AN EPITAPH IN COOPERSTOWN

In the spring of 1968 I was chosen to attend one of the most prestigious and difficult training schools that AT&T had to offer. It was conducted in Cooperstown, New York at the grand hotel by the name, “The Otesaga Hotel” and it would take three-months to complete.

The subject matter being taught was the beginning of a new era of “digital” transmission in telecommunications. Computers, at that time, were huge in size and required massive air-condition systems just to keep the computer cool. Small personal computers (PC) were in the early developmental stages. The total data capacity that could be stored in those early commercial computers was hundreds of time smaller than the small home PC’s used in 2014.

The language of the computers and its memory technology was at that time, compared to today’s technology was like the horse and buggy vs. the modern automobiles today. This was the development of a brand new world of telecommunication being born, for both voice and data. I was a student of this new technology. To say I was not somewhat concerned I would be able to understand the course material and pass the required tests would be to tell a lie. Dropping below a grade of 70 in two of the eight subjects in any single week was a firm, no-questions-asked, dismissal from this school. Your bags would be packed, a cab standing by to take you to the airport to transport you back to your hometown. Those students would be called out of class, brought to the lobby of the Hotel where their bags and belongings were waiting, and board the cab for the airport. No time to say goodbyes or even to go back to your room. After seeing several students make an exit this way put a fear in the hearts of the remaining students, mine included. To go home like that was a sure end of climbing up the corporate ladder. Kiss you career good-by!

Classes began at 8:00am and lasted until 5:00pm, Monday through Friday. Saturday classes were only for half a day. All meals were served in the official dinning room of this beautiful hotel. No time for breaks and walking around the town. You were there to study only and study was intense as all of the hundreds of students, from all over the United States and some from other countries, buckled down after evening dinner to study.

Living in this beautiful five-star hotel, which was occupied by only the students of AT&T, the instructors and the hotel staff, was necessary because all classes were conducted in the hotel. AT&T made a special financial deal with the Hotel to use the entire hotel, and its staff, the coldest months of the year when normal tourist found a warmer place to vacation.
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Sundays, being the only day to rest from this three months study program, gave students time for their personal life. Many slept, others found other activities, but few went to church as I did. It was refreshing to just get away from this grind and see something other than the inside of this hotel and other students.

I found this very old, but quaint little Episcopal church on River Street, and attended Sunday services there. I must say I was sadly disappointed that I was greeted with an attitude of indifference. They didn’t know me, so they didn’t speak to me! I attended anyway!

The church cemetery surrounding this church was quite old and I found pleasure in just walking through the church cemetery and reading the inscriptions and epitaphs. Some were very interesting by the very date of that person’s death and that many family members died on the same date, giving reason to believe some dreadful epidemic took place that could have wiped out an entire family. On the side of the hills surrounding the town of Cooperstown I did discover one site that an entire family was massacred by the Indians, as per their grave stone dates and the epitaph inscription placed there by some friend.

One Sunday, while continuing my reading of epitaphs in this church cemetery, I stumbled across a table-top flat burial site. The top slab was about thirty of so inches from the ground. Being flat it suffered the damage brought on by the inclement weather conditions. The epitaph was engraved in this tablet-top stone, but badly worn over the hundred plus years of time and weather conditions. For some strange reason I was intrigued with this grave. Not many in this cemetery were “Tablet-top” style and thus the deterioration was worse being flat that the others that were standing vertical. The words were a challenge for me to read. When the Sun light comes from an angle, casting shadows, it enabled me to read the epitaph. When I did, my heart jumped and my compassion ran deep for a man from Barbados named R. H. Farmer. I hurt for the suffering he must have endured as he wrote these words:

Sept. 25, 1831

FRANCES F. M. FARMER
AGED 28 YEARS OLD
WIFE OF R. H. FARMER
OF BARBADOS

“Stranger hadst thou ever a wife, snatched from thee by death in the bloom of youth beauty and virtue? If thou never hadst thou mightest imagine but cannot feel the anguish of a disconsolate husband who has placed over her remains this tablet as the last but too feeble testimony of his tenderest affections and to mark the spot where lies the best of wives, the most affectionate of mothers and the sincerest of friends”.

As I wrote down these words, just the way they were written and spelled, I choked-up, and quietly gave thanks for these beautiful heart rendering words of a man who love his wife so dearly as to pour out his heartfelt feelings for ‘strangers’ to digest a husband’s true love for his wife. At that time, in 1968, I thanked God that I still had my wife. Even now, forty-six years later, I still give God my greatest thanks for my wife I love as deeply as R. H. Farmer loved his wife, Frances.

I have wondered how many times this grieving husband and his children gathered around this very gravesite, where I am standing, to bring flowers, say a prayer, shed a tear and recalled the blessed times they all had together before she was called home to be with the Lord.

Strangers, as we are, who read the writings and feel the emotions of others, we do not know for sure that Frances was a Christian, a true believer, but the love shown in this tribune by her husband and being buried in a church cemetery; gives reason to believe her faith was in the Lord.

We do not live to ourselves, and we do not die to ourselves. If we live, we live to the Lord, and if we die, we die to the Lord; so then, whether we live or whether we die, we are the Lord’s.
Romans 14:7-8

BIG BROTHER

James Harold Howard was born in 1921. He was almost twelve years old when my twin brother and I were born. It was when Harold turned eighteen, and I was only six years old, that I began to idolize Harold. He looked so big and strong in his military uniform. As I was just beginning to learn how to write, Harold could print words so beautifully. I just worshiped his abilities. That desire stuck with me for all of my life, as I too have printed rather than write cursive style.

Prior to 1939 Harold was a member of the “Hoozars” who met near Daffin Park in Savannah. At age 18 he joined the old Army Air Force in 1939 and was stationed at a number of bases such as “Avon Field” and “Maxwell Field”. When World War II broke out he and his entire crew was sent to Europe, where he served as a top turret gunner on a B-17 bomber. The entire crew, who departed from Hunter Air Force Base in Savannah, came to Harold’s family home for a farewell home cooked meal, prepared by my mother, prior to shipping out to Europe. As his plane departed the next day it flew over his parent’s home and waved its wings in a farewell gesture. After many missions his plane was shot down over Germany where he was wounded and held as a prisoner of war in Switzerland. On his second attempt he escaped, after almost six months in the POW camp. Using a very bad winter storm for cover, he found his way into Italy (with the help of the French underground) where he spent the rest of the war in a Hospital recovering from his wounds and frostbite of his feet. While he was held POW the dreaded telegram arrived at his parent’s home that he was “missing in action”. All attempts by his family to find out if he was still alive, or any facts of his whereabouts and condition, were a nightmare for the family. The Red Cross and the U. S. Government were of no help at all in finding him. The Salvation Army said they would try.

To obtain a better understanding, and the details of what Harold went through, I requested information from an expert archivist from the 8th Air Force Museum in Pooler, Ga. They reported the following: “He departed out of Savannah and went with the 15th AAF to Armandola, Italy. He was a tech sergeant, top turret gunner and a member of the 2nd BG, 429th BS. His pilot’s name was James E Heintz. His plane went down 3 August 1944 with 1 engine on fire that could not be feathered. Plane was B-17 #42-31655. He was identified by his “notify” list of Mrs. Virginia Lee Howard of 532 E 35th St, Savannah, GA! The records indicate he did not have to bail out and his injury consisted of bruised and strained shoulder muscles. He was in a POW camp, at Adelbodes, tried to escape, then put in Waueilermoos (one of the worst prisons in Switzerland) and on second attempt escaped from Switzerland in Jan. 1945. Returned to Cacerta, Italy. After a short stay he was shipped back to the U.S. Last notice of him in these papers was that he had been discharged and was working for a civilian airline co. as a mechanic somewhere in the South. He completed 18 missions”.

We give thanks to the Salvation Army who found him and reported his condition and whereabouts to the family. He was discharged as a Staff Sergeant on July 10, 1945 and received the “Purple Heart” as well as other awards for his war efforts. For years after the war Harold suffered greatly from the fact he was the only survivor of the crew of the B-17. His crew was like “Brothers” to him and he survived and they did not. This post war depression led him to heavy drinking for a while until he got his life back together with the help of an understanding and loving wife and the grace of God.

Harold worked for Southern Bell in Savannah after the war from 1945 until about 1948 when he was transferred to Brunswick, Ga. He worked as a supervisor over installation and repair of data equipment as well as PBX and Key. He loved to hunt and fish and would go fishing with any invitation. A very memorable fishing trip was to Valossa Bar (Valossa County, Florida) with close friends and Paul and Perry, his brothers. Pictures of this trip provide fond memories for me. He talked very little about the war but did tell anyone who would listen about the “hole-in-one” he had on the golf course. Golf was a sport suggested by his doctor to provide him exercise to help his heart condition.

General Douglas MacArthur once said: “O, Lord….build me a son whose goal will be high, a son who will master himself before he seeks to master other men; one who will reach into the future, yet never forget the past”.

Harold looked forward to the future, but struggled to forget the past. His goal was to grow even closer to his father and to experience his children grow into productive adults. Harold tried to forget the past, especially his painful experiences in World War II, but the next few years he would suffer the greatest losses of his life. He would live to see the death of three family members. Our father died in 1968, who he had grown close to in the last few years,  followed closely by the deaths of his only two children, who died in separate automobile accidents. Only six months after our father died, Jimmy, age 19, Harold’s son, was killed in an automobile accident. In 1970, only 22 months after his only son died, Janice, his only daughter, also died from injuries from another automobile accident. As I sat next to him in the funeral services for his son, Jimmy, I witnessed a soft sob as tears ran down his face. My heart ached for him. I had never seen him cry before! He has lost his only son, a son that had gone somewhat astray, but had recently got his act back together and his family was happier than ever. But now Jimmy was gone! He had now lost his only father and his only son. Janice’s death followed before he could come to grips with the other two deaths. Memories of his war experiences started coming back to haunt him. In his grief he was not the same after these three deaths, his future dreams and goals were shattered and he acted defeated, but never outwardly complained or looked for sympathy. He soon started experiencing chest pains and died in his sleep on October 28, 1972 from angina pectoris. He is buried in Glenn Rose Cemetery, Glenn County, Brunswick, Georgia, next to his two children. He was only 51 years old.

Harold was loved by all who knew him. He was, like our father, a kind and giving man. He worked hard and provided well for his family. His premature gray hair made him most handsome and his ready smile and his friendly nature endeared him to all who met him. He is greatly missed.

The loss of a brother is difficult to explain to those who have never had a brother they  looked up to, and is some small way worshiped. Harold was one of those. My grief would repeat again when my twin brother, Perry,  passed on to eternity long before he should have. It is difficult to explain this type of grief! God has given me the strength and love to endure!

“Cast thy burden upon the Lord, and He shall sustain thee; He shall never suffer the righteous to be moved.” Psalm 55:22

Little Living Angle is taken from the book, “Walking In His Shadow” by J.P. Howard

LITTLE LIVING ANGEL

Lauren Elizabeth Bain was my first granddaughter. She was born on April 8, 1981. Lauren was a beautiful child, inside and out, with the spirit of an Angel. She was older that her years as she showed unusual compassion to other children her own age or younger by hugging them if they cried or if they were scared. Her willingness to share her toys, or even give her toys to another child if that is what they wanted, and then find another one for her self to play with. She was a joy of a child to be around and to babysit when called upon.

It was on one of the baby-sitting opportunities that Lauren still had a low grade fever when we arrived. Her fever seemed to be hovering around 101 degrees, not too much to worry about we thought, and she felt only slightly warm to the touch. A baby aspirin, we thought, would clear this up in no time. But the fever persisted until Dianne and Peter came home. It would be several days later, after having her tested by the Doctors at Emory’s Elgleston Hospital for children that we would learn the terrible news. She had a childhood Cancer known as Neuroblastoma, stage 4. This was the worst news a parent could possibly receive. We as a family were devastated. Lauren was only four years old.

Dr. Jim Bain, Lauren’s other grandfather, knew all too well what this disease could do to the body, and being a stage 4 made it very urgent she start receiving medical treatment immediately. For the next seven years Lauren would receive the very best treatment that medical science had to offer. She even was treated with medicine that would not be ‘on the market’ until years later. This was due to Dr. Bain’s connections (he taught at Emory Medical School where he was vice president) and his extensive knowledge of medicines. Over this seven years Lauren would receive two ‘Bone Marrow’ transplants, an operation, chemo treatments, and many, many x-ray scans of her small body.

The family was lifted and encouraged on several occasions when she went into remission. Her hair would begin to grow back and her strength would return. She even played on a girl’s soft ball team – much to her delight. Then the dreaded news would be announced that her cancer was once again overtaking her little body. Back on chemo, another Bone Marrow operation, and more x-rays. Once again she would start loosing her hair as well as her physical strength.

Through all this Lauren never gave up hope. She never complained, why me? She faced the pain with an attitude of ‘let’s get it done’. Her love of people was greater that her feeling sorry for herself and her pain. When the treatments were not making things better, Lauren, with a smile, would apologize and say, “I’ll try to do better the next time”! She felt bad for disappointing everyone; she thought if only I could try harder. That was the kind of love she had for her family.
That was the strength God gave her. She was stronger than any of the family members; she taught us how to endure. She taught us how to love. She made our troubles seem so small.

After seven long years her weakened little body could not take any more. As she lay in her bed at her home, with the family at her side, she closed her eyes and went home to be with the Lord. It was May 24, 1992. She was only eleven years old.

Our little angel, Lauren, is now with her father in heaven. I write this with the confidence and assurance that God has opened the door to heaven to welcome her home into his kingdom.

“Then some children were brought to Him so that He might lay His hands on them and pray; and the disciples rebuked them.” But Jesus said, “Let the children alone, and do not hinder them from coming to Me; for the kingdom of heaven belongs to such as these.”
Matthew 19: 13-14

This story is taken from the book “Walking In HIS Shadow” by J.P. Howard

THE POOR MAN’S RIDE

Back in the days following World War Two, and during the Korean War, hitchhiking was a common way for many members of the armed forces to go from one location to another. The public just seemed to rally to the cause to help by giving them a ride.

There were two such close encounters I experienced that, looking back, were close calls. One was a trip from my military duties in Washington, D.C. to Savannah. It was a Friday and the work day was over at 5:00 as I changed into my “Navy White” uniform and made my way out to the highway and extended my right hand with my thumb-up seeking a ride. A man and his wife picked me up as I told them I was headed for Savannah, Georgia. They told me they would take me as far as North Carolina. That would be a good start, I thought, because it is rare that someone would be going to the same location I was headed. Without questioning where they would drop me off I happily jumped at the opportunity of this ride. The day was getting dark as I entered their car. Darkness soon set in as we progressed and the conversation was a mixture of small talk about family. I did not watch the route this driver was taking, but while going through one on the many small towns along the way, he turned off the main highway and was traveling on a road I was not familiar with. He pulled over at a filling station and said they were going to turn off another road going west and it would be best if I got out here so I could obtain another ride on down to Savannah.

“Where in the world am I” as I mumbled to myself. As I turned to go in the gas station I realized it was closed for the night. Across the road, sitting about twenty yards back from the road was a concrete block “Night Club” with flashing blue neon lights advertising beer. Apparently this dive was a ‘drink and fight’ hang-out bar for local toughs and “Red Necks”.

I stood there, dressed in my Navy Whites uniform with my little ‘ditty-bag’, waiting anxiously for some traffic to come by. This dark and lonely night was starting to worry me as five minutes grew into twenty minutes – and still no cars were in sight. It was at this time I experienced some fear creep into my heart and I uttered a silent prayer for God’s protection of me. At that time two men came out of the bar across the street and lit a cigarette and talked to each other. One looked across the road and said something to the other while pointing at me. They stared at me for a few minutes and then went back into the bar. Then they came back out with several other guys and the group started walking towards me. For the first time fear encompassed me and I knew I was in trouble and needed help to get out of this situation. At that time a car seemed to come out of nowhere and pulled up next to me. This was the first car I had seen in quite some time and it was headed in the direction I wanted to go. Inside the car were two young black men with two girls, all complete strangers. The driver said, “Sailor you better get your ass out of here! If you would like a ride you better get in quick – those dudes are bad!” The choice was made instantly as I jumped into their car and we sped off into the darkness of the night not knowing where I was, who I was with, or where I was going or even if this would be a worse choice that facing that gang. My mind was rushing from one scenario to another and I ask myself, “was I picked up by four Angels or was I getting into a situation much worse that an encounter with a bunch of drunken “Red Necks” who probably could have beaten me to death?

As it turned out God was with me all along and sent me these four “Angels” to protect and comfort me. After explaining where I was headed they offered to take me to a little town on a major highway about 40 miles away where plenty of traffic flowed towards Savannah. They would accept no money for their driving me to this location. It was at that time I felt the true presence of God’s answer to prayer as I gave them many thanks for their good deed. I quickly obtained another ride on down to Savannah and prayed and gave thanks along the way for the richness of God’s love, blessings and His saving grace. I learned a good lesson from this experience and that is that God’s Angels come in all colors, genders and ages.

A similar incident occurred sometime later when I was seeking a ride from my Navy Base in Maryland and headed for Savannah. This time I was offered a ride down to South Carolina by a very nice young couple. As the shadows of the day faded away into the darkness of the night they took a detour off the main highway without my knowledge and let me out in a small town. It was getting late and everything in this small, stop-in-the-road, towns seem to close down with the setting of the Sun. Without the city lights these little towns become extremely dark and very lonely, especially if you feel lost and are depending on some strange car to stop and give you a ride. That feeling is somewhat frightening.

As I stood there in the silence of this lonely dark night I heard the sound of a motorcycle with a “gutted” muffler coming my way. As the driver of the motorcycle saw me he slowed down very slow and stared at me and then gunned his engine as he drove on down the road. A few minutes later I hear the sound of this motorcycle coming back and he slowed to a stop across the road from where I was standing, but left his loud, non-muffled motorcycle running. He said, while still sitting on his bike, in a demanding and threatening way, “Sailor if your not gone when I come back I’m ‘goanna kick your ass”. At that time a second story window opened over a small grocery store, which was closed for the day. The store was next to where the bike was parked, when a gruff old man yelled out to the driver of this motorcycle, “Bubber, leave that boy alone and ‘git your self on home, ‘ya hear?”. At that command the man gunned his motorcycle and sped off into the darkness. Several minutes later this old man came out of his home which was located above his store. He was still putting on his shirt and said to me, “Son, my wife was worried to death about you and has ordered me to give you a ride over to Highway 17 so you can find yourself a ride to wherever you going, so ‘get in the car’. He grumbled for the next thirty minutes as he drove me over to Hwy 17 where I caught a ride on down to Savannah.

An Angel had appeared again, this time in the form of a little old lady awoken from her sleep by the loud noise of a motorcycle, and an old man who was just obeying his wife’s orders. Was this brought on by his wife’s orders or, as some would say, just a coincident? God’s answer to prayers is certainly the only answer, because I do not believe in coincidences. God, in His holy love for us, has a way of making His presence known in every situation we face on our journey through life as He delivers us from danger and harm. He certainly did for me as described in these stories.

Though I doubt I will ever see any of these Angels again in this lifetime, I will forever be thankful for God’s steadfast love, mercy and shelter, and grateful for the friendship offered by these strangers, acting as God’s angels.

“How precious is your steadfast love, O God! All people may take refuge in the shadow of your wings”. Psalm 36:7