymon to practice with the team, his mother, Dorothy Mynatt, who still lives in

Knoxville, would not let him. However, he did not convey her decision to Coach Fry. When Waymon didn’t

show up for the postseason practices, Fry thought he had quit and would not let him play his senior year.

In hindsight, Waymon does not blame Fry.

“He did the right thing,” said Waymon. “That was who he was. He believed things should be done the

right way. He felt like I let the team down.”

Waymon finished at Fulton in 1966 and attended the University of Michigan after moving to be near

where his late father, Roosevelt Dunn, lived. Waymon later worked in the insurance business in Florida, and has

lived near Boston since 1988.

Since 2005, he said, he has been a self-employed consultant specializing in contractual buyback deals and

investments.

Any success he has had, Waymon says, he owes in large part to Fry and the positive and impactful

experiences he had.

“Without that experience, I wouldn’t be who I am,” he said. “It is a reflection of who Coach Fry is.”

John Shearer is a freelance contributor.

Copyright 2016 Journal Media Group. All rights reserved.

This material may not be published, broadcast, rewritten, or redistributed.

Coming Home By Sarah Elizabeth Dunaway

COMING HOME

By Sarah Elizabeth Dunaway

I am completely overcome with emotion over the events of June 17, 2015, which occurred in

Charleston, South Carolina. I am overcome with emotion over the events that occurred thirty days later on

July 16, 2015 in Chattanooga, Tennessee. I am overcome with

emotion over the events that occurred on July 23, 2015 in Lafayette,

Louisiana. These tragic events are reminders and echoes of the

horrors which occurred in Newtown, Connecticut at the Sandy Hook

Elementary School on December 14, 2012; in Aurora, Colorado at a

Movie Theater on July 20, 2012; in LaFollette, Tennessee at the

Campbell County Comprehensive High School on November 8,

2005; and in Columbine, Colorado at the Columbine High School on

April 20, 1999, not to mention the countless other shootings and

massacres that have occurred across the recent history of our nation.

This is a loss for South Carolina, it is a loss for Tennessee,

and it is a loss for Louisiana and the countless other states and

individuals that have repeatedly fallen victim to this brand of violence

and hatred. But most importantly, it is a loss for the United States of

America. Racism is alive and well in America. Hate crimes are alive

and well in America. Terrorism, Mass Violence, Discrimination, and

Intolerance are all alive and well in America.

The actions of the shooters in all of these tragedies are those

of hate crimes, terrorist attacks, and those of individuals lacking in

compassion, tolerance, and understanding. This is a part of our

history, and it is a part of our present, but I refuse to allow it to be a

part of our future. You should not permit it. We should all refuse to

stand for it.

Do not be silent. Do not acknowledge it. Do not accept it.

These events should not be passing headlines. We cannot accept these tragedies to be mere

blemishes in our history because they are much more than that. These acts, like all of the ones that came

before, warrant outrage and action.

Speak up! Because we cannot afford to be timid.

Act out! For the time to effect change has long come overdue.

But most importantly, lead the change that we need!

The time has come for us, as a united country, to reckon

our past with our present. Racism, discrimination, intolerance,

and gun violence are a part of our history and a part of our pre-

sent. But do not make it a part of our future. A powerful and

moving op-ed piece was published on June 18,

2015 in Esquire by Charles P. Pierce, in which he stated,

“There is a ferocious underground fire running through

American history. It rages unseen until it flares again from the

warm earth. It has raged from the death of Denmark Vesey in

1822 to the death of the Reverend and state senator Clementa

Pinckney.” This fire is part of our history and it is a part of our

present. But let us not make it a part of our future.

These are our United States of America. It is time for America

to come home to the present reality that our history has created. This

country is a democracy; we, the people, founded it. Well, we the

people will not let this intolerance, hatred, or violence stand, not

anymore.

Talk about Emanuel AME Church, talk about Charleston, talk

about Chattanooga, talk about Lafayette, and talk about all of

shootings and massacres. Do not merely make a passing comment on

these events, but engage your neighbors, your friends, your co-workers, and your family in an honest

conversation. Talk about our past and talk about our present for they are connected and intertwined. But most

importantly, talk about our future. America can be better than these violent tragedies; we have to be better than

these tragedies.

In speaking about the death of three victims of another act of intolerance and violence, Reverend Martin

Luther King Jr. stated, “that we must be concerned not merely about who murdered them, but about the system,

the way of life, the philosophy which produced the murderers.”

Our past and our present created the deaths of the victims of these tragic shootings. Do not tolerate and

accept this reality. Let us create a future in which we breed peace, love, tolerance, and acceptance. Eradicate hate

with love. Destroy violence with peace. Stamp out intolerance with understanding. Go out and do this in

remembrance of the victims of the 2015 summer shootings:

June 17, 2015 Emanuel AME Church victims of Charleston, South Carolina:

Cynthia Hurd, age 54 Daniel Simmons Sr., age 74 Rev. Clementa Pinckney, age 41

Rev. Sharonda Coleman-Singleton, age 45 Ethel Lance, age 70

Tywanza Sanders, age 26 Myra Thompson, age 59

Susie Jackson, age 87 Depayne Middleton Doctor, age 49

July 16, 2015 Chattanooga, Tennessee victims:

Sgt. Carson A. Holmquist, age 25 Petty Officer 2nd Class Randall Smith, age 26

Sgt. Thomas Sullivan, age 40 Lance Cpl. Squire K. Wells, age 21

Staff Sgt. David A. Wyatt, age 35

July 23, 2015 Lafayette, Louisiana victims:

Jillian Johnson, age 33 Mayci Breaux, age 21

Dr. Martin Luther King,

His Voice Made a Difference

By David Duggan

Dr. Martin Luther King, His Voice Made a Difference

By David Duggan

Across America, during the week of

Martin Luther King’s birthday persons gather to

remember, and to honor, the legacy of Dr. Martin

Luther King, Jr. As you know, Dr. King was a

Baptist minister, and so—like a minister—I will

divide by brief remarks into three sections.

While Dr. King was a Baptist, firstly he was a

Christian, and one whose first priority was to service of his Lord, and one whose faith deeply shaped,

informed and motivated his ethical principles and social actions. And so, it is appropriate that I begin, first,

with two scriptures from the New Testament. At this point, I will simply read them to you, but not much

later I will return to them.

The first scripture is one that I recently encountered in the October 2015 issue of First Things. It is

Romans 12:2, “Do not be conformed to this world but be transformed by the renewal of your mind, that you

may…prove…what is the will of God, what is good and acceptable and perfect.”

The second scripture is one of my personal favorites, I Thessalonians 5:21. The late University of

Tennessee English professor and writer, Robert Drake, in the journal Modern Age, referred to this scripture

as St. Paul’s ethical instruction to the Thessalonians. For this one, I prefer the King James Version, “Prove…

all things; hold fast that which is good.”

Note, in each of these scriptures, Paul’s reference to proving things; to diligently seeking after, searching

for, what is true, and in doing so, not looking within this world for that which we seek; and then to dutifully

striving to hold fast to what is good, acceptable, perfect and true.

Secondly, I would like to take a quick look at Dr. King’s Easter weekend 1963 “Letter from Birmingham

City Jail.” Like the apostle, he was imprisoned because of his commitment to where his faith journey had led

him in his search for truth. And like the apostle, he wrote this letter from his jail cell.

William Bennett included this letter in his book, The Book of Virtues, and to illustrate the virtue of

Responsibility, by which Bennett meant being answerable and accountable in our behavior, and for Dr. King,

like for any Christian, there is nothing more important, in this world, than that our faith should impact and

affect how we behave; how we live.

Bennett said about this Letter: That it was “one of [our] nation’s most important political and moral

documents dealing with the issues of respect for law and the grounds for justified civil disobedience.”

We have time to look briefly at only three important components of this Letter. First, Dr. King addressed

the paradoxical nature of his behavior in simultaneously urging upon the public obedience of the Supreme

Court’s 1954 decision outlawing segregation in the public schools, and his own civil disobedience of

Birmingham’s ordinances which led to his incarceration. The answer to this paradox, however, was easy for

him, because he had looked beyond this world to his faith tradition as it had been worked out through the

ages in this world. As our scripture suggests, he had tested and proven things, and he had found the natural

law and the idea that there are two types of laws: Just and unjust. With respect to just laws, Dr. King

posited, one must hold

But, second, one has a corresponding duty, he suggested, to disobey unjust laws. Indeed, he quoted from

St. Augustine in saying, “…an unjust law is no law at all.”

In the January 2016 issue of First Things, the editor, R. R. Reno, turned to Dr. King’s Letter in responding

to a criticism that had been directed at him in response to an editorial he had penned in an earlier issue. He

cited the Letter in dealing with this paradox as it applies to traditional understanding of The Rule of Law.

Reno turned to Dr. King and the traditional, Thomist concept of the natural law and the rule of law in writing:

Yet there’s another way of viewing

the rule of law, one that emphasizes

the inherent good of settled rules.

Even a legal regime with some bad

laws is preferable to a regime

governed by the personal preferences of

the powerful and the principle that

might makes right. As a consequence,

we’re to accept the authority of a legal

system, even as we object to this or

that law.

Martin Luther King Jr. worked

with both of these truths. He saw

nothing immoral about disobeying

unjust discriminatory laws. But he

also submitted to the authority of

government officials who arrested

and jailed him and his colleagues.

The unjust law did not bind his

conscience, but his overall commitment

to the civic good of the rule of law

placed him in the position of civil

disobedience, not rebellion…

The last piece of this Letter that I want to touch on is Dr. King’s prophecy, in the Letter, that one day our

nation would recognize its heroes. And that leads me to the final thing I want to say, and it is a personal

perspective on some very public—indeed historic—happenings in the Alcoa, Tennessee community.

I grew up in Alcoa. There isn’t time to tell the full story of integration of our schools and community and

my perspective on that. I also am not the one to best tell the full story, because I was just a young boy when

that first, partial integration of the high school came in the fall semester of 1963. I cannot even tell the

complete story of the full integration that came in the fall semester of 1969, because even then I was a boy

about to become a new teenager, and as a young person, my recollections are no doubt colored by being

especially susceptible, at that time, to seeing through a glass darkly, and by the passage of time.

But I can tell you two things: I remember being resentful and even fearful of integration—something, by

the way, that I did not learn at home, because my parents did not teach that or live by it. I learned it

somewhere else. Second, I can tell you that, in Alcoa, we learned something about who some of our heroes

were, or at least who they would become.

For me, that included even such young persons—persons my own age—as Quentin Anthony, Alan Bryant,

Leonard Ervin, Kirby Hill, Kent Hudson, Michael Jones, Paul Porter and Herchell White, classmates from

whom I learned that… it would all be all right; that we were all just people.

It also included Toni Valentine Green, about whom I once said that I would not vote for her for a class

officer’s position because she was black. (It turned out she didn’t need my vote; she was elected our class

treasurer that first integrated year.) The fact that she told me, after she heard about what I had said, that

she didn’t need my vote; and my realization that I had said something hurtful to her, were part of my moral

and ethical instruction.

But the local heroes I want to focus on today were older than I. They were members of the Alcoa High

School Class of 1967, that memorable class that won our second state basketball championship in the days

when there was no classification and a team had to beat everyone in the state to be declared a state champi-

on. You know of whom I speak: David Davis and Albert Davis.

They helped to teach us many things just by going about their daily lives and being the best at what

they did. No doubt, it took much moral courage, fortitude and integrity for them to quietly endure the ra-

cial taunts and discrimination that they no doubt were subjected to, and to steel themselves to being what

many who know still say were, respectively, the best high school basketball and football players ever to

play around here. And let there be no doubt, we can learn from athletics and even from pop culture.

(I have often noted to people my opinion that growing up around here, soul music was even bigger than

the Beatles, and I believe that learning to love the music of Otis Redding, the Supremes, the Temptations

and so many others—along with Jim Brown in football, Bill Russell in basketball, and Hammering Hank

Aaron in baseball—had as much to do as anyone else or anything else with teaching us about integration

and people being people. They were all among my heroes, even as it took me a while to learn the lessons

they taught.)

But where I really want to focus is on two significant pieces of not only local history, but I believe

Tennessee and American history, that were made here—in our community—that despite some recent

efforts, still have not received the focus, attention and recognition that they deserve, and so today I will do

my small part to bring that attention to what we all need to properly remember and commemorate as a

community.

David and Albert both were part of that initial integration of Alcoa High School in the fall of 1963, just

a few months after Dr. King wrote his Letter. They were freshmen that year. They both played football.

Alcoa’s first game of the season was against Everett. Doris Bailey, Coach Bill Bailey’s widow,

remembers that she and her family had a police escort to the game that night, played at Everett, to ensure

their safety, because threats had been made prior to the game. She recalls that Coach Bailey had the white

players stand around the black players for protection of the black players. Albert carried the ball, I

believe, one time that night, for a touchdown of course, but that piece of history—important as it is—is not

the piece of history Albert made that I make reference.

As that freshman year moved toward the end of February 1964, Alcoa went into the district basketball

tournament. Prior to their first game, a coach told Alcoa’s Coach Vernon Osborne that David, the only

black player in the tournament, would not be allowed to play. Coach Osborne stood firm and said that if

David were not allowed to play, Alcoa would not play. Tournament officials allowed him to play, and

history was made again. But that piece of history—important as it is—is not the piece of history David

made that I refer to.

A year later, on March 8, 1965, Alcoa found itself once again in the state basketball tournament in

Memphis and facing a play-in game against Memphis Frayser. Just a year later, in 1966, and all-Black

team, Nashville Pearl, would win the state championship, but in 1965, there were just three African

Americans playing: Oak Ridge’s Willie Golden, Nashville Father Ryan’s Willie Brown, and Alcoa’s

David Davis.

Do you remember that date, March 8, 1965? If you do, or

if it at least rings a bell for some of you, it is probably because

the very day before, March 7, was Bloody Sunday in Selma,

Alabama. Peaceful marchers attempted to cross the Edmund

Pettus Bridge in a march to Montgomery, only to be violently

attacked and turned back by law enforcement with billy clubs

and tear gas. As has been stated in one account, “Televised

images of the brutal attack presented American and

international audiences with horrifying images of peaceful

marchers left bloodied and severely injured,” focusing attention

like nothing else before had on the civil rights movement.

That next day, and because Alcoa had the first game in the

tournament, when David, in contrast to Selma’s violence,

quietly stepped onto the court in Memphis, he became the first

African American to play in the T. S. S. A. A. boys state

basketball tournament. Tedd Riggs would write for the

Knoxville News-Sentinel that when David was introduced, he

drew more applause and cheers than any player in the field.

That was historic. It deserves remembrance and commemoration.

Later that year, in December 1965, Albert, who was also named All-American as a junior the same

year, became the first African American from Tennessee to be named to the All-Southern squad in

football.

That was historic. It deserves remembrance and

commemoration.

Two pieces of, yes, sports history, but larger than that,

Tennessee and American history—history that will forever and

only belong to David Davis and Albert Davis, and to this

community.

May we, indeed, learn who our heroes are and honor and

remember them.

The Silas Story By Dave Dunaway

The Silas Story

By Dave Dunaway

As a country trial lawyer, I have always believed that one voice could make a difference. Our office

has been the voice for hundreds of coal miners, numerous laborers, college professors, teachers, students,

school directors, housing directors, state troopers, and a myriad of blue-collar workers. Our practice of law

spans nearly four decades.

On two occasions, I ran for Congress and was nominated as a finalist for the National Trial Lawyer

of the Year Award by the Trial Lawyers for Public Justice in 2003. While successful as a trial lawyer and

after winning nominations for Congress, once in the Second, as well as the Fourth Congressional District of

Tennessee, I encountered a dangerous side of personal ambition. In my endeavor to reach the pinnacle of

success, I experienced moments of weakness where I was tempted to succumb to the desire for personal

fame rather than service to my God and my fellow human beings. It took my grandson, Silas, to make me

realize that God called me to be faithful and not famous.

Silas Kai Dunaway was born on December 30, 2012. He lived three days as my grandson, yet he

made me realize the difference of personal ambition against personal service. I realized that I had

succumbed to the desire for personal fame rather than service to my God and my community. When I

looked at the short life of Silas, and his presence and life on this Earth, I realized that if I remained true to

my God and focused on being faithful, my utility to my community and my capacity to do well were

inestimable.

Silas, unfortunately, was not a healthy child. On the night of his birth in Charleston, South Carolina,

Silas was prematurely born “frail and weak.” Even though I had been a father to four beautiful children, to

me, as his grandfather, Silas was beautiful. Because his lungs were not fully developed, Silas was

immediately placed in an incubator device and transported from the hospital in which he was born to the

neonatal unit of another hospital. The doctors told us that evening that in his weakened condition, it was

doubtful that Silas would survive the night. We were told that in the event he survived at least 48 hours,

there was a fighting chance he could live and that if he made it another two weeks, the chances for survival

would be greater. For the first 48 hours, Silas was a fighter. But on the third day, Silas’ health started

slipping. It was on that third day, in our hopes for a miracle, that I visited the neonatal unit with my son

Wesley and his wife Lisa. I was standing in a room filled with premature babies and, to me, they were all

beautiful. Upon entering the room, I realized that half of those children might live and transform the world

and the other half would die.

Wesley and I waited outside of the neonatal unit while Lisa spent those last precious moments,

savoring that bond that exists between a mother and her son. I am thankful for the relationship with my

mother, who just recently celebrated her

90th birthday. My three brothers, two

sisters, and I were raised by a Godly

woman, Geneva Dunaway who was

committed to the welfare of her children

and who, through countless times and in

the face of her own personal injury,

taught me to be a survivor. Being the

oldest daughter during the Great

Depression, my mother also helped her

own mother raise her younger siblings.

When I entered the neonatal ward on that third day, I saw Lisa in her quiet time with Silas, loving her child, and I

wondered whether Lisa would have the opportunity to love her son and to nourish and guide him through life as

my mother had nourished our family. It was at that moment that I realized that Lisa was a wonderful mother to

my grandson, and her love for Silas was deepening with every moment that Silas lived. With her hands stretched

into the incubator, Silas had grasped her finger holding on for his dear precious life. Lisa left the room for a very

short time to allow me, her father-in-law and Silas’ grandfather, to spend some short, yet precious time with her

son.

I used to sing when my own children were babies, and I would rock them when they were restless,

wondering what the future would hold, but for that short moment in time, I knew that they were dependent upon

me for their solace. I must confess that I wasted many opportunities to participate in my children’s activities

while they were growing up to chase my own personal ambition and dreams. I left home early before my

children went to school and arrived home late when my children were nearing bedtime or had already been

tucked in bed by their mother. If I could change or relive any of the moments of raising my own children, I

would have left the merry-go-round of my desire to be famous and successful, and I would have spent more time

developing that special bond that is needed to really be a father. Many years later, I realized that my children

have forgiven me inasmuch as they are all successful and have proven to have a work ethic that was instilled in

them by watching their father spend countless hours perfecting his profession as a lawyer even though falling far

short as a father.

When Wesley and Lisa were married one rainy afternoon in Winter Park, Florida, they asked me to sing

at their wedding. One of my daughters, Rachel accompanied me the last time that I sang for any of my children.

On the morning of the last day that Silas lived, my son Wesley asked me to sing to his son Silas. At that

moment, I choked. I looked at baby Silas and could see that as every minute passed, his breathing was

weakening. Lisa and Wesley were encouraged that since Silas had made it past those first 48 hours, he would

continue to fight for his life. As they were prepared to stay in Charleston, I suggested to Wesley that we begin

arranging to obtain all the necessary things that they would need for their stay in Charleston while Silas

continued to struggle for his precious life. I took a short recess to allow Lisa to return and could not think of what

to sing, let alone what to say, knowing that Silas

might not live much longer. Before we returned to the

neonatal ward, I prayed that God would give me the

strength and inspiration to say the right words and to

sing the right song requested by my son. Suddenly, it

hit me that I should sing the song requested by

Wesley and Lisa on their wedding day, “You’ll Never

Walk Alone.”

I remember listening to the song recorded by

The Lettermen, but my most favorite rendition was

that of Elvis Presley. Richard Rodgers wrote the

original music score.. Oscar Hammerstein, III, wrote

the lyrics. It was introduced in the 1945 musical,

Carousel. Louis Armstrong also sang the song on The

Tonight Show in 1967 during my freshman year in

college.

I would like to share with you the wonderful words of this song:

When you walk through a storm, hold your head up high

And don’t be afraid of the dark.

At the end of a storm is a golden sky

And the sweet silver song of a lark.

Walk on through the wind,

Walk on through the rain,

Tho’ your dreams be tossed and blown.

Walk on, walk on with hope in your heart,

And you’ll never walk alone.

You’ll never, ever walk alone.

Walk on, walk on with hope in your heart.

And you’ll never walk alone.

You’ll never, ever walk alone.

As I sang that song, every word became difficult to

sing. Whether Silas could hear me, I couldn’t tell, but as I looked at Silas and the other babies, I could see some

of the other babies responding to the music. I knew in my heart this might be the last time I could spend with

Silas and no one in the neonatal ward seemed to mind the singing, even though my talent was extremely

limited.

I left Wesley and Lisa with Silas that afternoon. I cried on my way to the car and, for the sake of Wesley

and Lisa, I wished that God would let me take Silas’ place. Since 2000, and for a decade prior to Silas’ birth,

I had experienced numerous adversities, but none of those adversities seemed to matter in that moment. Silas

was fighting for his life, and Wesley and Lisa were praying for more time. I returned to our home at Seabrook

Island, South Carolina, leaving Wesley and Lisa with their quiet time with Silas. I knew in my heart that this

would be the last time I would spend with Silas while he was living. As the time approached midnight, I was

dreading to receive the next call from the hospital.

When we did receive the next call, it was not from Wesley or Lisa, but from the hospital chaplain. His

words were, “Wesley and Lisa need you. Will you come?” The drive from Seabrook to Charleston, while only a

40-45 minute drive, seemed much longer during the wee hours of the morning. When we arrived at the hospital,

Wesley and Lisa were holding Silas in their arms. I held Baby Silas my first and last time outside of his

incubator. He was even more beautiful than the first day he was born. He had the countenance of his father

Wesley, and his face and head were perfect. We prayed, we cried, and we cried repeatedly over the loss of this

beautiful child.

At 2:00 a.m. on the morning of Silas’ death, I went to the quietest corner I could find in the hospital and

I called my long-time friend and closest confidant, Walt Sutton, who had been my friend and spiritual mentor

over the last 20 years. I woke Walt during those early hours, and we prayed together that God would be with

Wesley and Lisa and help them through the terrible loss of their first child,

and that God would help me say and do the right thing to get them

through this tragedy.

Silas’ full name was Silas Kai Dunaway. Silas or Silvanus, as a Greek

name, was a leading member of the early Christian community who later accompanied Paul on parts of his first

and second missionary journeys. Silas is traditionally assumed to be the Silvanus mentioned in four epistles.

Many translations, including the New International Version of the Bible call him Silas in the epistles. Paul,

Silas, and Timothy are listed as co-authors of the two letters to the Thessalonians. Second Corinthians

mentions Silas as having preached with Paul and Timothy to the church in Corinth (2 Corinthians 1:19), and

Peter’s first epistle regards Silas as a faithful brother (1 Peter 5:12).

Camp Saint Christopher started as a summer camp for disadvantaged boys over 75 years ago. It has now

grown into a full-fledged year round conference facility. Various summer camps still continue in the summers,

and for over 30 years the Barrier Island Environmental Education Program has provided an amazing outdoor

education experience for school children during the school year. The ministry staff members trained and

maintained by the Episcopal Church serve in heart and spirit while dedicated to their role as environmental

leaders. At certain times of the day, you can see and swim near dolphins, walk through the woods, fish on the

dock, and enjoy some of the most beautiful sunsets on the East coast of the United States. It is a place to find

rest, restoration, and renewal. Against this background, we held the memorial service for Silas.

In the summer of 2014, Wesley, Lisa, and I returned to Camp Saint Christopher, where a bird feeder

and birdseed were taken and placed in a special location in honor of Silas.

Until the loss of Silas, I could never appreciate the depression and grief that someone experiences at the

loss of a child. The story about King David and the loss of his child can be found in II Samuel, Chapter 12:16-

23. For days, King David called out to the Lord for his mercy and was inconsolable until his baby died. Once

the baby died, King David’s grief-stricken heart seemed to be at peace. It is difficult to comprehend until one

reads the last verse when David verbalizes what he believes to be true. “Can I bring him back again? I shall go

to him, but he will not return to me.”

King David realized that his child’s suffering was over and that his son was now in Heaven with his

Heavenly Father. King David did not turn his back on God for this loss. Instead, he accepted his “discipline,

confident that he would see his son again.” King David knew that there was nothing he could do to convince

God to bring back his son. So, rather than continue to grieve, he showed his inner peace by those simple

words, “I shall go to him…”

It was in this hour of grief of the loss of Baby Silas that our family went through a number of hard days,

deeply mourning the loss of Silas. I am now, however, comforted by the knowledge that through the saving

grace of Jesus Christ, I can and will see Silas again.

We may ask each other, does that mean that God took away our baby because of our sin? No. Even as

Christians, we might struggle with that possibility and start blaming ourselves. It doesn’t matter whether or not

we find out what caused our baby to die, and it is easy to shift blame to ourselves. It is just important to tell

yourself repeatedly that it’s not your fault, that your loss was not a judgment from God for your sins. Now I

know that God did not cause Silas to die.

King David knew that he would pay a price for his son in atonement for his sins. But that was before

Jesus came to live among us. Jesus Christ came to save us and ultimately died for our sins. Jesus bridged the

gap between God and men. Once we confess our sins to our Father and repent, God is faithful and just

forgives.

Since Silas’ death, I have prayed for peace and God’s strength to get through our trial. Against the birth

and death of Silas, this small voice that cried very little and fought to live, I discovered, after 35 years of

seeking fame and fortune, that God called me to be faithful and not famous.

This one voice, Silas Kai Dunaway, made a difference in my life. I initially suffered a time of

depression. I had never appreciated the depression of losing a child. It is best summarized by a small poem

written by Steven Fry, which reads as follows:

“If you know someone who’s depressed, please resolve never to ask them why. Depression isn’t a

straightforward response to a bad situation; depression just is like the weather.

Try to understand the blackness, lethargy, hopelessness, and loneliness they’re going through. Be there

for them when they come through the other side. It’s hard to be a friend to someone who’s depressed, but it is

one of the kindest, noblest, and best things you will ever do.”

There is some disagreement over the proper form of the name, Silas. He is consistently called “Silas” in Acts,

but the Latin “Silvanus”, which means “of the forest,” is used by Paul in the First Epistle of Peter. It may be that

“Silvanus” is the Romanized version of the original “Silas,” or that “Silas” is the Greek nickname for

“Silvanus.”

Silas is first mentioned in the Bible at Acts 15:22 when he and Judas are selected by the church leaders

to return with Paul and Barnabas to Antioch following the Jerusalem Council. Silas and Judas are mentioned as

being leaders among the brothers, prophets, and encouraging speakers. Silas was selected by Paul to

accompany him on his second mission after Paul and Barnabas split over an argument involving Mark’s

participation. It was during the second mission that Silas and Paul were imprisoned briefly in Philippi, where an

earthquake broke their chains and opened the prison door. Silas is thus sometimes depicted carrying broken

chains. See Acts 25:37.

According to Acts 17 and 18, Silas and Timothy traveled with Paul from Philippi to Thessalonica, where

they were treated with hostility in the synagogue by some traditional Jews. The harassers followed Silas,

Timothy and Paul to Berea and threatened Paul’s safety, which caused Paul to separate from Silas and Timothy.

Both Silas and Timothy later catch up with Paul in Corinth.

Baby Silas’ middle name was Kai. The name Kai has various origins and meanings in different cultures.

In ancient Greek, Kai is a conjunction meaning “and.” In Hawaiian, “Kai”, means “ocean” or “ocean water.”

Lisa and Wesley chose this name after visiting with us on a weeklong trip to Maui.

Our last name “Dunaway” was first found in Suffolk, England, where they held a family seat as Lord of

the Manor. The Dunaways were among the early settlers in the United States in the 19th Century. Among the

famous people bearing this name are Faye Dunaway, an Academy-award winning American actress, Jim

Dunaway, an American football player who played football at the University of Mississippi, and George W.

Dunaway, the second Sergeant Major of the Army. Of also noted fame are Shelton Dunaway, an American

rhythm and blues artist, and Dennis Dunaway, the bass guitarist for the Alice Cooper band from 1964-1974.

The singing Dunaways’, Randall, Kanah and Tammy, a southern gospel music group, may however, be the

most faithful.

While making a memorial service arrangement for Silas, Lisa told me that she wanted the memorial

service to be held near a forest and the ocean in keeping with the meaning of Silas’ name. My oldest daughter,

Laura, began searching for places near Charleston where we could find such a setting. At the same time that I

was making the memorial service arrangements, we discovered the perfect place for the memorial service just a

short distance from our Seabrook Island home called “Camp Saint Christopher.” Camp Saint Christopher is the

Episcopal Church’s conference center on the Atlantic Ocean just South of Charleston. All of my children had

visited Camp Saint Christopher while attending Webb School of Knoxville. Camp Saint Christopher is located

on over 314 acres beach-maritime forest and an undisturbed salt marsh.

This one little voice, Silas Kai Dunaway, has made a difference in my life. Following the death of Silas,

I returned for a short season to the Board of the Christian Academy of Campbell County where God led me to

utilize fundraising talents that I never realized I had. I met some wonderful artists, including a new musical

group called “High Road III.” Their first single, Angel at the Crossroads, is an encouraging reminder that what-

ever is happening in your life, no matter how scary or challenging, God is in control of it all, and he will send

the right people to help you along the way. Sarah Davison is lead singer with Anna Grace Kimbrough and Kiley

Phillips as members of the trio. They are all graduates of Belmont University’s prestigious School of Music.

They recall that, “God comes to a broken sinner in a quiet and still voice that offers peace, grace, and love. He

offers redemption and victory over sin and even death.” In the process of planning their concert and a concert

for the 97th Celebration Weekend of the LaFollette Church of God, I also met Jason Crabb.

Jason Crabb is an anointed singer, a seventeen time Grammy award winner, who has also written a book,

“Trusting God to Get You Through.” Jason’s story is filled with lessons, some of which he learned the hard

way, and which are told in stories of this book of his life as a son, husband, a father, a boy and a man.

If it were not for Silas, I would not have met nor become friends with Jason Crabb nor would I have

found LaFollette Church of God to serve as a sanctuary for their concerts. The High Road III trio, Jason Crabb,

and International General Overseer, Dr. Mark Williams, were all invited to play a part of the 97th Celebration

Weekend for the LaFollette Church of God, for which I had the honor to help promote. In Dr. Mark Williams’

special message that was given on Sunday, August 17, 2014, Dr. Williams was introduced through the praise

music of Jason Crabb. Dr. Williams described and renewed the concept of “one voice,” which he introduced at

the General Assembly of the Church of God held in Orlando, Florida in the summer of 2014.

In his reference to the Apostle Paul, Dr. Williams called on the Church to keep the entity of the Spirit or bond

of peace. There is one body and one spirit, one Lord, and one Faith. Our God and Father is above all and

through us all. (Ephesians 4: 4-6 NKJV)

The subtext of Dr. Williams’ message is that One Voice Can Make A Difference, which underscores

the commonality of our Oneness. With that message, Dr. Williams inspired me to write this short story.

We initiated the 97th Celebration Weekend of the LaFollette Church of God by opening the doors of the

church to the entire community and providing the voice of different artists, as well as one international

speaker, to remind us how one voice can make a difference in the lives of many.

After attending the 97th Celebration Weekend and reflecting on the life and death of Silas, it was

apparent to me that of all the voices I had encountered since the birth of Silas, that in my search for meaning

and recovery, I realized I could be inspired and renewed by the ministry of each of these voices committed to

one road, one faith and one mission. That mission as described by Ralph Waldo Emerson includes leaving the

world better, whether by a healthy child, a garden patch or a redeemed social condition. “To know even one

life has breathed easier because you have lived, this is to have succeeded.” Thank you High Road III, Jason

Crabb, and Dr. Mark Williams for sharing your message and ministry with me. Thank you Wesley and Lisa for

bringing Silas into this world. While his stay here on earth was brief, Silas’ voice truly made a difference in

my life.

King David was described as a man after God’s own heart, even though David still sinned and

sometimes in a big way. Like King David, many of us have made bad choices, but David remained in God’s

favor.

King David was sincere in his repentance. David learned from his mistakes. He accepted the

consequences.

Silas made me realize, like David, we must acknowledge when we have failed, but we must step

forward in God’s plans for us. He wants us to move forward. Accepting the consequence does not mean that

God is finished with us. It simply means that we are to go in a new direction because God has a better way.

After King David’s loss

of his child, he and Bathsheba

had another son named

Solomon. Likewise, after the

loss of Silas, Wesley and Lisa

have a new daughter. Her name

is Stella Grace meaning “Star

of Grace.” We cannot bring

back Silas. However, Silas’

voice made a difference in my

life and made me realize that we

can live each day with renewed

faith. Our voice can make a

difference in others.

Dave and Susan Dunaway

with Stella Grace.