Harry Covert - The Covert Letter

Virginia’s Third Senator

By HARRY COVERT

I'm sure sorry Senator Jesse Helms died. That was inevitable, but I'm glad it was on July 4. To me his Heavenly ascent elevates him to the near godly stature of the great Thomas Jefferson, who died on this date in 1826. I always called him Virginia's Third Senator. He lived in Arlington, Virginia, all of his political years.

Senator Helms was a gentleman, a man of his word. When he believed something, he never wavered, never was wishy-washy and everyone, including his colleagues knew he wouldn’t change. Some wags enjoyed naming him “Senator No.” He sort of liked that. He was 86.

He’s probably the last of the true blue conservatives, top to bottom. He started in his native North Carolina as a newspaperman, reporter and city editor in Raleigh and later as a TV commentator. That gave him a good start on the issues. He parlayed that journalism experience into a political career that made a difference in America and five-terms, 30 years, in the Senate.

After two terms, Helms called a meeting in a senate room on the pretext of asking advice of several of his longtime political operatives. He wanted advice on whether he ought to run again. He was a few minutes late but Tom Ellis and Carter Wrenn, his political allies, his Lynchburg friend Ron Godwin and me sat around gabbing. Ellis, Wrenn and Godwin agreed that Jesse’s “really trying."

Moments later in walked Jesse, smoking his favorite non-filter Lucky Strike cigarette (remember, North Carolina is a tobacco state). He “acted” as though he really wanted our opinions. He confided he had to ask his wife Dot because he wasn’t sure she had the stamina for another campaign. We all laughed at that. They knew she’d go for it. She did. And he won his third term.

Constituent work was one thing Senator Helms was best known. North Carolinians could always count on immediate assistance and prompt responses to letters and phone calls. I was a Virginian and received first-class treatment, too. Whenever I needed assistance for international relief projects* Helms and his office were always quick to help. I always carried a letter of introduction to U. S. Embassies.

Once as part of a 25-container project going to Croatia, there was some official assistance difficulty in Zagreb. A rather rude embassy official was making life a little unpleasant. At last resort I whipped out my Helms letter. Still, the red-tape was sticky. However, a phone call back to the Senate brought about a personal call from The Man himself. The project went smoothly after that, including an even better meeting, including dinner, with the then Vice President of Croatia. Helms did quit smoking. He never stopped wearing a dual lapel pin of Old Glory and the North Carolina state flag. He’s evidence that some newspapermen will make it to the celestial climes. #

*From 1988 to 1995, Covert coordinated and developed international humanitarian relief projects throughout African, Central American and emerging eastern European countries. He is currently chairman of World Emergency Relief-United Kingdom.

A Perfect Midsummer Evening

Went to see Lyle Lovett, the marvelous musician, July 2 at Wolf Trap Park for the Performing Arts in Vienna, Va.  My wife, Pat, and I had perfect seats, Section H, numbers 40 and 41, Orchestra Section. Had it been a football game, we would have been on the 50-yard line. Let me report, the show was exceptional. The uptown crowd – 8,000-plus -- packed the Filene Center. We didn't take a picnic like most of the crowd. We ate our tuna salad with tomatoes and lettuce on wheat rolls at home. We felt at home as we carried our bottled water. I thought it was fun people watching, seeing music lovers enjoying food from their coolers . . . some dainty little sandwiches, some sub sandwiches, some salads, some smoke salmon and one enjoying spaghetti sitting on blankets sipping wines, diet sodas and water.

The weather was perfect too. Mosquitoes, probably with a little help from the Park Service, weren’t anywhere to be found.

I must say, "Lyle Lovett and his Large Band" in concert were awesome -- absolutely great musicians. The 25-member ensemble included God’s Generation, a trained young black gospel group from Connecticut; three stylish black singers from LA; a classically-trained cellist from Wyoming, a bass player from the left coast; two percussionists – drummers; two guitarists, one doubling on mandolin; a violinist from Texas; a steel guitarist from Nashville; and a pianist (not a piano player) from Los Angeles. Joining the show toward the end of the concert was Mike Eldridge of Northern Virginia, a longtime member of the famed Seldom Scene blue grass band. They performed non-stop for 2 1/2 hours. Superb musicians all.

Lyle’s a Texas boy. I discovered he majored in journalism and earned a graduate degree at Texas A&M. He's a combination of alternative country, gospel and the blues. In college working on the school paper, Lovett began interviewing and hanging around with Willie Nelson, Waylon Jennings and others in informal, front-porch jams where he hone his skills.

None of the audience left early and offered standing ovations and received two encores. Variety is the spice of life of course and Wolf Trap certainly has variety. #

Jerry Falwell: He Changed America's Politics

Lynchburg, Va.

I am sitting in the sanctuary of the new Thomas Road Baptist Church. It’s a warm and beautiful day, May 22, 2007 and we’re waiting for the funeral services to begin for Jerry Falwell.   The church is packed with more than 6,000 people, several other thousands are in the adjacent auditorium known as the Vines Center and the Williams Stadium.  The seats are comfortable theater-style cushions, not the old familiar wooden pews.

I see and speak to many old friends in this somber but joyous occasion.  What I’m remembering most is Jerry Falwell, the man.  He was a dynamic preacher, a determined man of vision, an educator and a political activist.  I chuckle now because he’s the man who put “the fear of God” into politics and to politicians of America.  I’m glad he did.  He changed the course of the nation in the 20^th century, and even into the 21^st.  He gave opportunity to many people.

Few people have the opportunity to see their vision, their life-long plans, completed.  Jerry Falwell did and worked at it 24 hours a day, seven days a week, 365 days in the year.  His commitment was to Thomas Road Baptist Church and the congregation and to Liberty University and the students and faculty.  He cared for people, young and old and kept those friendships.

Jerry Falwell died at 73 unexpectedly on May 15.  As we wait for the service to begin today, I’m can recall vividly a Saturday in May 1971, 36 years ago.  I was 31 years old, Jerry 37.  It’s 7:30 in the morning and I hear a horn tooting …“shave and a haircut, two bits” … something like this “da … dada … da … da … da…da.” 

In his green Buick station wagon, Falwell had come by Harvey’s Motel on Wards Road, Lynchburg to pick me up for a scheduled newspaper interview.  I’d come to Lynchburg with my family at the assignment of my paper, the Newport News (Va.) Daily Press.  I was researching a story on the little known Central Virginia preacher.  He’d been making some news building a church for thousands and a college, then called Lynchburg Baptist College.  He told me right off he had planned to be a “journalist, a newspaperman.”

I had planned to meet him in his church office around 9:30.  Not this morning though.  He was scheduled to speak around 11:30.  I thought it would be in town.  Nothing doing.  We drove straight to Lynchburg’s Preston Glenn Airport and hopped aboard a four-seat single-engine plane.  I still didn’t know our destination.  The only thing he had with him was a Scofield King James version Bible.  I had a reporters’ notebook and tape recorder.

We took off.  “We’re going to Lanham, Md.  It won’t take long.  We’ll be there in 45 minutes or so.  I’m speaking to the Assemblies of God Sunday School convention.”  This was the beginning of an adventure with him that in later years would become a normal thing, only I’d be traveling around the country with him.

I began to receive my education about this entrepreneurial figure, a man who didn’t like to lose, a man who didn’t like to be told no or that something couldn’t be done.  He didn’t like to be around lazy people.  He needed only three hours a sleep nightly, he told me on tape.  “Sleep really is a waste of time and life’s too short.”

Jimmy Falwell, his cousin, was flying the plane that morning.  Just after takeoff, Jerry roared, “Jimmy, let’s fly over Candler’s Mountain.”  Jimmy Falwell arched the plane and we circled the mountain area.  Jerry instantly played tour guide, a role he always enjoyed.  He spilled his plans for the vast mountainside over the next 25 years.  He had the plane swoop down over a nice old country house.  It was the Carter Glass Mansion, home of the famed Virginia U. S. senator.  Glass wrote the 1919 Federal Reserve Act for President Woodrow Wilson.  Jerry noted that the mansion faced the railroad tracks.   On Sunday evenings, the senator would walk down this dusty lane to meet the train for his 5:30 trip back to Washington.  Today, Al Worthington Field, home of the Liberty Flames baseball team, makes up part of this gorgeous mountain property.  That was a nice history lesson.

Then Jerry turned serious and began to outline his plans in various increments.  He hoped to acquire the property eventually and to move the fast-growing Thomas Road Baptist Church from Thomas Road in Lynchburg to Candler’s Mountain, which was a long way off.  But, “one day, we’ll have a university there.  I want to see 50,000 students from all over the world on campus,” he said.  (Liberty University moved to Candler’s Mountain in the early 1980s.)  At the time, Liberty Baptist College had less than 1,000 students and Jerry’s biggest school was Lynchburg Christian Academy, kindergarten through 12^th grade.  Now, some 25,000 students are enrolled in the overall university’s academic programs, including Liberty Seminary, Liberty School of Law and other entities.  There will be 10,000 students on campus in September 2007.   

After showing the undeveloped mountain property, our plane resumed the trip to Lanham, Md., in the greater Washington, D. C. area. 

The plane ride discussion that day, which was recorded on a cassette diskette.  He outlined his determination to attract the best and brightest musicians, athletes and students from all walks of life.  He promoted the ministries traveling all over the country.  He constantly preached individual churches, conducted revivals, “always preaching the Gospel of Christ.” 

Falwell’s vision is his legacy.  “I believe in using whatever means I can to reach the goals,” he said.  He worked long hours every day to do it.  He insisted Thomas Road to be the biggest.  In the 1970s, it was the first mega-church.  He was a prime mover in evangelical church circles.  Thomas Road had almost 15,000 members in the 1970s, some 20,000 in 1980 and reached 22,000 members in 1980s. 

After landing in Lanham, he spoke for 45 minutes, met the people and then back to the plane for the trip home.  I was a bit tired from all the traveling.  But Falwell was exhilarated and couldn’t wait to fly home to Lynchburg.  The church’s picnic was on tap that afternoon.  Soon as we hit the ground in Lynchburg, he was on his car phone checking in, making certain all the arrangements were in order, that the food was prepared, that the musicians were ready and the turnout was going to be good.  He was on top of every detail.  He loved crowds. 

What has intrigued me, even 36 years later, is Jerry Falwell’s vision, his determination and hard work.  He loved his family and congregation.  He cared for every one.  He loved “eatin’ meetin’s” and seldom missed any.  He probably conducted more weddings and funerals in a month than many preachers do in a year.  Falwell’s church services were always punctual no matter rain, shine or snow.  No excuses.

Everything involving Rev. Jerry Falwell was a big deal.  He made every event important.  He was famous in Lynchburg for his big “dinners on the grounds.”  One of his first was at Lynchburg City Stadium in the late 1960s with Col. Harlan Sanders, energetic founder of Kentucky Fried Chicken.  Jerry used KFC buckets to take up offerings.  He always preferred buckets.

He was a generous fellow almost to a fault and was an easy mark for old and new friends.

When he moved into the political arena, he was the guy who organized the various conservative political groups.  It was his idea to create an organization reaching all religious denominations.  He insisted on including non-religious people as well.   “We must reach all moral Americans,” he said during a meeting of conservatives in the late 1970s.  “We ought to have the majority of Americans on our side if we’re to change the political course of this great country.  We can call it the Moral Majority.” 

Distinguished political leaders like Paul Weyrich, founder of the Heritage Foundation and the Free Congress Foundation; Richard Viguerie, considered the man who made direct mail fund-raising the life blood of politicians; attorney Alan P. Dye, a leading Washington, D. C. attorney, were among the principals with Jerry Falwell.  Together they formed a powerful conservative political organization that did indeed wake up America, changing the landscape of politics.  It was called the Moral Majority.  It spread across the land nation like wildfire. 

It was Jerry Falwell, with the backing of millions of Christian Americans, who led the way for Ronald Reagan to be elected President in 1980.  He set the stage for hundreds of others to become involved and elected to local, state and national offices.

Stories are legion about Jerry’s impact on the American political landscape.  He was always firm in his work, his goal and his efforts.  Despite what his opponents have said, he was never a mean or an unkind.

As I’m sitting here today through his emotional service, I can say Jerry Falwell was one of kind.  He did something few have done, that is fulfilling a dream and a vision of a life’s work.  A more kind and compassionate man I don’t think I’ve ever known.  He made things happen.  America’s better for it today. © Copyright 2007 by Harry Covert.

Do You Know Howard Cosell?

By HARRY COVERT

I remember a time I had in a small African village in what is now called The Congo.  I had been working in Kinshasa, the capital city of Zaire in 1990 to set up a food, medical supplies and clothing distribution.  We had met with some 200 to 300 Zairian evangelical pastors, all poor as church mice but serving small congregations.  These preachers were almost like village elders and treated the people with loving care and concern.  They would also make certain the food got to the people who needed it.

We were bringing in 25 containers -- 40-footers -- with 1.2 million pounds of powdered milk, flour and other items that would feed each congregation for a month.  We also included over-the-counter prescriptions like aspirins and toothbrushes and toothpaste, personal care products, items  they had little of or had never seen.

In the middle of our meeting, a little Zairian kept pestering me.  He was insisting I come to visit his little church and elementary and high school age schools.  I kept putting him off, first saying "see me later" and then trying to avoid him.  I had a lot of work to do and didn't really have time to go to his village.  I was busy making arrangements for the supplies to arrive without it being commandeered.  Besides, I had to meet government officials to obtain permissions for the distribution and smooth the way for a religious crusade in Kinshasa's stadium.  Everybody seemed to be pulling me in various directions.

But this little guy, a pastor, just kept worrying me and would not go away.  If I was having lunch or coffee with someone, he'd be there.  He was becoming more than an irritant.  Finally, to get him off my neck, I agreed to visit his village on the morning of the next Saturday I was scheduled to leave for home.  At 7:30 AM, the pastor met me at my hotel and we drove 45 miles on a bumpy and uncomfortable dirt road to the village.  Even at this time of the morning it was hot and getting hotter and our small car didn't have air conditioning.  It took us a little over an hour, bumping and riding and avoiding holes in the road that could well flatten our tires.  I kept smiling and talking and thanking God that I was leaving Zaire later that day.  I was tired and worn out and tired of being tired.  There had been rumors of a possible overthrow of the government and unrest against the US.  But those rumors were always being spread to keep the people under control and to keep American officials on their toes.

Finally, we arrived at the village.  You've seen pictures of African straw hut houses?  That's what this village was all about, hundreds of huts with goats, donkeys and chickens running all over the streets.   People were walking down the nasty street with boxes of fruit and clothes balanced on their heads, classic African photo opportunities.  I was determined to endure this day and not to eat anything that may make me sick.  That's why I always took bottled water and instant soup.  I may well find a place to heat water and sustain myself.  I was wearing a blue cord suit and perspiring heavily and knew I had no other alternative but to get through this little "tour" of a Zairian village.

Then, we pulled up in front of the cinder block church building, nothing fancy, but wooden slat-seats made from rough-hewn lumber on top of cinder blocks.  There was a makeshift altar, also of rough wood underneath a cross.  The pastor was now smiling and was busily explained how people in his village liked coming here, especially to get out of the hot midday sun.  Then we walked through the side door of the building.  There was a small courtyard where some 350 children, ranging in age from kindergarteners to junior high school, dressed in white cotton tee shirts, blue shorts, white socks and tennis shoes.  The moment I stepped out with their pastor, these children came to attention and in phonetic English, sang, "Jesus Loves Me."  Zairians (Congolese) speak French.  These children had learned this song just to sing for "the American pastor."  It was beautiful.

Now, I relate this story for several reasons.  First, we never know how or when what we say or do impacts others, especially those in ministry and in missions.  We often forget that dollars we send do make a big difference in lives around the world.  Those who donate to humanitarian organizations do have a right to wonder if their money makes a difference.  They also deserve to know what results may be. This village didn't really have anything to do with my work.  I just happened to see the result.

For example, 21 years earlier, 1969 to be exact, an American evangelist from Tulsa, Oklahoma named T. L. Osborne held a two-week long crusade in Kinshasa.  His group dealt with individuals who wanted to enter the ministry; they conducted Bible classes and various other seminars to show how to start churches, Sunday Schools, and primary and secondary schools.

Osborne and his team returned to the US in the summer of 1969 following their two weeks but had some team members remain to complete extensive study programs.  Now, my pastor friend, the pesterer, took Osborne's words literally.  He returned to his village and re-created a church, and a school.  He figured how to have literature printed in French and then for the next 20 years plus he added teachers and preachers and became leader of this village.  He never became university trained but he used the Bible and the literature to educate the people of his village. At the same time, these children grew up and became members of the church and the school and made a big difference in the lives of the people in this village.

My pastor friend's determination paid off and made me aware that while we can't always see where our money goes or where our good works are done we do know that God uses us to reach others.

There is a funny side to this story.  As the children were singing "Jesus Loves Me" for me, the pastor leaned over and asked, "Do you know Howard Cosell?" the famed American sportscaster.  That sort of surprised me since these children really had touched my heart.  As a matter of fact I did know Howard Cosell.  The pastor had met him momentarily at ringside in Kinshasa when legendary boxing champion Muhammed Ali defended his title.  He was proud to know two great Americans, Pastor T. L. Osborne and Howard Cosell.

On my return home, I called Osborne's office to let him know of the his success.  I also wrote a letter to Howard Cosell, primarily to encourage him.  Howard's wife was extremely ill. He was excited to know about this and used my letter in one of his books (What's Wrong With Sports, 1991).  This story gave him "great satisfaction," he wrote.

I finally left the village about 2 o'clock that day and went straight to the airport.  I had learned something.  We don't have to worry about how we gets results.  We just have to do what God urges us to do and realize He provides the increase.

Whenever I hear children singing, I always remember that Saturday morning when what I thought would be an unpleasant harrowing experience turned out to be a great blessing and one I've never forgotten.

Copyright 2002

LONDON

Day One … Friday, April 2 --
Travel day. Arrived at Heathrow Airport, 8:30 this evening after a marvelous seven-plus hour flight aboard British Air from Washington’s Dulles Airport. Trip started on a downward note. We had to endure two severe security screenings. I ought to be happy, I guess, but it is somewhat upsetting to see small children and elderly people screened as if they are terrorists. On arrival, the British Customs agent asks where we’re staying. I thought he would laugh when I said Buckingham Palace Apartments. He didn’t. After a 25-minute ride from Heathrow, we arrived at our rented flat (apartment) near Victoria Underground Station on Gillingham Street, operated by an organization called Buckingham Palace Apartments. We were a little tired but hungry. I enjoyed homemade raviolis and a salad at the Gran Paridiso Restaurant. An hour and a half-later, collapsed into bed on the fourth floor of our flat and didn’t move for nine hours. 

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Day Two … Saturday, April 3 --
Up fairly early. Sun shining but it’s chilly. Good thing I brought my London Fog coat, almost left it behind. Bought our weeklong travel pass for the Underground (subway) and immediately used it. First we stopped off at Starbuck’s around the corner for a fresh cup of “filtered” coffee. Um, good, and one of the few times we have perked coffee. Most of the time, no tea, but instant coffee. So we travel to a busy Covent Garden to see street entertainers and flea markets. Superb. Enjoyed watching the ladder entertainer perform for 30 minutes, dancing and juggling and unashamedly inviting donations. I guess we have not because we ask not. Waiting in the wings is the London School of Dance of the Samba … People are walking around buying sausage rolls and pasties (not to be confused with pastries)…We walk over to Trafalgar Square later … and at the last minute decide not to see the brass rubbings at famous St. Martin-in-the-Fields Church and then rode the famous double-decker bus to Westminster Abbey, only to find it closed at 3 o’clock. We’re ogling the historic building and St. Margaret’s Church at 4:45 on this cold Saturday evening. So we just look around and look at the golden-colored Big Ben over Parliament. People are bustling around and some signs protesting war are hanging on a fence across St. Margaret’s Road, SWI, Westminster. Seems too cold for the protestors outside. No one is holding up the placards. They’re laying on a fence… It’s impossible to miss the London Eye, British Air’s gigantic ferris wheel. I’ve been on it before and our family members decided to take this ride where you can see the entire city of London, all quarters and the Thames River … I’m getting into walking shape with my legs and ankles getting a little tight … About 7 o’clock, we ride the Underground beginning at Westminster – packed with tourists and locals -- back to Victoria Station, heading home and Sainsbury’s market. We’ve walked and walked. We’re tired but feel pretty good. And, we’re ready for an evening rest.

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Day Three … Palm Sunday, April 4 --
The road to Heaven is paved with good intentions. We miss Palm Sunday Services at Westminster Abbey. Reason? Jet plane ride and walking and walking Saturday combine to require a long sleep and we get up too late. So, light breakfast and on to Victoria Station for a two-hour visit to the British Museum on Great Russell Street. A special exhibition about Iran, it’s cultural dance and lifestyle… It’s a marvelous museum. I spend a lot of time looking over the exhibits of indigenous cultures. Incredible. I broaden my education by learning about the Hentekoi and discovered what Kareau figures are at the Nicobar Islands in the Bay of Bengal. Hentekoi are wooden figures, commissioned to identify and neutralize evil spirits or misfortune… Kareau figures are in human form set up inside a house, facing the door to protect the household by warding off evil spirits. This is from the 1870s to late 1890s in the Nicobar Island, Bay of Bengal…Seems like the whole world is consumed with battling evil spirits. Lots of people have made a nice living at it. I guess I'm not "enlightened" as some of the others but I'm getting there. Actually, the sign on the door of the British Museum on Great Russell Street said, "Enlightenment."

One other thing that strikes visitors. The Brits can't even put trash cans on public streets for fear some jerk will plant a bomb…It’s awful we’re beginning to think that way in the U.S. I suppose it’s the price of freedom… I’m feeling stronger in the legs. My doctor back in Alexandria will be pleased and surprised I guess. I’m in pretty good shape and have kept on my low-carb diet fairly well… We return to Gillingham Street and decide for a little refreshment at The Elusive Camel pub (public house) before going to the flat. Usually pubs have sports events on their television screens. In this busy place, the telly airs a fashion show … models in the latest skimpy lingerie. I first thought they were Victoria’s Secret adverts (that’s British talk for commercials) but my wife reminded me to keep my eyes on her as we “refreshed”. An hour later, we walk back to the flat for an evening of early to bed, preparing for Monday’s visits.

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Day Four -- Monday, April 5 --
This is the day I’ve anticipated. We’re walking again from our flat, a block and a half, to Victoria Station, en route to Paddington Station to catch the 10:40 train to Windsor Castle. There’s nothing like a British train. I love it. It’s about 45 minutes from Paddington, beginning at Platform 13, to Windsor. We change trains at Slough (pronounced Slou-oh). From the train station at Windsor, it’s a five-minute walk uphill to the Castle. It costs ten pounds (with senior citizen discount), about $20 US, for the tour of the grounds. We can see famed Eton a short distance away and then walk through the Queen’s Doll House before touring the magnificent castle. You may remember it caught on fire in November 20, 1992 - ironically the 45th wedding anniversary of the Queen and the Duke of Edinburgh. It was restored in five years and opened to tourists to pay for the reconstruction. Queen Elizabeth II now has her imprint on this castle, which they say has always been her favorite. We also visit the St. George’s Chapel on the grounds and the gift shop. On my first visit about six years ago, I bought the last set of cufflinks designed by Prince Philip, the Duke of Edinburgh. This time, no souvenirs… We enjoy watching the red-coated guard march 32 steps left, 32 steps right, stand at attention for several minutes and then repeat the process. While he’s at attention with his wooden rifle shouldered, visitors rush to be photographed with him. I’m not one of them, though… It’s getting on to 2 o’clock. We’re hungry and we find another pub, Three Tuns. Fish and chips for me. Superb. Our waitress sounds French. She’s a petite sweet-faced blond. “You from Paris?” I ask softly. “No. Polish.”… We’re gluttons for the train ride and walking. So, it’s back to London on the train and we decide another time for a visit to Covent Garden and a light salad at Maxwell’s, a favorite restaurant for me serving American cuisine. It’s always crowded… Soon, we’re exhausted. So, it’s off to our flat. I want to read the Evening Standard. I like evening newspapers. There are not many left in the world…

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Day Five – Tuesday, April 6 --
I’m up early, dressed and out the door alone for a daylong meeting of World Emergency Relief-United Kingdom. We’re having our Trustee meeting at the Regus Business Center, Northumberland Street, a block from Trafalgar Square and across the street from the Sherlock Holmes Pub. I’m going to brag here about WER. It’s one of the finest non-profit relief organizations in the world. Founded 20 years ago in the U.S. by my longtime friend, Dr. Joel MacCollam of Carlsbad, California. He also founded WER-United Kingdom 10 years ago under the laws of Great Britain by MacCollam. It has been highly successful throughout England, Wales and Scotland…I’ve been honored to be a trustee along with Dr. Charles (Chip) Watkins of Arlington, Virginia, a distinguished Washington attorney; Rev. Philip Streeter, a pastor, poet and writer of Sedelscombe, England; and Dr. Margaret Edwards, an outstanding retired educator from Surrey, England…. Dr. Alex Haxton, a veteran international relief specialist from Tunbridge Wells, England, directs WER-UK’s operations. It is amazing at the projects around the world that are the result of this charity…After our seven-hour meeting, we met for dinner -- trustees and staff -- at Rules, London’s oldest restaurant (1798) at Covent Garden. We had the King Edward Room for our 16-member group. Superb… “It serves traditional British food, specialising in classic game cookery, oysters, pies and puddings.” My wife Pat and I ate seafood. Scrumptious… I believe I would have loved being a prince. The King Edward Room got its name from its beloved King Edward VII (1901-1910) and his mistress, the actress Lillie Langtry who dined here regularly …

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Day Six – Wednesday, April 7 --
It’s on the Underground again, riding from Victoria Station to Embankment, changing for a ride to Lamberth Station and a grand visit to the British Imperial War Museum. Magnificent. It’s packed with visitors from America, Germany and English school students. It includes artifacts and military equipment from WWI and WWII from the allies and axis with exhibits including Winston Churchill, General Eisenhower, Field Marshal Montgomery. I’m struck by various displays, including a typical English home of the 1940s. Posters of all stripes encouraging Britons to stand strong and fight have prominent displays. One says, “Carrots keep you healthy and help you to see in the blackout.” Then there’s Churchill encouraging his countrymen, “Victory at all costs, victory in spite of all terror, victory however long and hard the road may be; for without victory there is no survival.” What a man! … The first Jeep, built in the U.S. by Willys Jeep, was given to a British nurse who kept it until she was 82. She finally gave it to the museum…Tanks, parts of submarines and the German’s land-style periscope. All tremendous items from history. How technology has evolved in 64 years… After our two-hour visit, we lunch about 2:50 pm at the Duke of York Pub on Victoria Street. Yep. Fish and Chips. It’s excellent…I mail postcards to family and friends… On the BBC-TV tonight, 6:15 pm, there are reports of funding to honor WWII firefighters and members of fire brigades still alive… They were heroes and saved many lives. Cyril Demaine, 99, firefighter, was to speak before a school assembly. The teacher suggested he not glorify war. Said Mr. Demaine, “Anybody’s that’s been in a war will not glorify it.”… I’m retiring early tonight, about 9:45 pm. Members of our family have gone to see The Lion King. I don’t wait up for them…

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Day Seven – Thursday, April 8 –
I’m up early today, 6:15. I take advantage of the quiet time in the kitchen of our flat for coffee, listening to BBC radio and I finish reading Daniel Silva’s latest book, A Death in Vienna. I’ve enjoyed every page. Silva lives in Washington and writes exciting books about captures of Nazi war criminals. Good stories … Midmorning, we’re off to visit Harrods, the great department store in Knightsbridge. It’s a fine shopping experience. We skim through the bookstore, the house wares department, food court and finally Pat and I eat a light lunch. We both order vegetable soup and diet drink. The vegetable soup looks and tastes like creamy asparagus soup. Delightful. The chef swears it’s vegetable soup. I take his word for it and enjoy it. After a rest on the second floor in the restaurant, we visit the first floor candy counters. I’m tempted and tempted but stand firm. No chocolate bunnies or Cadbury bars. Later, after riding the Underground back to the flat, I sneaked a Cadbury’s fruit chocolate bar out of the eyesight of Pat. At least I thought so and she reminded me I better watch it… Tonight, 6:45 pm, it’s a birthday dinner for Elizabeth in Chinatown at Lee Ho Fook near Leicester Square. Hot and sour soup and spicy shrimp…So, it’s back home on our final night of this magnificent trip. We’ve walked and dined and walked and looked and enjoyed every minute. I helped the British press everyday reading The Times, The Guardian, The Independent and the Evening Standard. 

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Day Eight – Good Friday, April 9 –
It’s a bank holiday on this Good Friday. People are off for a long weekend. We’re up early, and preparing for a trip to Heathrow for our 3 o’clock flight home to Dulles-Washington. Our bags are packed, they’re heavy, and we pull them from our flat again to Victoria Station in SW1, London, and ride the train to Heathrow Airport. It takes about an hour. While it seems somewhat difficult, it’s really a fun ride on the underground to the busy airport where London’s police are busy patrolling the terminals with sidearms and machine-guns ever on the alert. Glad to see them. We get there in plenty of time and get seat assignments without difficulty for Flight 293, departure gate 25. A 2:20 pm, we get on the plane and by 3 o’clock, we’re off the ground, headed for home. It’s an easy flight, made that way with a marvelous video report on Jack Nicklaus, the great golf champion, probably because this is Masters week. Nicklaus is praised for his hard work and dedication and among his quotes, “If you accept losing every day, you’re a loser.” That’s why he is a champion and why most people are winners. They don’t accept “losing” in their lifestyle… This has been a good trip. We enjoy the hospitality and culture of England and the pleasures of living history. We touch down at Dulles about 5:30 pm Eastern Daylight Time. The Customs agent stamps our passports then welcomes us home. It’s good to be back… I’m ready for my own bed and coffee pot…