Ye of Little Faith

The Morning That Never Seemed to Come

2011-12-13T14:09:00.001-05:00

I went through an entire night recently when I didn't sleep at all. Not one wink.

Virgil helps Mike with his new football uniform, Christmas 1960.

I had napped earlier that afternoon, and the evening was relatively stressful for various reasons. One thing led to another, and by bedtime, my mind was so filled with worry and despair, sleep was out of the question.

I made up for it the next day by napping on the couch....for a full twelve hours.

It's not a problem I have often, but through all of the duress, something was strangely familiar about that experience: It reminded me a little of trying to sleep on Christmas Eve as a child.

I remember it well. We'd be forced off to bed around ten o'clock, and told that if we dared to sneek out of the room during the night for a "preview", it would frighten Santa away, and he would take all of our toys with him. Something like that.

Leigh, Newby, and Mike - Christmas 1966

The closest thing I can compare it to today is trying to sleep the night before a dentist appointment. I'm dreading the experience so much, it's all I can think about.

Only with Christmas Eve, it's the anticipation of the joys to come that holds the sandman at bay. And, as is the universal rule, the more you tried to sleep, the less likely you were to ever do it.

I tried to sleep. I wanted to sleep. Heaven forbid, Santa should sense that I was awake and leave the house with our toys. I'd never live that one down, and would even possibly suffer the pain of an atomic pink belly at the hands of my brother.

But sleep would not come. Two o'clock....three o'clock....and finally four o'clock.

When four o'clock rolled around, we had reached that 'gray' area where we might just be able to talk our parents into getting up 'a little early'. Off to their room we'd venture to give our request our best shot.

Grandmother and Newby - Christmas 1966

The answer was almost always no. "Do you know what time it is?", they'd ask. "It's far too early. I bet Santa hasn't even been here yet."

Lord, what if they were right? What if he was just entering the living room as we were sneaking down the hall to mom and dad's room? Had we just spoiled Christmas for everyone?

Four forty-five. It's been long enough, and 'not a creature was heard, not even a mouse'.

Time for the second attempt. Who's turn is it to go? Mine, this time.

I'd try my luck with mom. She was more likely to cave in than dad, who was clearly in no mood for another sleep interruption. You could see it even through his closed eyes.

This time, moderate success. She told me to wait until 5:30. That seemed like an eternity away, but it was the best deal I was going to get tonight.

Five-fifteen. (A good compromise.) The final request. Knowing their attempt at sleep was now doomed, they finally cave.

Entry from the hallway sliding doors was forbidden. We would use the kitchen entrance to the living room, and not until every family member was present.

Presents finally open - Mom's out again

Santa had indeed come, and left a room full of treasures.

What strikes me even today is how brief a period of ecstasy we'd actually enjoy. Ten minutes tops. The packages were opened, we would marvel at our good fortune, and then that was it until next year. A full three hundred sixty-four days away.

I've come to realize that it isn't the actual opening of the gift that provides the most pleasure. It's the anticipation of opening the gift that sends our adrenaline rushing. Knowing that the gift is there, and it's for us. That's the moment we crave.

I hope the anticipation of this Christmas season sets your heart afire this year, and in the years to come.

Art In Stone

2011-11-02T13:23:00.000-04:00

Cohen Ludwig at Stone Mountain in 1966

The following is from an article I wrote for The Salisbury Post commemorating the 100th anniversary of the birth of one of Faith's best known residents, Cohen "Dick" Ludwig.

If he were alive today, Cohen Ludwig would cringe if he heard you call him an artist.

He thought himself to be a mere stonecutter, or stone craftsman at best. But an artist? He was far too humble to wear that title.

Forgive me Cohen, but you were an artist, and a good one at that.

Cohen Chester “Dick” Ludwig would turn 100 on November 6th if we were still fortunate enough to have him with us. He was a fixture in the Faith community for many years, leaving behind much of the county’s beloved stone work that continues to grace our landscape.

I knew him as “Uncle Dick” in my younger days, the man of boundless energy who lived next door to my grandparents. On school mornings while waiting for my grandfather to give me a lift, I’d watch him stride to his truck, lunch pail in hand, ready to take on the new day. “There goes Uncle Dickum in the truckum” a young cousin of mine was fond of saying.

His oldest daughter Patty June Jung, now a resident of Buie’s Creek, NC, remembers him as a man who struggled with the effects of the Great Depression; a creative, sensitive dreamer who was always planning and wondering how to support a family through difficult times.

“He was a natural, self-taught, no pretense person,” she recalls. “He always encouraged others to find what they enjoy doing, and get paid to do it.”

So in the 1950s when America was dreaming of rockets and going to the moon, “Dick” Ludwig was dreaming too.

The Woman at the Well in Granite Quarry

“He would spend his days at the rock quarry dreaming of the beautiful works that could ooze from a simple chunk of granite, the very granite beneath our feet. He would carve roses so real, you would declare that there was a fragrance to their solid form.”

His dreams had to be tempered with reality along the way. He had mouths to feed, so he would sell insurance, transport people who did not have cars to work destinations, and for a while he even measured people for tailor-made suits working for the Progress Tailoring Company.

At the end of the day, there was his hammock. His beloved hammock.

“There he would relax and dream of the heavens, UFOs, satellites, travel, and of course, how to cut stone more efficiently,” Jung recalls.

She remembers that during the family’s early suppers, held around 4:30 each day, his place at the table contained silverware AND a pencil.

“He would explain and diagram his day’s work for us. I, with my knees in my chair, would lean across the table to admire his upside-down sketches of roses, crosses, ivy leaves, and religious symbols; the very items he would later preserve in stone.”

He was able to procure some land from Ray McCombs to build a small office and work area for cutting stone. The building still stands in Faith today beside the Faith Legion building.

“It wasn’t unusual for daddy to play hooky from Sunday School at Shiloh Reformed Church to go over to the office and draw for 45 minutes before he took his place in the church choir for worship service”.

Most of his regular work was done for Salisbury Stone Industries by contract to be sent to various places throughout the United States. The little shop, which he called “Art in Stone”, made it possible for him to do works for the local community.

With special arrangements with his employer, he would use a larger space at his day job to accommodate large pieces of stone, like the Big John figure high atop the bell tower at Rowan Memorial Gardens.

The Austin Angel

In August of 1957, his niece, Marcia Kaye Hess Austin and her 8-month-old son were killed in an automobile accident. Ludwig was so touched and saddened by the event that he wanted to do something special for the gravesite.

The “Austin Angel” became his introduction to the local scene. Many other works would follow, including the “Christ on the Wall” rendering for the Shiloh Reformed Church Educational building, and the “Woman at the Well” at Whittenburg Lutheran Church.

His talents became well-known, and in the 60’s when the state of Georgia took over the work of art that was to grace the side of Stone Mountain, his phone rang. The designers were in need of skilled artists and quarriers who could complete this major undertaking.

Ludwig felt he was destined to try, even though he suffered severely from acrophobia, a fear of heights.

To prepare himself for his task, he went to the mountain for a week and sat high above the ground on a catwalk, a permanent platform built on the side of the mountain.

“After concluding that he could do it, and with the promises of crew members to help him with safety, he agreed to go.” It was his dream come true.

Ludwig at Stone Mountain in 1966

Even though the project received much publicity, including an article in “Southern Living Magazine” where he was referred to as “a genius”, Ludwig received no recognition for his work on the project at the May, 1970 official dedication. “It was like he never worked there”, Jung sadly remembers.

Through the efforts of his children, he was finally officially recognized just as Atlanta began preparing for the 1996 Olympic games. Ludwig, though, would not live to experience that honor.

“In the spring of 1970, we began to notice some neurological irregularities in his movements. By summer’s end, we had a diagnosis of metastatic brain tumors. Years of smoking and working in rock dust had taken their toll.”

Surgery would give him extra months, but gone was the vibrance and energy that produced his amazing art. Ludwig died quietly on a Sunday night, just before Valentine’s Day in 1972 at the age of 60. He left behind four adoring children and the love of his life, wife Ida Ruth, the woman he fell in love with when she was ten years old and he was eleven.

Most of us dream of leaving behind something of worth; something that says we were not only here but we lived, we dreamed, and we accomplished our goals.

Cohen Ludwig did that and much more. He left his dreams in their most enduring form for us to enjoy. They’re carved in beautiful stone all around us, where they will live on hopefully for the next thousand years.

Legacies don’t get much better than that.

Note: Below is a clip from a Ludwig home movie showing his children and grandchildren enjoying a stone creation crafted at his shop in Faith. This particular creation has stood at Rowan Memorial Gardens north of Salisbury since 1964.

Follow The Yellow Brick Road

2011-09-27T13:53:00.002-04:00

Cast members perform a musical number

I can't remember a movie that mesmerized me more than "The Wizard of Oz" did when it was shown on television each year. My family would gather around our black and white Zenith and gaze upon that timeless cinematic spectacle as though we were watching it for the first time.

I suppose most of the charm came from the amazing cast lead by Judy Garland, the rubber-like Ray Bolger as the Scarecrow, and my personal favorite, Bert Lahr as the Cowardly Lion. ("Put 'em up....Put 'em up...)

This Dorothy was cute. I'd follow her down any brick road.

But the main appeal to me was the fact that there was plenty in the film to be cowardly about. It is a truly frightening movie on many levels, especially the terrifying tornado scene in early moments of the story.

It was only natural that someone would seize the opportunity to develop a theme park centered around the Oz theme, and for many years, that theme park was located in the nearby North Carolina mountains. It was a favorite destination of ours for numerous summers.

The Land of Oz was operational from 1970 until 1980, and though less spectacular than the movie, it had a special charm that I found appealing.

Live performers kept you entertained

It was a popular tourist attraction at first, but over time economics, changing public tastes, and even vandalism took its toll on the park and it closed to the public.

Some remaining pieces of the park stand today as part of Emerald Mountain Properties. Dorothy's farm has been restored, and you can even rent Dorothy's house as a mountain getaway for a fairly reasonable price.

The photos you see throughout this article were taken in the mid 70s during one of several day trips to the park we would make through the years.

A quick roadside picnic on our way out of the park

As I recall, you would begin your journey at Dorothy Gale's house, only to be whisked into the cellar to ride out the approaching cyclone. You would emerge from the house directly in the middle of the Munchkin village, and walk through the park, ending with a balloon ride (on cables).

In it's day, it was a family fun destination. I hadn't thought about it for many years until I found these photos. Be sure to click on them for a larger view.

Enjoy your journey, and when you're ready to leave, click your heels together and say "There's no place like Faith.....there's no place like Faith...."

Forty Years Ago....

2011-06-28T16:57:00.004-04:00

Sorry I've been gone so long!

I just finished my comeback world tour, spent a couple of months translating the works of Shakespeare into Pig Latin, and then there was that movie I shot. In fact, I used a P99 German semi-automatic to shoot it.

But seriously folks....

It's Faith Fourth of July time once again, and I couldn't pass up the opportunity to share a few golden oldies from yesteryear. In fact, this time around we're turning back the clock exactly forty years to 1971.

Time's a wastin', so let's dig in.

The photo at the left (which you may want to click on for a better view) contains some East Rowan lovelies of the day. I can recognize Allison Miller (who at the time dated my good friend Randy Smith), and Dana Rhyne, the Lutheran pastor's daughter, who I believe was dating my friend Lloyd Brown.

I'm not very sure who is on this float. I think I snapped this picture....well, because I wanted to snap a picture. You can see some of the Barger family camped out in Leon Barger's front yard though. There probably should be more people on the float, but that was a common problem for the parade in those days. You'd design or rent a beautiful float, then have trouble getting anyone to ride on it. Everyone wanted to watch the parade.

Here's a beautiful float from the Faith Civitan Club. To the right of the beautiful flowers in the middle is a young Julie McCombs Blalock*. Standing at the rear of the float is Nan Ludwig and....dang, it'll come to me in a minute....her name is.....well, someone will bail me out. Oh yes....Mary Lynn Stirewalt! She's a Misenheimer now.

To the right, we see the approach of the East Rowan Marching Mustangs of 1971. Of the majorettes, a few catch my eye: Pam Bassett at the bottom left (a beautiful girl), and Jane Basinger with the "S" on her top. Beyond that, I'm drawing blank. I'm not sure why I didn't march in the band that year. I would've been a rising Junior.

Just a stray shot of a stray band. In the background, you see the Eidson house on the corner of Main and Cemetery Street that was torn down a few years ago. That corner is now just a vacant lot waiting for a new home to be built.

My friend Lloyd Brown is shown here fresh from the finish of one of the games hosted at the Faith ballpark every year in those days. There would be sack races, you could climb the greasy pole, plus little league ball games throughout the afternoon. Lloyd apparently won a prize. I see cash in his hand.

Finally, a rather poor photograph of one of my many good lookin' cousins, Nan Ludwig. She, along with my brother Mike, graduated from East Rowan that year. Mike would head to Carolina...Nan, I believe, went to Catawba.

*Note: In the Civitan float description, I incorrectly identified a young girl as Julie McCombs. Turns out, I was wrong, wrong, wrong. I apoligize for the error.

A Picture is Worth...

2011-03-18T15:32:00.000-04:00

If you're like me, you can find yourself staring at a single old photograph for....well, a long time.

The photo on the left is like that.

It was taken at the second Shiloh Reformed Church in approximately 1914. Members gathered in front of this house of worship for a group photo, a practice quite common in those days but somewhat rare today.

Everyone is in their Sunday best. Due to long exposure times needed for early cameras, participants rarely ventured a smile; it was simply easier to keep a blank look on your face. That's why people looked "so serious" in those days.

Oh, and remember...your Sunday best in those days might mean the only dress or suit you would own throughout your adulthood.

How many people can you recognize?

OK, we're talking about a picture taken nearly one hundred years ago. It's a pretty safe bet that no one in the photo is alive today, but some of you have surely seen this photograph before and can pick out a few faces.

You may want to click on the photo for a closer look. (Bear in mind, not all browsers support the "closer look" feature, so you may want to make sure you have the latest version of your browser or a browser that does support the feature. I highly recommend Google Chrome, a leaner, faster browser.)

If you still can't pick out some familiar family faces, here's a little help:

The First Row of Children: We have no idea.

Second Row, Left to Right: Zeda Peeler, Maude Wilhelm and child (Rev. James Peeler's Mother), Ina Mae Peeler, Pearl Peeler, Maude Lyerly, Viola Casper, Letha Peeler, Bertie Wilhelm, Rowe Peeler, Anna Peeler, and Irene Peeler.

Third Row, Left to Right: Lee Roy Bame, Robert Robertson, Mary Basinger and little James, Roxie Peeler, Bertie Miller and little Cecil Paul, Mamie Barger, Jennie P. Jones, Mrs. J.A. Peeler, Mrs. Frank Wilhelm, Mary Lyerly, John D.A. Fisher, Andy Casper, Murray Peeler.

Fourth Row, Left to Right: Frank Wilhelm, Steve Davis, Gus Basinger, L.M. Peeler, Leo Peeler, Ray Doc Peeler, John M. Peeler and Mary Jeannette, Roy Peeler, John A. Peeler, George Peeler, Banks L. Peeler, Rev. Banks J. Peeler, Ray McCombs, Dave Peeler

If you can identify the children in the front row, you win the "Good Eye" award for today.

I love photos like this one. I like to think about what their lives were like then...what they thought about, did for fun, things like that.

Interestingly, when the below photo was taken in 1953, Shiloh's male members were mimicking their counterparts from a past generation during Rowan County's Bicentennial. To my knowledge, not more than a couple of the men pictured here are alive today.

Jeff's Journey

2011-01-11T20:03:00.002-05:00

Jeff with childhood idol Mickey Mantle

For as long as I can remember, Jeff Lingle has loved the Yankees.

To be fair, everybody loved the Yankees back in the 60s. Mantle, Maris, Whitey Ford, we lived and died with the Yankees. But, as you can tell in the picture on the left, Jeff took it to a whole new level.

When he was 12, Jeff received the opportunity of a lifetime. He was actually invited into the Yankees clubhouse and got to meet many of his idols. The photo is a momento of that day.

His love for the Yankees never diminished through the years. I follow Jeff on Facebook, and many of his posts are about the object of his devotion. He's a fan of the great American passtime through and through.

Jeff started out at Faith Elementary, then it was on to Erwin Junior High, and in 1971, he graduated from East Rowan where he was student body president. Everybody loved Jeff.

Small in stature, Jeff never played team sports but would served as team manager. In that role, Jeff was often the glue that held the team together. He was a natural born leader.

After college, the ministry called, and he has touched the lives of many as a Lutheran pastor, currently in Rock Hill, SC. This brings me to Jeff's journey.

This past summer, Jeff embarked on a 25-ballpark odyssey. He needed a short sabbatical, and decided to combine his faith with his love of baseball.

I could paraphrase the story here, but I would prefer you read the exact words of Jason Chisari of the Rock Hill Herald. What follows is Jason's story about Jeff:

Step inside the office of Epiphany Lutheran Church pastor Jeff Lingle, and your eyes are immediately drawn to it.

Resting near a shrine of memorabilia commemorating his beloved New York Yankees sits a massive poster with the words "Soulful Play" emblazoned in crimson red on its front.

On the poster, crafted by church member James Brooks, a U.S. map with a smattering of bullet points details the four-month, 25-ballpark journey that Lingle embarked upon this past summer. For Lingle, it was a life-affirming odyssey that reinvigorated his dedication to his church and the game he loves so much.

"The trip wasn't just fun for me, it helped me to understand who I am as a person and as a pastor," Lingle said. "It connected me to my childhood, and how vital baseball was to me then and now, especially as a man of faith."

After nearly 21 years with no sabbatical, Lingle needed a break. That's when the Lilly Endowment emerged from the dugout. As part of the National Clergy Renewal Program, the Lilly Endowment of Indianapolis awards up to 150 grants annually, each worth up to $50,000, to Christian congregations so their pastor of choice can take a respite from church duties.

Lingle applied for the grant in 2003 and was denied. But the opportunity presented itself again in 2009, this time with a subject matter that allowed Lingle to muse about his lifelong passion.

Keith Benson, a Winthrop professor and Epiphany Lutheran member, was part of a four-person committee that helped Lingle compile his grant application. The theme of the grant was "What Makes Your Heart Sing?", and Lingle floated several ideas, including music and leadership.

But Benson and the other committee members knew he was wasting his time.

"Those things are a part of Jeff but they're not Jeff, baseball is," Benson said. "He cares for the spiritual lives of other people, that's his job. So if baseball is part of your spiritual DNA, then why not go back to your roots?"

Lingle's roots were firmly planted in the national pastime at an early age. Growing up in the appropriately named town of Faith, N.C., he talked baseball at the local butcher shop, with strangers, anyone who would cast an ear in his impassioned direction.

Mantle and Maris in 1961

But one unforgettable encounter with a baseball legend forged Lingle's soulful connection with the game for the rest of his life.

"I was 12 years old when I got the chance to meet Mickey Mantle," Lingle said as he walked over to a framed picture of himself with the Yankee slugger. "At the time, Vernon Benson was the Yankees' third-base coach, and also happened to be a good friend of the family. He managed to get me in the clubhouse, where I got to meet everybody, from Whitey Ford to Bobby Richardson."

But it was Mantle, awaiting a shy Lingle at his locker, who gave the 12-year-old the memory of a lifetime.

"He talked, I listened, and Vernon took a picture of us," Lingle said. "And as I was about to leave, Mantle stopped me and handed me one of his bats. And that I don't keep here at my office."

Lingle didn't know it at the time, but baseball had one more defining gift left to give him.

He began his national baseball journey in June 2010, packing his car and heading out alone for a 3,000-mile road trip around the Great Lakes. During his solitary excursion, Lingle visited major league ballparks in Cincinnati, Cleveland, Minneapolis, Chicago, Detroit and Milwaukee. He caught minor league games in Lexington, Ky.; Columbus, Ohio; and Asheville, N.C.

Jeff's Family today

For each ballpark, Lingle performed the same ritual: He would arrive as the gate opened (an hour or two before game time) and take his time exploring every inch of the stadium, from behind home plate to far-away center field.

"I wanted to take pictures from every possible angle I could," Lingle said. "A great ballpark adds to the magic of the game, so I had to take in the experience and do it the right way."

For the next part of his trip, in July, Lingle's wife joined him as he ventured northeast on a bus tour. During the approximately 2,800-mile trip, Lingle visited Washington, Philadelphia, Boston, Pittsburgh, Baltimore, the Baseball Hall of Fame and, of course, both New York ball parks.

His thoughts on the new Yankee Stadium? Not what you would expect.

"The only reason I like it is because of all the history, but other than that it's just a ballpark to me," Lingle said. "Citi Field (where the Mets play) was a better ballpark in my opinion."

Lingle also listed PNC Park and Comerica Park (home of the Pirates and Tigers, respectively) as his favorite parks, citing their fan-friendly atmosphere and emphasis on the playing field.

Throughout his journey, Lingle wore his Yankees hat, which drew the ire of many a fellow baseball fan. But after a few minutes of conversation, the playful animosity always disappeared once Lingle's passion shined through.

"Oh, the flack that I heard for my Yankee hat," Lingle said with a laugh. "But you know what? No matter where I went, I always established a common link with whomever I talked to. We were all baseball fans, despite our fan allegiance."

I'm glad Jeff had the opportunity to do this. I have no doubt that it renewed his spirit in a way that was totally unique to to this very special Faith native.

Christmas Eve in My Hometown

2010-12-03T13:51:00.000-05:00

Christmas is the one time of year that comes with its own built-in sense of nostalgia.

A Christmas dinner at my grandparents in the late 50s

I think most of us find ourselves drifting back in time during the holidays. I can close my eyes and almost smell the turkey and pumpkin pie in my grandmother's oven. I can even hear the fire crackling in the fireplace. This time of year, my grandparent's house was a virtual Hallmark Christmas card.

It's funny. The older I get, the more I remember about small details like that. Those things I remember. Where I parked my car a little while ago...I forget.

I wrote a newspaper column recently about some of my holiday memories, including the sprawling display of lights you could see in downtown Salisbury each year.

Leigh Ann posing by the treat bags in the mid-60s

My parents would pack us in the '53 Carolina blue Plymouth in early December, and off we'd go on our annual trip "to town see the lights". Every family in Faith did that.

"Going to town" meant going to Salisbury. It's where we did our shopping. There were no trips to far away malls in those days. Such trips weren't necessary.

I'm sure in reality there weren't that many lights, but to my small eyes it seemed like there were millions of them; all the colors of the rainbow hanging across every available wire in downtown Salisbury. My dad would dutifully point out that airplanes would divert from their flight path just a little to show their passengers the wonderful light display below.

With my nose pressed firmly against the back window, I'd take it all in; all the while dreaming of the treasures I'd find under the tree in mere weeks. The Salisbury light show was just the beginning of what was to come.

When you're a kid, the dreaming is always the best part. I've always maintained that at Christmas, it's not the actual unwrapping of the presents that creates the joy. It's the anticipation of what's inside the wrapped boxes that sets the imagination on fire and makes us yearn for Christmas Day. It's scratching a little bit of the wrapping paper off the bottom of the gift just to see if you can guess what's inside.

I swear it's Leigh Ann's doll!

Sure I remember the toys I found under the tree: Playmobile, Johnny-Seven, that Green Ghost board game, and my shiny new Murray bike that I would demolish a short time later.

Sometime in the summer of '63, I was riding it on my street headed directly toward a kid named John Jones, also on his bike. Neither of us can remember exactly what happened, but he thought I'd move over and I thought he would. The result was a head-on crash that destroyed my front wheel, light assembly, and most of the good looking parts of the bike, not to mention a total demolition of my ego.

I was sure it was ruined and I'd never ride a bike again. But to my dad's credit, he took it on as a challenge. Rather than punish me, he took the bike totally apart, hung the pieces in the basement, repainted the undamaged parts a bold red and black, and reassembled it. It was not only good as new, it was one of the coolest looking bikes in town. I rode it for years. In fact, I never needed, owned, or wanted another one.

But the toys aside, the best parts of Christmas for me were the small family moments that I'm sure I took for granted at the time. We don't learn to appreciate these moments until later:

Granddad stokes the fire

Christmas caroling with the Ludwigs in the wee hours of Christmas morning.

The Christmas Eve service at Shiloh, hearing the wonderful Christmas story over and over again, and the treat bags they'd hand out every year after the service containing fruit, a pencil, either a 5th Avenue or Zero candy bar, and candy cane.

Running through the woods on Christmas morning to show my grandparents what I got for Christmas.

And perhaps the most memorable, the good will you'd experience from almost everyone in town at that special time of year.

May this Christmas be the one you'll keep in your treasure chest of Christmas memories in the coming years. Merry Christmas everyone!

The Weather Started Getting Rough...

2010-10-20T14:04:00.000-04:00

Every time another September goes by, my mind takes an automatic journey back to September, 1989 and the storm none of us will ever forget.

Hurricane Hugo was supposed to pound the coast of South Carolina, which it did nicely.

But no one expected the storm to remain at practically full strength and cut a path through South Carolina into North Carolina. Early in the morning of September 22, 1989, we realized a harsh reality.

Hurricanes can reach us too.

Faith not only received Hugo's high winds, but there was talk that the town took a direct hit from a tornado spawned by the storm. No one has ever confirmed that, but aerial photographs of the area taken shortly after the storm seem to indicate it was true.

Trees standing in the area for decades were reduced to firewood. The entire town was without power, luckily until only the next day.

But the cleanup would take months, and the sound of chainsaws would fill the air for weeks to come.

Ever the historian, I grabbed my camcorder that morning and headed for Faith to see how my parents had weathered the storm. The closer I got to the town, the worse things looked. By the time I reached my parent's home, my mouth was hanging wide open.

Our little town was in shambles.

Below is some of the footage I shot, combined with news commentary of that day from WSOC-TV. I couldn't help but include a parody song composed and performed by WBT's James K. Flynn that seemed to capture the mood of the following weeks.

Enjoy...and remember.

A Good, Old-Fashioned Block Party

2010-10-03T09:57:00.000-04:00

It struck me recently on a visit back to Faith during Fourth of July week how much things have changed in our little town.

It was a Friday evening, and the park was packed with people, as it would normally be. There was just one small difference. I didn't see a face I knew.

Not one.

That caught me a little off guard because time was, that was the one place I could go where I could count on running into virtually all of my friends. It seemed on this one day though that the town had been emptied of familiar faces and replaced with a brand new cast. It was downright "twilight zonish". Mayberry without Barney or Aunt Bee.

I know....I'm getting older. I shouldn't expect to see "the ol' gang" there when I return. Still, it was a bit eerie.

These pictures of a 1991 block party reminded me of just how many of those familiar faces have disappeared. Taken in the spring of 1991 (shortly after the death of Ida Ruth Ludwig), they're a reminder of a time gone by.

Neighbors gathered for a good old-fashioned block party.

We're talking a virtual covered-dish kingdom here. In the one picture in which I appear, I'm young and thin. It's dinners like this one that are responsible for a few extra pounds today. The gray hair, I've earned raising a daughter.

Browse through them, and appreciate all over again the faces that gave our town the special quality that it continues to enjoy today.

While you're browsing, let me put out my annual plea for photos you may be able to share on this site. I have published well over 300 photos since beginning "Ye of Little Faith" in the spring of 2008. That's a lot of the family collection, but this blog was never intended to be just about my family. I'd like to feature your family too!

If you have the ability, you may scan and e-mail photos to kbernhardt@goprn.com. If you don't, I'll accept copies you don't mind loaning for a quick scan. By George, I might even come to your home with my computer and scanner and scan them while you wait!

I hate to see memories lost in long-forgotten photo books when new generations could be enjoying them all over again.

Thanks, and here's to happy memories!

One technical note: Clicking on photos in this blog will often produce a larger copy for closer study in browsers like Google Chrome and Mozilla Firefox. The feature often does NOT work in Microsoft Explorer for some reason...probably because it's made by Microsoft. Switch to a different browser and enjoy the photos up close!

The Covered Dish

2010-08-13T15:12:00.003-04:00

While eating a deviled egg the other day, my mind wandered back to the growing list of traditions of my childhood that are slowly fading into the sunset.

Among those traditions is the simple covered dish and it's remarkable healing powers.

If you're older than 30, I don't have to tell you what a covered dish is. But for younger readers who may not even be sure where the stove is in your home or what it does, I'll point out that the term "covered dish" by simple definition is a bowl or casserole dish filled to the brim with a special family recipe prepared solely to bring pleasure to an individual, group of hungry friends, family members, or even strangers who will in return, shower you with compliments and beg for the recipe of your creation.

That pretty much covers the covered dish.

Except that the covered dish is more than just food. It's food prepared by the hands and the heart.

Covered dish dinners thrive in churches, especially in the south. Through our covered dish dinners we find a unity beyond words and a renewed spirit of goodwill. Most of the difficult decisions of a church are made following a covered dish dinner. They blunt our anger and soften our stubbornness. (Below, the Bernhardt's, Misenheimers, Ludwigs, and Jungs prepare to dig into a covered dish feast this 1977 photo.)

Through the covered dish, we also find the fodder for the next church cookbook fundraiser. Churchgoers will spend good money to finally have the recipe for Mrs. Murphy's mouth watering tuna casserole...perhaps accidentally minus an ingredient or two to insure that yours won't taste quite as good.

The simple covered dish also has the power to lift the broken spirit during a time of personal tragedy. I have never endured the loss of a loved one without a plate of fried chicken and homemade potato salad in my hand.

I always thought it somewhat strange that people shower you with food at the one time you feel least like eating. But in a strange sense, the covered dish isn't about the food; it's about the caring that went into the preparation of it.

When mere words fail, the covered dish speaks volumes of warmth and comfort.

I often think of a wonderful lady in my church named Dot Wood. Dot passed away last year, but on at least three different occasions, she delivered to my home a dish filled with the best macaroni and cheese I had ever eaten.

It was so sinfully good that it warranted an eleventh commandment: Thou shalt not covet thy neighbor's macaroni and cheese. With Dot around, we'd all have a hard time with that one.

After the third round, I begged for the recipe. The following Sunday, she delivered to me what amounted to the holy grail of macaroni and cheesedom, contained on one simple index card. (Below, my grandmother with a covered dish and pot of coffee in 1968.)

Only once did I try to duplicate her recipe. I copied it completely, down to each exact measurement and spice. I baked it at just the right temperature for the exact amount of time.

It was delicious. But it wasn't perfect.

I discovered it was missing the most important ingredient; the touch of Dot's wonderful and caring hands. I haven't tried to make it since.

Maybe that's the most important secret we learn from the covered dish. It must be prepared for the enjoyment of those we love.

For the covered dish isn't about feeding ourselves. It's our way of feeding each other. And that's a tradition I hope will never fade.

His Royal Mikeness

2010-07-15T16:13:00.000-04:00

Let's see...there's Heinz 57 steak sauce, there's the classic '57 Chevy, and there are 57 ways to leave your lover.

OK...I know...the song says 50 ways, but surely they've come up with seven more by now.

And now...(drum roll)...there's the classic 57-year-old Mike Bernhardt!

It's seems like only 7 years ago we were all gathering at Shiloh Reformed Church to welcome Mike into his 50s. Come to think of it, it was 7 years ago. As the old saying goes, time sure flies when you're playing golf.

So on this monumental occasion, I thought it only fitting to take a photo journey through Mike's life, hitting the high points. This shouldn't take long.

At right is a photo from long ago that perfectly represents our relationship through the years. Mike is sitting there with a devious grin on his face. Though I don't remember this moment, I'm quite sure he has just done something to me. I am to his left looking somewhat perplexed, unsure of what he has done. I look like I'm holding some food. He's probably just poisoned it.

Now, we move ahead a few years. Mike is shown here during his elementary school days at Faith School. He was a good student, made mostly "A's", and excelled at schoolyard sports. It is during this period that he would earn the name "Rulebook Bernhardt" for his talent of settling schoolyard debates by quoting rules of play, both real and imagined. If a fly ball landed right on the right fielder's head and stayed there, Mike knew the "rule" that covers whether it was a hit or an out. He could quote chapter and verse of the "rulebook". And there was no need to argue. Mike had spoken.

At right, we see what is possibly the worst picture of Mike ever taken. It was his eighth grade photo from Faith Elementary School. I have no real reason to post it except to embarrass him. He has a look on his face that I saw from time to time during our childhood, usually after he'd done something he was going to be punished for later. It's the look he had on his face when he poured a circle of gasoline around me in our back yard and lit it.

Now, we're at Mike's senior prom in the spring of 1971. Mike's date is high school girlfriend Suzanne Carscaddon. As I recall, she was a year older than Mike, and they dated for several years. I have no idea what happened to her. He probably poured a circle of gasoline around her and lit it.

Now on to his college years. This was taken around 1973 when he was a student at UNC Chapel Hill. It was obviously winter, since he is shown wearing a large fur hat. Wait...that's not a hat, I think it's hair. Oh well, what can I say, it was the 70s. It just goes to prove that if you waste all of your hair in your youth, you won't have any left over for your later years.

So on this special occasion, let's raise our cup of grog to brother Mike (shown here with cousin Nan) and his 57 years on this earth.

As a tribute, I offer my favorite toast: "Here's to you and here's to me...and if by chance we disagree, then to hell with you and here's to me."

The Faith 4th - Then and Now

2010-07-01T14:22:00.004-04:00

As I write this, the week-long Faith 4th of July celebration is in full swing.

Hundreds...maybe thousands of people are already munching down on that famous Faith barbeque and washing it down with Rowan County's own contribution to the soft drink world, Cheerwine. (Though I have to admit, as a child I preferred a Grape Nehi.)

Overall, not much has changed through the years. The air in the town still smells of barbeque pits, and as you approach the Faith Park, you may feel the same excitement you felt as a child when you hear the motors of the various rides whirring away.

Only the rides themselves and the faces have changed through the years. So with the help of the my Sony SLR and the Salisbury Post photography department, I thought we'd do a photo comparison of the Faith 4th then...and now. And as always, click on each picture for a larger view.

Granddad in 1962.

Then...the town's shiniest convertables carried the American Legion dignitaries of the day as shown here from the Faith 4th parade of 1962. Seated in the back seat and smiling for the camera is my grandfather, Gideon (Slim) Misenheimer, who was a post commander. The other gentlemen, I do not recognize. The car they're riding in was still relatively new by the day's standards. At the time, my family was parading around in a '53 carolina blue Plymouth.

Now...a lovely young tot parades down Faith's Main Street in her own convertible, model and make unknown. She'll receive a lot more attention than the gentlemen pictured above.

Leigh Ann and me in 1966

Then...Rowan County's Voiture train on wheels made it's yearly appearance in the Faith 4th parade. Today I'm happy to report that it still does, and looks like it hasn't aged a day. Leigh Ann and I are posing in the front of the train right across the street from Cohen Ludig's stone cutting shop in 1966. Thankfully, the fashions have changed, but kids still look pretty much like kids.

Now...thought the train is still popular, military vehicles in all shapes, sizes, and capabilities are the hit of the day. This jeep was part of a large display of authentic military vehicles featured in the 2009 parade. You'll see a few vets wiping tears as they roll down the street.

One of my farorites, The Octopus, in 1971

Then...the rides were the same every year. Lee's Rides pulled into town around the 20th of June, and we would watch in amazement as an assortment of metal bars, cables, and tubs slowly became The Octopus you see pictured at left (from 1971). It was one of my favorite rides, but the last time I rode it with McKenna in the mid 90s, I was somewhat frightened by its age. It creaked a little more than I thought it should.

Now...the rides are a little more sophisticated, and they should be when you consider the prices. I seem to recall enjoying nine or ten rides for just a few dollars in the sixties. That same few dollars won't buy you much more than one ride today. Lee's Rides are just a faded memory.

Then...beauty queens were one of the most popular attractions at the Faith 4th festivities. Nothing says America like mom, apple pie, fireworks, and the site of a young, attractive female being crowned queen of something. I have no idea who the woman wearing the Miss Faith banner pictured at left is, but by today's standards, she's darn lucky to be wearing it.

At right is the most recent incarnation of the finest beauty queens Faith has to offer. They were the finalists in the 2009 Miss Rowan County Veteran contest. Holding true to tradition, the contestants are interviewed by a panel of judges who quiz them on matters of civic and governmental importance before crowning the hottest entry.

In summary....OK...YOU GOT ME! The old photograph of the queen above is a complete fake! I pulled it off the internet and photoshopped the banner to make it look like a long lost historic artifact! I'm so ashamed.....

Now really, in summary...take another look at a previously published photo of the first official celebration of the 4th of July in Faith in 1946. It's the real item, and again I thank Patty June Jung for sharing it. Happy 4th everyone!

The very first parade in 1946

Home Movies - Part Two

2010-05-29T15:58:00.000-04:00

As long as we have the projector and the screen out, let's continue our trip back in time via some wonderful Ludwig home movies.

It's 1950 now, the soldiers have returned from the war and re-established their businesses, and life has gotten a little more colorful thanks to affordable color home movie film.

Harry Truman is in the White House, CBS is developing a new TV show with Lucille Ball and her Cuban bandleader husband, and things are again heating up on the battlefields in a far away place called Korea.

But in Faith, the baby boom has produced new families, some of which have gathered on a sunny spring afternoon to pose and recite for the camera. I'm not sure what they're reciting, but those of you who are good lip readers may be able to figure it out.

Donna, Neil, and Patty June Ludwig...Dean, Jerry, and Nelson Lingle, along with Delores Williams (pictured at right) seem to be enjoying the springtime sun and the wonders of youth.

Next door, the Misenheimer's daughter, Marian, is preparing for her high school graduation. In a mere two years, she will marry her high school sweetheart Clifford Bernhardt (his friends call him "Snookie" for some reason), and by the end of the decade, they will produce three children...one of which will become the writer of this blog.

Finally, the Ludwig backyard is again alive with the laughter of children. Donna and Neil Ludwig frolic around the wonderful rock table that hosted many guests through the years and still stands today, ready for another bowl of homemade ice cream or watermelon.

So, if someone will get the lights again. Oh, wait...before you do, I need to grab another bowl of popcorn...

Home Movies - Part One

2010-05-14T23:18:00.004-04:00

Forgive me if I use this installment of "Ye of Little Faith" to subject you to a time honored family tradition of the past.

At least once a year in most Faith households, dad would drag out the movie projector (or in our case, the slide projector), set up the screen, and display for all the latest adventures of the family clan.

If, as an outsider, you happened in to one of these showings, your chances of escape were slim. You usually felt obligated to stay for at least a reel or two, unless you could dream up a creative excuse on the spot.

"Sorry, I think I left the roast in the oven AND the water running. Maybe next time."

I have to confess that I've always been drawn to other people's home movies and photos. It's probably the history buff in me. They're always filled with pictures of old cars, homes, and people I haven't seen in years. So you really don't have to strap me to a chair; I'll happily watch yours.

This particular seven minute clip comes from the Ludwig family collection. Nearly thirty years ago, I inquired about the whereabouts of the old home movies I had remembered Cohen Ludwig showing from time to time. His widow, Ida Ruth Ludwig, produced a box full of old movie reels and lamented about not being able to see them any more.

That thought bothered me considerably. Why should they sit there in that box unappreciated when future generations could enjoy them all over again?

I asked if I could attempt to transfer the movies to VHS tape. She was agreeable, and the project began. I organized the reels to the best of my ability and sent them off to a video service provided by the Eckerds drug chain.

Within weeks, the video transfer arrived. At the next gathering of the Ludwig family we had the official premiere, and copies of the tapes were given to family members. I selfishly kept a copy which I still value.

This particular seven minute clip shows Faith at it's happiest. It was the early 40s, and with America at war, our families were never closer. With the war pounding away on two fronts, we became more appreciative of the smaller things in life. We took each other for granted less, and it shows in these happy memories.

It's all there in glorious black-and-white.

If you look carefully, you'll not only see the Ludwigs, but Marcelle Williams, Bryce Ludwig, Helen Lingle, Anna Mickle, Sue Teague, and a very young Gail Mahaffey, not to mention my mom, Uncle Jerry, and my grandmother.

You'll see Faith at work, at play, and even some gallant soldiers enjoying some rare time at home before returning to the war effort.

Now, if someone will turn off the lights....

The Benchwarmer

2010-05-05T16:31:00.006-04:00

Playing Right field, it's easy you know

You can be awkward and you can be slow

That's why I'm here in right field

Just watchin' the dandelions grow.

--Paul Stookey

When Paul Stookey wrote the song "Right Field", he couldn't have known he was summing up my entire athletic career in one brief musical composition.

As a child, I was never mistaken for the athlete of the family. That would be my brother (right, sinking another shot in that monstrous homemade basketball goal in our back yard. Not sure what the barrel was for.) He excelled in all of your basic stick and ball sports. You could count on Mike to make the great catch, throw the winning pass, or make the free throw that would put the team ahead.

You could count on me to make sure the bench didn't blow away during a sudden gust of wind.

But my lack of ability didn't stop me from trying.

I played three seasons of Little League and Babe Ruth baseball, ran track for two years, and played football for two. Though unaccomplished, I was there, in uniform, doing my bit. In NASCAR, we call those "field fillers". I was a field filler.

(At left is my uncle Virgil Bernhardt. If there was a "successful" athlete in our family, he was it.)

Stookey sings of "praying the ball never comes out to me", and I cringe at memories of my little league days when I did just that.

I couldn't judge a fly ball; they were always landing behind me for some reason. So right field was usually a safe haven for players like me. Little League didn't have too many lefties to start with, so when it was time for Kent to get a little playing time, that's where he went. It was the one place on the field I could do the least amount of damage, or so the theory goes.

Blessed with an arm made of pure 100 percent rubber, I never knew exactly where the ball was going to go when I threw it. Once while standing near the dugout, a foul ball was tipped my way and I retrieved it. All I had to do was toss it back to the umpire. I think it wound up in the concession stand in a box of Zero candy bars.

That's why if I'm ever elected President of the United States, I'm going to send my Vice President to throw out the first pitch at the opening Major League game of the season.

I fared only slightly better at football. In the eighth grade, I played for the East Rowan Junior League squad as an offensive tackle. As a matter of fact, I was probably the most offensive tackle on the team. Nearly five feet eleven inches tall and and a puny 115 pounds soaking wet, and they made me a tackle.

(Below in all my glory is the 1968 East Rowan Junior Football League's fiercest tackle. I should've taken the dog with me.)

I suppose the thinking was "let's confuse the defense by making them wonder why we made this guy a tackle, and then we'll sneak the ball by them." Again for most of the season, there was a special place on the bench for me. I preferred the left side so I could hear the coach scream at the other players, if you're wondering.

In the ninth grade, I did have one shining moment at practice one day. Our coach, disappointed at our last game effort, constructed a special drill to "see what we were made of". He divided us into two squads, facing each other in a single line with about forty yards of practice field in between us.

To a single player in one line, he would toss a football. That player would then run full speed to meet the player in the other line, who would bring him down by any means possible. It was a full speed one on one orchestrated collision, experience level be damned.

Oh, and one more thing. If the coach didn't like the performance of either player, you were rewarded with another chance, possibly several chances to do it over and over until he was pleased.

I wasn't looking forward to the drill to start with, but when I got a look at the player I was to be paired with, my heart moved immediately to my throat. I would face Sydney Evans.

Sydney was the toughtest running back we had on the Erwin Middle School team. On the field, he didn't talk, he just grunted. Every day for lunch, he ate a car, spitting out the bolts neatly on his cafeteria tray. Sydney was going to kill me, and I didn't have a will.

I did not know how I would bring Sydney down. I only knew I didn't want to attempt it more than once. So when the coach tossed Sydney the football, I gritted my teeth, closed my eyes, and with everything I had, bolted toward Sydney.

After the actual collision, I remember a blinding light, the vision of a few dead relatives motioning me toward it, and then the muffled sound of my coach standing over me yelling something about "that being the way you bring someone down". "Way to go Kent!", the coach blasted. "Now hit the showers!"

For my gallantry on the practice field that day, I was rewarded with a starting position on the kickoff squad where I would fail to distinguish myself. But my highest praise that day came from Sydney himself, who thanked me for bringing him down on the first attempt. It turns out Sydney wasn't feeling well and didn't want to do this more than once either.

It was probably a car he had eaten.

Faith and the 60s

2010-04-17T16:15:00.002-04:00

The other night, I found myself in the uncomfortable position of having to explain the 1960s to my daughter.

We were watching the movie "Woodstock", the documentary filmed live at the site of the most famous music festival of the 20th century. With a sigh of regret, she expressed her disappointment in "having been born too late".

"Why", I asked.

"It would've been interesting to be there", she replied.

Looking at the event through the smoked glass of history, I understand.

Now, we see Woodstock as a classic 3-day rock festival, loaded with vintage oldies from the groups of the day. Then, it was a three day rock-and-roll blur featuring up-and-coming rock artists in a tract of land far too small to accommodate the, at times, unruly crowd. But looking at it through my rose colored glasses, sure it would've been fun to be there.

Like most of our past, we pick and choose the memories we cherish. (The picture on the right shows you the 60s as I knew them, from the tranquil boundaries of my front porch.)

I lived through all of the 1960s, from age four to fourteen, and I love telling my daughter stories about those days. It was the definitive turning point from what we were to what we are today. In the mere span of ten years, we became a totally different people.

We started the decade with the promise of the new world ahead, space age technology, "Camelot" in Washington, and families headed up by a hard working dad at the office and equally hard working moms who took charge of the home front.

We ended it with social division, violence in cities and on college campuses, and women who joined the workforce because Madison Avenue told them "You've Come a Long Way Baby".

We were certainly different. "Better" depends on your interpretation.

Still, spending my childhood in the 60s didn't leave me with a lot of war stories to tell. Through a lot of the decade, I was too young to understand the events around me, yet strangely old enough to feel the pain of assassinated leaders, social unrest, and a war no one understood.

It was a confusing time.

My young life in a small town kept me isolated from most of our country's ills. Life for me was riding my bicycle to McCombs Grocery Store for a bottle of Coke, summer afternoons at Blue Waters Pool, watching The Monkees on TV, and trying to get the attention of cute Cindy Bost in my fifth grade class. There wasn't one rebellious bone in my body.

(Me, Leigh Ann, and "Muffin" in 1966 above. Not exactly a long haired hippie radical, was I.)

Occasionally though, I would pry open our family's weekly Life Magazine or our Salisbury Post and gaze out at the world around me. Parts of it were disturbing. Very disturbing.

I read stories and saw pictures of children shot dead in the streets of troubled cities and political conventions filled with violence. Though I often couldn't understand why these things were happening, I came to understand that not everyone was as happy as I was. The tranquil world I knew every day was in sharp contrast to a lot of 1960's society. I realized how fleeting happiness can be, and that today's joy can quickly be replaced by tremendous sadness in an instant.

The 60s gave us overwhelming doses of that sadness. Like in the movie "Pleasantville", the black-and-white of certainty was being replaced by the color of reality.

It hit my elders harder than me. I can remember the sound of my grandfather's voice railing against the TV networks for showing the revolt on college campuses. "If they didn't show it, those hippies wouldn't be doing this", he'd rave. He was a product of the "my country right or wrong" generation. They were right, and if these radicals didn't like it, they could pack up and find somewhere else to live. (Granddad above, enjoying a game of solitaire in 1966. He was a Navy man through and through.)

I often tell McKenna about how the length of a man's hair in those days made a political statement. Conservatives tended to keep their hair short, while longer sideburns and hair grown over the ears usually indicated a man's liberal leanings. I can remember a relative showing up for Christmas one year with longer sideburns. He was chided mercilessly about his newfound liberal status. In contrast today, the length of a man's hair makes only a fashion statement.

There's no denying those painful years made us examine who were were and where we were heading as a people. That is what makes the sixties important, and makes me glad I was there.

But there's also no denying that, through the passing of time, it all now looks strangely nostalgic. No wonder Mac wants to be there. I wouldn't mind visiting again myself.

(As an adult, I may have started the decade as the guy on the left, and ended it as the guy on the right.)

"A Box of Raisinettes Please"

2010-04-01T16:00:00.033-04:00

I have always loved the movies.

I think one of the reasons I still go to them from time to time is it's a way of revisiting a special part of my past, and remembering a real treat that, in my childhood, didn't come along that often.

Let me begin by pointing out that there are no movie theaters in Faith. The modern age in our little town began and ended with the installation of a caution light in the middle of main street, and that was about it.

Our church did own a big bulky 16mm projector that the pastor would drag out from time to time to show a religious film from the head office, but beyond that, we had to travel to Salisbury to see a movie. And from my earliest years, I was always up for a movie.

The first movie I have any recollection of seeing was the Disney film "Babes in Toyland". I now know that the film was considered a rare Disney bomb, but to my young eyes, it was a technicolor classic.

Remember, I had before never experienced this huge darkened room with its giant speakers and larger than life screen. Added to my joy was the reality of being able to, for a small amount of money in those days, purchase a Coke and a box of Raisinettes to enjoy during the picture. I was in heaven, and my love affair with the movies had begun.

I had the opportunity to see "Babes in Toyland" on TV several years ago, and, well, to be polite, it's hard to remember what I saw in the film.

Other films would follow: Son of Flubber with Fred McMurray, Those Magnificent Men in Their Flying Machines, Mary Poppins, Lt. Robinson Crusoe USN (another Disney bomb), and the list goes on and on.

Only once do I remember a negative movie experience, and it was due to circumstances beyond my control.

On our way to a John Wayne flick one afternoon, my grandmother backed over her beloved pet cat. We loved that cat and, though she was able to keep her composure, she could not console the three sobbing children in her back seat. We wailed all the way to the ticket office that day, the tears flowing right up until the opening cartoon. To this day, I still can't watch "Hatari" without getting choked up.

Two movie trips stand our as especially memorable experiences. On a cloudy January Sunday in 1966, the Koons and the Bernhardts piled into two cars and took the then long journey to the big city of Charlotte to watch "The Sound of Music" at the Carolina Theater.

This was a big deal, big enough that we even skipped church that day to do it. We rarely went to Charlotte in those days for anything, but The Sound of Music wasn't just "anything". It played at that theater for well over a year beginning at the latter part of 1965, and you even had to make reservations to see it. Families made time to see it, something they just don't do these days.

I remember that I wasn't particularly pumped up about the story line until I realized it took place at the beginning of World War II, and was loaded full of the same Nazis I watched on TV Tuesday nights in the war drama "Combat". I was hooked, and I've been a huge fan of the film since. I still tense up when the Von Trapps are hiding behind the tombstones in the abbey graveyard, hoping those nasty Nazis won't find them.

Later the same winter, I spent the better part of an afternoon watching one of my all time favorites 'The Ghost and Mr. Chicken" with Don Knotts. It was Knotts' first cinematic effort after leaving The Andy Griffith Show, and his best as far as I'm concerned.

It also aged well. It plays regularly in the Bernhardt household, and my daughter loves it. That creepy organ music still sends chills up my spine.

I wish movies today made me feel the way they did back then. As I said, I still go, but most of the magic is just a memory. To me, it's not a matter of the quality of the films; many of today's films are wonderful. Maybe it's the experience of going to the movies that has lost its shine. We seem to have forgotten how to be an audience these days, and are easily distracted by our surroundings: cell phones, blackberrys...our technical toys. I was reminiscing with a friend recently about how audiences would cheer as soon as the Warner Brothers logo lit up the screen for the first cartoon.

I yearn for the days when it was just me, a darkened theater, and a Coke and box of Raisinettes. I'll pay for that anytime.

Salisbury's Capitol Theater in the 1940s

The Capitol in the mid 70s

(Photo taken in 1978, just before The Capitol Theater was demolished)

Sorry Seems to Be the Hardest Word

2010-03-21T15:07:00.002-04:00

We've all done it. We've uttered words and committed deeds that display our worst behavior.

Most of the time, we know we're doing it as we do it. We just can't seem to help ourselves. Like Red Skelton's Mean Wittle Kid, "if I do'd it, I get intro trouble. I do'd it anyway."

For example, see the battery powered car I'm playing with in the picture to the left? About a year later, I took a hammer and bashed that car into oblivion, just to see how it would look wrecked. My twisted logic told me I could straighten it out before my dad found out. I was wrong.

Then, because we have a conscience, comes the eventual apology.

We have a hard time apologizing. It's our flaw as a people, and a flaw I discovered in myself at an early age.

It was 1964, and I was in the third grade at Faith Elementary School. One day, in between a quick game of dodgeball and swapping Beatles cards at recess, the entire class was summoned from the playground and ordered to sit quietly while our teacher, Mrs. Barringer, had a few words with us.

It seems there had been a rather large violation of class policy that needed our immediate attention. Someone had stuck chewed chewing gum to the classroom wall.

Mrs. Barringer, not one to be trifled with, pointed to it. It was still there. She wanted to know who the culprit was, and she wanted to know now.

Quiet as monks, we sat there and looking confused and innocent. (Hey, look at me in the picture on the right. Who would blame that guy?) Then the other shoe fell.

None of us would enjoy another moment of recess until the guilty party came forward.

Ouch. Recess was our moment of freedom in an otherwise oppressed existence. To lose recess was to lose a basic necessity of student life. Suddenly, the whole class wanted to know which yellow-bellied commie among us was responsible for this dastardly deed.

It took no time at all for fingers to point and rumors to fly. At the top of the list of potential suspects was a guy in our class named Jackie. Jackie wasn't the sharpest knife in the drawer, making him an easy target for blame. Soon, there were even witnesses who had seen Jackie place the gum on the wall.

I remember poor Jackie's tears of denial, but it was too late. Mob rule had taken over and we had our scapegoat.

The very next day, Mrs. Barringer in a startling announcement, revealed that the culprit had been apprehended. She caught someone on the janitorial staff red handed doing the very same thing again.

She was apologetic to the class, yet rightfully troubled that we had all rushed to hang one of our own. She ordered each one of us to march over to Jackie and apologize. Though I was embarrassed by my guilt, my apology was shallow and forced considering the damage I had helped to inflict on poor Jackie.

I still bear some of the shame of that day, but I learned something important about apologies. Only in sincerity do they mean anything at all.

I hope Jackie was able to get past this regrettable moment in his life. And I hope that someday, I can pass a pack of gum without feeling guilty.

Clothes Make the Man

2010-02-12T15:21:00.002-05:00

I'll start by re-running this picture from an earlier post to make a point: I'm not the dapper dresser I once was. Look at that little guy. What I lacked in hair, I made up for in style.

I recently learned a secret about this outfit. I had apparently just appeared in a kids fashion show somewhere, and we got to keep the outfit. Though I have no memory of it, that solves a big mystery. I never believed for a minute that my parents bought this off the rack at Zimmerman's.

I choose clothes based on comfort more than style these days. Sometime in the 90s, I began to realize that I was slowly falling out of step with the fashion world, and my daughter recently confirmed my worst fears. I will never be featured on the cover of "Vogue", unless they're doing an article on "What Not to Wear", she says.

Fashion is a state of mind anyway.

Think about it. We thought we looked great in the mid-1970s in our colorful leisure suits, mainly because everyone was wearing them. It's only through the eyes of time that we realize that we, in reality, looked like Gomer and Goober at the Mayberry spring dance.

Still, that didn't stop us from trying. So I humbly submit examples of our efforts through the years to climb the fashion mountain without stumbling to our death.

Brother Mike is shown above readying himself for the 1971 East Rowan Junior-Senior prom while Kent, who will not be attending, clowns in the background. In the 1970s, all rented tuxedos came with ruffled shirts. I can't imagine wearing one today, but we seemed to prefer them at the time. Dad is giving Mike the once over with a whisk broom.

Remember whisk brooms? Everyone had at least one. It's how you got cat hair off of your pants in the old days. These days, we just get rid of the cats. Problem solved.

Nan Ludwig (Jansson) is shown at left with her date Donnie somebody posing for the paparazzi just before the same prom. Simple yet elegant, she could get away with that dress today.

Remember, the 70s were colorful years. After all, we were all rushing down to Beck's TV and Appliance (or sneaking out of town to City Furniture) to buy color TVs... and dang it, life was supposed to be colorful.

Gone were the starchy white shirts and skinny black Rob Petrie ties. We men wanted big, bold, colorful ties. And the wider the better. I wore ties in the seventies that looked like they were on steroids.

Below is a perfect example of our fashion metamorphosis. This picture of mom and dad was taken sometime in the winter of 1966.

Note the conservative feel of everything...right down to the hairstyles. Longer hair in 1966 made a radical statement that no true Faithian wanted any part of. At least, not quite yet.

And then, a mere ten years later:

Even these two were caught up in the seventies. The thing I find most remarkable about this picture is my dad's "longer" hair. I never thought back then that I'd live to see my dad with hair over his ears. Not after all those lectures about looking like a "radical hippie". I once remarked about his longer hair. He smiled and said something about "having to save money on haircuts to pay for our education."

Now back to color and the scourge of 70s fashion, the leisure suit. Leisure suits were our way of looking cool and turned on to the 70s. They emerged suddenly around 1975 and caught men in their death grip until late 1977, when we finally decided that we really DID look goofy in them and went back to coats and ties. At right is a shocking example of a shirt you might actually wear with a leisure suit.

I will now pause while an appropriate Bee Gees song plays in your head.

I can't laugh at Mike. I had one that looked like someone threw up on me. It was orange-ish yellow with patches of brown, black, gold, and lord only knows what other colors.

And then for summer wear, someone actually came out with a leisure suit with a short-sleeved coat. Short-sleeved! To add insult to injury, it was sort of a pale green. What were we thinking!

But I knew even then, if we could survive the bug spray truck, we could survive 1970s fashions. And we did. I'm not sure how, but we did.

You're From Faith If...(Part Two)

2010-01-30T17:12:00.002-05:00

Last year about this time, I published my annual list called "You're From Faith If"....my compilation of memories unique to our little town. Since every trip back produces new memories, I humbly submit this year's entries.

You're from Faith if...the picture on the left conjures up a million memories of school days gone by; teachers, classmates, school lunches, bullies....they all come back when I see this building. Long may it stand.

You're from Faith if...You ever boarded that rickety old Faith Jaycee bus for a trip to Blue Waters Pool...or anywhere, for that matter. Assembled and approved by Henry Ford himself, it boasted an engine cabable of drowning out the loudest conversation; the ability to go from zero to 45 in about an hour and 24 minutes; and brakes that occasionally worked. Still, it had its charm, and I miss it. Every trip began with the search for the town resident who had the keys last.

You miss two smells: The smell of the barbeque pits the entire week of the 4th of July activities, and the smell of burning leaves from almost every household yard in the fall.

You're from Faith if you were ever awakened at 2am on Christmas morning by the sounds of Christmas carols sung by the Ludwig family and friends (pictured above in 1983). Most people would call the police today, but we looked forward to it back then. They were good. They could put the Lennon Sisters to shame. I was proud to accompany the group on several occasions, the last being our "reunion tour" in 1999.

If you have even an ounce of Peeler blood in you. And you probably do. At right are the unforgettable Peeler sisters, including my grandmother in the middle of the back row.

You're from Faith if you never worried about summer thunderstorms while you were away from home because you knew your neighbor would rush over and take in your laundry hanging on the clothesline for you. (There I go on clotheslines again.)

Another thing about summer thunderstorms: We looked forward to them. They were cooling and refreshing in the days before air conditioning. We would sit on our porches and enjoy them. Now, TV meterologists warn us about them like they were an approaching Russian army, and we dive for cover.

You're from Faith if a little league ball game at the Faith ballpark was a pretty good late day's entertainment. I can still hear Frank Kluttz screaming at the umpire at almost every game. And the sack race (pictured below from 1971) was one of the highlights of the Faith Fourth celebration.

You're from Faith if your car was ever pelted by snowballs from mysterious kids hiding behind those huge granite rocks in the Koon yard on Main Street. I'm not saying I was one of them until I'm absolutely sure the statute of limitations has run out.

You looked forward to Communion, because that was the one time you got a taste of Pop Peeler's homemade "scuppydine" wine. It probably didn't have much actual alcohol in it, but more than a few of us new confirmands licked the bottom of the little glass clean. My sister says she still does.

Your family would make a special trip over to the cemetery just to see someone's new headstone.

You're from Faith if you were jealous of the Lawson McCombs back yard. Lush green grass divided by a small meandering stream. It's shaded beauty still stands as one of my most vivid childhood memories. I took many a trip home from school using that yard as a shortcut. I wonder if Steve McCombs would let me go over there and just sit for a while some spring afternoon?

You're from Faith if you visited a neighbor's house when they got a new TV just to finally see the NBC peacock in color.

You're from Faith if you were taken to the big city of Salisbury for one of three reasons: To buy school clothes from Zimmerman's or Belks (if they didn't have it, it didn't exist); to see the incredible display of Christmas lights that graced the downtown; and, on rare occasions, to eat out. And eating out was done at a fish camp or barbeque joint. Period. Fried flounder and barbeque make up two of the four food groups as far as Faithians are concerned.

And once again, you're from Faith if: You'd give up the next year of your life to go back and experience most of these things again

The Methodist In Me

2010-01-07T13:19:00.001-05:00

I was a faithful member of Shiloh United Church of Christ in Faith from my earliest moments here on earth until the early part of 1995. At that time, I left Shiloh to become a member of Milford Hills United Methodist Church in Salisbury.

It was a friendly parting, but long overdue. Let me explain.

I married in 1985, but my wife and I had trouble agreeing on a new church home. It was a cordial dispute that would last almost ten years.

Cindy had grown up a Baptist, attending a small Baptist church in Spencer. At the time of our marriage, we had agreed that we would most likely attend services at a Baptist fellowship near our home in the Milford Hills area that, upon first glance, we both found appealing. It was less conservative than the church she was used to and certainly more conservative than the United Church of Christ, but appeared to be a good compromise.

Unfortunately, the congregation at our chosen church was going through a trying time. We were never quite sure what the dispute was about, but it was clear that it was ripping the congregation apart. We were actually advised by members of the church not to join at that time.

It was a strange set of circumstances, and we decided to continue our search.

We kept our minds and our hearts open, but for the moment, my wife decided to continue at her church in Spencer, and I remained at Shiloh. We both had deep roots and involvement in our respective congregations, but couldn't help but feel that we should eventually unite in one church.

Fast forward several years, and our daughter McKenna was now a big part of our lives. Still hoping to find common spiritual ground, we attended a barbeque dinner at Milford Hills Methodist, where we were introduced to the new Pastor, Mike Kurtz, and his wife Karen.

We clicked right away, and after attending services for a couple of Sundays, we knew we had finally found a church home. After some discussion and completion of the written exam, we joined the congregation the next month.

I'm kidding about the written exam. It was oral, as I recall.

It was painful to say goodbye to Shiloh church in Faith. The people who cared for me all of my life were there, but it was time to go, and I knew it. And I can honestly say that my transition to Methodisthood has been painless. I feel welcome and challenged in the Methodist church, and I think I have a relatively good understanding of the basics of the Methodist beliefs.

Here are a few things I have learned:

Methodists believe that no form of worship or church meeting should begin until coffee has been served. Large meetings must contain a covered dish dinner.

Methodists believe that air conditioning is no longer a sin. They do believe, however, that you get into a gray area if it is turned on too early on a warm Sunday morning. And it is never to be used during church meetings.

Methodists believe that polite applause is now an acceptable means of expressing approval of a musical performance during a church service, though simply smiling and nodding your head is still preferred by many members.

Methodists believe that the spreading of church gossip is unacceptable and should be frowned upon as often as possible.

Methodists believe that, during the passing of the peace, worshippers should venture no more than two rows from their assigned seats. Also, the passing of the peace is to end promptly on the organist's music cue. No exceptions.

Methodists believe that the Bible is the total and complete word of God. Some of the more liberal Methodists, however, believe that early episodes of Star Trek offer subtle divine insight as well.

Unlike Baptists, Methodists believe that dancing is acceptable. They do not, however, do it well.

Methodist choirs believe in diligent practice on Wednesday nights, and group prayer just before entering the sanctuary on Sunday, as if that will help.

If you are sick, Methodists will pray for you and shower your family with wonderful home cooked food, which your family will eat in front of you until you are well enough to throw away the leftovers and scrub and return the casserole dishes yourself.

And finally, Methodists believe that every effort should be made to attend services regularly, and that there is no real reason to miss church on Sunday, even on the west coast where NFL games start earlier.

I believe these to be the basics of our faith, but remember...I've only been a Methodist for 15 years, so I'm still learning.

Steve Kluttz snaps a Polaroid of me at church camp in 1969

Oh Not-So-Holy Night

2009-12-07T13:47:00.008-05:00

The Christmases of my childhood are still vivid memories to me.

I can honestly tell you more about my Christmas of 1966 than I can my Christmas of 2006, and I'm sure it has something to do with the cobwebs in the short-term memory part of my brain vs. the cobwebs in the long-term portion. Or maybe it has something to do with the importance I place on memories of the past, I'm not sure.

Sometimes I can close my eyes, and if I try hard enough, I can remember even the smells and sounds of Christmases past.

I can almost taste the turkey carefully carved by my grandfather, smell the pumpkin pie that just came out of the oven, and hear the coffee perculator in the kitchen as it prepared another pot of the coffee I would pour to dunk my freshly baked chocolate chip cookie in.

Try it sometime...though not when you're driving.

Included in those memories are the sounds of Christmas music that would fill the air, not only at home but in church on Christmas Eve.

Our choir would usually prepare and perform a cantata at the Christmas Eve service, but as the years passed and families tended to travel more, it became more difficult to do. Still, there was always special Christmas music, and for a while it fell to me to perform a personal favorite, "Oh Holy Night".

I was told that I performed the holiday favorite well, so I was usually happy to do it. I aimed for the "Andy Williams" feel, not so much the Robert Merrill sound whenever I sang it, and if I didn't try to go for the high note on "...Oh Night Di-VINE", I could usually pull it off.

On Christmas Eve of 1980, I was feeling particularly bold and decided that night, I was going to shoot the works. My voice was in good shape for that time of the year, and it was time to show the congregation what I had been hiding all these years.

Our choir director at the time was a wonderful young woman named Susan Owens, and Susan was a lot of fun. She had a way of inspiring confidence in singers, though I think she served our choir less than a year before moving away.

Susan was also serving as the organist on that fateful Christmas Eve. I suppose the regular organist, Gaynelle Julian, was out of town or perhaps under the weather.

Everything was rolling along normally during the service, and the time for my solo (and communion) had come. I stood confidently by the organ as Susan began to play.

And then, the unthinkable happened.

Someone in the back of the church, on super-secret orders from the pastor, decided to turn out all of the lights in the sanctuary leaving only the lighted Christmas tree for dramatic effect. Visually, it was a lovely effect, but no one had told Susan.

I suppose the thinking was that Susan would have a lamp on the organ to illuminate her music. If such a lamp existed, it certainly wasn't plugged in.

So for the next three-and-a-half minutes, the congregation was treated to a strange, almost comical performance by a soloist who couldn't see his words and an organist who couldn't see her notes. To make matters worse, no one thought to turn our lights back on. They just watched in horror, as one would watch a train wreck.

Now, the icing on the cake. At the end of this eerie little tune, I reached up and grabbed that final high note in a desperate attempt to recover a shred of my dignity. It too slapped me in the face and knocked me back down to reality. I sounded like Green Acres' Mr. Haney with a head cold.

It was certainly no "night divine", but it still stands as one of the most eventful performances of my life. To this day, I call the song "Oy Holy Night".

Susan would continue as our choir director for a short time. The following spring, she would also direct the music for one of the worst shows I ever appeared in, a local production of Camelot. It too was so bad, the dog cast as Pellinore's constant companion ran away the night before the final performance and was never seen again. We had to use someone's French poodle for the final show.

I think I'm beginning to understand why Susan left town. Merry Christmas, everyone.

Clotheslines

2009-10-27T17:22:00.006-04:00

I marvel at how life changes so quickly, and how many things we took for granted thirty to forty years ago have simply vanished from the landscape of America.

Think about it. In the 1960s, we bought motorized TV antennas, and with the turn of a knob, the antenna on our roof rotated in the direction of our choice to give us better reception. It was a modern technological miracle. Then one day, we invited a company to string cable into our homes, and the "miracle" headed for the landfill.

I suppose they still make motorized TV antennas today, but as far as I'm concerned, they don't exist anymore.

I recently found myself grieving the loss of the clothesline; a simple 20 to 30 foot strand of wire strung from a couple of poles (or even trees) where you would hang freshly laundered clothes in the sun for all to see and appreciate.

A friend mentioned heading out to the clothesline on her Facebook page, and I felt a nostalgic rush.

I haven't had a clothesline for more than ten years now. The tree from which my line hung died and eventually fell apart in my back yard.

I never bothered to replace it. My clothes dryer does all the work these days.

Still, I miss the clothesline at my parents house; three lines hanging from two metal t-shaped poles. For many years, every stitch of Bernhardt clothing dried on those lines, right down to my Hanes briefs.

Come to think of it, I was always a little embarassed when I would look outside and observe my Hanes flapping in the breeze. What if a girl came over? Would she laugh and tell her friends that I wore tidy-whities? Think of the shame!

Still, nothing...but nothing...can replace the smell of laundry dried in the Carolina sunshine. And we all remember the mad dash into a rainstorm to retrieve nearly dry laundry before it got soaked by a cloudburst. I could take in three lines of laundry in record time when pressed to do so.

What I miss most about clotheslines are the moments of togetherness they produced. You'd spot your neighbor at their clothesline and pop over to say hello and catch up on the latest community news. Now, we stay huddled up in our homes watching TV waiting for the dryer buzzer to sound.

I also miss clothespins...though I still keep a few around to seal potato chip bags. It seems like quite a demotion for a once essential household item.

What I miss least is the clothesline in the Koon backyard that nearly killed me one Sunday afternoon when I went for a long pass during a game of neighborhood football. I dropped the pass, but still got "clotheslined" by the clothesline.

Clotheslines. I hope you still have yours. Cherish it, lest you one day find it on your list of simple pleasures that have vanished forever.

The Choir

2009-09-20T12:14:00.022-04:00

On "The Andy Griffith Show", Barney was given a choral solo that was clearly out of his league as a singer. Andy solved the problem by placing Barney in front of a "special microphone" where he would barely have to even make a sound, while in reality, a well trained bass voice hidden backstage would do the actual singing.

The result was a comedy classic.

Such scenerios exist only in the pages of well written TV scripts, but I can tell you from experience in my days as a choir member, they aren't too far from the truth.

I have spent much of my life singing in choirs, joining the Shiloh UCC Singing Juniors when I was a lad of but six. In those days, we were strong in numbers because virtually every mom in the community banded together to force their children into the choir. Choir practice was one hour of the week they didn't have to watch or worry about us, and by gum...we were going to be there.

Besides, it was a good thing to sing God's glory...tone deaf or not.

Above is a photo of the Singing Juniors taken in the summer of 1967 just before some of us moved up to the Youth Choir. I find it interesting that we were singing two part harmony at such an early age. That's almost unheard of in children's choirs today. I was an alto, and with the help of Director Mary Ellen McCombs and pianist Sue Teague, we picked out the harmony in every song we sang. Stop me on the street sometime and I'll give you the entire alto line from "Be Thou My Vision". I can still do it, though it's an octave lower these days.

I suppose I'm remembering the choir today because of some news I received yesterday: After sixty-five years of singing in a choir, my mom is hanging up her robe for the last time.

I'm stunned. I didn't think I'd live to hear that news. That's the sports equivalent of hearing that Mickey Mantle is leaving baseball. That's big....BIG.

She is older now and having difficulty getting her breath from time to time. She had also grown concerned that she doesn't sound as good these days.

She's not alone. Someone once asked singer Andy Williams if he still sounds as good as he ever did. "Heavens no", he replied. "I peaked somewhere between 35 and 40. It's been downhill since then." Don't worry, Andy. Your downhill is still better than my peak.

She's been in a choir since she was twelve, hopping from east coast to west as a Navy brat. And for many years (I'm guessing from the early 60s to the late 70s), she directed Shiloh's adult choir. She's shown at left in a 1967 church directory photo.

And let me tell you, she poured her whole being into that choir.

Wednesday night was sacred at our house...that was choir practice night. We three kids can tell you that blood would have to flow from at least two appendages before you were allowed to miss it. I never saw an episode of "Lost in Space" until summer reruns because of CP, and the Wednesday night edition of "Batman"....forget it.

She loves choral music with all her heart. It's her gift, and it makes her feel closer to God.

She recruited voices for the choir with the same zeal that Dean Smith recruited basketball talent for the Tarheels. The first record we bought for our new record player in the early 60s was an album by The Mormon Tabernacle Choir. She listened to it over and over until I left it in on the turntable in direct sunlight one day and it warped. She replaced it.

Above is a photo of the Adult Choir in 1990.

I have to admit, I have inherited my mom's love of choral music, and I sing today in the Milford Hills UMC choir in Salisbury. I'm less faithful with my choir practice attendance these days, but come Sunday, if I'm in church, I'm going to be there. It's in my blood.

I like to close my eyes sometimes and listen as my mind plays back the sound of the adult choir back then. The wonderful bass voice in the back, the tenors who sometimes had to reach up and grab those high notes, the tiny little woman with the operatic voice, and that lone soprano who would grab ahold of that high note every time and then squeeeeezze it till it wiggled.

I've come to realize that choirs teach us a lot. Like a sports team, we each bring our individual talent to the roster. We learn to blend together and support each other, each voice doing its part. When we do well, we might actually hear a good loud "Amen" from someone we touched, and when we crash and burn (as we did last Sunday), we all go down together. Hey, we'll get it right next Sunday.

I've also learned that having the perfect voice isn't necessary at all. Church choirs should never be perfect. The dents and dings are part of God's reminder that we come to Him just as we are;
a little off-key at times, but still loved.

As for mom...I wouldn't bet that she'll never show up in the choir from time to time for a funeral or something. And since she's sitting in the congregation these days, don't be surprised if she scouts you out as the next choir member to replace her.

She may not sing as much, but she's still got a good ear for talent.

(The 1996 Shiloh Choir)

Heroes

2009-09-07T10:59:00.016-04:00

The recent death of Walter Cronkite had me thinking a lot about heroes.

Cronkite was widely regarded as a hero of American journalism. "Uncle Walt" was with us in our living rooms when Kennedy was assassinated, when we struggled in Vietnam, and when man walked on the moon.

These events were real and personal because Walt explained them to us. When Kennedy died, Walt even choked back tears, as a beloved grandfather would do.

We all need heroes, and sometimes, they're found in unusual places. More on that in a moment.

In 1972, The Salisbury Post visited Faith to ask a simple poll question: "What American do you admire most?" It was part of a regular feature of the newspaper where a reporter would approach a regular citizen on the street and ask some sort of survey question, write down your answer, and then have a photographer take your picture.

I participated in one of these at the Towne Mall once, only then the question was "Is there too much sports on television?" I remember muttering some idiocy like "well, some people think so, but I guess not" or some generic blather. Hey, I was barely 18 and they really caught me off guard, not to mention that my picture turned out terrible.

But in the Faith Barber Shop in 1972, a few of Faith's finest citizens had pretty good answers. Here are a few:

Gideon Misenheimer, U.S. Navy, retired (my Grandfather): "Eisenhower. He was quite a leader."

John Bruce, employee of McCombs and Company Grocery in Faith: "Brian Piccolo. He just faced death in a courageous way, plus the way he got along in race relations."

Ray McCombs, owner of McCombs and Company grocery: Eisenhower, for different reasons. He was wise in his decisions."

Bryce Ludwig, Faith Cleaners: "My dad, simply because of his honesty."

Paul Huneycutt: My daddy. It takes a pretty good man to raise seven kids honestly. And now it's my job to raise mine up. I got nine."

Those were just the random responses of some members of our town one bright sunny day in 1972. They probably represented the opinions of a lot of Americans of the day.

Having had 37 years to think it over, I've realized something important about heroes. They're found all around us. And they're not always the people that you find on television, or the ball park, or on a concert stage, or even in the military.

You see, the people who answered this question in 1972 didn't know it, but they were busy being my heroes right then.

They were living lives of service to their fellow men in a small North Carolina town, reaching out in times of need to their neighbors and even strangers. I saw it in their everyday conduct countless times growing up, and it still inspires me today.

So when you really think about it, what more should a real hero be?

The Woods

2009-07-07T16:27:00.020-04:00

The 1960s in Faith were, for the most part, tranquil times.

We were certainly aware of the world's problems; missles in Cuba, civil rights, Vietnam. They greeted us on the front page of our newspapers each day. But somehow, outside of living lives of example and praying for our leaders to make the right choices, we knew there was little we could do except carry on the best we could.

Nevertheless, as a child, I knew fear. But my fears were not borne of world events. They were fears closer to home; the fear of losing a loved one, of being forced to move away, or worse yet, the fear of what was really going on in the woods behind my house.

I had long been somewhat afraid of those woods, especially at night. The trees seemed to stretch for an infinity, growing darker by the inch. At times, the wind would whistle through those pines creating an eerie moan, especially during the winter months.

I would dream about those woods. Once, my dreams found me running away from the woods, fleeing the mechanical sounding growl of a huge monster that wouldn't be satisfied until it had consumed me.

The harder I ran, the slower I ran and the less progress I made. I hated dreams like that, and would usually wake up screaming.

Those same woods had also been my friend. They were the perfect cover for long games of "Army". Some of the trees could be easily climbed, and good for sniper fire.

I also once solved an educational woe in those woods.

My second grade class had performed poorly on a pop quiz about vowels, so much so that the teacher required us all to take our failing papers home to our parents to have them signed and returned.

With that "E" glaring at me in big red ink, the thought of my parent's reaction made me shudder, so in my mind there was only one course of action. That paper would have to disappear. I would much rather explain the lost document to Mrs. Jordan than explain the failing grade to my parents.

So, into the woods I went, deep enough to vanish from sight, but not so deep as to be able to manage a quick escape should the monster who tried to eat me in my dreams reappear.

I dug a hole with my bare hands and planted the offending paper in the soil, hastily covering it forever. I even carefully arranged the pine needles over the loose dirt, removing any evidence of disturbed earth. My work was flawless.

Out of the woods I came, confident that my deed would go completely undiscovered.

I enjoyed my dinner that evening, thinking mockingly of my less creative classmates who were surely at that moment being reamed by their parents for their poor test scores.

I climbed into bed that evening, certain that I would peacefully sleep the night away. But that was not to be.

My sleep was labored, and I awakened many times troubled by my cowardice and dishonesty. I was ashamed at what I had done, and regretted not facing my parents with the truth of my failure. I longed to retrieve the paper from the woods, but couldn't summon the courage to attempt such a feat. Woe was me.

I'd like to tell you that I awakened at the crack of dawn, made my way through the tall pine trees, and retrieved the document for my parents to see, but there's no point in lying now.

As far as I know, the remnants of that paper are still buried there today. Only now, they're not part of a lush green forest, they're part of Leigh Ann and Clyde's back yard.

You see, in 1989, Hurricane Hugo saw fit to remove my childhood playground/fear from the earth, and only a small portion of those woods exist today. As frightening as they could be to me at times, I miss them.

As for my fears...well, the simple ones from my childhood have been replaced by the larger troubles of adulthood: money, health, world troubles...you know, the usual stuff.

Still, I do having one recurring nightmare from the past. I'm asleep in my parents' house and there's a knock at the door. Dad answers it, and standing on the lighted porch is an elderly monster holding a test paper....

I Love a Parade

2009-07-01T13:11:00.009-04:00

Since many of you won't get to return home for this year's Faith Fourth of July festivities, it's only fitting that we stage a parade just for you. You'll have to imagine the smell of barbeque and cotton candy yourself, and I'll bet you can conjure up the sounds of the rides, bands, and fireworks if you try. And don't forget, click on the individual pictures for larger views.

These shots are from the 1966 Faith Fourth of July parade. I remember this celebration the best, largely due to these photos which dad took with his brand new Kodak instamatic camera. That camera snapped many a picture through the years, until it was replaced sometime in the early eighties.

The floats seemed a little more elaborate in those days, and many were homemade. All you needed was a flatbed trailer, a lot of crepe paper, and your imagination...not to mention a good strong bumper to hook it all to.

This float is even wired for sound, as many were through the years. The parade ran just under an hour in those days, which was a good length. Based on my philosophy of "Always leave 'em wanting more", I think it's a bit bloated these days. It usually takes an hour and a half to move the parade through town now, leaving the hairdo on even the coolest beauty queen somewhat wilted. Hairsprays aren't what they used to be, you know.

Two things stand out in the above picture. First, you saw more people in costume or dressed in their finest in those days. Things are a bit more casual now. Secondly, I love looking at the cars pulling the floats and realizing that, while you'd only see these vehicles in a vintage car show today, they were someone's street vehicle, not to mention their pride and joy back then.

Finally, Pepsi making its presence known at the parade. Local companies have always sponsored floats through the years. Displaying your logo in front of thirty thousand people is never a bad idea.

Wherever you are, enjoy your Independence Day celebration. If you'd like to browse through more memories, check some of my archive pages, "The Fabulous Fourth" and "Some Final Faith Fourth Pictures". And enjoy the photo album of this year's Faith Fourth of July celebration below:

I Only Know I Swell With Pride

2009-06-18T11:47:00.013-04:00

It's just about Faith Fourth time again, and deep within the vaults, I've unearthed a few more long forgotten photos of this special event. A few, like the one above, were faded with age and required some digital trickery to restore them to their former glory.

If this were "Smell-O-Blog", you'd be enjoying the aroma of fresh pit-cooked barbeque about now. The above photo was snapped in 1984 on the steps of Shiloh Reformed Church (as it's known now), and I find it interesting because, not only do you get a sense of the crowd that lines the streets for the 10am parade, but you get a nostalgic view of the Ray Lyerly home across the street, a mere two years before it was torn down to make room for Faith Diagnostic Center. I well remember the awning that hung over the front porch.

In the same parade was a float that brings back a slightly unpleasant memory. The large Rowan County cutout was the promotional vehicle of former Salisbury Mayor Don Weinhold who ran for a North Carolina House seat that year. I don't recall whether or not he won, but I well remember the Christmas Day that he, his wife, and at least one child died in a plane crash in eastern North Carolina on their way to visit relatives. Rowan County was a sad place that holiday season in 1991.

Rewind about 11 years, and it's 1973 with an appearance by Jim Holshouser, North Carolina Governor at the time. The Faith Fourth is supposedly the largest Independence Day Celebration in the Southeast, and big political names flock to the event each year. Phil Kirk is riding in the front passenger seat.

I vaguely knew Linda Fesperman, the beauty queen in this picture, but the driver is Kin Fogner, who ran Kin's Florist in Faith for a short time before moving the business to Salisbury.

Fresh out of East Rowan was Joy Drew, a classmate of mine who was the Miller-Russell representative for Miss Rowan County Veteran that year. Joy was one of my best friends in junior high and high school, though sadly I haven't seen much of her since.

Above, Leigh Ann dives for cover into the shoulder of her friend Rhonda Watts on the 1973 Faith Lutheran Church float. I'm assuming it was a "Children Around the World" theme, and I think she was supposed to represent an exotic Hawaiian beauty. Though a nice effort, that float will never match the one from 1962, pictured below. Ah yes...that dark day when I was forced by my mother to wear some lipstick to give the illusion that I actually had lips.

I've saved my favorite for last. Sporting one of the wide ties of the day, George Cannon leads the East Rowan Marching Mustangs through the streets of Faith. He would later use most of the fabric in that tie to cover a couch.

Happy Fourth, everyone!

There's a Brand New Baby at Our House

2009-05-17T19:55:00.007-04:00

"There's a Brand New Baby at Our House". I seem to remember Desi Arnaz singing that years ago, either on the "I Love Lucy" show, or in a long forgotten recording. No news produced more joy in a small town like Faith than the news of a new baby. You could count on people showing up at your door from near and far to "see the baby". Above, Leigh Ann, just a few months old, frolics on a homemade baby blanket. She seems startled by the sight of her first flash bulb.

Mike stops by for a quick photo op with the new baby before heading out to play golf.

We've seen three pictures of Leigh Ann now, and she has roughly the same look on her face in each one.

It's funny what you remember when you see old photos for the first time in a long time. I well remember that photograph of mom's childhood friend Maxine that used to sit on the den shelf before we made room for an entire set of World Book Encyclopedias. A shelf or two up was a book called "The Book of Health" that had graphic pictures of various diseases. Somewhere in there was a picture of a fat lady with no eyes that used to scare the crap out of me.

I love this picture of Bub feeding Leigh Ann. He was on the road a lot in those days playing baseball. I miss that guy. There was always a lot of laughter in the house when he was around.

Grandmother does her turn at chow duty. She could feed you while mopping the kitchen floor if she wanted to.

See the teapot in the lower left? I broke it one day, and I'm pretty sure I pinned it on Mike. Before you get too mad at me, just remember...he pinned enough stuff on me through the years to make up for it many times. It's what brothers are for.

Off to the Beach - 1970

2009-04-16T13:33:00.003-04:00

It's hard to remember a time when vacation time didn't mean a beach trip to me. It seems we sweated and toiled all year long just to arrive at that one week when we packed our lives into a small group of cars and headed four hours down the road to the Myrtle Beach area.

There, for seven solid days, life was full of the smell of salt air and suntan lotion (there was no sun screen yet or even a need for it as far as we knew) and our hectic pace slowed to a crawl.

Such was the case in July of 1970 when these pictures were taken. Bernhardts, Misenheimers, a Mickle, and a McCombs loaded our cars with a week's supply of clothes and food, and set our course for Cherry Grove Beach.
Unlike previous trips, we elected to stay in a house on the channel this time out, and would continue that tradition for years to come. Beachfront homes had become a little too expensive, and many were beginning to give way to condominiums that would soon render them extinct. Besides, on the channel it was quieter, and the fishing was better. That's me in the above photo, and I doubt I could fit more than one leg in those pants today.

Meals were elaborate mixtures of fresh, home cooked food usually right out of our summer gardens. Eating out meant one trip to Calabash for seafood, usually near the end of the trip.

Baseball was still the national passtime in 1970...we had yet to become disillusioned by scandal and overpriced players. Virtually every young boy spent at least a part of his childhood playing Little League or Babe Ruth league ball. Above, Mike burns one in to a waiting Keith McCombs.
Leigh Ann was ten when this photo was snapped. On one such trip, she severely cut her leg during a swim the first day we arrived, and spent the rest of the week on dry land.
Newlyweds Phil and Brenda Bernhardt make use of the small Coca-Cola promotional raft we took on the trip that year. We had a lot of fun with that raft that summer, and frankly, I don't know how it survived the trip.
Keith McCombs joined us on three of these trips in the late 60s and early 70s. I remember lots of Sunday steak dinners at Keith's house during my childhood and our fun days at Faith Elementary. Hard to believe he recently retired from the NC Department of the Treasury after a long career.

Pictures That I Have Questions About

2009-03-26T15:10:00.004-04:00

A box of old photographs can contain as many questions as it does answers. Often, photos were take randomly with little explanation of what was going on at the time. We just view them for what they are, without knowing why they were taken.

The above photo is one of my favorites, but the question that comes to my mind is, "Why isn't grass that green anymore?" It's late on a summer afternoon, probably in the late 50s, so lighting may have something to do with it. But honestly, have you ever seen grass so green?

I also miss going virtually everywhere with no shirt on. I can't imagine doing that today, and you shouldn't either.

Birthday dinners: Here Leigh Ann can be seen blowing out the candles on her eighth birthday cake, which I'm sure was homemade and home decorated. My question is, why don't we do that anymore?

Today's birthday celebrations are rarely at home, and when they are, the cake is sure to be purchased at an area grocery store. In our lives of convenience, meals like this one have gone by the wayside forever. But what I wouldn't give for some of that fried chicken in that casserole dish.

Only one question here. Why was Phil hiding his face when it was those feet he should've been covering up?

This 1961 photo reminds us all that no child ever left the house without a hat on cold weather days. That, I believe, was at least a state law if not a federal one.

Failure to wear a hat would result in pneumonia at the very least, if not death. So we all wore them. My hat in this picture included the bonus feature of ear covers to ward away ear infections, and so did Leigh Ann's little white number, also pictured here. No germ could infiltrate those.

The question: What possessed mom to buy those pants?

Finally, this 1966 shot...taken in the back yard one Sunday morning just before church...is perplexing on a couple of levels.

First, I obviously had just shellacked my hair, necessary back then to get it to lay properly. It would be several months before I actually believed the phrase "a little dab will do ya".

Also, I don't understand why Mike had a coat and I didn't. Perhaps I was the lucky one, considering it was obviously a summer day.

And finally, I don't know why my finger drooped in that odd position just in front of my pants, but I'd like to state for the record here and now that it is indeed my finger...and that this photo is not recorded evidence of the first Faith flash.

Through Our Deepest Sorrows

2009-03-03T14:40:00.012-05:00

I have written in the Welcome to this blog about the great capacity of of the people of Faith to reach out during times of sorrow. It's true.

From the moment they're aware of a death in your family, they will come with casserole dishes full of their finest recipes to your home - people you don't even know well or haven't seen in years - and bestow their sincerest sympathies upon your family. I have been on the receiving end of this love, so I know.

Words may escape them or seem inadequate at the moment, but that platter of fried chicken is filled with all the love in their heart. People of Faith have to do something for you. It's their nature.

Faith has a big heart, and that heart beats strongest during times of sadness. After a death in the community, the visit to the funeral home isn't a requirement, but the people of Faith treat it that way. They'll travel from great distances and wait for hours to squeeze your hand for just a moment, and then quietly disappear into the night.

I have returned to Faith for many funerals through the years, usually choosing to assist the choir during the service. I'm a man who talks for a living, but strangely, I've never had the gift of knowing what to say to someone who has suffered a terrible loss. So I join other voices in the choir. The barber shop and the grocery store often closed for an hour or so just so Verne, Eugene, and Tom could slip on a choir robe for a local family.

The hardest of these moments occurs after the tragic death of a child. I recently ran across this newspaper account of the death of 4-year-old Ronna Miller during the late summer of 1947. Though it occurred before my time, it touched me as though I was standing there watching the tragedy unfold.

Ronna would be in her mid sixties today, but on a fateful afternoon in September of 1947, a terrible accident would take her from us.

I can picture a beautiful late summer afternoon, and hear the sounds of children's laughter as two young girls played in a yard near the street. I can hear the sudden sound of screeching tires and screams as the truck struck the two, mortally wounding one. I can picture neighbors rushing from all directions, the tears flowing as they tried in vain to help. And I can imagine the sorrow that gripped the entire community the next morning when it was announced that beautiful young Ronna had joined the angels in heaven.

Through it all though, God and the people of Faith were there. Helping, feeding, embracing the family in the spirit of love. It's what they do.

Those who remember the funeral say the children of the town marched down the street in a long line, each one bearing flowers.

Others in Faith have suffered similar losses...the Eugene McCombs family, the Bee Brown family, the Hatleys. They know the the unimaginable pain of the loss of a child.

It's a terrible cross to bear, and I hope I never know that kind of suffering. But if I do, there's one fact of which I can be sure.

The people of Faith will be there with me. They always have been.

My Funny Valentine

2009-02-04T13:16:00.015-05:00

I have always considered Valentine's Day one of the great mysteries of life. Cupid and I have a strange relationship.

As a result, I tend to fall into the category of people who believe that the biggest beneficiaries of Valentine's Day are the executives at Hallmark. You've probably noticed that they haven't requested any bailout money from Congress. They don't need it. Valentine's Day there is referred to as "that great come-and-get-it day".

My favorite valentines, Mom and Dad. She loved him here in spite of his helmet hair.

I'm not complaining. I have loved and been loved, and I know it. I'm thankful for the girls along the way who made me feel special, in spite of my feeble attempts to return that feeling. And I believe in my heart that such love should be shared throughout the year, not just on one special day.
Another of Faith's great couples, Dick and Ida Ruth Ludwig on the occasion of their 25th wedding anniversary in 1958

Valentine's Day at Faith Elementary School was easy for the most part. The acknowledgement of Cupid's presence was usually marked by a simple party at the end of the day with refreshments consisting of some kind of sugary sweet red punch and red velvet cake with white icing. We had that nearly every year, except for the one year that someone's mother forgot to bake the cake. Then, all we got was an apology and some stale candy.

During my fifth and sixth grade years when I was just beginning to notice young girls, Valentine's Day started to take on new meaning. Suddenly, some of the girls in my class were starting to look appealing, and except for Lori Miller who was the exclusive property of handsome Charles Cress, they were all up for grabs.

The little boxed Valentine cards that we signed, sealed in an envelope, and deposited on our classmates desks became a romantic tool, even a political force.

Just signing your name to one meant "Yeah, I know you're alive...Happy Valentine's Day." Signing your name with a short message meant "I think you're cute, and I'll get back to you if the girl I really like tells me to drop dead."

And signing your name to a longer, more thoughtful message was the equivalent of a Shakesperian love sonnet. It said "You are the lovliest of all of God's creatures, and I worship even the old chewing gum stuck to the underside of your desk. Please be mine for all time...or at least until Lori and Charles break up."

Prom night, 1973. My date is my high school sweetheart, Karen Puckett
Trouble is, I never graduated beyond the simple signature phase. For some reason, I found it incredibly difficult to go out on that limb and hang my feelings there for one special person to see.

What if she didn't feel the same way? What if she just started crying, or worse yet, laughing!

Oh sure, I did venture out once. I worshipped Cindy Bost from afar throughout my whole fifth grade year. She was a year older than me, had pearly white teeth, and was starting to develop.

She also thought I looked like Herman Munster. It wasn't quite a compliment, but it was all I had. I would even do the Herman Munster laugh for her when requested.

So on Valentine's Day 1966, young Miss Bost received a larger card from me that read "Happy Valentine's Day from Herman....huh, huh, huh."

That was the start of my downward romantic spiral, and probably explains why I spent part of my young adult life going to movies with my sister.

No wonder we wound up going to movies together
In subsequent years, I have enjoyed success mixed with failure. One valentine refused my gift of flowers, and chose that night to tell me that she had begun seeing someone else. Yet in other years, I have "romped through cupid's grove with great agility." There's simply no way to tell how this awkward day will turn out.

So here's to the true romantics out there who have unearthed the secret of this mysterious day known as Valentine's Day. As for me, I think I'll give my sister a call and see if she wants to catch a movie.

You Grew Up in Faith If...

2009-01-19T15:18:00.012-05:00

You got at least a first degree burn on that old metal sliding board they used to have in the Faith Park. You get bonus points if you were ever hit in the chin by the wooden see-saw. I was decked by that thing more than once.

You were frightened by the bug spray truck that used to creep down the streets at night in the summer spewing chemicals for all to breathe. It's a wonder we didn't grow additional fingers or something.

You fell into the Faith Park creek, like the young man on the left with the muddy rear. It wasn't my fault. Mike pushed me.

You rode in the back of an open pickup truck from Faith to Granite Quarry to play baseball in Little League. (I can't believe we ever did that. A dozens kids, all sitting around the outer rim of the pickup bed doing fifty-five on that curvy road. Yet we didn't think a thing of it, and neither apparently did our parents.)

You were ever moved to tears by an Everette Smith solo.

You thought watching the steam shoot out of the side of Bryce Ludwig's Faith Cleaners was a pretty good afternoon's entertainment.

Above, Leigh Ann demonstrates the proper way to hold a cat in Faith....by the neck.

You bought a stamp from Lawson McCombs at the Faith Post office.

You put a candy bar "on the bill" at McCombs and Company Grocery, even though you weren't really supposed to. (I can still see the look you'd get from Edith Hollifield as she wrote up the ticket.)

You wondered which of the three churches in town God liked best. (It was probably the Lutheran Church....they had the most impressive steeple.)

You wondered why they put a caution light in the middle of town. We had so little traffic then, it seemed like a waste of a good bulb.

You got beat up by Randy McCombs or Tony Clawson...two of the roughest roughnecks to ever hit town. If you're older, I'm sure you have your favorite bullies too.

You knew your mother's appointment day at Faith Beauty Shop. (Mom's was Saturday, and dad would pick her up promptly at noon.) Even the young ladies in town would make a weekly pilgrimmage there to get "old lady hair".

You ate your vegetables in the Faith School cafeteria, because two of the cafeteria ladies went to your church and they'd rat you out in no time to your parents if you didn't.

You were ever a King or Queen at the Faith School Halloween carnival. They'd make you collect money in a jar with your picture on it, and the boy and girl who collected the most would get the title. One year I was up for it, but waited too long to start going door to door. I collected some pitiful amount and didn't even get honorable mention. The winning boy had something like forty dollars, and I believe I finally came up with a buck seventy-five. It's still my great shame to this day.

You went to school the day (or days) after you were sick, and everybody knew what you had. Teachers would come up to you and say things like "I hope your diarrhea's better." "Yes ma'am...it is, thank you." Jeezzz.

The Faith Jaycees put that dang outhouse in your front yard until you signed up a new member.

You spied on teenage couples making out at the Faith quarry hole.

You swam in the Faith quarry hole. (That was a big no-no. They finally poured oil into it one year to keep local kids out. I kept thinking Randy McCombs would let some kids jump in and then set it on fire, just as a joke.)

You got shot at by that guy who sat on his front porch and blasted you with his empty air rifle as you drove out of town toward East Rowan. I can't remember his name, but I kept thinking that one day, it was gonna be loaded for business.

And you grew up in Faith if....right now you're reading things that you haven't thought of in years, and you'd move back there in a heartbeat just to experience some of them again.

Just Horsing Around

2009-01-08T15:23:00.001-05:00

Above is a picture of my mother...coming out of the bathroom sometime in the early 1960s.

With apologies to her, I wish to stress that I have not posted this marvelous photograph to embarass her in any way. I'm posting it to make a point.

Our family has a strange sense of humor.

I can picture my father standing outside the bathroom door with his 35mm camera, flashbulb loaded, waiting in anticipation for this magic moment.

He took several such pictures over the years. It was sort of a family joke. No one likes being photographed sleeping, eating, or emerging from the bathroom. That's what makes it fun.

And whenever we staged family slideshows, these shots were the hit of the party. "Here comes the queen, leaving the throne", he'd say, and everyone would enjoy a good laugh.

Here's another photo that delivered hoots through the years. I apparently was starteled while napping on my brother's bed, also sometime during the early 60s. I'm not sure how I was able to even fall asleep wearing those socks....they look like the feet sticking out from under Dorothy's house after it crash landed in Munchkin City. I can state confidently that this is the most embarrassing photo ever taken of me...but the day is still young.

We Bernhardts enjoy horsing around. It's our nature. We seem to find our best laughs in the most inappropriate circumstances; church for example. What laugh is enjoyed more than the laugh you aren't supposed to enjoy?

There are no pictures of Jesus laughing, but I like to imagine that he did. He was as human as you and I, so he must have found the humor that we all find in dealing with mankind each day. After he fed the five thousand with fish and loaves, don't you think there was at least one knucklehead who asked for some tartar sauce?

Humor picks its targets randomly. I was once standing in a line at a funeral home, preparing to view the body. As I approached the casket, I observed an elderly man standing over the body diligently clipping his fingernails. And his clippings were landing INSIDE the box. I'm sure he didn't mean anything by it. It was probably just a nervous habit. But there? And then?

I quickly darted for the exit, not because I was offended, but because I was about to explode in laughter. I couldn't believe what I had just seen. I was prepared for many things that night, but not that.

Here's a favorite photo of my dad. I don't know if you can tell it, but there's shaving cream in his ear. He had just been the victim of a classic Bernhardt prank, answering a phone after the earpiece had been filled with Gillette Super Foamy. We spiced up a few Saturday afternoons with that one.

And finally, an audio classic from 1969.

I had been given a cassette recorder as a gift the previous Christmas, and naturally, I was busy making candid recordings as fast as I could.

One rainy February day, dad called Mike into the laundry room to help him with some laundry he was removing from the dryer. We instructed Mike to either refuse to do what he wanted or give him some trouble about it, and then let the tape roll. Dad's reaction didn't disappoint. Give it a listen HERE.

God Bless Us Everyone!

2008-12-12T17:00:00.000-05:00

All of the love I have in my heart for good theater can be traced to this date: December 24, 1975.

It was on that night I fell in love with the stage.

Sure, I'd been in numerous productions in the past. In the second grade, I borrowed a pair of my grandmother's old glasses to play a grandpa who sang "Hush Little Baby" to a little kid. They had so little confidence in my vocal abilities, they just had me lip synch it to a record.

In the fourth grade, someone read a story about Johnny Appleseed while I stood with a group of kids who sang "Oh Johnny....Oh Johnny...how you can love". I didn't even know Johnny Appleseed had a love life. I wanted to be in the group of kids that yelled "Bang, Bang, Bang!" everytime he shot something.

And in high school, I dabbled in drama...appearing in a nice little piece called "The Hangin' at Cinnamon City". I played a character named "Lester Lightfoot" (insert your own joke here) who was henpecked and had to dress up as a woman to fool the villans. At 6 feet 2 inches tall and roughly 153 pounds (the exact dimensions of a good pencil), I was still a few years from playing a macho leading man type.

But in the fall of 1975, I was handpicked by Rev. James Peeler of Shiloh UCC to play Ebeneezer Scrooge in our church's noblest theatrical production to date: Charles Dicken's "A Christmas Carol". Rev. Peeler also hand selected himself to portray the Ghost of Christmas Present.

Below, Debbie Ritchie transforms me into the miserly central figure of the play. I'm not sure what was up with my hair back then...there was an awful lot of it for such a skinny face. If only I hadn't wasted it all during my youth.

It was an ambitious part; Scrooge is in virtually every scene and does most of the talking, so I was both challenged and honored. It was to be a first class production with lighting, makeup, costumes, and the works. I'm not sure why we chose to perform that particular play as a church play on Christmas Eve; Jesus doesn't even make a cameo appearance, but no matter...I was gonna be a star!

Somewhere in the mix of our dramatic troupe was Steven McCombs, the technical whiz of the congregation who we counted on for lighting and sound. Steven was not only smart, he was the type of smart that your parents want you to grow up to be, but sadly realize that you never will. He hand built his own dimmer switch...a large device that appeared to be built by Thomas Edison that served the church well for more than a generation. Steven could build anything.

Bill Retallick was Bob Cratchit. He was a natural. Bill is another Jonathan Winters, but doesn't know it. Tom Jones was Scrooge's nephew, Fred.

The play wasn't without its challenges though. My brother Mike was Jacob Marley, the eerie presence Scrooge encounters before meeting the three spirits. One word of advice...if you ever happen to direct a church play, don't put brothers on stage together. They spend most of their time fighting the urge to giggle, even if they're in their twenties. There was something about watching my brother rattle his chains that just broke me up.

Rev. Peeler, the Ghost of Christmas Present mentioned earlier, announced just before opening that he was far too busy to memorize his lines, so he was just going to "wing it". I can tell you from my years of theatrical experience that you never want to work with a guy who's just "winging it".

He not only changed lines, he composed entire new paragraphs of dialogue that surely had Dickens spinning in his grave. And it was all delivered with that same blank stare on his face that seemed to say "I have no idea where this is going, so just fasten your seat belt, pal."

When the Ghost of Christmas Future finally appeared on stage, I just about hugged him.

As church plays tend to go, this one was a rousing success. We were all robustly complimented on our abilities and performances, and vowed to make this a yearly event. It was never performed again.

It did awaken a sleeping giant within me though, and before long I was auditioning for roles both large and small, just to be a part of the stage family.

I've discovered that you become a bit like family when you're on stage together, and I like that feeling. It brings out the best in you if you do it right. You depend on each other, feed each other, and help each other to be the best they can be.

...unless you're the Ghost of Christmas Present and you make up all of your lines as you go.

You'd Better Watch Out

2008-12-01T12:28:00.027-05:00

In the late fifties and early 60s, I believed in Santa Claus. I didn't care what Randy McCombs said.

Randy, the town bully, constantly tried to convince us that we had all been duped. There was no Santa Claus. It was a conspiracy concocted by our parents to drive the economy. Nothing more.

Randy's rants fell on deaf ears. First of all, we didn't know what a conspiracy was, so why listen to the rest. Besides, Randy was the same guy who stripped down to his underwear and rubbed poison ivy all over himself to prove that he was immune to it. Like I cared what this guy thought.
I had seen Santa with my own eyes. He came to the Faith American Legion Building just before every Christmas on the Faith fire truck, for crying out loud. He was right there in front of us!

Case closed.

Then one year Santa rode into town on the fire truck, and when he climbed down, I noticed something odd. Santa was wearing a hearing aid, and his beard was hanging a full inch off of his face on a string. Plus, he looked suspiciously like a man in town who also wore a hearing aid.

Hmmmmmm.

Fortunately, my parents had the quick fix for my doubts. The man at the Faith Legion building was one of Santa's "helpers", a devout group of tireless workers who help Santa from time to time, and may even live among us.

That was good enough for me. I even shared that piece of information with my own daughter when the time came. Works like a charm when they want to know why Santa looks so different than he did last year.

Santa's helpers were everywhere. Like a mighty army, they appeared all over Rowan County, especially in downtown Salisbury where, by the way, you could see the most amazing display of Christmas lights. There were rows and rows of lighted wreaths and angels, capped off by a gigantic bell right in the middle of the square.

Salisbury's Christmas decorations are nice today, but pale in comparison to the seemingly endless display of lights we used to pack into the car to see each year.

And when it came to Santa, I obeyed all of the rules. I was as good as I knew how to be, at least the great majority of the time.

There was the one time Mike and I got into a huge fight the day before Christmas.

December 24, 1964. A date that will live in infamy.

My brother and I had been at each other most of the morning. I wasn't feeling well and was in no mood for his "mikeness".

At about 10:30 in the morning, right after I had taken a dose of Phillips Milk of Magnesia, the tension between us reached the boiling point. We came to blows.

I pummeled his fist with my face a couple of times just to show him I meant business. Then, without warning, came the shot heard round the town. He landed the perfect punch deep into my gut.

There was intense pain, extreme nausea, then a loud rumble followed by the expulsion of the entire contents of my stomach...breakfast, the Phillips Milk of Magnesia, and some candy we weren't supposed to be eating until Christmas Day.

The fight was over.

My grandmother, who arrived on the scene momentarily, cleaned up the mess that had narrowly missed the gifts already around the Christmas tree. We received a deserved scolding followed by stern reminder that "Santa is watching".

Crap! I forgot!

I was apparently also running a fever at the time, and was hastily diagnosed with "a stomach flu". That caused me to miss the Christmas Eve activities at church that night, including the much anticipated visit from "one of Santa's helpers."

I could only hope that Santa had a short memory. I wouldn't be at church to defend myself.

Well, Santa did indeed have a short memory. I was back on my feet Christmas morning and well blessed that year.

And, to share a secret that only those closest to me know, it remains to this day the last time I threw up. No kidding.

I'm closing in on my 44th anniversary of, uh..."non-pukage" this year. But please....don't hit me in the stomach just to see if you can break the streak.

(Note: All of the above pictures are from Christmas, 1958. The top shot was taken at my Uncle Virgil's mobile home....he was playing minor league baseball at the time...and the rest were taken in the old house. The bicycle in the above shot is Mike's, and the record player is mine. The shiny silver package on the right contained a brand new set of dishes for mom, some of which still exist today.)

Note: Be sure to read two wonderful Christmas memories from Patty June Jung in the comments section.

Remembering "Bee"

2008-11-25T11:39:00.004-05:00

This week, Faith lost part of its foundation when Van Buren "Bee" Brown passed away at the age of 92.

Bee hadn't been well for some time, particularly after losing his wife Lucille in 2003. But when I knew him, he was one of the community's shining lights.

He lived on Main Street, a mere two doors down from my grandparents. As a child, I thought his home possessed the most unique feature of any home in town. The street right in front of his house, because of insufficient drainage, would flood after a heavy rainstorm. So if you stood in Bee's yard close enough to the street, passing cars would hit the water and completely soak you. That was the closest thing to having a swimming pool, as far as I was concerned.

He was a kind presence; quiet and thoughtful, and the embodiment of service to his community. His gentle humor was always a welcome tension-breaker, and I don't recall ever seeing him angry. He was slender and tan, the result of long days spent in his garden. And Bee whistled while he worked.

I can't imagine a greater pain than losing a child, and Bee knew that pain. His beloved son, Van Lane Brown, was killed in an automobile accident in 1960. He was on his way to school at East Rowan, a passenger in a car driven by a friend, not long before Christmas of all times. The whole town was in shock. I was quite young at the time, but even then, I hurt for my neighbors. That's a pain that never goes away. I often wonder how, after such a loss, you ever find the strength to smile again. But Bee did, and helped others smile too.

He served his country in the U.S. Army Air Corps in London during World War II, and earned the EAME Service Medal, the Good Conduct Medal, and the WWII Victory Medal.

He helped to build the Faith American Legion Building, and was one of the founding fathers of the Faith Fourth of July celebration. Our little town owes a lot to Bee and those like him.

So while we're thanking God for our blessings this week, let's thank him for blessing us with people like Bee Brown, one of the finest examples of a neighbor and friend we could ever hope to know.

We'll miss you Bee.

Thy Rod and Thy Reel, They Comfort Me...

2008-11-11T13:48:00.034-05:00

If you spend any amount of time in Faith, you'll soon figure out that during the months of October and November, most of the residents of the town will disappear for periods of time.

Not all at once, mind you. Just this person and that person here and there. And sometimes it's a sudden disappearance.

The words "the fish are bitin' at the beach" are all you have to hear. Almost instantly, carloads - even truckloads of people will suddenly become unavailable for choir practice, civic club fund raisers, and even funerals. Once on an October Sunday morning, so many people were absent from services that several Baptists wondered aloud if they had missed the rapture.

Below, dad examines his line before letting it sail for all it's worth during a 1975 trip.

It's a fall migration to the coast....a calling of sort that is simply too strong to ignore. Even ministers have been known to vacate their pulpits to answer this stronger calling. The good Lord must approve. Jesus wants us to be fishers of men, and what better way to practice than on fish.

Brides have been warned to stay away from these two months when scheduling weddings unless they plan to invite only a small crowd of friends and family who don't own fishing gear.

Above is one of my favorite fall fishing pictures. "Grandmother M" converses with young Tanya Bernhardt during a long dry spell.

I feel the pull from time to time, though I am far from being labled a passionate fisherman. I recently returned from one such event, and if I had to survive on my catch for the long weekend, I'd lose a good bit of weight.

We've often met up with other "Faithians" at the coast. Bill Retallick is a fall fishing disciple from time to time. He's shown below in 1975.

Young Cliff Retallick and friend are shown below enjoying the tranquility of the ocean.

The Bernhardts and Koons get together at the coast for the annual "Lie, Cheat, and Steal" fishing contest. We've conducted this odd custom since 1982, even awarding a plaque for the winning effort. (Mom was the winner this year with a 14 and a half inch flounder, wrestling the plaque away from the Koons who have held it for the last several years.)

I won the plaque once in 1986 by hooking a flounder in the back while reeling in to check my bait. Hey, a win is a win.

Below, pros Ida Ruth Ludwig and Anna Mickle prove that one can enjoy a Toni home permanent and fish at the same time.

I'm pretty sure Mary Rose Koon will kill me if she sees the picture below. She seems to be intently enjoying a brief snack before returning to the surf. Maybe she's a bit testy about the one that got away.

I'm sure to many, fishing must seem like the biggest waste of time imaginable, especially when they're not biting. However, nothing could be farther from the truth.

Fishing reminds us that we must be patient to receive the blessings of this earth. Sometimes they flow in abundance. Sometimes, they trickle into our lives. But sooner or later, we are reminded that they are there if we persevere.

We can even hook a blessing in the back and win a plaque once in a while.

My Little Town

2008-11-05T16:34:00.009-05:00

"In my little town,

I grew up believin'

God keeps his eye on us all."

Paul Simon

Of the old family photos I've come across, I like this one the best.

It displays all of the finest qualities of my little town. Taken in the fall of 1958 from the upstairs steps of the house we lived in at the time, I now envy anyone who could walk outside just after sunrise and witness this view.

I'm assuming dad stepped outside and snapped this shot one crisp fall morning just before breakfast. You can almost smell the bacon and eggs cooking in the kitchen.

I like so many things about it, I hardly know where to begin. Click on it for a closer view and study it for a while. Breathe in the crisp fall air.

I like that it was taken 50 years ago, when life was simple. The Lutheran parsonage had not yet been built, so you enjoy a clear view of the still relatively new Lutheran church.

I like the harvested corn stalks you can see in two different gardens. Gardens were always such an important part of life in Faith. Conversations in town usually began with "How's your garden doing this summer?", and ended by sharing some of your produce with your neighbor. I've never planted my own garden, and I consider that my loss. Gardening is a great teacher.

I like the shade of blue in the sky and the many trees you can see in the background.

To the right, you can see the home of Bill and Mary Rose Koon, who were at that time raising their two small children; Kathy, who was 4, and Phil, who was 3....my age.

To the left is the home of Mark and Rachel Sifford, built as a church project in 1953. They were wonderful neighbors. Mark was the Scoutmaster in Faith for many years and would often set up scout tents in his back yard for neighborhood kids to enjoy. Rachel is an angel to this day, and has lived there alone since Mark's passing in 2001. She used to let me play records on her phonograph .... even "Itsy Bitsy Teeny Weenie Yellow Polka Dot Bikini", which still manages to conjure up impure thoughts.

The tree that drapes the upper left corner of the photograph is long gone, but I remember playing beneath it as a child.

Below is the same view, taken in mid summer.

The corn had not yet been harvested and you can tell it's a real scorcher. Better turn on the air.....oh, yes...there is no air conditioning. And we live upstairs.

Just a quick side note: Many of these photos are well past their prime, and have deteriorated somewhat over the years. Below is the original photograph in its current condition.

Thank God for digital technology that allows us to appreciate them all over again.

One more shot taken from the same steps.

The Verne McCombs family will soon be moving into the house being built in the next block. I hope they're nice neighbors.

I Still Remember...

2008-10-23T12:01:00.015-04:00

I still remember...

The way Fridays felt at Faith Elementary school. It didn't matter whether it was sunny or rainy, or whether there was a big math test to worry about, it was still Friday. Even the food in the cafeteria tasted a little better on Friday. And those last ten minutes before the bell rang at 3PM were the best moments of the week, filled with anticipation of the coming weekend.

Below, Mike and me around 1963. Mike had all the hair then. I think I look like a jack-o-lantern.

I still remember soup day in the Faith School cateteria. The vegetable soup served was actually pretty good, and the pimento cheese sandwich that went with it was better than average. I loved pimento cheese and Devon Barger hated it, so he always gave me his sandwich. I'm addicted to the stuff to this day.

One regular chore I had as a child was to take the metal bucket in the above picture and gather up yard debris in it. I'm not sure why I was wearing my nice shoes during the performance of this task.

I still remember Clyde McCombs, better known as "Curly", who ran the Faith Soda shop in the early 60s. If he liked you, he'd give you an extra squirt of cherry in your cherry coke. Fortunately, he liked me. I'd head over there after school most days and order the same thing each day: a cherry coke and a honeybun. We never worried about calories in those days. We'd burn them off in a half hour just horsing around.

Faith Soda Shop had a pinball machine and a juke box loaded with hit tunes of the day. Whenever I had spare change, I'd play "Last Kiss" over and over. It was about a guy who loses his girlfriend in a car accident. Here's a piece of the song.

I still remember playing "Army" with Phil Koon. Phil had large granite rocks in his side yard that offered ample protection from German snipers. They also served as the platform for a dramatic "death" after being shot. You could take a few rounds in the belly and fall from a height of seven or eight feet to the ground below. If I did that today, I'd be in traction for three weeks. Fortunately, we were indestructable then.

Below, two valiant soldiers head to the car in the Koon driveway after a fierce battle. Clearly visible in the background is the Grimes' VW, my favorite car in the whole neighborhood. Unknown to our parents, Phil and I often climed to the top of that carport. It was an excellent place for a sniper to hide, though when shot, we had only enough courage to slide down the roof to the edge.

I still remember....

Watching "The Wizard of Oz" on TV in the spring. You could only see it once a year, and no one missed it. The approaching cyclone at the beginning of the film scares me to this day, but it terrified me as a child. I now know that they filmed it by forcing air through a silk stocking.

Once, our church had the gall to schedule a Lenten service just before the yearly airing. They got burned in attendance that Sunday. Lesson learned.

Above, Lisa Carter and Julie McCombs play dress up in our front yard. At least I hope they were playing dress up.

I still remember the yearly ritual of raking my grandparent's leaves right after Thanksgiving lunch each year. Yep, we'd dutifully grab every rake available and head to the yard like the overstuffed zombies we were. Not a bad plan....feed 'em until they can no longer reason, and then hand 'em a rake. It was rather "Tom Sawyerish" of them.

Above, a Thanksgiving dinner of long ago...probably in the late 50s.

Thanksgiving, 1964....granddad strums the banjo he kept in the front bedroom closet. He eventually gave it to a cousin of mine who promptly sold it.

I still remember the smell of burning leaves in the fall. You almost never smell that anymore. I also remember burning our garbage, a practice that is no longer tolerated. We'd actually take a paper bag full of a couple of days worth of trash, grab some matches, and head to the giant oil drum at the end of our garden for this ritual.

Many grass fires were started due to this practice, including one at our home in the early 60s. With Charles Carter's field fully ablaze one afternoon, my brother Mike was sent inside to summon the fire department while neighbors did their best to contain the fire with brooms and blankets. Mike returned a short time later to inform us that he couldn't call the fire department because someone was on the party line.

And I still remember the feeling of young love and being noticed for the first time by an appealing young girl.

Once, after earning the attention of lovely Rita Bost, I was conversing politely with her. Feeling comfortable and confident about my enounter with the opposite sex, I raised my arms to execute a massive yawn and stretch combo. To my horror, my jeans popped open and my zipper descended, causing poor Rita to flee for her life.

After that incident, I cut back on the cherry cokes and honeybuns.

Back to the Rock Table

2008-10-11T21:37:00.010-04:00

This week, another visit to the beloved Ludwig rock table, this time on Easter Sunday in 1977. I had forgotten how much time we spent around that table, but with the spread visible below, it's no wonder.
We took more pride in our kitchen skills in those days. Culinary proficiency was a measurement of worth in our community among the female population, and presentation was equally important. Each home possessed an arsenal of pots, pans, casserole dishes, and utensils, and they were used with great skill.

I often marveled at those stools and how they stayed in the ground. The outdoor "kitchenette" in the background had room for spacious displays of our finest paperware.

Above are a few of the most attractive relatives I can claim...the Jung girls. They are the offspring of Patty June and Jimmy Jung, and I always anticipated and valued their visits. They inherited their mother's musical skills and blended together beautifully whenever they sang.

I recently ran into Alisa at a Salisbury symphony concert, and she hasn't aged a day, which secretly makes me sick. (...Well, I guess it isn't a secret anymore. ) She's still as beautiful as ever.

Here I am with Aunt Anna. (I wish I still had that outfit I'm wearing so I could burn it. To add insult to injury, for some reason my hair looks like a fur hat.)

She was one of my favorite relatives, a nurse by trade, and a real character. She would regularly invite me to her home to adjust the color on her color TV. (The faces would turn green, and she had no idea how to adjust the tint control.) She would reward me by heating up one of my favorite meals, a chicken pot pie, and we would enjoy it together.

I remember on the day of the Apollo moon landing in July of 1969, Aunt Anna slipped on a rug in my grandparent's house and landed on her own moon.

Anna called me "preacher", because it was her fondest desire that I would enter the ministry. Our church had only a few "sons of the congregation", and she was determined we would have another.

Alzheimer's would eventually rob her of her memory before she passed away in 1983, but she would leave us with a trunkload of our own memories of a great lady.

And so....as the sun slowly sinks in the western sky....we bid farewell to our memories of the rock table and multiple feasts of the past. It's time to wash the casserole dishes (by hand, of course), and store leftovers for use in the coming days or weeks....at least before they spoil.

Around the Old Rock Table

2008-09-23T13:31:00.015-04:00

In several past postings, I've foldly remembered the "old rock table" in the Ludwig backyard, just perfect for informal family gatherings in warm weather. I spent many a summer night scarfing down burgers, fried flounder, watermelon, or homemade ice cream around that table...all mixed with good conversation and an occasional impromptu sing-along.

Above, it's the spring of '71 when big hair was the in-thing. These particular shots were taken on Easter Sunday when several families gathered for a potluck Easter feast. Pictured are (left to right) Brenda Bernhardt, Donna Bernhardt, and granddad.

It was a bittersweet time. Cohen Ludwig had months before undergone serious cancer surgery at the VA Medical Center in Salisbury, and was left noticeably weakened by the procedure. He spoke haltingly and quietly during the ensuing months, a far cry from the robust man we all had known. When he passed away in early 1972, the town lost one of its most vibrant characters.

Still, there was much to celebrate. The long winter had ended and we had our strong faith, not to mention new members in our growing numbers.

My guess would be this is Van Bernhardt, the son of Donna and Gilbert. Just a few years ago, I attended his wedding.

The hungry masses arrive. I had forgotten how colorful dress shirts were in those days. You rarely saw anyone wearing a white shirt and dark tie, especially in the spring. And check out that hot looking Chevy!

Donna was always a beauty. She could've passed for a Lennon Sister, both in looks and vocal ability. She left us far too soon.

Neil and Judy Ludwig. I believe at the time, they were both young teachers. Judy would live in the Ludwig house for a time following the death of Ida Ruth in 1991.

Leigh Ann with Van Bernhardt following the big meal. Remember that "Father, Mother, and Child" statue in the bird bath? Anyone know if it's still there?

Finally, Phil and Gilbert celebrate the virtues of gluttony. I'm told gluttony is a sin, but in my humble opinion, it would've been a bigger sin to waste such wonderful food on such a beautiful day. And after a Sunday afternoon nap, we were all back for more. Life was good.

Toy Stories

2008-09-04T12:33:00.015-04:00

"Jest before Christmas, I'm as good as I kin be."

In the often viewed movie A Christmas Story, Ralphie dreams of the ultimate Christmas gift, a Red Ryder BB gun.

"You'll put your eye out with that", his mother warns...reminding all of us how many times we heard that warning throughout our childhoods...and how often we failed to heed the warnings and really could've put our eyes out.

A red-blooded, two-fisted, all-American Christmas in the Faith of the 1950s and 1960s was really no different than Christmas everywhere in America. Boys dreamed of BB guns (or better still, guns to play Army with), GI Joes, and bicycles, while girls dreamed of dolls, vanity sets (like the 1965 version that Leigh Ann received pictured below, complete with a picture of a boyfriend), "little girl makeup", and tea sets.

And woe be unto that distant relative who presented you with underwear as a Christmas gift. I unwapped more than my share of Hanes briefs through the years.

Below, on Christmas morning 1961, Mike and I are taking my new "Playmobile" for a test drive. It still stands as one of my favorite gifts of all time with its working turn signals, rotating steering wheel, and even a radio that actually made radio-like noises.

A good board game in those days cost under four dollars, and there were plenty of those under the Christmas tree. The much-in-demand M1 rifle that I'm posing with below was a higher dollar item, and probably cost upward of fifteen big ones. It would, however, toast plenty of German soldiers in my back yard at a rapid rate. You can't put a price on safety.

In the Bernhardt household, Christmas presents were opened on Christmas morning....no exceptions. A few of the more progressive families in town subscribed to the theory that at least one gift must be opened on Christmas Eve, but mom and dad never let that camel in the tent. We had to settle for "accidentally" scratching a little of the wrapping paper off the most curious gift for a quick preview.

Christmas Eves also contained another family tradition...coffee and cookies at my grandparent's house after church, pictured below.

We were, however, allowed to enjoy some of the contents of our church "Christmas bags", presented to us by ol' St. Nick himself on Christmas Eve. The bags usually included fruit, a candy bar, a box of raisins, and one or two pencils. I always found it somewhat funny that we'd go to church to hear a nice message about "putting Christ back into Christmas", then trot off to the church basement to greet Santa Claus. But then again, what'cha gonna do.

Above, Mike suits up in his new football uniform while Leigh Ann wrestles with a strange looking doll.

Christmas morning usually began at 4am in our house. By that time, we kids had been awake for about an hour, and one of us would brave the trip across the hall to entice mom and dad to let us into that magical living room. The first attempt almost always met with failure...we'd be told to go back to bed and come back in an hour or so. Three days later when the hour was up, we'd try again with about a fifty percent success rate.

The brief ecstacy we experienced while opening presents on Christmas morning could never quite match the antipation of what might be under the tree felt the night before. In one brief magnificent rush it was all over, and we were left with the sobering reality that it was a full 365 days until the next one.

I miss the magical anticipation that has been replaced by the overwhelming feeling of "how am I gonna pay for all of this". But I do take heart in another reality I've discovered through the passing years that our parents tried in vain to pound into our heads:

The feeling of giving is far more satisfying than the feeling of receiving.

But don't tell the kids. If this ever gets out, Santa's out of business.

This Ol' House

2008-08-23T19:29:00.015-04:00

They say "Home is where the heart is", and my heart has been in relatively few homes over the years. In total, I've had only five addresses in 53 years...all within no more than fifteen minutes of each other.

I guess that makes me somewhat of a homebody.

I began life on East 2nd Street right across the street from Ray and Irene McCombs. The Eugene McCombs family lived in the downstairs of the home, built in the 20s, and the Bernhardts lived upstairs. (That's Mike in the yard...about to foul one off right through Jean McCombs' kitchen window.)

I still get an eerie feeling when I think of that home. I don't really know why. I'm sure I spent many happy days there in my early years. Maybe it was the age of the home or the fact that we lived upstairs.

After all, Martin Balsam was doing just fine in Norman Bates' home in "Psycho"...until he walked upstairs...

There was also something about the walls of the home. As evidenced in this Christmas 1958 photo, they were composed of individual slats of wood, some with spaces in between. Things could crawl out from between those spaces...or at least in my young mind they could.

I was also afraid of the bathroom. Instead of a bathtub, there was a tall, standup shower. Bad people could hide in there. I often had nightmares about strange noises coming from that shower.

Mike and I also had a couple of close calls there. Mike once had a sleepwalking episode that nearly cost him his life. He walked out of the upstairs entrance and fell in between two of the steps (which mom is descending in the below picture) nearly strangling himself in the process. I once fell off a roof area after squeezing through a gap in the same staircase.

Is it any wonder I was so happy when we moved into our brand new home on Brotherhood Street in January of 1960!

I mention my discomfort with the home only because I had the opportunity to re-visit the home with my family about six years ago. I hadn't been inside it since then, and was totally unprepared for what I found.

Above is the home in it's current state. Once a vivid white in color, someone had the bright idea of painting the house a deep shade of red. I can't imagine what they were thinking.

What was most unsettling is what we found inside.

The upstairs was virtually frozen in time, just the way it was when we left. Except for some minor remodeling in one room, it looked as though no one had been in the house in forty-two years. No one had painted, no one had replaced even a light switch for more than four decades!

I played in this hallway. I even remember that light fixture. It was still there, only somewhat yellowed by time.

And below was my most startling find. That bathroom...preserved just the way we left it (except dirtier). I was probably the last person to ever use it. And there stood that shower. I could still hear the scary noises emitting from it.

I have to confess, I didn't spend a lot of time there that day. Too many eerie memories were flooding my brain.

No one lives in the house these days. To be honest, I'm amazed it still stands. I'm told there were thoughts of remodeling and selling it, but the costs were prohibitive. But it's still there, waiting for YOUR visit....if you dare........

------

They Shoot Dogs....Don't They?

2008-08-12T12:42:00.013-04:00

While leafing through a few of the photographs you are about to see (including grandmother at a young age and her dog to the left), I suddenly remembered something about life in Faith that I'd rather forget.

While our pets were often the nearest and dearest members of our families, they often met...shall we say...tragic ends.

It's hard to imagine today, but in the 1950s and 1960s, if your dog or cat became too old or sick to carry on, there was usually some kind soul in the neighborhood who would take it out and shoot it for you. It wasn't "cruel", it was....well, let's call it a "public service".

Such was the case for dear old "Muffin", (pictured below). A beautiful cocker spaniel, Muffin came to us sometime during 1962, and lived on the porch, greatly loved and dutifully guarding the household as though it was her own.

A mere six years later, Muffin (we were told) developed cancer, and became increasingly ill. Now today, we would invest large amounts of money into veterinary care, and eventually gather the family around our dying pet at the vet's office to say goodbye before sending them off to the afterlife with the help of a quick, painless shot of whatever they use for these purposes.

In 1968 there was a shot all right, but not that kind. While we were at school one spring day, my grandfather took Muffin on one last walk into the woods and ended her misery there.

Lest you think it cruel, I'm sure Muffin never knew what hit her. I would even like to think that in her own way, she was thankful to her human companion for delivering her from her suffering, but that may be a bit of a reach.

"Scotchie", a beautiful collie we had in the mid-60s

The reality is...that's the way things were forty plus years ago. Pets weren't humanely euthanized, they were simply shot when they were seriously sick or dying. They were also shot when the unwanted pet population got out of control.

I vividly remember the sound of shotgun blasts one Saturday afternoon and peering out of my bedroom window just in time to see my grandfather run by, reloading his weapon. The stray cat population in our nearby woods had grown to a large enough proportion to warrant drastic action, and granddad was just the man for the job. The words "spay" and "neuter" had not yet infiltrated the vocabularies of the Faith crowd.

Granddad was a World War II vet, and had grown up during a time when a man was not only taught to handle a gun, but did so regularly. He often cleaned the bluejays and squirrels out of his pecan trees with a small pellet rifle (the only rifle I ever shot in my life). And many was the Friday night when we would dine on squirrel and rabbit over rice at my grandmother's house after a fruitful hunting trip.

He wasn't alone either. Many of the men of the town were handy with guns, a holdover of the days of growing up on farms.

There's the story of the day Eugene McCombs (local grocer and later, a state legislator) shot a few stray cats in our neighborhood and then sat down at Cohen Ludwig's outdoor rock table to enjoy an evening meal.

"Eugene", Cohen said, "I don't know how you can eat a meal right after shooting those cats."

McCombs responded, "Cohen, I could shoot you and eat this meal!"

He was a World War II vet too.

Only later, in the 1970s, would we change our shootin' ways, probably thanks to new gun laws or perhaps softer hearts. The quiet is rarely disturbed by an explosion of any kind these days, and pets tend to enjoy longer and yes, more secure lives.

Ol' Muffin was just born a little too early.

Leigh Ann and me with young Muffin in my grandparent's kitchen

E-Mail Comments:

From Mike Cline: That shot above looks like June Cleaver's kitchen.
My Response: That was indeed my grandmother's kitchen, and you can bet it was as clean as a whistle, though I'm sure grandmother never wore pearls while she cleaned it. I also think I look like a white "Stymie" from the Our Gang series in that picture.

Some Final Faith 4th Pictures

2008-08-01T15:40:00.013-04:00

I thought I was finished with my look back at the Faith 4th of July...then I happened to run across yet another stash of photos dating back to 1966. They were such nice shots (taken with a Kodak Instamatic) that I couldn't bear to let them go to waste.

First, this nice shot of the lunchtime barbeque assembly line. These were the tireless volunteers who churned out barbeque sandwiches and trays for the thousands of visitors who swarmed the park following the parade. My grandmother, Rowe Misenheimer, is visible in the center of the picture, and to her left is Irene McCombs. I think Alvin Shive might be standing to Irene's left. It's sad to think that very few of the people in this picture are still with us today. Yet in 1966, they were the lifeblood of the community.

I love this shot of my dad. It was the summer before his 1967 accident, and he was doing late duty in the barbeque pits. That was grueling work on a hot summer evening and not for the faint of heart. Not only did you have to fight the summer heat, but also the blazing heat of the pits to serve the masses the following day. Little did we suspect that it was the last summer he would enjoy the use of both arms.

Here's granddad, sort of the leader of the pit crew. His years in the navy had taught him a secret for staying cool. While others were downing ice cold drinks, he'd sip hot cups of coffee. I don't know why that worked, but for him it did. Granddad was a navy cook during World War II, and could whip up meals for large crowds with little effort.

Here's a nice shot of a passing float in the 1966 Faith Fourth of July parade. What strikes me the most about this picture is that everyone who rode on a float was dressed to the hilt in those days. You never saw anyone wearing shorts and a tank top like today. That's Gay Stirewalt in the forefront of the picture. I believe she bought a house on Main Street in recent years.

Here, Leigh Ann and I ride the terrifying Tilt-A-Whirl. It was without a doubt my favorite of the many rides in the park. There was something about those evil looking shell-shaped cars trying their best to hurl you into the crowd that just got to me. You'd regularly see people losing their lunch as they exited this ride. I haven't been on one since about ten years ago when I climbed aboard the Tweetsie Railroad version with my daughter. I'm pretty sure that Tilt-A-Whirl tried to kill me.

In those days, young and old strolled through the park during the hottest part of the day. Few homes had air conditioning in the 60s, so it was probably just as hot there. Besides, if you got too warm, you could retreat to the shady side of the park and grab an ice-cold grape Nehi.

Finally, a nice shot taken from the Ferris Wheel displaying the ball park, the Fun House (and it was fun), the "Big" swings that the teens liked to ride, and a lot full of cars. Funny, if you had those same cars parked there today, you'd have a pretty decent classic car show.

Oh Brother...Who Art Thou?

2008-07-19T07:56:00.013-04:00

Join me this week as I raise my cup of grog to my brother Mike on the occasion of his 55th birthday.

That’s him, considerably younger, on the left. No, this isn’t an advertisement for the movie "Dumb and Dumber", that's actually the two of us together sometime in the late 50s. It must've been quite a fright to my parents when that snapshot came back from the drugstore. They probably thought “Oh well, no need to worry about college for these two.”

As brothers go, we've gotten along fine through the years. Two years apart in age, we tended to run in separate packs as far as friends go, so we never spent a tremendous amount of time together except at family events. When we scrapped, he won. There was never really a contest. I was a lover, not a fighter.

Mike was clearly the more athletic of the Bernhardt boys (I settled for being a brilliant musician...), and when it came to the fairer sex, he was the victor once again. His high school girlfriends were all babes.

We quarreled from time to time as brothers do, but never to the point of estrangement. And the stories you hear told at Bernhardt mealtimes are all true:

Yes, he did pour a circle of gasoline around me in the back yard and light it. But in fairness, I was stupid enough to stand there and let him.

Yes, I did get so angry with him once that I clamped a pair of vicegrips on the back of his leg and then ran like crazy out the back door. "Hey", I thought. "I'll run and run and run...and he'll never catch up to me!" What a plan.

There's also the legendary story about Mike driving a car in reverse all the way from Faith to Granite Quarry on Legion Club Road. Unfortunately, he has never produced a witnesses to the event, so I've always been a little suspicious about the authenticity of that tale.

And it’s true…for a while during our childhood, we nicknamed him "Rulebook Bernhardt". When a dispute would arise while playing any sport, Mike seemed to know the chapter and number of the applicable rule to resolve the conflict...usually in his favor. I used to find that annoying, but now I count it among his talents. With such a skill for debate, he would've made a pretty good lawyer.

We worked together in the early 70s at a place called Saleeby’s Produce for a grand total of fifty dollars a week. To me, at the time, that was a king's ransom.

He drove one of the produce trucks and I bagged potatoes for Food Lion stores. One day, I decided that I would rather drive one of the trucks too, so when our boss was looking for someone to drive one over to a restaurant to pick up some takeout, I volunteered...proudly proclaiming that I knew how to drive a straight-drive.

I didn't, but figured "how hard could it be?".

They sent Mike after me (on foot) when they heard the sound of grinding gears echoing through the streets of downtown Salisbury. Both he and dad would teach me to properly drive one in the coming days. Clutches are pretty expensive, you know.

Below is Mike exercising his passion for golf after a hard day of delivering produce in 1972.
He can sing, though he doesn’t do it enough. He usually got the tenor solos in our church's youth choir.

I’ve never actually seen him dance, except for that grinding and twitching we all used to call dancing in the 70s.

He adores Katie (who gets married next week), and I count him among society’s good dads. I can also tell that he’s truly thankful for Lorie. There’s something special between them.

Finally, there's a compassionate side to Mike, though you'll never see it on the golf course. Recently, he phoned out of nowhere just to see how I was holding up during my ailing marriage. We talked for a long time. He's been there.

Happy Birthday, Mike. You’re a good guy. And I’m sure when we meet up at the pearly gates one day…you’ll be the guy backing a car through them.

The Wonderful World of Color

2008-07-08T18:54:00.020-04:00

I don't know if I've ever mentioned it, but I dream in color.

At least I think I do.

I remember, as a kid, dreaming of the most coveted of all possessions in those days; a color TV.

In my dreams, I'd come home from school and discover a brand new color set in the living room. It was on, and playing one of my favorite TV shows...with the color practically spilling out all over the living room floor.

Today's youth can't begin to imagine what a thrill it was to move from the world of black and white to color on your TV screen. We lived in a black and white world as far as television was concerned in those days, as witnessed in this photo of Leigh Ann in front of my grandparent's vintage set. My granddad watched many an episode of "Amos 'N Andy" on that set.

Most families of the day bought their first color sets in the mid sixties...right around the time network TV was starting to present their offerings using the full spectrum.

In the Bernhardt household, the journey took a little longer; all thanks to the stunning console you see pictured below.

That's me, shining it up and arranging an angel display just in time for Christmas, 1965. TV was furniture then, and my dad bought this nice black-and-white Zenith console from Faith Radio and TV in 1963.

That's the Faith Radio and TV sign as it appears in downtown Faith today...still touting the wonders of color TV some forty years later.

Funny how I can remember the date of purchases made so long ago, especially TVs and cars. In this case, the date is key. You see, since we had purchased a black-and-white model so recently, there was no real need to replace it as long as it was working, even while the new color models were rolling out.

And rest assured, we didn't. To my dismay, it lasted until 1976.

Don't get me wrong, I loved that black-and-white beauty. I watched many an episode of "Combat!", "McHale's Navy", "The Time Tunnel", "Jackie Gleason's American Scene Magazine", "Where the Action Is", and "Gilligan's Island" on it. It took me to Washington D.C. for John F. Kennedy's funeral...even to the moon for the first landing in 1969. And on Friday nights, "Shock Theater" looked even scarier on that great old black-and-white set.

My neighbors were getting color sets though, and it was beginning to eat away at me. The Leazers across the street (that's a portrait of Gary Leazer, sprucing up the place, on the right) had one by 1965. They even invited me over to watch "Flipper" one Saturday night...the first complete show I saw in color, right down to the NBC peacock.

We came close to making the transition to color TV on a June day in 1968. A violent thunderstorm scored a direct lightning hit on our TV antenna, right in the middle on one of mom's soap operas. There was a blinding flash, an immediate pop, and then the smell of smoke. It would be the incident that would contribute heavily to my total respect for lightning. But it would also get my mental wheels turning in anticipation of the possibility of a replacement TV.

Surely it had been totally destroyed. The picture was completely gone, there was no sound....only the stench of charred wire. That great come-and-get-it day was finally here!

Not so fast, young Mr. Bernhardt.

The men from Faith Radio and TV were called to the scene, and after replacing some burned antenna wire and hitting a reset button, our console was restored to its former glory. "It should last you another ten years", piped one of the demonic dream crushers on his way out the door.

It almost did.

One fateful day, when I was 20, my long awaited dream finally came true. I returned home from a hard day's work at a summer job to discover at last, a beautiful color console sitting in the living room, in the place of the old Zenith.

Strangely, I was a little sad.

The first color show I tuned in was the 1976 Republican National Convention. There wasn't much color in Gerald Ford, so I switched over to a showing of the movie "South Pacific". If you know anything about that movie, you might recall that it was shot on location using a variety of color filters which tinted the color from scene to scene. Film critics regard that as a huge mistake, but that's the way the movie plays to this day. I was unaware of that, and believe me, the process of tuning the color during that movie was a confusing and difficult one. I was convinced our new set was faulty.

Ironically as the months passed, I was surprised at how much time I spent watching old black-and-white shows on the new color TV. My dad would often comment that he "spent a boatload of money on a new color TV, and what do we watch? Black-and-white reruns of the Andy Griffith Show!" Hey dad...quality is quality.

I've owned several color TVs through the years, but have yet to make the transition to a digital flat screen. I'm sure that's coming soon though.

Well, as soon as my other set wears out...maybe in about ten years.

-----------------------------

E-Mail Comments:

From Mike Cline: I rushed home on my bike from Junior High School (eighth grade) one Spring day, knowing our first color TV set (an RCA) was to be delivered that morning.

I ran into the house, turned the set on, just in time to see the NBC game show YOU DON'T SAY with Tom Kennedy on WSJS-TV-Channel 12. The female celebrity guest that week was Pat Carroll...I don't remember the male guest. It was incredible, but the program following at 4:00 was a life-long dream...SUPERMAN, in color. What a wonderful experience watching good ole George rescuing Lois Lane and Jimmy Olsen from being "transported" through the telephone lines to Alaska, courtesy of a contraption invented by that irritating Professor Pepperwinkle.

Then there was no color programming on our four stations (WBTV, WSOC, WSJS, WGHP) until 7:30 when JONNY QUEST came on. From 8:00 p.m. on for the rest of the night, it was NBC all the way, and all in color...KRAFT MUSIC HALL, HAZEL and THE DEAN MARTIN SHOW. Those KRAFT commercials in color made me gain twenty pounds.

Odds 'N Ends

2008-07-03T14:22:00.016-04:00

Every so often, I plan to use a post to spotlight some of your comments and contributions to "Ye of Little Faith", and there's no better time than the present.

Just this week, I was delighted to receive a surprise from Patty June (Ludwig) Jung in my e-mail; a couple of terrific old photographs from the 40s. The picture on the left was taken in 1946 at the time of the very first Faith Fourth of July parade. (Be sure to click on it for a larger view.)

I've seen only a precious few photos of that event, and had never seen this one. Patty June writes:

"That is Sue Teague with her back to mine at the rear of the float. In the front are Mary Rose Koon (facing the cars) and Sue Peeler. She grew up in the old house next door to the Lutheran Church. Vohn Peeler is her brother.

Notice the girls marching in front of the float....the Girl Scouts. They are about to turn into the road leading to the school and park. The cars are parked in the lot that became Uncle Ray's 'new' store. The floats were homemade....covered in crepe paper. It was really hard to protect them in damp weather. The trees effectively shield the Baptist Church from view. This was the FIRST fourth celebration......I was 10 years old."

Also, thanks to Patty June, is an old photo from the 1949 vacation bible school at Shiloh Reformed Church. It's hard to tell who many of the participants are, though my mom (Marian Misenheimer) and grandmother (Rowe Misenheimer) are clearly evident.

According to Patty June:

"First row, bottom: Annabelle Peeler Morgan... I think the next girl is Shelby Jean Burwell. The last two guys are Norris McCombs and Danny Peeler. Long row in the center. Aunt Rowe, teacher....Patty June, Sue, Patty Barger McCombs, Marian, and I think Libby Fraley. Just behind Aunt Rowe, I think is Gaynelle Julian . I think the guy right in the center of the door is Larry Burwell, and the boy on far right is Allen Barger. I know I ignored the little Short row down front..but, I don't really know anyone there.....Maybelle McCombs just might be one of them."

Thanks, Patty June...and keep the photos coming.

A few posts back, I heard from someone I haven't seen in years....Julia (Grimes) Hayes. She wrote:

Kent,
Katherine forwarded your blog link to me. What a treat to revisit Faith and your family, not to mention that FABULOUS swing set! I was not quite 5 when we moved to Conover, but I remember coming back for July 4th for years afterwards. As an adult, I took my daughter back too. Thanks for showcasing such a cool place, the place I took my first (and only) nude tricycle ride down Main Street!
Julia

First, Julia...it was great to hear from you. I well remember that you often visited our back yard to enjoy that fabulous swing set my dad built, as pictured below.

The dog in this 1966 photo, if memory serves me correctly, was named "Rex", and belonged to the Verne McCombs family. In those days, your dog ran all over town...there were no fenced in back yards.

By the way, the swing set still exists, and is ready for your next visit. The last time I was on it, I worried a bit about my adult weight and the strength of the chains...not to mention got a little woozy when I actually started to swing, so I don't see much swing action these days.

Now Julia...we need to know more about that famous "nude tricycle ride down Main Street". I hadn't heard about that one. You must realize though that Faith is now a pretty sophisticated place, and that sort of thing goes on probably two or three times a week these days. Thanks for writing.

Dayna (Jung) Scarborough was kind enough to write in recently with a great book recommendation:

Hey Kent,
I just wanted to send you a note to let you know how special your blog is to me and how impressed I am with your talent of retelling all your memories with such humor. I'm just finishing Bill Bryson's "The Life and Times of the Thunderbolt Kid". Are you familiar with Bill Bryson . . . .I'm quite sure you're brothers. Back to the blog!
-Dayna

Sounds like good reading, Dayna. I'm going to order it. I'm also going to add a special book section to the left margin, so if you'd like to pass on any good reads, please do.

Finally...in all my memories of Faith, I can think of no better warm weather treat than heading down to the Ludwig "rock table" in their back yard to enjoy a piece or two of watermelon or some homemade ice cream on a warm summer evening.

Someone would usually retrieve a nice plump watermelon from the garden or grind up a freezor full of vannila or peach ice cream, and send out the call to gather 'round the rock table. We'd begin the migration to the Ludwig back yard where we'd sit for an hour or two talking the night away until the 'skeeters' drove us inside.

Below, from 1995, is my favorite picture of my daughter McKenna, totally emersed in her passion for an old Faith favorite.

Here's to warm summer memories.

The Fabulous Fourth

2008-06-24T10:53:00.011-04:00

Pat Julian (left) joined by two other local beauties in the 1962 parade

In my history of walking this earth, I think I've missed only one Fourth of July celebration in Faith.

It was in 1976.

Our nation's Bicentennial.

I had to work that day for the one company that didn't give their employees the day off...Food Lion.

I was steamed, because I had never missed a Fourth of July celebration in Faith. There was something exciting about watching our little town swell not only with pride, but in size...to almost thirty thousand strong each year. To miss the parade, rides, barbeque, even the greasy pole contest was unthinkable.

But that year, I did. At least most of it. While Faith was honoring our nation’s 200th birthday, I was stocking shelves at Food Lion store #29 on Avalon Drive in Salisbury.

The Faith Fourth of July celebration had it's modest beginnings in 1946, following the conclusion of World War II the year before. The American flag was waving proudly across the nation, and our boys were home from Europe and Japan. We just had to do something.

Note how elaborate some floats were in those days
I don't think the town even had a parade that year, just a small scale celebration. But the idea grew, and so did the crowd once people discovered where to be for the big day. Next to Christmas, it became the most anticipated event of the year.

The parade, Lee's Rides, the best barbeque for miles around, ball games, contests...all capped off by fireworks late in the evening...became our identity. It soon materialized as "the largest Fourth of July celebration in the southeast". And we had a front row seat.
I have a long history with this yearly event. My earliest memories include getting lost in the massive crowd at a very young age with my panic stricken parents trying desperately to find me. I had wondered off in search of a grape Nehi.

There was the year that a carnival merchant talked me and a few of my friends into helping him wrap a large number of candy apples the night before, promising a special surprise for our efforts. I dreamed of receiving a stream of free ride tickets, only to be rewarded with six free candy apples to take home for my very own.

I hated candy apples. I remember watching them rot in our kitchen. My family hated them too.
Granddad often rode in the parade as an American Legion disnitary
On a few occasions, I rode in the Faith Fourth of July Parade. In 1962, I was the little Dutch boy on a float with a "children around the world" theme (as mentioned in a previous post). I wore a blue and white outfit, wooden shoes, and a touch of lipstick to make my lips stand out. I felt more like a Dutch hooker.

One year, I sang patriotic songs as part of a youth quartet on a float. In my radio days, I twice appeared as the local boy turned "Daddy-O of the Radio" and threw candy to children along the parade route.

I've worked in ticket booths and barbeque booths, and for the last thirty years, have emceed the bandstand events following the parade, introducing local dignitaries and helping to crown Miss Rowan County Veteran. Well, it's actually been twenty-nine years...they replaced me one year with Channel Nine Meteorologist Ray Boylan when he offered to do it as a station promotion. I didn't blame them. I would've gone with him too. They did call on me to introduce him though.

I also crooned patriotic songs in the Faith park for many years as part of the Faith Community chorus, where I shared baritone duties with the likes of Bryce Ludwig, Jakie Moose, Grey Holshouser and many other town staples.

And here's my 2003 appearance as J.T. Wyatt, the so-called founder of Faith, known as "Venus". I was performing a narrative written for the occasion by my old friend Cliff Retallick. What we won't do for our little town.

Though a bit bloated these days, the celebration continues each year, and the town fills to overflowing with folks from all around in search of some Independence Day fun. We've even had a visit from a sitting President, George Bush (the father, not the son).

The spirit of the Faith Fourth remains strong. There have been changes though.

Unwilling to battle the heat and mosquitoes, the Faith Community Chorus now sings at the local Baptist Church since they built their new larger sanctuary, and the performance borders on the professional.

Lees Rides went out of business a few years ago, and was replaced by a larger amusement company with newer thrills. I miss Lees Rides...there was something downright eerie about that old Octopus they used to set up each year. Part of the thrill of riding it was wondering if it would finally fall apart and send you sailing through the crowd.

And no one....absolutely no one...had a better Merry-Go-Round back in the 60s.

The sack races and the greasy pole have been replaced by "Faith Idol", a knock-off of "American Idol", in search of the most talented performer in Rowan County. I think the finalists should have to climb a greasy pole to win, personally.

And finally, in yet another sign of the times, this year Faith will host a first. Some visiting glutton will attempt to set a world record in front of a gathered crowd in our little town. He plans to gorge himself on "Apple Uglys", a local pastry of sorts.

Our founding fathers would be proud to know that we've come so far in the celebration of our nation's freedom.

E-Mail Responses:

Edited Comments from Cliff Retallick, who now resides in Los Angeles: The blog is really a Godsend. My heart is still back there, but I think that there's an undercurrent in your tone that I know all too well --- You can never really return. Its there in your heart, and that's the most important thing to realize. Those times were not only precious, they were what made us, what gave birth to whoever we are. And like Thomas Wolf said, "you can't go home."

I love the way you've got it laid out.

It really is a gem of a place, and there's no place like LA to realize that. When you were talking about people bringing food in the event of a loved one dying, it brought back so many memories of both receiving and bearing a tray of that food. And the food itself. I think no one outside of Faith knows the particular way green beans and corn are fixed by the ladies of Faith. I used to hate those green beans, but I'd give just about anything for just one spoonful of them.

Take care Kent. Cliff

The Wheels of Life

2008-06-13T13:10:00.012-04:00

I have always loved cars.

Not rare collectable sports cars well out of my financial reach, but the common everyday run-of-the-mill family cars that used to inhabit our driveways during the 50s, 60s, and 70s.

Getting a new car was huge event in Faith during those days. People tended to hang on to their old cars for longer, but when they did decide to "trade up" as they always called it, it was a momentous occasion.

Sometime during the 50s, my dad (as the story goes) was supposed to go out and buy a washing machine for the household. Instead, he came home with the beauty pictured above, a 1953 Plymouth. I can only imagine that mom felt much the same that Jack's mother must have felt when he came home with magic beans instead of what he'd been sent out for.

This carolina blue beauty was the family car from sometime in the 50s until early 1966. It carried us on many a journey, from the mountains to the coast and all points in between. Before every beach trip, we'd pull the car around the side of the house, hose 'er down good, and then apply a full body coat of car wax. She'd shine like a new penny. The fun part for me was to climb up on the top of the car (you could do that in those days without collapsing the roof) and slide down the back window (as demonstrated in the below picture).
We traded ol' blue for a lavendar rose 1962 Rambler in January of 1966 (pictured below). My grandfather was a Rambler salesman at Woods Auto in Spencer in the mid 60s, so most of the family drove one at some point. It had a push button transmission, and the front seats reclined all the way down just in case you wanted to sleep in the car overnight to save the cost of a hotel. (I can't imagine many families actually did that.)
My Aunt Anna drove one of my favorite cars (below) ...a 1963 Rambler...for many years. I would ask to ride with her on long beach trips, because her car had something I hadn't known to that point; air conditioning. To feel that ice cold air streaming from those large round holes in the dashboard was quite a treat.
Granddad traded his 1964 Rambler for this nice looking vehicle in the mid 60s (below). It was a Dodge Polara, and in my humble opinion, the most attractive car he ever owned. We three kids rode in it many times back and forth to the Chapel Hill burn center following my dad's 1967 accident.
By the summerof '68, the Bernhardts had acquired a spacious 1967 Plymouth Fury III (Leigh Ann poses on it below). It would remain in the driveway until the mid-70s, and was the car I dated in during high school. (I like to tell people that back seat saw lots of action in those days....we hauled groceries in it every Saturday.) It eventually became Mike's first car.

Finally, below are two sexy babes lounging on the hood of my first car, a 1973 Chevy Malibu. (The babes are Leigh Ann and my cousin Kathy in a shot taken in 1979, a few months before I traded up to a '78 Malibu.) As I recall, this car got a whopping 12 miles to the gallon. I also got my first ticket in this car, headed to a play rehearsal in 1977. I was actually written up for doing 42 in a 35mph zone. The '78 I traded it for was the worst car I ever owned. It would go from zero to 60 in about two hours and 43 minutes.My love affair with family cars continues to this day. If I happen to pass a car show, I'll often stop and browse vintage vehicles. I also usually ask for permission to sit in the car....I love the way they smell, especially cars of the 50s. One whiff, and suddenly it's 1959 again, and I'm sitting in the back seat of Uncle Dick's old '53 Buick!

Shiloh

2008-06-05T07:43:00.016-04:00

I've been told that Faith got its name from the strong faith displayed by its early inhabitants in the formation of the town....the struggles they indured and their strong reliance in God's grace.

I've always found it interesting that such a small town had three, count 'em, three churches...all within a quarter of a mile of each other. I always figured that either spoke strongly of the town's faith, or its inablility to agree on religious matters.

My church home was Shiloh UCC (now Shiloh Reformed). I never knew a Sunday that didn't include church, except for a rare absence due to vacation. Well, there was the one time that the Bernhardts and Koons played hooky and drove to Charlotte to see a matinee of The Sound of Music.

I suppose it was OK to miss church to see a movie about nuns.

I have always loved that church. The front of the building is a massive stone structure built in 1919, and the rear, a more modern looking educational building erected in 1957. Even today each time I drive by it, I crane my neck to view its wonder. I think of the hard work it took to build it, and of the many people who filled their spiritual cups and served the Lord the best way they knew how there.

Here's a picture taken on the front steps of Shiloh sometime during 1953, Rowan County's Bicentennial, during which men were encouraged to wear facial hair as a tribute to the county's history.

I can count only one man in that picture alive today; Pud Holshouser, shown at the bottom right.

My earliest memories of the people there are warm ones:

"Miss Kit", Kit Yates, who dutifully taught the primary Sunday school classes. The perfect "church lady" who really had a way with kids.

Mary Ellen McCombs who faithfully directed the Junior Choir. Amazingly, she had us singing two part harmony at the age of seven. That's almost unheard of today. (I was an alto until my voice cracked one day, then it was off to the tenor section.)

Barbara Smith, a fiesty woman who directed the Youth Choir and didn't take any guff off of anyone. There were no timid voices in her choir....if you were going to sing, you were going to sing loud. I owe my stage voice to Barbara. In her later years, she would play the organ at the VA Chapel in Salisbury on a regular basis. That was the last place I saw her...she passed away a few years ago.

Lois Broadway who could outbake everyone and make it look easy. All of the women of Shiloh were wonderful cooks....it seemed to be a requirement for membership there. Many a wedding cake came from Lois. She was also my Sunday School teacher for a while in my teen years.

And, of course, there was my mom (bottom row, left) who diligently directed the Senior choir for many years. HERE'S a brief snippet of the Senior Choir, recorded on Palm Sunday in 1969. Mom was directing then and it was before the 1975 remodeling of the sanctuary when the ceiling was made of wood and voices would echo throughout the building.

My happiest young adult memories are rooted in that choir and the people I harmonized with over the years there; Verne McCombs and Warren Gardner, who always said I gave them the confidence to sing louder that they would've otherwise, which I considered to be the ultimate compliment;

Everette Smith, who's booming bass voice could bring tears to your eyes, especially on Christmas Eve (he's pictured in the center in a local theater production);

And Elwanda Williams, a tiny woman with a big voice who, though you couldn't always understand the words she was singing, sang with all her heart.

I wish I could sing with all of them again.

There were also the pastors: Carl Martin, a robust man who tended to preach long sermons, according to my granddad.

Van Grimes, my personal favorite, who once during a sermon, threw a pencil at some misbehaving youth in the balcony...or so the story goes. Life was fun during the Grimes' years. They were the local equivalent of the Kennedys in the White House...a youthful, vigorous family. I was sad when they left for Conover in 1966.

Max Tussey, a somewhat shy but friendly man who always seemed to be running through the church, headed somewhere in a hurry. I was told that once, after a visit to our home, he decided it was time to leave so he abruptly got up and walked out without saying a word. He didn't mean anything by it....that's just the way his brain was wired.

And there was Charles Sigler who served more recently (from 1983 to 1992)...a man of true good cheer who could not only inspire, but challenge. He was, however, the ugliest bride I ever saw in this 1988 womanless wedding.

There were many others who introduced me to God's love by means of their faithful service, even before I was a receptive audience. I would come to know His love and forgiveness in a personal way in 1973, but I'm sure He was reaching out to me through these kind folks many years before.

I quarreled with my church in the 1970s during a time when I became puffed up with spiritual pride. I was convinced that I knew more than my elders, and even set out to leave Shiloh in 1978, bound for a bigger and more inspiring congregation. The wise pastor at that church set me straight though. Rather that just scoop me up into his large fold, he challenged me to return to Shiloh and ask God to show me in a direct way his presence there. "Come back in a month", he told me, "and if you still feel the same way, I'll be happy to welcome you here."

In a month's time, God not only showed me how he was working through the lives of people at Shiloh, but the place he had for me there. I returned to teaching the Senior High students, and learned a very valuable lesson about the balance of words and deeds through that experience. I have been grateful to that pastor (Fenton Moorehead) since for placing my spiritual journey ahead of his church's membership drive.

I did eventually leave Shiloh in 1995. Cindy, McKenna, and I decided to unite with a congregation in our home community of Meadowbrook in Salisbury. We are now Methodists...an ancient word that means "people who believe salvation is found through many covered dish dinners", and I have been very happy at Milford Hills United Methodist Church since.

But I will always treasure my days at the church home I knew first..."The big rock church in the middle of town" as it's known. Good ol' Shiloh.

I Remember...

2008-06-01T20:49:00.014-04:00

I remember the distinct smell of our kitchen, especially at Christmastime.

Toll House cookies, cakes, and pies were always being prepared, and I can still smell the turkey right after it came out of the oven. Here, my grandfather does the honors on Christmas Day, 1965. The picture, by the way, is an old Polaroid camera shot. If memory serves me correctly, you waited 60 seconds and peeled the paper back to reveal the picture, then you put this waxy gunk on it to preserve it. All those chemicals probably cause cancer today, but the photos held up remarkably well.

Another shot taken the same day, this time featuring my grandmother. Check out that spread of food; each morsel fit for a king. We weren't wealthy, but we certainly ate like we were. Remember when you made coffee in pots like that? (That was the fancy coffee pot, by the way. We had a smaller one for everyday use.) The white tea pitcher was also only for use on special occasions.

I remember every Saturday, the Charles Chips delivery guy would show up at our door with a fresh can of potato chips. (There's one on the counter in the below picture.) I don't remember what they cost, but we'd hand him the old empty can in exchange for the full one. I marvel at that today....potato chips delivered to your door! The picture was taken at Leigh Ann's eighth birthday dinner in 1967. Hopefully, she's unwrapping a wig to cover that bad haircut. I'm watching at the right.

I remember my parents buying groceries at Winn Dixie on Saturday afternoon (a whole week's worth for a little over $20), and along with it you received your horse racing card for "Let's Go to the Races", a show that aired Saturday nights at 7PM.

Your card had the names of horses on it, and we'd gather around the TV to watch the pre-recorded race (made to look live) and hope to win big money. I think you could win up to $500, but the best we ever did was win the $1 race at the beginning of the show. I remember seeing ads in the paper the following week with pictures of the winners...."Mrs. Walter Jones of China Grove won $200 on last week's show! Maybe you'll be the big winner this week!"

I remember on hot summer nights hearing the "bug spray truck" approaching from the distance and watching a cloud of honest to goodness pesticide get closer and closer to our home as it traveled the local streets. I find it amazing that this practice ever existed, given the knowledge we have today of chemical pesticides and their harmful effects, but in the 60s...the truck was a godsend. It was the only relief we had from Faith's abundant mosquito population in the days before bug zappers.

We'd scurry all over the house closing windows to make sure we didn't have to actually breathe much of the stuff, but once, I decided to try to outrun the truck on my bicycle. I lost the battle at Faith Lutheran Church and ducked behind the large billboard that used to be in the front yard (like that provided any real protection). I held my breath for what seemed like an eternity until the truck was long gone, and then rode home. I'm surprised I never grew an additional arm or something.

I remember the summer recreation program in the Faith park. You could go there with your friends on summer afternoons and play volleyball, shuffleboard, kickball, or just make plaster molds if you wished. Once a week, they'd fire up the aging Faith Jaycee bus and take us all to Blue Waters Pool about ten minutes away. We'd swim the afteroon away, and then grab a cherry Coke and a Zero bar on the way out.

Twas the Night Before Christmas,
and seated at the table
Dear ol' dad made the stuffing
as long as he was able...

Above is dad on stuffing duty Christmas Eve, 1965. I remember the old radio in the background, and that mom used to turn it on in the mornings to hear one program, "Paul Harvey News". It aired on WSAT Monday through Friday for fifteen minutes every morning. Even today, you can hear Paul at the same time, though he's in his late eighties now. "Gooood Day!"

Later, Mike and I took control of the radio to hear the "Good Guys" on Big WAYS. Jack Gale, Long John Silver....they were all there, playing The Beatles, Gary Lewis and the Playboys, Lou Christie, and my personal favorites, Paul Revere and the Raiders.

The yellow can in the background was the "cookie can", an air tight container for our weekly supply of cookies. (Some folks have a "cookie jar". We had a can.) We'd fill it up after our weekly trip to Winn Dixie, and empty it by Friday. The top knob contained some light blue crystals of some sort, supposedly to keep the cookies fresher, but I suspect now that they were more decorative in nature.

And I remember my family's first record player...a portable stereo unit that sat in our living room for a couple of years until it was replaced by a lavish stereo console. The first record we owned was an album by the Mormon Tabernacle Choir. I was fascinated by it, and played it over and over.

Though I was told to never leave the albums out in the direct sunlight, one tragic day, I did so. The album warped. I tried to play it, but to no avail. It was ruined. I cried as I listened to what sounded like a church full of drunken Mormons droaning their way through "Sheep May Safely Graze". Fortunately, it was soon replaced by a fresh copy because mom loved it so.

We joined the Columbia Record Club and purchased their regular offerings. Albums I remember include Percy Faith's "Fly Me to the Moon", Ray Coniff's "Memories Are Made of This", and three Smothers Brothers albums. Our musical tastes leaned toward the mellow at the Bernhardt house. Mine still do.

At Christmas, we always bought "The Firestone Christmas Album". I think it cost less that two dollars, and featured ballad singers of the day like Julie Andrews, Robert Goulet, and Andy Williams. You knew Christmas was finally here when you heard the Firestone Christmas Album playing.

Little known to anyone, to this day when I want to feel like a kid again, I pull up Ray Coniff's "Memories Are Made of This" on Real Rhapsody just for a quick listen.

But please, don't tell a soul. I'm considered nerdy enough as it is.

The Couch Incident

2008-05-22T17:00:00.002-04:00

I have so many fond memories of Faith during my younger years that I naturally try to surpress the darker moments of my past. No sense in dwelling on the negative, I always say...let's remember the good times.

Still, our growing up years are always a mixture of the good and the bad, so lest you think everything in Faith was always perfect, I've decided to share one particularly nasty incident in the town's history.

I hadn't thought about it much until I happened to run across this photo, taken in the late 50s in my grandparent's living room. I'm sitting on my dad's lap (yes I know, I look like "Tweety Pie") and I couldn't be any more than three years old here. By the way, nice ankles dad.

Here's another shot taken earlier in the afternoon (I can tell because mom has on the same outfit in both pictures). I love the view of the tree through the window in the background. That's mom's brother Jerry on the left, and there's Mike, looking like he's posing for an ad for starving children in some third world nation.

Was he really that thin? I guess we all were in those days. We would actually play outside all day instead of on a computer, and a snack was an apple off a neighbor's tree and some water from the garden hose.

Anyway, central to both pictures is that homey looking couch.

The couch is usually the most important piece of furniture in any family room. It's a hub of activity. We achieve a degree of intimacy on the couch unattainable on any other piece of furniture. Believe me, I've tried.

People in Faith are proud of their furniture. It defines them to a degree. And my grandmother, surely, was proud of her couch. At least she was until one fateful Sunday afternoon in my early childhood.

We had many wonderful Sunday dinners at my grandparent's home around the lovely dining room table pictured above, and after each fine meal, everyone would retire to the living room to watch TV and nap. Napping on Sunday afternoon is practically a religious event in southern homes.

I think three or four of us, including my brother and Uncle Jerry, had been snoozing for some time when, feeling nature's call, I ventured into the bathroom for some quick relief.

Still in somewhat of a stupor, I lifted the lid and performed my duties like a good young lad. I lowered the lid and, still quite sleepy, reached for the handle.

There was no handle.

Strange, I thought. Where's the handle?

As I became slightly more conscious, I was aware of several pairs of bulging eyes staring intently at me. I also became aware that I wasn't in the bathroom after all. I was still in the living room.

The terrifying reality began to sink in. I had apparently sleepwalked over to the couch, lifted one of the two cushions, and dumped the entire contents of my bladder into the bottom third of my grandmother's prized sofa. All of this in full view of several former nappers who never made a sound.

That's the one part of the story I still don't get...why no one said a word. I suppose it was like one of those disaster scenes in a movie; it happens in slow motion and the onlookers are so shocked, they can't move. Their eyes just get bigger, and they reach out as if they want to help, but just can't quite get their bodies to respond.

I was humiliated. But at least I didn't have to pee anymore.

I received a stern lecture (though what can you really say to a young child who didn't even know what he was doing), and my grandmother received a new couch, the nice burgandy piece pictured below.

I took some comfort in that, feeling that she probably wanted a new couch anyway.

But I can state as fact that anytime after that incident, whenever I even started to look sleepy, I was immediately taken by escort into my grandparent's front bedroom.....the one near the bathroom.

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E-Mail Responses:

Strangely enough, I had a similar incident.

I was about 6 or 7, we were staying in a motel outside Washington, D.C.

During the night, my Mother woke up to discover I wasn't in the bed next to her and my Dad. Naturally, as she always did (and still does) panicked (I've never known a bigger alarmist in my life than Ma).

She woke up my Father, who made a quick search of the motel room, finding me in the closet with the door closed, sleeping in my own pool of urine and vomit. He figured I got up to use the bathroom, and in my deep sleep and being in a strange place, wandered into the closet, took a leak, fell back asleep, got too hot with the door closed (no a/c in those days), and threw up.

Fortunately, I have no recollection of the incident, just one that my parents later thought was funny enough to share with the ENTIRE extended family. Mike Cline

I Responded: That's nothing, Mike. Leigh Ann does that three or four times a week.
Leigh Ann Responded: Kent Bernhardt, That is not true... I haven't done that in at least a month!

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Ye of Little Faith Elementary

2008-05-14T18:25:00.029-04:00

Graduation from Faith Elementary School in the mid 60s was a pretty big deal. In those days, there were no junior high schools, so you sailed clean through the eighth grade at one school before you went on to high school.

The above shot taken in early June of 1966 documents the graduation ceremony held in the Faith Elementary auditorium on the last day of school.

Everyone is decked out in their finest, including my brother Mike who served as a 7th grade marshall that year. (Marshall Dillon wore a badge, but Marshall Mike had to wear a flower.) I think you got to be a marshall if you had exceptional grades, and Mike's were always good. He was pretty much the all-American boy in those days. Only later would he come to no good. (Actually, he's still a great guy today....I get to jab because it's my blog.)

Looking through this sea of faces, I see many stories from the past. I brushed elbows with many of these folks in my elementary school days, and miss some of them terribly.

Take this guy, Jeff Lingle. Jeff's story is the embodiment of "the little engine who could". Small of stature, almost sickly at times, Jeff possessed a personality and dedication to service that I envy to this day.

Too compact to play sports, Jeff often served as a team manager throughout high school, but his wit, humility, and school spirit earned him the respect and trust of his classmates. He became one of the most beloved and effective class presidents Erwin Junior High School (during his one year there) and East Rowan Senior High ever had. Jeff entered the ministry later in life, and serves as a Lutheran minister today in Rock Hill, SC.

Jeff "holding up time" at Erwin Jr. High in 1968.

Here's another face. I believe her name was Carol Corn, and she is the first girl I remember thinking of as "sexy". Jeff may have been the embodiment of school spirit, but Carol had the market cornered on sex appeal.

Carol had "it". I'm not sure exactly what "it" is in the eyes of an 11-year-old boy, but Carol possessed that, along with many many cans of hair spray. But I could gaze into those eyes all day.

Another familiar face: Janet Misenheimer. Along with my brother, Jeff Lingle, and Nan Ludwig, she was part of a folk singing trio. I think they called themselves "The Strangers". They would sing mostly at church gatherings and such, but once, they ventured to the far off city of dreams known as Charlotte to audition for a local version of American Bandstand called "Kilgo's Canteen".

The show aired on WSOC Channel 9, and local kids from all over would vie to dance and sing on it. On the day of the audition, my brother put on his best teenwear to make a good impression on the show's host, Jimmy Kilgo, and off to Charlotte they went.

Unfortunately, Mike's clothes had been washed in a product called "Calgon", a detergent designed to not only clean clothes more effectively, but leave them refreshingly soft. In doing so, the Calgon also caused an allergic reaction in our whole family, producing a merciless itching sensation in every area of our bodies that our clothes touched.

Dad scratched all week while on the road, I clawed myself to death in school, and Mike spent his audition at WSOC rubbing his back on a studio wall trying to find any relief possible.

Mom quickly identified the culprit, and the Calgon was removed from the house. "The Strangers" did not appear on Kilgo's Canteen, and would remain strangers to the pop music world.

Here's a face I tried a long time to forget; Barry Robertson. Barry was the type of guy who made Eddie Haskell look like Mr. Rogers...he was always up to no good. Look at that smile. He looks like he just pushed an old lady down a flight of stairs.

I've referred to Barry in this blog before. About three years after this shot was taken, I was at baseball practice one afternoon accompanied by "Cindy", a beautiful German Shepherd who, though not my dog, would follow me wherever I went as my constant companion. Not since Timmy and Lassie had there been such a bond between a boy and a dog.

Along came Barry at a high rate of speed in his souped-up car. Cindy, standing just to the side of the road, made a wrong move, and an instant later lay mortally wounded in a nearby ditch. Barry just raced off. I was told he laughed about it later.

I rushed to her aid, and then quickly home to alert her owner, Gary Leazer. We returned to the ball park in his red chevy station wagon, and I watched my beloved Cindy take her last breath. We loaded her body in the back of his car. My best friend died that day.

A couple of years ago, I spotted Barry's obituary in the paper. For a brief moment, that day returned along with a flood of sadness and anger. I couldn't help it.

But these days, I see the folly in hanging onto old hatred and I have never been particularly vengeful. I have always hoped that Barry became something more than the roughneck he was in those days. For all I know, he became a fine husband and father, and is missed by many. Let's hope so.

In the bully category, you could also find this guy; Randy McCombs. Randy was a tough guy. I think the day he was born, he picked a fight with the doctor.

He wasn't just combative, he would do risky, tough things. There was the legendary story about Randy "bathing" in a patch of poison ivy across the street from our house. Reportedly, he stripped down to his BVDs and rubbed the plants all over himself. I always suspected that story was more fiction than fact.

One incident I clearly remember is the fateful encounter Phil Koon and I had with him one day after school. Randy decided that it might be fun to watch a couple of punks walk home from school backwards. The punks were Phil and me.

I took it in stride....I'd never seen the world from this perspective before...but about five minutes into the trip, Phil decided to push back. It was the wrong move for the moment. Randy wrestled him to the ground and roughed him up a bit, and before long, we were both again looking at life through our rear view mirrors the rest of the way home.

Randy, I'm happy to report, has changed. I've had several pleasant encounters with him in recent years, and in 2003 when my brother celebrated his 50th birthday at Shiloh church, Randy showed up with a surprise gift. He had completely restored Mike's childhood bicycle, and presented it to him there.

Not a bad rebound for a former town bully.

I saw Randy recently. He was at a blacksmith exibition at an event at Dan Nicholas Park. He looked smaller than I remember, and he was walking with a cane. I think Phil and I could take him now.

Then again, maybe not.

To All the Girls I've Loved Before

2008-05-08T17:07:00.028-04:00

What young Faith female in her right mind could resist this guy? Here I am in 1962, dressed for the kill. If you look up the word "dapper" in the dictionary, there's no definition... just this picture.

Actually, I have no idea why my parents subjected me to this outfit. It must've been the style for young men of the day. I remember it though...the impressive coat of arms on the front pocket, the hat....oooohhhh that hat, and last but not least, the bow-tie.

No wonder hats went out of style that year. After all, John F. Kennedy didn't wear one. It had a feather in the band to drive the women wild just in case the coat of arms failed. I also remember, as demonstrated in the above picture, what a terrible time I had keeping the long sleeves of my white shirt tucked up in the sleeves of the coat.
We get the side view from this much cleaner scan and restoration (done just recently). Leigh Ann and I are dressed in our Sunday best for church. From this angle, you get a much clearer view of the feather in my hat. And check out those shoes! Spit shined!

The true humiliation came from having to wear the bow-tie. I always envied Michael because he got to wear the sportier clip-on neck tie while I was saddled with that "Howard Spragueish" bow-tie. "It makes you look handsome", mom used to say. She was also the one who bought me a short-sleeved teal green leisure coat in the mid seventies. I think I owned the only one ever made.

Seeing this outfit again does explain why, to this day, when standing on my parent's porch, I start snapping my fingers and singing "Fly Me To the Moon".

It also started me thinking about my childhood appeal to the opposite sex and all the girls who were, at one time or another, the object of my affection.

I don't remember exactly when I started noticing girls and hoping they noticed me, but I do remember my first girlfriend...at least as far as I was concerned. Darlene Fraley.

OK...I was five or six and she was in high school, but that was good enough for me. Her cousins, Jimmy and Debbie Fraley, lived right across the street, and she would visit regularly.

By the way, it was Jim, the patriarch of the Fraley family, who would introduce me to the fine arts by teaching me my first poem:

Mr Brown went to town on a load of hay.
Mr. Martin came a fartin' and blew it all away.

I have loved poetry since.

Anyway, Darlene was beautiful and made me feel special. She sometimes babysat for the Fraley kids and I was always up for a visit. If I saw Darlene on the porch, I was over there like a flash. Our love, however, was short-lived. She probably graduated and moved away.

Such is life.

I quicky moved my affections over to young Debbie Fraley. We played together often, and I began to have special feelings for her that I couldn't explain. Six year olds aren't really supposed to like girls. They're frilly and hard to get along with. Yet Debbie was fun...more fun than the guys...and pretty too.

Alas, as the railroad jobs in Rowan County began moving to South Carolina, and so did Debbie, along with her family, sometime in 1962. My heart was broken for the first time. The day they left, I couldn't even go outside and tell her goodbye. I just watched from the living room window as her family drove away.

As Groucho Marx once said, time wounds all heels. Before long, I had my sights set on the new minister's daughter, beautiful Katherine Grimes. Katherine and I even talked about marriage once....in the second grade. We were to be married at Shiloh UCC, and we were going to have a Volkswagon, just like her dad. I always liked Katherine....she was smart as a whip, and could hold her own with even the toughest guys. In 1962 (in yet another wardrobe malfunction...my parents just wouldn't let up), I appeared with Katherine in the Faith 4th of July parade. Someone got the bright idea to do a "children around the world" theme, and I was tagged to portray the little Dutch boy. Katherine is seen in the forefront as the little oriental girl...Phil Koon is Uncle Sam...and Sheryl McCombs is the Swedish chick. I'm over there in the light blue outfit, glaring at my dad who's taking the picture.

We all held hands standing in a circle around a huge paper globe. I didn't mind wearing the big bulky wooden shoes; I figured it was part of the deal. But at the last minute, my mom put just a touch of lipstick on me to make my lips actually show up. That was the ultimate humiliation. Uncle Sam sure didn't have to wear lipstick!

The float won first place in the Faith 4th competition, and a picture of it appeared in the Salisbury Post. I just kept thinking that everyone who read the paper would notice my lipstick and I'd be branded for life. I finally got over it though.....then my mom bought me that short-sleeved leisure coat.....

Katherine, too, moved away sometime in the summer of 1966 when her father accepted the call to a church in Conover. Another lost love. (We've swapped e-mails a few times in recent years. She's still a class act.)

There were others: Rita Bost who wore beautiful dark-rimmed glasses and had a smile that lit up a room; my cousin Penny (pictured above) who visited us for Thanksgiving weekend in 1964 (my second attraction to an older woman...she was 16); Cindy Bost, who thought I looked a little like Herman Munster, so she called me "Herman" (hey, what did I care....she was beautiful and at least she called me something...), and on and on my young love life went.

All thanks to that snazzy hat and coat of arms jacket.

E-Mails:
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Dear Kent,
How funny that you remember these things after all the years that have passed! Thanks for the kind words and the photo! Katherine Grimes
I responded: Thanks Katherine! As I frequently tell people, it’s getting to the point where I can remember with clarity the details of events 40-45 years ago, but I’m not really sure where I parked my car 20 minutes ago…..
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Oddly enough, the first girl I had a crush on was named Darlene...Gloria Darlene Morton. It started in third grade, and, off-and-on, lasted until seventh grade. I took her to a junior high dance. The big song was BLUE VELVET. I also remember hearing Annette Funicello sing the theme from (The Misadventures of) MERLIN JONES. Mike Cline
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Oh, Kent!!! That OUTFIT!!! I don’t know why I don’t remember it from Sunday School; I must’ve repressed it to protect my psyche. Hope I don’t start having nightmares, Herman.

Thank you for clearing up my nationality on that July 4th float; all these years I thought I was German.

Do you remember how MEAN Uncle Sam (Phil) used to be? He used to hammer you all the time. I remember him climbing a tree in Katherine’s back yard. He had a kick ball, threw it, hit me in the stomach, and knocked the wind out of me. Man, has he mellowed…….

Thanks for sending Ye of Little Faith. I’m really enjoying it. Brings back memories……. Sheryl Lyerly

I Responded: Come to think of it, you were probably German. I hadn't noticed that little swastika on your arm before now. And yes, I well remember how rough Phil could be. I remember once, we walked home from school together, and after we got to his house, I kept going up toward mine. Phil took his books inside, came back out, and ran all the way after me, body tackling me in Leazer's yard just for fun. The bloodier he made you the happier he was. And by the way, only Cindy Bost gets to call me Herman.

Larger Than Life Faith Folks

2008-05-01T11:26:00.027-04:00

Each town, large or small, has its "larger than life" characters. Growing up in the Faith of the 1960s, my life included the presence of two distinctive people; Cohen Ludwig, better known as "Uncle Dick", and Ray McCombs, owner and operator of McCombs and Company Grocery.

Cohen, pictured above with wife Ida Ruth (my grandmother's sister), was by profession an incredibly gifted stone carver. His work can be found, among other places, on the side of Stone Mountain in Georgia.

What made him larger than life in my eyes was, not only his artistic ability, but his zest for life. Many school mornings while awaiting a ride from my granddad, I'd watch as he'd come bounding out of his back door, lunchbox in hand, off to chisel away at another day.

When he spoke, there was a passion in each sentence, like he was sharing a wonderful new idea. His warm tenor voice was a fixture in our church choir, and I'm told that if you ever told him a joke, he wouldn't laugh right away, but would collapse with hearty laughter in a half hour or so.

Here, Dick and Ida Ruth celebrate their 25th wedding anniversary in 1958. Their home was almost magical to me as a kid. Built around the turn of the century, it had a warm feel to it. Music would always flow from the open windows. You could often hear it through the neighborhood.

Several of his statues could be found around the yard, along with the "rock table" where our families gathered for many a cookout. I can still taste the homemade ice cream...and still feel the "skeeters" biting. His yard was where I learned to play "roley bat"...a fun game involving a plastic ball and bat that involved accurate pitching skill. I still play it with Cindy and McKenna to this day.

I think I included this picture because this was often the way you saw Uncle Dick; with his back to you working on something. He seemed somewhat driven, his mind always active. You seldom saw him sitting around just doing nothing. There was always someplace to go and something to do. "Get in the back of the truck, chillins'!"...and we'd be off to get ice cream or something.

While our families were at the beach in the summer of '69, with tape recorder in hand, I asked Uncle Dick to sing something. He took the microphone from my hand, put it right up to his lips (which is why the recording is somewhat distorted), and sang "Good Morning to You". You can hear that recording HERE.

In the summer of 1966, the Ludwigs were temporarily living in the Atlanta area while Cohen worked with other stone artists on the front of Stone Mountain. We visited the Ludwigs one hot summer weekend, staying overnight with them in their temporary digs, a mobile home. Here, I'm standing with Uncle Dick, peering through one of those terrible coin operated binocular devices that, for a nickel, gave you an only slightly amplified and very blurry view of the subject. I must've wasted a ton of nickels on those things back then.

Mike and I on top of Stone Mountain with Dick in the background. Note the camera I was wearing around my neck. It belonged to my grandmother, and it was the only way she could get me to make the trip. Our family had just returned from a four day trip to the beach (we never went for an entire week back then), and a day later, we were supposed to leave for a two day trip to Atlanta.

I just flat didn't want to go, and planned to remain at home with my grandparents. I made the excuse that I was tired, but the truth is I had a whopper of a crush on Cindy Bost in those days, and her grandmother lived a couple of blocks from me. I heard she might be spending the weekend in the neighborhood, so I wanted to stay home with the hopes of catching a glimpse of her, and (gulp) even talking to her. At the last minute though, my grandmother offered me her camera if I would go, so it was goodbye Cindy and hello Atlanta. Turns out Cindy never visited her grandmother that weekend, so I lost nothing. I also got to watch the Braves play that trip.

Another larger than life character in my world was my Uncle Ray....Ray McCombs. He's pictured here late in his life attending my grandmother's 80th birthday gathering in 1987. Ray owned what had to be the largest house in Faith, just across the street from the first house our family lived in. It was also one of those huge turn-of-the-century homes with large rooms and lots of cubby holes. Mark and Kim Shores (his granddaughter) own it today.

Ray owned and operated McCombs and Company Grocery, small by today's standards, but the warmest, friendliest grocery store you could imagine in those days. I often thought his slogan should be "If you can't find it at McCombs Grocery....You can probably live without it."

It was the home of those wonderful McCombs salads....chicken, egg, and of course that mouth-watering pimento cheese...made by Vern on a weekly basis. They were always running out, but no matter; you could come back for fresh next week. Those salads are still sold in Faith today in a little store owned by the Shores, located in the old Faith library.

You could purchase your groceries and "put it on the bill" in those days. Edith or Eugene would whip out a pad and note the amount, then place the ticket in a large flip-storage device above the cash register. Once a week or so, you'd just drop by and pay your bill. It didn't take us kids long to figure out that we could stop by on our own, grab a soda and candy bar, and "put it on the bill". It also didn't take our parents long to figure out that we were doing that, and the practice would stop immediately.

Ray was also a man who loved life and loved his Lord. He served as our church treasurer well into his eighties. Once, I had the opportunity to record him reciting one of his famous childhood poems. It's a recording I treasure, and you can listen HERE.

A couple of shots taken during the war at the McCombs house. In the left photo, note the star hanging in the window indicating a son in the service. Pictured left are (bottom left to right) Sue Teague, mom, Kay Margaret, (top row) Jerry Misenheimer, Gail Mahaffey, and Vern Mccombs. In the above photo, granddad poses with Ray, also during the war. Granddad retired from the Navy and built his home in Faith in 1948.

Ray passed away in 1995, and is still missed today. The McCombs Grocery store closed in the late 90s, and the building is now owned by Faith Baptist Church.

Emails:

Kent..how good it was to read about Daddy Combs and to hear his story that you recorded. I could just hear him sharing the story as he always did with all of us huddled around in one room or on the porch on one summer evening....what wonderful memories. I have sooooo enjoyed reading your Blog, thanks for sharing your stories and pictures (well maybe those except the ones of us at the beach....my stomach still looks like that today).

Keep the stories coming...they sure bring back fond memories of a slower and more relaxed time in our busy lives of today.

Again...thanks...please make sure you have this email of mine (above) and that of Adam and Eric as noted below.

Take care.....Keith McCombs

I responded: Hi Keith!

Man, I remember in those days, I was close to six feet tall and weighed about 120 pounds. Those are virtually the dimensions of a good pencil!

Glad you guys are enjoying the blog…I really enjoy going through the pictures and writing up the memories. I’m hoping other people will contribute pictures and memories as this thing gets going. I hear regularly from Patty June Jung now, and more and more family members and friends are climbing on board. Mike’s wife Lorie is planning on starting one for her family.

I’ll be happy to add you guys and don’t forget to leave comments in the comment section if you are so inclined.

Give my best to your family,
Kent

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Kent
On Friday night, four of our children were here to help Jim celebrate his retirement after 46 years as Chemistry Professor at Campbell University. As we were visiting after dinner, I called up your blog so they could see what a neat thing you have done.....and who should greet us but their Mother Ruth and Daddy Dick!!!! They were absolutely thrilled. Dayna promptly sent the pictures to herself and of course, to her siblings.....so you just might hear from a couple of them. Your text about Daddy and Uncle Ray was so entertaining and interesting......oh, what memories. You realize that I have been gone for 50 years.....so, I missed out on lots of Bernhardt growing up years....as I missed out on lots of Nan's growing up. She was almost 6 when I married.

I really loved the picture of Uncle Ray and the sisters.......those girls were a bunch, weren't they? I

I just want you to know how excited I get when you have added something to your blog............keep it up................Thanks for the visit. Patty June

Some Kid Stuff...Mostly Leigh

2008-04-25T14:40:00.019-04:00

I submit this photo to fulfill a request from Clyde who asked me to post a picture or two of Leigh Ann topless in bed. Clyde, if you e-mail me back to say she still looks the same, I hope you find the couch comfortable.

This was taken in 1960, just a few months after moving into the new house. Leigh's crib was actually in mom and dad's room.

Leigh Ann awaiting some grub in the new kitchen. I well remember that Hotpoint stove...it was there for many years. Dad bought a new stove in the late sixties.

OK...another shameful topless photo of Leigh Ann from 1960. She was often bathed in the sink, and seemed to like it. As a matter of fact, every Saturday night, she still bathes there. Get your tickets through Ticketmaster.

Notice the bar of soap at the kitchen sink. I'm sure it's Lux. We always bought Lux soap. I hated Lux soap. To me, it didn't smell particularly good, and it tasted worse (when used to wash out my mouth). I wanted Ivory. It floats.

And if you glance through the kitchen window, you can see the nice patch of woods Hurricane Hugo removed in 1989. These days, you see Leigh Ann and Clyde's house.

Leigh Ann climbing the famous Bernhardt white fence in the back yard. Famous because it was on that very fence I became a tenor. I had the bright idea one Sunday in 1963 to try to balance myself on top of it while I walked from one end to the other. Feeling myself losing my balance, I couldn't decide whether to fall to the left or to the right. You guessed it, my legs parted and I came crashing down on the fence, full force. Instant tenor. Man, that hurt!

Here, Leigh Ann looks like she got the worst end of a street fight. I'm not sure why she has a black eye...we were always getting them back in those days, crashing into doors, poles, or whatever we could find to crash into.

Finally, another shot of me crying. Even after this limited restoration, there is still some film decay present...either that, or the room was full of nuclear fallout. Most of it is in front of my face, so maybe it's the first photographic evidence of morning breath...who knows.

And no, I don't know why I was crying. (Maybe I had just fallen off the fence....my legs are crossed....) Personally, I think I was crying over that haircut. Because of my cowlicks, I was never allowed to wear my hair long...it tended to just hang in my eyes.

Some of the biggest battles of my childhood were fought over my desire to wear my hair longer like the other kids. Finally, about the time I was in the fifth grade, my father consented... provided I would keep it out of my eyes. So I grew it out, carefully keeping it out of my eyes with the aid of Score or Vitalis...whatever we had.

But alas, one time too many I was caught in violation of the "hair policy", so by the time I entered the sixth grade, I was back to a flat top. I finally won the war for good in the seventh grade. It was a personal victory on the grandest scale. And I can happily report that, due to my receding hairline, my hair is permanently out of my eyes.

Next week...Larger than Life Faith folks, with fresh audio.

Comments:

Judging from that "cat that ate the canary, wise-ass" smile on your brother's face, I'd bet the farm he's behind the reason you are weeping. Mike Cline

Dad Hits the Big 7-5!

2008-04-18T11:53:00.023-04:00

The strapping young lad in the picture above is 75 today. He doesn't seem to suspect here that in the years to come, everyone will know him as "Snooky" Bernhardt. Funny, after all these years, I still don't know where the name Snooky came from. Anyway, today's post is a tribute to dad on the anniversary of his birth, April 18, 1933.

Seventy-five is sort of a magical age to me. Most of us won't live to be 100, so seventy-five is sort of the plateau of a lifetime of experience and wisdom.

By the time you hit seventy-five, you know who your friends are (and more importantly, who you are), and you've accomplished most of what you've set out to do in life. You've been around long enough to tell a phony a mile away, and your mission in life becomes one of imparting pieces of that wisdom to others younger than you.

My dad fits comfortably into that category. He's not one of those old, cranky "know-it-alls". He's more of a "been there and done that" guy who has some good advice stored up if you ask him.

And, aside from an occasional bout of gruffness, he's a serene man at peace with his world. Once, while driving down a highway, I noticed to my dismay that my car was running out of gas. Strangely my first thought was "Thank God, I'm not flying an airplane." I honestly believe that type of thinking is a gift from my father. No matter what he's been through, he can always think of a way it could be worse.

Above, a piece of "Snooky...the Early Years"...with his younger brother Virgil.

I love this shot of dad...a drawing that appeared in the Salisbury Post in the early 50s when he played basketball for Granite Quarry High. It's interesting to note that newspapers actually did drawings like this in those days, and for local athletes. That's a lost art form today. Dad says he posed for it by putting his hand on a basketball that was sitting on a chair. Until this moment, I didn't realize the Granite Quarry basketball team was called "the Cagers".

Dad, mom, and one of Dad's best friends from high school, Ben Fink. Ben was a long-time Faith resident who worked in county government later in his life. He was the father of an elementary school friend of mine, Chandra Fink. He passed away far too young in 1982.

This is a fascinating old photo that I recently restored showing dad, for some odd reason, in a choir robe. (He's on the back row, just left of center.) I'm assuming it was taken sometime in the early to mid 50s at Faith Lutheran Church, though I have no idea what the occasion was since dad never attended that church. In his early days, he attended St. Pauls Lutheran Church, and after his marriage, he joined mom's church, Shiloh Reformed. I can only assume this was some sort of community chorus involving members of all three churches in town, and that dad got arm-twisted into it by mom (shown on the far right). It would never happen again. (Be sure to click on this picture for a much larger copy.)

February 9, 1967 is a date everyone in my family remembers well. While helping to erect a billboard sign during a snowstorm, the crane dad was operating made contact with a high voltage wire, sending 14 thousand volts slamming into his body. He would've died on the spot if not for two co-workers on the scene who knew what to do and how to do it. The accident cost him his right arm, right ear, and left thumb...but to this day, I have never heard my dad refer to himself as handicapped. Many surgeries later, he strapped on an artificial arm and got right back into the workforce with the same company, 3M, this time as a real estate representative. He's shown here with his good friend and co-worker Bill Sides in a publicity photo taken for a Salisbury Post article.

Suffice to say, we were all glad we could pose for this family portrait in the summer of '67.

This is the dad I'll always remember...always finishing up some household project. Here, he's putting the last coat on "Old Faithful"...the swingset he built in our yard in the early 60s that's still there today. Many a neighborhood kid gathered at our house to swing on that swingset. Dad has also always been a big gadget guy. We were the first family in the neighborhood to have a "Vegematic"....remember those? They'd slice and dice a tomato with ease on TV, yet the first time he used ours, tomato went everywhere but on the plate. I noticed later that the Vegematic people changed their ad to read "...will slice a firm tomato with ease...".

Dad in the late 1970's with Leigh Ann. I don't recall the name of the cat, though I'm sure it met a horrible end. (See previous posts.)

Dad and mom enjoying their passion of fishing on the North Carolina coast. This particular picture was taken in the mid to late 80s, and the large fish they were holding were probably rented for the picture. We've never had much luck on most of these fishing trips, though we've always had a good time.

So, happy 75th to a great dad...mender of the broken (I can't tell you how many times I heard the phrase "Here...hold this while I hit it with a hammer".), dispenser of sage advice, and above all, a survivor who didn't let a little thing like 14,000 volts of electricity stand in his way of a fruitful and happy life. May he enjoy many more wonderful years.

Responses:

Happy Birthday to a true gentleman, even if he never did really like me. Mike Cline

My Reply: It's not just dad, Mike. No one likes you.

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Kent, what a wonderful birthday tribute to your Dad.

The group picture, it was Christmas......probably around '52. Yes, the three churches combined to do a Christmas Cantata. I can name nearly everyone in the picture. It is wonderful!!!!! Those were some really great times. I really do not know when your Mom and Dad started dating.....so MAYBE it was later. I feel sure I was still in High School....so, it had to be no later than '54.

There was a hit parade song on the radio "Snook-y-ook-ums". Maybe that's where he got that name. It sure stuck!!!!! Patty June Jung

My Reply: Thanks for the info. I spotted you in the picture and knew you’d remember. Mom and Dad married in April of ’52, so this was probably Christmas ’51. I doubt he would’ve done it after they were married, just knowing dad. The only person missing from my restoration is Leon Barger. In the original, his face had such a huge scratch over it, I had to take him out. He was to the right of mom. Quick question: Who was the lady on the far right on the bottom row? Wasn’t she killed in a car accident during the 50s?

Patty June's Reply: Yes, Marcia Kay Hess......Lindsay, Terry and David Hess's sister.....she was killed with her little baby son in August 1957. She was my first cousin...and best friend. Such a tragedy. She could have made a million bucks singing country music.
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This is terrific. I’ll try to give some additional comments when I have more time. (Can you stand the anticipation?!) P.S. Happy Birthday to Snooky (may I call him “Snooky”? No? Um, to Mr. Bernhardt, from all the Broccolis near and far. Tom Brock

My Reply: All his friends call him "Snooky"...so "Mr. Bernhardt" is fine for you.