Tag Archive: Hunter S. Thompson


Okay, so it’s not really a tour. But since I wrote a song for Sack Summer Hunger, I have played it at every show and talked about SSH to increase awareness and support – both volunteers and donations – before the program begins on June 11. So it is, in a way, a tour. Several of the “shows” consisted of playing “What the Lord Intends” for congregations of churches. Which included the congregation of The Norkirk Presbyterian Church Sunday morning. The tour ends this coming Sunday, June 5th, with the Sack Summer Hunger Concert.
[The video is of my show at Angela’s during the DSA Showcase. The SSH song is third.]

The Norkirk is a very friendly church. I felt welcome right away. I was looking forward to seeing Nancy Pratt, who is the Christian Education Director. Nancy and I went to high school together. I wrote for the school paper and Nancy was my first in a long line of editors throughout the years.

I wrote a music review column for the paper. I reviewed albums, books, concerts, and so forth. Since it was for school, my parents paid for most of the concerts. I saw a lot of concerts. I would write my column in the style of Hunter S. Thompson or Tom Wolfe – as a participant rather than an observer.

I never knew how much space was available in the next issue. So I would write until the column was finished. Usually on deadline day, or rather deadline hour. The newspaper office had a manual typewriter. After an hour or more of frantic typing, my fingers were sore, but I had a finished column. She would tell me she had room for 250 words. I would hand her the final copy.

“Here’s 400. You choose the 250.”

I actually think I said that to her once. I hope it was only once, but I doubt it. I wasn’t really trying to be pompous. I had written it as a complete piece and would have a hard time cutting it down. Mainly because I was covering a lot of events, depending on the month. I don’t know that she even remembers, but I will apologize when I get a chance.

I walked into the church to smiles and hellos. I set my guitar down when I spotted the restroom. On my way, Rev. Bill Parr approached me.

“You must be here for our minute for mission.”

“I am.”

“Bill Parr,” he said as he shook my hand. “ We’re glad you’re here.”

After I did what was necessary, I picked my guitar up and went into the sanctuary. I didn’t know what to do, so I set my guitar down at the rear of the sanctuary. I looked up and there was Charlotte and Bruce Gibson. I went over and hugged Charlotte and shook Bruce’s hand.

I was in a band with Bruce’s dad and Charlotte’s ex, Bruce, and Joel Nichols, named Southern Plains. Joel and I were a duo for twenty-five years, with Bruce joining in when we played in Dallas and he was able. Joel and I had a band when we made enough money to pay them. Joel died in 1999. Bruce and I played at his funeral.

I went up in the front of the sanctuary and set my guitar case down out of the way. I pulled out my guitar and quickly tuned it. Several people greeted me and thanked me for being there. Then Nancy came up and gave me a hug. She introduced other members that had gone to W.T. White.

The service was an experience in fellowship. John Reas gave me a very nice introduction. I played What the Lord Intends (Sack Summer Hunger) and the congregation appreciated it, judging from the applause.

I appreciate all of the old friends I meet, and I hope I continue to run into old friends. As well as meet new friends who will become old friends. Far too many old friends are no longer with us.

Peace be with you.

 

Dressed up, Hair down b I picked up my granddaughter, Kelley, from school last week and we stopped by McDonalds on the way home. I wanted some tea and since Kelley hadn’t had a chance to eat her snack, I thought I would get her a happy meal for a treat as well as a smoothie for Cyndy. We were getting back in the car when Kelley spotted a dead bird between the sidewalk and the street.

“I’m sad because I see a dead bird,” she said, and I turned around to see the bird as I opened the door.

“It is a dead bird isn’t it?”

“I’m sad when nature dies,” she said as she climbed into her car seat. “I already named that bird one time,” as I buckled her in.

I said “oh really,” as I shut the door, and walked around the car.

“I’m sad for Enchilada,” Kelley said as I got in the car and started the engine.

“Oh, yeah?”

“That’s what I named her.”

“Oh, okay.”

We pulled out of the parking lot and headed for our house. As we were nearing the train tracks that cross the road, the lights began to flash as the barriers came down. I have not counted train cars for quite some time – they do not run as often as they have in the past – but it was the first time I had waited on a train with Kelley, so it was fun – again – to count the cars. There were two engines in front, 133 cars, and three engines on the back. Kelley was counting with me until there were about eighty cars.

We hadn’t been at our house long before her dad came to pick her up. I was telling him about counting the train cars when Kelley piped in.

“I was helping him count until my mouth got tired,” she told her dad.

That is why I love being a grandfather. I enjoyed being a father, too. But as a father, I had to use those moments as teaching moments, and inject a sense of reality, to a childish degree. As a grandfather, I still have a responsibility, yet I also have the chance to indulge in the weirdness of a child’s mind – and my own.

As Hunter S. Thompson used to say – and I have a t-shirt – “when the going gets weird, the weird turn pro.” And five year old girls – or boys for that matter – are really good at weird.

Peace be with you.

%d bloggers like this: