Road Trip: A Sunday Afternoon With Family and the Ten Commandments

One of the earliest road trips I recall is one from my parent’s house in north Georgia into the western tip of North Carolina. The trip took less than an hour. Usually, we took this trip on a Sunday afternoon. We generally took that short drive with my aunt and uncle.

Before going any further I should mention a few things here. This short trip on a Sunday afternoon only happened a handful of times a year. Generally, at that time Sunday afternoons were reserved for visiting both sets of grandparents. I was very blessed to have all four grandparents live within a few miles of where we lived. Most every Sunday we visited them, as did most of my aunts, uncles and cousins. It was a mini-family reunion almost each week. Now and then though, for some reason, we varied that routine.

Secondly, I will try not to mention my aunt and uncle by name. I do this for no other reason that out of respect for their privacy. That said, they have always been model citizens as far as I know, so don’t read anything like that into why I don’t name them. What you need to know about them is they never had children of their own. They did though have hearts so big they took care of children in many other ways. Their home has always been warm, friendly and a wonderful place to be. For many of us, this couple was our favorite aunt and uncle.

It was always a treat to go with this aunt and uncle anywhere. I can’t recall on these short trips but I imagine knowing the relationship my parents had with my aunt and uncle that they argued over who would drive on this trip as they did for any trip they took together. If my uncle drove during racing season, he would have the radio on a station that carried the broadcast of that week’s race. It often played soft and low on the AM radio frequency while we all talked during the ride. If the Winston Cup drivers had the week off, we usually plugged in an eight-track tape into the car’s player filling the inside of the car with steel guitars, fiddles and guitars direct from Nashville.

The ride took us through communities with exotic sounding names to some but familiar places to us, Copperhill, Ducktown, Turtletown, Dogtown. Finally we would reach our destination, in a small, out-of-the-way place in western North Carolina.

We stopped at a small building on the side of the road. Inside was a clothing store. My mom and my aunt would spend time shopping there. The store also served as a convenience store of sorts. I recall the worn, hardwood floors and the now old-time horizontal chillers full of bottled Coca-Colas, Dr. Peppers and Mountain Dews. A lady operated the business. I want to say her name was Linda but I may be wrong. We would all chit-chat with her during our stay.

Us men-folks would often sit outside the storefront. If the car race had some special interest for my uncle he would walk over to his car now and then to catch up on the lap number and leaders.

What made this trip even more unique was while my aunt and mom shopped, my uncle, my dad and me often grew restless. There was something else there though that could occupy our time until we were ready to leave.

This small business sat right beside the entrance to a distinctive landmark. Just behind this business was what is called Fields of the Wood. If you are reading this and grew up where I did, you probably visited this place at least once in your life or you know about it since it so close. For those who have never heard of it, it is a property owned by the Church of God of Prophecy. On this property are a number of monuments and markers relating to the Christian faith. The best known, and most obvious, of these monuments rests on a huge hill. In letters measured five feet high and four feet wide the Ten Commandments are spelled out, five on the left side, five on the right. It is quite a spectacle to see.

Right in the middle of the Ten Commandments are steps. So, you can walk from the bottom of the hill to the top. On some of those trips long ago, while my aunt and my mom shopped, my uncle, my dad and me walked those steps. Just so you know, you can also drive to the top of the hill.

Soon enough, it was time to leave. Any shopping by my aunt and mom would be wrapped up. We would finish our Cokes and cheese crackers. We would load back up in the car and reverse our trip.

That small clothing shop moved down the road a few miles in time. I am not sure if it is still in business now. I have only been back a few times since those days when I rode that trip crowded in between my mom and aunt in the back seat of our 1970 Dodge Coronet or on the console of my uncle’s lemon-yellow Plymouth Satellite. When I have been back I am amazed at the vision someone had to put together something like Fields of the Wood. I am always reminded of those Sunday afternoon road trips and how those memories mean more to me than any words I could ever hope to put together to describe them.

For more information of Fields of the Wood visit their website

Psalm 132:6: See, we heard of it at Ephratah: we found it in the fields of the wood. 
Road Trip: A Sunday Afternoon With Family and the Ten Commandments playlist:

Jerry Reed "East Bound and Down"
Small Faces "Lazy Sunday Afternoon"
Shooter Jennings "Gone to Carolina"
Kathy Mattea "455 Rocket"
Crystal Gayle "Wrong Road Again"
The Primitive Quartet "Don't Weaken the Wheel"
Nat King Cole "That Sunday, That Summer"
Dolly Parton "The Bargain Store"
The McKameys "God On The Mountain"
Rodney Crowell "Old King Richard"
Bob Seger "Detroit Made"
The Kruger Brothers "Carolina in the Fall" 

Rhetorically Elvis

The other night a photograph popped up in my Facebook feed. This photo, posted by Randy Burse, was taken during my college days which now are more years removed than I can readily recall. Even though time repeatedly adds space between then and now, the photo took me back as if that frozen moment was just yesterday.

That photograph was taken at a Halloween party during 1987. Those of us who were studying broadcasting, public relations, theater, and organizational communication at that time at Freed-Hardeman were involved in a faculty-sponsored group called COMMA, Communication Majors and Minors Association. We met several times each semester often networking with those from the real work world who had careers many of us aspired toward. Our group was small enough so that we all mostly knew one another. After four years worth of classes and COMMA meetings together, we also came to know our professors well. This group hosted a Halloween party inviting guests to dress up in costume for the night.

It was during those last few semesters when those of us with those specific majors turned our eyes toward tackling the big two courses we needed to complete to graduate. One course was Communication Theory taught by Dr. Steve Johnson. The other was titled Survey of Rhetorical Theory, taught by Dr. Gerald Fulkerson. These courses uncovered the backbone of how communication developed and behaved. They brought clinical views of the various ways we communicate for deeper consideration. These courses brought to light those important figures from long ago who began to analyze then record patterns then develop theories about how and why we communicate.

That said when a person is just looking for a career in broadcasting or public relations, this level of classroom study sure seemed heady stuff. As classmate Dawn Bramblett stated in a comment about the photo, those two classes were talked about by seniors in hushed tones when we were mere freshmen, a deserved tradition we passed along to others. These were tough courses with reputations that loomed all around us each year as we crept further down our academic path. That journey ended on the fateful first day of the semester when we walked into a classroom to finally read the course syllabus. Additionally, the two men who taught these courses expected serious participation and effort from those who made it to this point in their pursuit of a degree.

The photo shows left to right, myself, Dawn Bramblett and Christi Pugh. It was taken at the aforementioned party. At this point in the semester, the three of us, along with several others, were about halfway through “rhetoric”, as we often called the course. On this night, no doubt with rhetorical theory running wild in our minds, we attended the party dressed in togas. Adding to the visual, we wear leafy headdresses as if we just stepped out of Athenian ruins. Around our necks are name tags so that everyone could know who we were representing on this night. We weren’t sure if the ancient Greeks had any “My Name Is” tags back in that day, so Dawn’s excellent penmanship was put to good use as she boldly and neatly printed names on orange construction paper in large letters. We affixed strings to each paper then draped them

over our necks. Christi was Plato. Dawn was Aristotle. In the photo, I am turned sideways to the camera obscuring my name tag which identified me on this night as Gorgias, the “Elvis Presley” of rhetoric.

Remember, it was 1987. We were not far, geographically, from Memphis. It was a time when some felt Elvis was still alive and well. It was a time when the thought of Elvis Presley still had some cachet although I likely wiped that out with my appearance this night. As the “Elvis Presley” of rhetoric, I recall using a box of stick-on stars, the kind a Sunday school teacher may have let students place on an attendance chart years earlier, to attach them to the toga in an attempt to match Elvis’s rhinestone-laded jumpsuits. I wore gaudy sunglasses then wrapped fake sideburns around the temples of the glasses. Meantime, my friends, Christi and Dawn, were part of a larger group who appeared this night known as the Beatles of rhetoric.

Looking at the photo recently brought back a lot of good memories. As several commented on the photo, a bit of the backstory came to light. In a class session prior to this party, Dr. Fulkerson had likened Gorgias to Elvis Presley then likened other philosophers such as Plato and Aristotle to the Beatles as far as impact on the things we were studying at that moment. Several of us took Dr. Fulkerson’s explanation and ran with it in a literal sense to the COMMA Halloween party.

There is a bit more to the story though that I recall. Indulge me please as I attempt to add more backstory to this occasion. Hopefully, it will jog the memory others have about this event so that they can fill in more details.

The story begins on the first floor of the BCWE building on campus. The rhetoric class met several mornings each week in that first-floor classroom. During this particular semester though I had another course in the very same classroom. That other class was Communication Law, taught by the late Lora DeFore. This course met once a week in the evening.

This classroom was mostly unremarkable for the time, desks, chalkboard and a table for the teacher. There was one notable thing about this room though. On one wall hung a framed photo of an older woman alongside a small plaque with information about this woman. Sad to say, I do not recall this woman’s name. I do know though she in some way had donated resources to the school to help fund the building of the BCWE building. In return, the school honored her contribution by placing this nice framed photo on the wall in this room.

While the Communication Law course was interesting, meeting once a week for three hours after a long day came to be somewhat of a grind. I do not know who in that class looked at that photo on the wall then determined to make a small change to it. That isn’t important. But, one class meeting, someone had taken transparent tape then attached a small thin mustache to the space between the nose and upper lip of the lady in the photo. Our class met that night. We took a few minutes to chuckle at the photo then the class went on, and we forgot to remove the mustache.

Guess which class met the first thing the next morning in that room? You don’t have to answer since I meant this as, yes, you guessed it, a rhetorical question. For those keeping score at home though, Rhetorical Theory met in that classroom the next day.

At first, the Rhetorical Theory class went as it did every day. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary. I sat about three-fourths of the way back in a desk near the middle of the classroom. As the class progressed, in the corner of my eye, I noticed my friend Scott Ballard seemed to be shaking. I glanced at him as he fought to keep from laughing out loud. I furrowed my brow at him asking him, without words, why he was struggling to keep his composure. He answered, without words, by cutting his eyes toward the photo on the wall. When I looked there, here was this sweet-looking grandmother figure with a pencil-thin mustache. I had forgotten about the photo, so it was now my turn to keep from bursting into laughter. Others began to take note of a growing disruption of the normalcy of the class. The suppressed laughter grew person-by-person and row-by-row from the back of the class to the first seat of each row.

At this point, Dr. Fulkerson understood something had taken over his lecture, he just did not know why or what. His initial reaction was to ask if his fly was open. His question allowed the classroom of students to explode in laughter. Some kind soul stopped laughing long enough to direct Dr. Fulkerson to the photo on the wall. Once he saw it, he laughed along with us adding a joke or two of his own, as only he could do with his wry, dry wit.

Dr. Fulkerson though was in a groove. He had material to cover with precious time slipping away. The whole series of events though had taken a toll on us as students. We could not stop laughing. We tried to suppress the laughter as we had earlier but trying to do so just made things worse. We tried to focus on the task at hand but learning about rhetorical theory seemed as far away then as the columns of the Parthenon. Dr. Fulkerson looked around at the ruins of this particular class session then ended it early, something he rarely did.

Sometime later, I am hazy on details, some of us began to dream of other ways to use the photo in the classroom so that we could, frankly, end another class session early. And, this brings us to Elvis Presley, and eventually, to Gorgias.

A photo of Elvis Presley was located. It was a profile of the left side of the entertainer’s face. A photocopy was made. This copy was taped to the frame in the right-hand corner making it look as if Elvis was looking down from above at the woman in the frame.

The Rhetorical Theory class met again. This time, Elvis occupied the picture frame along with the sweet-looking grandmother. Dr. Fulkerson though short-circuited any plans to derail the class by quickly acknowledging the picture. He chuckled at the feeble attempt to replicate the previous prank then transitioned into his lecture for the day. It is likely during this class period, Dr. Fulkerson looked over to Elvis on the picture frame and likened Gorgias to Elvis and other philosophers who followed as the Beatles of rhetorical theory.

Even though Dr. Fulkerson has passed away and Dr. Johnson retired, there is still comfort knowing students now still study the ancients, maybe even Gorgias. I am not sure how they remember his place in the great thinkers of that day and time. I just know when I think of him, I think of Elvis Presley but I also think of good times with good friends and I marvel at how all that comes back together now in the form of good memories.

~~~~~~~

In case you need your memory jogged about what life was like, musically, in October 1987, here is a playlist of songs from that time, along with one or two which just seemed to match the memory in some way.

Michael Jackson "Bad"

Bruce Springsteen "Brilliant Disguise"

Elton John "Candle In The Wind"

Heart "Who Will You Run To?"

Bourgeois Tagg "I Don't Mind At All"

Fleetwood Mac "Little Lies"

Swing Out Sister "Breakout"

U2 "Where The Streets Have No Name"

Richard Marx "Should've Known Better"

Cutting Crew "I've Been In Love Before"

REM "The One I Love"

Rosanne Cash "The Way We Make A Broken Heart"

Bill Medley and Jennifer Warnes "I've Had The Time of My Life"

Jimmy Davis and Junction "Kick the Wall"

The Replacements "Skyway"

The Beatles "Twist and Shout"
George Harrison "When We Was Fab"
Elvis Presley "My Way"

And, if you are really ambitious, read up on Gorgias, you know, the Elvis Presley of rhetoric.

All That's Left On The Roll

And, so here we are. Mid-March in the year of our Lord, 2020. I sit in our living room tapping out these words on a computer monitor waiting to start my day as the morning’s darkness gives way slowly to a foggy shield. I am wearing pajama pants and an old green shirt that is so soft and comfortable I cannot make myself consider parting with it. My work email is already making my phone light up providing me with activity in the hours ahead. In a few minutes, our daughter will brighten this room with her personality. Not long after her appearance, we will begin her school day. And, at this place, and at this time, we do all that from this our living room.

I suppose each generation, or at least certain members of each generation, has paused, breathed in deeply, looked around at what was happening around them, and came to the conclusion that the world, as in the people who live in the world, have totally and completely lost their last fragment of common sense. Looking back, I probably have come to that conclusion multiple times in my lifetime but that is just how I tick. I must say though these last few weeks have helped sway me in that direction once again.

A virus has spread globally and now is impacting our country. As I write that last sentence, the words seem a bit unreal. It sounds like the background to some poorly written and badly produced made-for-TV movie from the 1980s. Of course, it is much more serious than that.

It is hard though to know what to believe during such times. We drown under a flood of information. Additionally, many of us feel we cannot trust many of those who bring us this information. Our leaders, on every side, bicker between themselves to the point of embarrassment. Many of us pick sides among all these powerful players then root for “our” side as if it were a sporting event on a Saturday afternoon. Knowing what to believe is hard when sometimes it bounces up against what a body wants to believe.

Any way you view things, it is a complicated world. I took a day off at the end of this past previous week. I planned to do some needed things at our house. Hysteria had set in enough though that I spent my leave day setting things up to work from home. The night before my wife told me she had intended to stop at the grocery store to buy some salad for our dinner. She though caught wind of the chaos gripping the stores and thought otherwise. Of course, salad was probably plentiful. Toilet paper was the hot item. I told her the next morning, on my day off, I would get up early then visit the grocery store to purchase some needed items and stock up on other things.

As I cruised the aisles of our nearby grocery, knowing Hannah and I were to be bunkered at home for at least a week, I filled the buggy (Southern for grocery cart) with some staples to get by the next few days, milk, cereal, bread. I also bought a few comfort items such as cookies and Co-Colas (Southern for soda pop). And, of course, I bought two packs of toilet paper.

Now, we are about a week into this latest stage of hysteria. I believe we have reason to be concerned with what is happening in our world. We need to take care of ourselves and those we love. It is even a good idea to check on others such as the neighbors whose names you struggle to remember. We need to take measures to make certain we can stay well, get well and do better the next time the next wave of hysteria comes calling. Maybe, when it all settles, we will be more patient and kind and concerned about each one of us. Still, for now, I wonder. Toilet paper?

Last night, after a day of answering email for work, leading some training via online conferencing and trying to understand second-grade math from the perspective of an eight-year-old, it was time to call it a day. I turned the lights off throughout the house then stepped into the bathroom. I realized my nose was a bit stuffy, so I reached for the toilet paper, only to find the roll had just enough to unwrap it one turn. It was just the right amount.

I picked up the now-bare roll and dropped it into the trashcan. I then washed my hands thoroughly. I thought to myself how odd it is that toilet paper, of all things, is still flying off the shelves. I hope we don’t run out of it.

Then I thought about common sense. I hope we have a few rolls of that stocked away because it seems to be as valuable a commodity these days as toilet paper.