A Rich Story about Being Poor

My father was the the youngest of three boys. His father was in the military and they were stationed in Germany. It was a tough time. "Plenty" was not an option. He tells stories of walking down train tracks to gather coal to help heat their house. One year a family friend handed down a raccoon coat to the oldest son. It was used but in great shape. The two younger brothers coveted it. Another year went by and the coat was handed down to the middle son, who wore it constantly in the German winter. Finally, the coat was passed down to the youngest, my father. By this time, the coat was in horrible shape, missing clumps of hair with patches in various places. Dad was mortified! He refused to wear the coat at all because he didn't want to be seen by his friends. It was getting colder and dad stuck by his guns that he wouldn't be seen in public with the coat. One day he was home alone. Everyone in the house was out somewhere and it was just him. A knock sounded on the door and when he opened it, he was thrilled to see that it was Germany's equivalent of the Salvation Army. He immediately donated the old, nasty coat and was nearly glowing with the realization that he was done with it forever. NOW, he could get a new coat!

Would that life were so easy! It was a month later when another knock came at the door and his mother answered it. Dad was sitting nearby and heard a gentleman say, "Your family has been chosen as one of our needier families and we have some things for you." His mother stepped away from the door and Dad watched as they brought in several sacks of clothing and food items. Excited, he began rummaging through the bags, only to discover that he had received back the very same old, raccoon coat he had earlier donated. While dad was devastated, I'm sure God had a good laugh about that! What were the ODDS that this could happen?! A good lesson for us all: be satisfied with what you have. God knows what you need.

My Grandmother Was a Poor, Black Woman

Mary Gertrude Hagen met Thomas Eslie Hampton in Ronceverte, West Virginia. Thomas, more commonly known as "Jack" edited and published the Ronceverte Times there. He was 20 years old. Mary worked for him. She operated the linotype machine. They were married in the late summer of 1912. They had seven children, the last born of which, was my mother.

Jack and Mary were quite a pair. Mary, beautiful and Jack, handsome; both very intelligent, always stimulating their children with stories and tales. Jack, always suggesting books for them to read and Mary (who was Irish) always telling fairy stories.

"The story" was everything to Jack; the meat, the details, the whispers. He loved his work. He left for work everyday in a crisp white shirt, black trousers and a newspaper under his arm. A man who knew his business. Rumor has it that he stopped a lynching one time. People loved him and he loved them back. For Jack, there were no racial boundaries. He despised it when anyone was disrespectful to black people. He began to be known as the person you could go to for help. Jack Hampton was your man. There are hundreds of great stories about him and Mary. But the best story to me was what happened after their death.

My mother, Jeannie, was Jack and Mary's youngest. When Jeannie was 6 months old, Mary died of cancer. This left Jack alone with his work and seven children. Jack knew a young black woman who was in need and he offered her work, to help raise his children. For seven years, Zeltha stayed on. She cleaned the house, she raised and loved the children and she taught them how to love without color-blindness. She told them stories and taught them how to work. Zeltha was the only mother that Jeannie ever knew.

When Jeannie was seven years old, her father, Jack died too... also from cancer. The children all worked to stay together during this time and Zeltha never left them. (Keep in mind that Zeltha was married and had a family of her own. She would spend all day with Jack and Mary's children and then go home to care for her own. This was an AMAZING woman).

Jeannie learned so much from Zeltha. How strange would it be for a baby to have never known her own mother and barely, her own father. But Zeltha kept her intact. She gave her security, hope and love. Jeannie grew to be, herself, an amazing woman who carried what she had been taught and passed it down to her own children. After a time, Zeltha went to be with the Lord and by then, the family was grown and self-sufficient.

Jeannie died 16 years ago. I'm her daughter. I only met Zeltha one time in my life when the family gave her a thank-you party for her love in their lives. She was an old, small, thin, black woman with eyes I will never forget. She took my face in her hands and said, "My Jeannie," (thinking I was my mother).

What I would give to be able to sit with her today and hear all the stories of Jack and Mary and Jeannie. How I would love to hear her speak about racism and integrity and honor. I pray that this woman somehow lives inside a part of me today and makes me respectful and kind and accepting of others, my grandmother.

Henry Louis Gates, Jr.

Finger-pointing and name-calling. Haven't we grown beyond that? Are we still impulsive babies demanding our own rights, with no regard for others? You are a cop. You are called to a scene where breaking and entering is suspected. You come upon a man who appears to be trying to enter the house. When confronted, he becomes loud and "tumultuous". He says, "You have no idea who you are messing with!" How would you respond in this situation? Your job as a cop is to get control of the situation.

Mr Gates, I pose this scenario to you. You are obviously a very intelligent , learned man. Do you realize that those cops responded to YOUR house to protect YOU from vandalism?! And THIS is the way you treat them? How should you have responded? What was that verse..."Do unto others as you would have others do unto you". Mr. Gates, you were not arrested because you are a black man, you were arrested because you were disrespectful.

THE COLD WITHIN

Author Unknown

Six humans trapped by happenstance in the bleak and bitter cold,

Each one possessed a stick of wood, or so the story's told.

Their dying fire in need of logs, the first man held his back,

For of the faces round the fire, he noticed on was black.

The next man sat in tattered clothes, he gave his coat a hitch,

Why should his log be put to use, to warm the idle rich?

The rich man just sat back and thought of the wealth he had in store,

And how to keep what he had earned from the lazy, shiftless poor.

The next man sitting cross the way, saw one not of his church,

And couldn't bring himself to give the fire his stick of birch.

The black man's face bespoke revenge, as the fire passed from his sight.

For all he saw in his stick of wood was a chance to spite the white.

Their logs held tight in death's still hands was proof of human sin

They didn't die from the cold without....

They died from the cold within.

The Way of Haiku

by James Hackett

1) Beneath white roses

on a polished table

petals lie in dust

2) A bitter morning

sparrows sitting together

without any necks.

3) A distant dog

is adding another shade of gray

to the morning.

4) Still on this bath tub

the tiny bug that I had

promised a flower.

5) Empty the night seems

and yet endless flights of birds

caligraph the moon.

6) In this empty web

left by a will to be free

a pair of small wings.

7) The ant's great burden

becomes his bridge across

crevices along the way.

8) Now free in the world

the old parakeet just perches;

his loneliness.

9) Loneliness: for the

child, an opportunity

to play Let's Pretend.

10) The hopscotching child

kneels to the beetle and asks

to be forgiven.

11) Her child exclaimed:

"See this lovely caterpillar?"

but she never came.

Memories to be Savored

Mr. Magoo. The OLD Waldorf Astoria. Coney Island. John Denver. Captain Kangaroo. Rock 'Em Sock 'Em Robot. The song "America the Beautiful" (when's the last time ya heard THAT?).  Homemade gravy. Dodging bats at night. Satchmo. The Carpenters. The Mamas and Papas. MoonPies. Woodstock. Haight-Ashbury. Tent meetings. Corn bread in milk. Route 66. Walter Cronkite. Coke in a glass bottle. Chewing gum paper chains. Chicklets. The milkman. Gas station attendants. Snow cream. The Beatles. Patsy Cline. Billy Graham Revivals. RC Cola. Tom Landry. 

Party lines. Fibber McGee's closet. Dean Martin. Max Factor. Lucy. Jack LaLane. Dick and Jane. Skipper. Tammy and the Doctor. Gidget. Variety shows.     sigh

The Best Line I've Ever Heard

I never knew her as anything but "High Tea Mama". She was my great Aunt. (pronounced "Ahhhhnt", not "ant").  She was from England and was quite refined and proper. She had lots of 

money and she loved children so she went as a missionary over to China to see what she could do to help. Because she always practiced the tradition of high tea every day, regardless of where she was, the chinese gave her the affectionate name "High Tea Mama". 

One day, she was to meet with a group of men about an orphanage in China. She walked into the room and the men looked up at her from their seats. One man, obviously uncomfortable said, "I'm sorry, High Tea Mama, apparently there are not enough chairs." High Tea Mama smiled and said, "There are plenty of chairs. There just aren't enough gentlemen!".

Ouch.

                                                               Praise God

Praise God, the cross is empty

   His body isn't there.

Jesus broke the bonds of death

   and rose into the air.

So when life becomes a burden

   and I struggle and I strive

That Calvary cross assure me

   that Jesus is alive.