Catch a Falling Star

Don't Pray the Biscuits Cold

Upon arriving in Charlotte, N.C. from Daytona Beach, Fla. in 1978 as a budding PR executive in the sport of NASCAR stock car racing, I received a daily dose of satirical humor from a colorful local morning radio personality who would- during each  morning drive- do a well produced skit about the phenomena of televangelists Jim and Tammy Faye Bakker and their immensely successful  TV show "PTL( Praise the Lord) Club".  The skit was titled "Pass the Loot."

I had no  prior familiarity with the "PTL Club" which happened to be based and produced just down the road in Fort Mill, S.C., nor with Jim Bakker. The satire of this irreverent and humorous skit just served to reinforce a growing and prevailing secular attack  on organized religion generally and Christianity specifically.  My chance meeting with Jim Bakker less than two  years later would do nothing to debunk this less than Holy image portrayed by the media.

In my first days in Charlotte, I was PR Director for a company called DiGard Racing which built and fielded the #88 Chevrolet sponsored by the Gatorade brand, owned by Stokely- Van Camp and driven by Darrell Waltrip.  Subsequently I was hired by Charlotte Motor Speedway in their Marketing & PR department where one of my primary responsibilities was to produce and direct the Pre-Race shows for the two Major NASCAR Winston Cup Grand National races.

It was at the 1979 World 600 Pre-Race Show where I  would have my encounter with Mr. Bakker. The Pre-Race Show for a NASCAR race is the equivalent of an NFL Halftime Show except it comes before the event. A successful pre-race show will involve all the elements of a classic P.T. Barnum 3 ring circus.  The promotion as such will be designed to influence the spectators to arrive early at the track to accomplish 2 objectives: reduce traffic congestion and boost concession sales.

The challenge to the producer is to keep things flowing into a final crescendo culminating with an Invocation and National Anthem, followed by the command "Gentlemen (and perhaps Lady(s)) Start Your Engines" on time! For the 1979 World 600 I was informed by my boss H. A. "Humpy" Wheeler, -who was a modern day P.T. Barnum in his own right- that Jim Bakker would be saying the invocation this particular Sunday.

For this show I had already decided to enlist the US Navy's Chuting Stars parachute team to bring in the colors via the air during and as part of the performance of the National Anthem.  To accomplish this objective it would take precision coordination from ground to air with a small degree of flexibility.  So as fate would have it, coming to conclusion we were a bit behind schedule.  As I approached Mr. Bakker with the PA microphone I implicitly directed him to "make it short and compact and cut his time."

Well, I must have been speaking a foreign language. Jim Bakker commenced to- as we are fond of characterizing in my different fellowships- "pray the biscuits cold."  As the time was winding down the jumpers had exited their plane planning to land the flag before the main grandstands at the start/finish line. They had to buy time as Mr. Bakker's seemingly endless prayer went on. There was nothing I as director could do. One does not interrupt or cut-off a preacher in mid-prayer.  As it turned out the Navy skydivers landed haphazardly around the Speedway.  I would learn later that one young man landed on the third turn banking and broke his ankle.  To this day I have a framed picture hanging in my living room that has signatures from all the jumpers except one blank space where our wayward skydiver would have signed except he was at hospital being treated.  I have always wondered about that wayward sailor as I gaze at this treasured gift.

Amen Brother

Bradford Bosworth
September, 2016

Ride Through It!

Thresholds and Transitions

Labor Day weekend traditionally marks a point on the calendar that signifies a transitional time for most in our culture. Many are rushing away to the beach, lake or mountains for a summer ending respite, a final vacation before summer officially ends. Endings and beginnings, isn’t that what life is?  What is it that the end of summer brings? One suspects that it brings a bit of angst for this society regularly as we race into all that accompanies the final quarter of the year.

For families the kids are back in school. Mom and or dad-if they are gainfully employed- and these days it is mostly mom and dad, are immersed in the business of finishing the year strong where pressure mounts to meet goals and quotas. This year it is different.  It is a presidential election year filled with mistrust and vitriol and the anxiety of the nation is red lining.  We are careening towards a November Tuesday which will result in a transition of which no one is certain or comfortable.

Transition is good because it causes us to pause and reflect.  Usually when one pauses and reflects it allows a closer walk with the Creator.  We begin to become more in touch with who we are. Sometime it is painful. The transition may be away from a close and comfortable relationship a friendship lost or left behind.  We leave our comfort zones.  The path is unfamiliar or hauntingly familiar.  We become reacquainted with who we were.  Do we stop and cease to grow where surely gravity will drag us down or do we cross the turbulent threshold with faith, hand in hand with the Father and grow into something or someone new and improved?

One of the great pleasures and spiritual aspects of motorcycle riding is experiencing thresholds and transitions.  When one is just learning or still new to riding or maybe adjusting to a new model there are a few moments that are critical to successful and enjoyable experiences. Some of them are as follows: your first rain shower with wet roads, your first foray onto the interstate with the big semis, the first time you find yourself behind a truck hauling chickens…. or better yet in the rain, the first time a landscaper is blowing leaves and cuttings into your path and the first time you ride someone special on the back with you.  See: 

"Two Up with My Pastor"

What are we to do when we find ourselves in life’s uncomfortable and anxiety laden transitions? Ride through it!

The Writer's Standard

Amen Brother and Sister Riders.

Bradford Bosworth

September, 2016

Matching Moles

Made for Each Other

There is this couple I know. Well, they were  a couple, and as of late, they are split up.  On appearances one might think they were a mismatch; mainly because she being diminutive and he being of a somewhat taller stature. This senior couple's differences did not stop at physical appearances but extended to a lifetime of social, cultural and geographical differences that shape one's personality and character.  The probability that these two people would meet up and come together in a loving relationship, from most analytical perspectives, would have been very low.  It was a special relationship- heavenly in nature- but dragged down by those same gravitational influences we first read about in "Romeo and Juliet",  forces that have been around forever.

There is no question that the one thing our couple had in common was a shared love of the Lord and a strong faith commitment.  They met in Church. They loved each other by holding hands in Church and sneaking kisses in the parking lot. The man believes in his heart there are no coincidences. Coincidences are small miracles and signs from God to his children whose  eyes are open and seeking. (See Jeremiah 29:13)  Here are a few of the small miracles where this man believes Abba was speaking to him.

Shortly before they went on their first date,(She asked him out.), he was given a book to read by a friend about the history of Stock Car racing.  Much of that history and the book centered around a north Georgia town where it turns out her parents were from and where she and her siblings still visit for family reunions. He did not nor does he now take this incident for granted!

One day she came to visit him and he had his Pandora tuned to his Aaron Copeland  Station and the music from Copeland's "Appalachian Spring" came on.  He remembers the watery sparkle in her eyes vividly, for she never cries.  He told her that his favorite hymn was "Lord of the Dance" as Copeland's same Shaker Theme was playing.  She told him that she had always wanted that music played at her wake.  The couple's first real getaway weekend was a springtime waterfall in the Appalachians.  There is no way now that he can hear that grace filled music and not think fondly of her.

He does not remember the first time he noticed or made mention of it, but as they became more and more intimate with each other his fingertips tracing the spinal indentation of the small of her back he noticed a small mole. He was amazed because this mole was the same proportionate size and in the same location as a mole on his own back that he himself had carried around for years.  The two of them have matching moles!  

It is hard for this man to let go of this women.  Every time he believes he  has succeeded in doing so he hears the music or  comes across his notes made about the matching moles and there is a  still small voice inside that says, "Hang on don't give up!"

That man urging this writer to submit this story to "The Standard Chronicles"  is clear indication that he  has not given up.

Persevere my brother, persevere!
Amen

Bradford Bosworth
August 25, 2016


For more about Aaron Copeland and "Appalachian Spring"  or "Lord of The Dance" click to these "Standard Chronicle posts:

American Treasure October 2015

These Simple Gifts May 30, 2016

Meeting Up With The Church Ladies

Originally written in 2009.

Me and the Church Ladies

            The idea came swiftly from somewhere deep in my gut propelled by the passion that accompanies an anger one feels when they spot an egotistic bully picking on the schoolyard innocent. You know, like Kanye West’s treatment of Taylor Swift on that nationally televised MTV awards show.  It is an idea that stays. No matter how you push it aside the thought keeps popping back up until you realize that you have to act on it.  And so I sent an email inquiring about participating in the 9/12 March on Washington DC.

            For me it was the breathtakingly obvious attempt by the Obama Administration (see bully), majority Democrat lawmakers and complicit media to ram through a power grab (see Obamacare) and alter our country forever. That stark realization was my motivation. The Republicans, weak spined patsies with no stomach for a fight, in my mind were equally at fault, because of their self preservationism. 

            It was four days after the initial email correspondence with jlmcgraw@xyz.com and only t- minus eleven days from protest.  I had been planning to broach the subject of my interest with my family at any moment. The moment came while my wife and I were sitting at the dining table with the TV turned to Glenn Beck. All of a sudden I looked up and here was the lady I had exchanged emails with, Joy McGraw, Atlanta, Ga. on the screen talking about the Georgia participation with Glenn Beck on national TV!  Certainly that moment was providential because I was still on the proverbial fence.  With the subsequent blessings of wife and daughters I phoned Ms. McGraw and cemented my plans for sharing my voice of objection.

            Through some subsequent discussions with Joy, I became the designated leader of the second bus leaving from the Georgia State Capitol Friday morning September 11, 2009.  The bus was filled with fifty six folks ranging in age from twenty something to seventy something.  We had folks from Augusta to the east, Birmingham Ala. from the west, Cumming from the north and Cordele from the south.  No radical right wingers were on this bus called Liberty, just concerned hard working Americans with traditional conservative values wanting to make a difference and to be heard.

            The lady I ended up sitting next to on the bus was a widowed Jewish grandmother and office manager originally from Brooklyn, NY.  Her name was Marcia Koch, no relation to former NY Mayor Ed Koch, she was a real American original.

            Our long ride saw us arrive in DC after most of our routine bedtimes and being bus coordinator I was last to check in.  Waiting for me were two ladies traveling together who inquired if I would mind being their escort to the rally in the morning.  Seems they had a bit of trepidation about navigating the Metro and the accompanying crowds by themselves. I was flattered and honored that my presence would help ease their angst somewhat and gladly accepted their invitation.  We agreed to meet for breakfast in the AM.

****

            We prayed before breakfast and I received a little about each of them and they small parts of me.  Their names are Helen Johnson and Beth Alday.  They are best friends from Macon, Georgia.  They attend the same Church there and they met at that Church years earlier.  They are mothers and wives who picked up and left their families to travel a thousand or so miles into the uncharted territory of a national protest because they knew in their heart of hearts that they had to do something.  It was the same for me and the other folk on our bus.  Deep down in the gut comes a conviction that something is wrong and if we do not stand up, nothing will have a chance to change.  If we turn our heads and walk away it will be our great sin.

            So the Church Ladies and I made our way to the metro and each train we boarded we met more simple real Americans from across our land.  We rode up and out onto the streets of our nation’s epicenter, the eye of the storm, citizens everywhere and it was awe inspiring.  It was akin to that natural wonder of the king salmon coming back from their  long journey into a seemingly infinite ocean to find their Source, swimming upstream against the current motivated only from a sense of purpose, a purpose of survival and natural right.

            At each intersection I could look down the blocks and see people moving in the step of liberty towards the Freedom Plaza staging area.  It was a cool overcast morning on September 12, 2009 with a slight breeze carrying the sounds of anticipation and hope. I remember experiencing goose bumps and eyes full of watery pride.  We all knew we had made the right choice and were grateful to be present. 

            As we arrived at the plaza we could hear the PA system to tell us where the stage was, but Helen, Beth and I stayed on the periphery.  I knew that the crowd would continue to grow and wanted to be in proximity of the parade route with an exit option just in case. The Church Ladies then began to don their custom made protest hats extracting the parts from their rolling survival supply bag they had brought.   I never got confirmation from them but these hats looked suspiciously like they might possibly have been worn at one of those Red Hat Society functions. 

            When complete the red hats had a cut-out tea pot attached to the top that read “We are Tea’d! Taxed Enough Already.” It did not take long before photographers were coming by to take their pictures.  Throughout the rest of the morning Helen and Beth continued to attract attention because of their creative costume.  I was proud to be their friend along for the ride.

            The walk down Pennsylvania Ave was an emotional experience with the majestic Capitol beckoning us.  I did not fully understand at the time just how little is done under that dome truly on the people’s behalf. I had flashback recognition of exactly where we were, of the TV images, the horse drawn caisson with the widow in black trailing behind coming down this same route we were walking. A reeling Nation mourned on that grey November Sunday in 1963.  I prayed that our dissent efforts now would be noticed.

            Our position in the march was in the first fifth of the column.  Because of the time we arrived at the staging area and where we positioned ourselves I was sure we were more to the front than to the middle.  Our walk along the extreme right side curb and sidewalk facing the Capital put us in a position when we reached the complex area to secure seating on the northside wall of the reflecting pool.  We could not have found a more precipitous spot.  The porta-potties were fifty yards away and we had preferred viewing of the continuing procession as it arrived into the determined destination.

            Although we could not see the stage on the steps of the Capitol we could hear clearly the presenters.  But this fact was not as important to us as was the witnessing of the masses in attendance.  The procession kept arriving for hours.  It was clear to me that this was a huge demonstration. It was proof that a significant number of Americans were opposed to the direction that the Obama Administration specifically and our Government generally was trying to take us.

            I instinctively knew that there would be no aerial view in news reports of this mass demonstration.  The government controls the skies over Washington DC and they would not allow proper perspective on this event.  It was certain as well that the complicit news media would not give the protest justified coverage.  I took a walk around the Capitol grounds as best I could and my experience says that there were between a quarter to half million people gathered there this day.

            One thing is for sure.  The people who were in attendance are normal everyday Americans that care about their Country.  They cherish their freedom and want future generations to have the same liberties.  The Church Ladies are the consummate example of everyday Americans exercising their freedom and enjoying their liberties.

            Later in the day we went our separate ways.  The red hat ones preferring to travel back to the hotel. Me, I wanted to walk the mall and take in the Washington Monument and the Lincoln Memorial.  In 1987 on my first trip to this great town I remember what a breathtakingly moving experience the Lincoln Memorial was for me. That place surely is sacred ground.  September 12, 2009 was winding down for me.  I remember a feeling of fulfillment and accomplishment as I walked into my hotel room.  I switched on the TV to see the news coverage. David Axelrod, one of Obama’s senior advisors was being interviewed. Asked about the march and he said, “We don’t know who these people are.”  I switched the TV off.

***

 Writer's note: To this day people like David Axelrod still don't know who we are.

Amen Sisters

Bradford Bosworth

August 19, 2016

Last Full Measure

Wake Up Call

"When I have brought them to the land flowing with milk and honey, of which I swore to their fathers, and they have eaten and filled themselves and grown fat, then they will turn to other gods and serve them; and they will provoke Me and break My covenant."

Deuteronomy 31:20 (NKJV)

Today many of us searching for a stronger more steadfast faith try to spend more and more time in the Word of God- the Holy Bible, and some, like this writer, have come to believe that our America, as settled by the original pilgrims, is our time's "Promised Land". It is not an original idea. In a 1952 commencement address Ronald Reagan said, "I, in my own mind, have always thought of America as a place in the divine scheme of things that was set aside as a promised land."  We the citizens of the United States, well, we are Israel.  This extraordinary continent of North America is same as the Old Testament's  "land flowing with milk and honey."  Any southerner will tell you that south of the Mason-Dixon line one will find the richest of buttermilk biscuits and sweetest of golden Tupelo honey. 

As a child born of parents, one from Connecticut and one from Pennsylvania, I can find scant a lineal link to the Great South that stands behind the confederate flag. Furthermore my early childhood developmental years were spent between Akron, Ohio and Miami, Florida.  There was not much authentic southern influence in the personality development of this young boy.  Overalls and four wheelers were replaced by skateboards and Bermuda shorts until my father died and it was decided that the brothers Bosworth were shipping off to Tennessee to boarding school.  The kinder softer description was aka a "Prep School" until  we first awoke to a bugle born reveille calling us to fall-in and realized we were at military school.

One of the great blessings of my life was becoming an adopted son of one of those "Great South" local families. I guess my personality was such that I made friends with the day students of which in my class there were two brothers, Jim and Paul. It just so happened they played football and I played football. They wrestled and....well I started wrestling in the ninth grade and if there was such a thing in wrestling as a tackling dummy, well I was their tackling dummy.  Jim and Paul were two fifths of a brood surrounded by sisters and raised by two wonderful southern folk with North Carolina ties and heritage whom I knew as "Momma Francis" and  "Doctor Paul". Their's was a house on a hill I will forever affectionately keep in my heart as "The Hillcrest Home."

My adoption into the culture of the old and deep south led me to a college education at the University of Georgia and except for a couple years in Daytona Beach, I have been in this blessed place for my entire life. I go back to Chattanooga routinely and most recently to visit and celebrate another high school classmate (David) and lifelong friend's birthday.  On the way I stopped at Chickamauga Battlefield Park which brings me back to the topic of "a land flowing with milk and honey."

The park at Chickamauga was a sobering spiritual repast on a hot August morning. It made me consider what an astounding miracle and gift from God that this promised land of ours survived and the country became stronger from such a civil war.  I know in my heart we could not survive another.
More importantly one our classmates there to celebrate the aforementioned birthday spoke of his greatgreat grandfather who fought for the Confederacy in that war.  It is in this proximity where one will see many examples of the Stars and Bars flying proudly.   Asking a son of the south  to take down his flag is asking him to deny and disavow his parental lineage. This demand is also condemnation of many- the whole- for responsibility that belongs to a few and the part.  This kind of blanket intolerant conviction comes from the same place as the original sin.

So here we are in a "land flowing with milk and honey." as we were and have always been promised by Abba. And we have two choices as usual and one is to turn back towards God and rely on His direction.  Pray for our Country, please.

“If we lose freedom here, there is no place to escape to. This is the last stand on earth.” from: "A Time for Choosing" speech- 1964, Ronald Reagan.

This kinda sums it up:

"The night they drove ole Dixie down."

And some other words of wisdom from some notable patriots:

“And yet the same revolutionary beliefs for which our forebears fought are still at issue around the globe—the belief that the rights of man come not from the generosity of the state, but from the hand of God.” 

 John F. Kennedy 1961

“The struggle now going on for the world will never be decided by bombs or rockets, by armies or military might. The real crisis we face today is a spiritual one; at root, it is a test of moral will and faith.”  

 Ronald Reagan 1983

“God who gave us life gave us Liberty.

 Can the liberties of a nation be secure when we have removed a conviction that these liberties are the gift of God?”

 Thomas Jefferson 1774

Amen America

Bradford Bosworth

August, 2016