Harry Covert - The Covert Letter

Nolan Dawkins: His 'Incredible Day' in Virginia

By HARRY COVERT

When Nolan Dawkins was growing up, he and his childhood playmate couldn’t get a drink of water outside of their homes in Alexandria, Va.

In those days, the city was part of the old-time south where drinking fountains, public facilities and public schools were racially separate and allegedly equal.

Dawkins and his childhood chum, Bill Euille, grew up in the Parker Gray neighborhood. As adults they have been leaders of change in the city and have distinguished themselves, Dawkins as an attorney and jurist and Euille as a businessman and political leader.

Today, things have indeed changed. It was never more evident than on Thursday, June 12 when Dawkins became Alexandria’s first African American Circuit Court judge and the 18th judicial circuit’s third judge. He joins Chief Judge Donald M. Haddock and Judge Lisa B. Kemler, both native Alexandrians.

William D. (Bill) Euille, now mayor, was among the first speakers at Dawkins’ swearing-in ceremonies, first as friend and second as the city’s leader. He and Dawkins grew up on Columbus Street. Dawkins was one of seven African Americans who broke the color barrier and entered George Washington High School, graduating in 1965. Euille tagged along but graduated from T. C. Williams High School in 1967.

And, 43 years after graduating from high school, Dawkins was accepting the well-wishes from a packed audience of more than 300 well-wishers in the Franklin P. Backus Courthouse for his seating.

Del. Brian J. Moran (D-46) read Gov. Timothy M. Kaine’s official proclamation naming Dawkins to the Circuit Court. It was Moran who spearheaded the eight-year term through the General Assembly in March in an often sticky political struggle.

THE INVESTITURE APPEARED almost like a homecoming for the respected Judge Dawkins. His wife Lorraine and three daughters, Kelli, Kimberly and Ashley participated in the judicial "robing" of the new judge. Dawkins was greeted by his fourth-grade teacher, Mrs. Mabel Lyles. She beamed with pride listening to the accolades for her pupil at the city’s Lyles-Crouch Elementary School. His first grade teacher was unable to attend.

Rev. Dr. Elbert J. Ransom Jr. set the stage for the ceremony as he invoked "Divine favor" on the Dawkins judgeship.

Retired Juvenile & Domestic Relations District Court chief judge Stephen W. Rideout praised the selection of his colleague, noting how they worked together and often thought alike in the development and growth of their court.

"This is an incredible day," Dawkins said later. "A little piece of me will always be with the Juvenile & Domestic Relations Court. But, it’s very different up here. I am looking forward to the work. Alexandria is a wonderful city."

The ceremony was marked by family and friends. As conversations raised the decibel level in Courtroom No. 2, bailiwick of Judge Haddock, the noise was so loud that Deputy Sheriff Walt Travers, the veteran bailiff, had to call the court to order with a booming voice.

Sitting and retired local, state and federal judges, the city’s elected Constitutional officers and attorneys all filled in the courtroom.

ACCOLADES MADE IT an ever grander day for Judge Dawkins. Sheriff Dana Lawhorne, responsible for courthouse security and also an Alexandria native, said: "There is no one more deserving of this position than Judge Dawkins. He has earned this because of his outstanding reputation in our community both professionally and personally. Plus he has a great sense of humor."

Semonian said, "He’s given a ton to this community. I had the pleasure of swearing him in the first time (as judge of the Juvenile and Domestic Relations District Court). And I was glad to do it again." Semonian, also a native Alexandrian, is a 1951 graduate of George Washington High School.

Dawkins was passed over in 2004 when his nomination was stymied by a politically divided General Assembly.

"He never complained and never made a fuss," Dr. Ransom said. "This is his time now."·

Copyright 2008 Harry Covert

Gabble, Gumnation and Politics

By HARRY COVERT

ONCE UPON A TIME IN A DIFFERENT part of my life, I thought I’d run for public office. It was hard work. I know full well all politics is local. This was never more evident to me than on one afternoon when I was busy knocking on doors, introducing myself, smiling and being sweet and nice in the neighborhood.

Let me digress for a moment. What a campaigning year we’re having. It’s almost a carnival atmosphere as the gloves seem off in the Democratic race for president. And how the television commentators, analysts, columnists, bloggers and generally good bull-shooters are enjoying the melee.

Unfortunately, so much of the gabble or gumnation as I like to describe it, is about to turn off most of the voters. We have a long way to November. But, I admit, it is fun listening to the in-fighting, out-fighting and nefarious and various predictions.

We can’t say the media types are selling newspapers or magazines this time but they are selling lots of air time, even if it’s mostly hot air. It’s fun to watch.

All the hoopla we’re enduring reminds me of my effort and what it takes to meet the voters on every street and avenue of cities and towns. Most candidates do this when they're alone, when no reporters of any sort are following. You have to admire the candidates. Let’s not forget though, Americans are paying through the nose for the campaigns.

I enjoyed a 10-year period when I loved to umpire baseball games, softball games and to referee high school and college basketball and football games. They were always exciting events. You meet a lot of people.

I can tell you, a person can get accustomed to catcalls, boos, threats and dreadful, even profane, language because that’s what many people do at sporting events. Blame the umps. It’s part of the fun of competition. Sometimes it can be hard to take but game officials do that. Every now and then you can get sweet revenge. You have to be slick and delicate.

There is a similarity between officiating sporting events and campaigning for elective office. From my experience, most people are very nice and make campaigning fun. On occasion, citizens will tell you what’s on their minds and the majority of times it doesn’t involve campaign issues.

In my case, I rapped on one door politely, introduced myself and the lady of the house opened the door. She leered. Yes, I said she leered at me. Without missing a beat she sneered, "Whaddaya want?"

"I’d like your vote," I replied somewhat furtively.

"Well, get off my porch," she squealed. "I know who you are and I ain’t voting for you." That was rather definitive, to the point.

I GOT OFF THE PORCH, TRIED TO MAINTAIN a bit of dignity. I made one more attempt to find out just why this woman had little good to say of me.

"What did I ever do to you, madam?" I asked, attempting to be soft and to possibly save the situation. I managed a heavy emphasis on the word madam, probably employing a little sarcasm with a smile.

"You called my son out at home plate and we could have won the game. You’re a bum."

I swallowed hard. I knew then no amount of explanation or apology would work in this campaign stop. So I smiled again, thanked her and got away as quickly as I could.

What did she know, I thought to myself. So, I rationalized, she was obviously dumb as a stump, definitely pigheaded and didn’t know anything about baseball.  Certainly, she  didn’t know anything about politics. --Copyright 2008.

EASTER: COOL, BRIGHT AND HAPPY

I’ve always looked forward to Easter. I’m at First Baptist Church in Alexandria, Virginia.  Arrived early to make sure I got a seat. It’s brisk outside, about 38 degrees but comfortable inside the magnificent auditorium. I do notice some women wearing large and attractive hats. I love it.

As a boy in Newport News I remember that women and young girls in my church, and most others, wore corsages. Men and boys proudly displayed red or white roses on lapels of new suit coats or sports jackets. In those days we all had our baskets brimming of with chocolate eggs, assorted candies and colored hard-boiled eggs lying on artificial grass. It was a fun time.

Today, there were lots of white- and gray-headed happy people. One older silver-haired fellow enthusiastically greeted people. Wearing a bright pink sports coat. his happy demeanor led to more smiles.  He looked sharp walking up and down the aisle before the music started. Of course, Easter brings on New Beginnings, celebrating the Resurrection of Jesus. The choir led the singing of "Christ the Lord is Risen Today."

Seeing and hearing the festivities this morning, I recalled growing up in the early Fifties. After morning services, lots of folks paraded themselves downtown on Washington Avenue as a rite of Spring with their wives, girlfriends and families, sporting new hats and brightly colored spring ensembles. And, of course, showing off.

On this Sunday the church is filled to capacity. The 67-plus-voice choir and Church orchestra were at their best, in fact, extraordinary. The congregation joined in singing "Hallelujah to the Lamb," a moving outpouring. We all respectfully stood as the music reached the Hallelujah Chorus.

Senior Pastor Don Davidson’s message today is "Like Him We Rise." He gave the "good news."  He reminded folks that 86 percent of Americans believe Jesus rose from the dead. "God has promised more to us than just this life," Don said. "We should encourage one another for everlasting life. God has made a way for us to live forever."

Spring is obviously here despite the cool morning and bright sunshine. There is something about Easter Sunday that brings about a glow and freshness.

This is the earliest Easter in 84 years. The congregation appeared happy and uplifted by the music, the message and the atmosphere. Don Davidson is one of those rare pastors with the special Gift.

"We’re all going to go through the door marked death but on the other side is paradise," he said.

The next time the three-day Easter period (Sacred Tridum) comes this early will be in 2228. The last time it came this early was in 1913. Looks like I missed the latter.  I won’t be around for any parades for the former, 220 years from now. · Copyright 2008, Harry Covert.

Judge and The Note . . .Just In Time

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One of my favorite Alexandria jurists is retired General District Court Judge Daniel Fairfax O’Flaherty. 

Even though he’s been retired a long time, he presides regularly as a substitute. He’s a fixture and still has second-floor chambers in the Courthouse on King Street.  He’s a familiar face in surrounding jurisdictions.

            Virginia’s lawmakers will change the face of Alexandria’s court system in a few weeks.  The city will have at least three judicial appointments and possibly a fourth, brought about by retirements of one of its three circuit court jurists and the chief judge of the General District Court.       

There will be new judges in the Circuit Court, General District court and quite possibly in the Juvenile and Domestic Relations Court.

            As the General Assembly ponders the Alexandria courts, I’m recalling a January a few years ago when two Haitians from Harlem escaped jail and criminal records, because of an illegible note.

            In early December 1998, two young Haitians took a wrong turn off Interstate 95 and ended up in an Alexandria apartment complex in Alexandria.  They fell asleep in their car.  At about 3 o’clock in the morning, police were called to a suspicious vehicle with two men inside.  Residents of the complex were scared, figuring they were drug dealers, especially since their car had New York State license plates.

            City police arrived, questioned them at length and didn’t like the several different stories as to why they were in Alexandria.  One said they were “coming to Richmond,” the other said they were looking for Greensboro, N.C., and the other said they were going to New York.   

            The boys were arrested, charged with trespassing and lying to police. Bonds were set at $25,000 each.  For the next two weeks, they languished in the Alexandria Jail, hopeless to be released for Christmas with trials set for January.

            At the behest of veteran Sheriff’s Deputy Mike Kimble who felt sorry for them, I went to the jail and interviewed them on the chance they were bondable.  (Frankly, I figured it would be a nice Christmas fee for me.)  I discovered one of boys had $1,600 in his jail account.  The other was penniless.  Their families were unable to raise the $25,000 bond or the bondsman’s fee.  They only person who may help was their church pastor. 

             I called the Harlem pastor.  He said one of them worked in his church.  The other, the one with no money, was dating his daughter.  “Both are good young men.”  I explained they needed bail bonds and someone to sign for them and someone to send the money.  I was the bondsman.

            The pastor wired $2,500 bail money for one boy and $800 for the other. The boy with $1,600 sent a note to the property deputy giving his $1,600 to me.  He scribbled a note. By the afternoon, the money was transferred for his bond release. 

            I put the note in their file, drove them to the bus station back to Harlem.  I was hoping they would return in time for court.  They did appear for General District Court.  Judge O’Flaherty was presiding, listening to the case with eyes closed, his white hair gleaming, and bright bowtie showing under his robe.  He wasn’t asleep.  The prosecutor’s evidence was pretty good. Public Defender Kevin Gaynor was working hard.

            I listened. I was just happy they had appeared for court.  To pass the time, I looked in the file.  My ears perked when the prosecutor asked for 12 months in jail.  Suddenly, I realized in re-reading the file, that the note to the sheriff’s property deputy, the boys could barely speak English, let alone write.  I stood up and walked to the front, asked to speak with the public defender.  Judge O’Flaherty appeared a bit startled but agreed.  I showed Gaynor the hand-written note, explaining these Haitians didn’t understand English very well and probably didn’t know what the policeman was saying.   

            The prosecutor saw the near illegible note, and took it to Judge O’Flaherty and the cases were dismissed.  I’ve always appreciated Judge O’Flaherty.  He’s a wise man.

            I know the General Assembly will be wise in filling Alexandria’s judgeships. • Copyright © 2008

A Merry Christmas to Everyone ...

It's that time to wish everyone a Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year 2008 with a special tip of Santa's cap to:

             George Ramsey, Cecil Taffer, Mickey Marcella, Jim Waller, Dimples Prichard, Alfred Means, Margaret French, Calvin Falwell, Lawrence Simpson, Megan Lawhorne, Don Davidson, Jane Watrel, Dale Smith, Mary Anne Weber, Bernie Lloyd, Rita Haxton, Joe Madagan, Ed Semonian, Mugler Gibson, Andy Greenwell, Bobby Giammittorio, Bobby Lewis, John Wilkerson, Cindy Kapetanis, Tommy Seward, Lana Stearns, Julie Carey, Judi Dench, Gary Reals, Judy Miller, Sam Akinbami, Norman Snead, David Baker, Claude Beheler, Dave Gambale, Ian O’Flaherty, Carl DeWitt, Marla McCormick, Carmen Zygmunt, Skeeter Swift, Tom Dowling, Bill Paul, Earl Lloyd, Frank Cappiello, Daniel Fairfax O’Flaherty, Kevin Brown, Russell Griggs, Larry Jones, Larry Correa, Carlos McKeithan, Gene McGuire, Frank Simmons, Richard Benderoth, Trish Ruscak, Ron Davidson, Wendy Crane, Lloyd Hansen, Charlie Wornom, Sam Johnston,

             Steve Maguigan, Brian Lamb, John Griggs, Bob Moskowitz, Norman Moon, William Sweeney, Catherine Viggiani, Jann MacCollam, Jason Richmond, Dale Race, Bernadette Golembowski, Jerry Harden, Tom Glascock, Dick Welsh, Aaron Duncan, Edward Prokop, Brian Kelly, Woody Rea, Tom Frank, Tommy Durkin, Mattie Palmore, Tom Bissette, Judy Palmore, Cal Thomas, Becky Moore, Wendel Cover, Derrick Wright, Charlie Aschmann Jr., Brian Moran, Bill Bolling, Chuck Hagee, Stephen Lowery, Benny Hinn, Jim Boulet Jr., Karen Green, John Hagee, Dan Brockman, Scott Wash, Randy Sengel, Gary Jeter, Krista Boucher, Jeremy Horner, Chase Wise, Stephen Mackey, John Kloch, Jim Clark, Safija Jusopovic, Leonie Brinkema, Mike Weatherbee, George Ball Jr., John Bell, Charles Poarch, Mike Kimble, Willard Scott, Charlie Judd, Nolan Dawkins, Paul Pepper, Paul Yost Jr., Paul Harvey,

             Jacqui Levy, John Lisle, James Lanning, Michael Lee Pope, Melinda Douglas, Linwood Reid, Michael Neebe, John Carroll, Dorothy Redmon, George Woodson, George Wooden, Joe Issa, Joe Wiggs, Carl Armstrong, Chip Watkins, Christine Cornell, Deryl Edwards, Ray Duff, Fred Tharpe, John O’Hara, Bob Hawes, Kevin Coulmes, Chris Leibig, Myron Contee, John Poffenberger, Mike Cole, Frank Milano, Lolly Wilson, Lisa Kemler, Dennis Brown, Geoffrey Palmer, Jeffrey Archie, Robert O’Brien, Jose Portillo, Ronn Wilson, Rose Barreto, Rose Stewart, John Triplett, Larry Sabato, Wendell Flinchum, Mark Davis, Steve Simpson, John Whitehead, Hunter Land, Rawles Jones, Bill Cleveland, Bill Euille, Bill Haskins, Mark Thomas, Ed Parrish, Joe Seskey, Pat Troy, Elliott Casey, Cathryn Evans, Ann Kilgore, Margaret Edwards, John Lucey, Pat Minetti, Tom Hill, Leia Crock, Paolo Gonzalez, Fred Hayman, Russell Stephenson,

             Hunter Andrews, Pierre Guillermin, Andy Wahlquist, Bonnie Dodd, Alice Linker, Ann Puckett, Barbara Johnson, Barbara Jensen, Myra Jessen, Hannah Miller, Annie McWilliams, Danny Lakin, Randy White, Fletcher Wright, Mavis Thomas, Jimmy Thomas, Christine Hensel, Bruce Goodson, Virgil Coleman, Ruth Seal, Arlene Davis, Jess Kersey, Bennie Armes, Ralph Powers, Gant Redmon, Milt Drewer, Les Hooker, Charlie Sanders, Bill Chambers, Joe Agee, Charlie Kay, Ben Bowers, Otis Tucker, Bob Harrington, Bill Faulkner, Jack Price, Myron Augsburger, Nina Banner, Ray Linker, Frances Nichols, William Donald Schaeffer, Lacy Scoggins, Dan Reber, Bill Booker, Russell Hughes, Carson Linker, Joseph W. Black, Hal Damsky, Shenton Lodge, Sidney Morse, Larry Bonko, Alexander Haxton, Myrtle Barnes, Jimmy Wilkinson, Dana Lawhorne, Doug Wilder, Martin Bass, Bill Petty, Bob Hellyer, Neal Eskelin, Steve Wike,

             Jane Roush Marum, John Allen Muhammad, Jennings Culley, Al Worthington, John Seaman, Nick Triandos, Michael Lieberman, Narian Rajan, Richard Spicer, George Vecsey, Bob Coulter, Patrick Madden, Scooter Huller, Dave Statter, Jim Gay, Don Wheeler, Ken Jarvis, Chriss Liden, David Matthews, Mary Pratt, Lou Holtz, Claire Eberwein, Philip Streeter, Ronald Godwin, Joe Spagnolo, Horace Henson, Keith Crane, James Velez, Kevin Briggs, Alex Bridges, Jim Asendio, Megan Thomas, Ron Lawhorne, Clarence Nelson, Jim Chacamaty, Eric AuCoin, Ken Crow, Tom Dumproff, DinoVretos, Paul Plott, Joni Robin, Jeffrey Hunter, Donnie Haddock Jr., Tony Davis,William Hamblen, Erica Waasdorp, Scott Hessek, Ed Laborwit, JoAnn Orf, Butch Ward, Danny Coley, John Sheally, Jo Padgett, Sumner Wemp, Edward Dobson, Clarke Stearns, Fran Petecca, Brian Grenadier, Brian Cole, Eric Murray,

            Lori Rustigian, Donald Haddock, Jennifer Harris, Craig Fifer, David Rocco, Richard Ruscak, Jim Weeks, Ken Gill, Bryan Porter, Stan Scott, Robbie Hiner, John Romaine, Leonard Zimet, Leonard Dunford, David Edwards, Jim Cornwall, John Stott, Randy Dale, Gail Gaskins Roberson, James Goodwin, Joel MacCollam, Charles Lowery, Lee Marshall, Paul Weyrich, George Tinsley, Nelson Broach, Brad Crum, Tyler Gray, Gordon Luff, James Turnage, Amy Whiddett, Van Dalton, Daniela Deane, Tim Baldwin, Joe Horn, Harry Charity, Harry Greene, Daniel Silva, Jonathan Yardley, Mark Powers, Ken Follett, John McCaslin, Marion Elizabeth Rogers, Faye Wolford, Ellen Mitchell, Maria Hegstad, Ron Riley, Bob Joyce, Jim Suthard, Joey Lawrence, Kevin VandeWettering, Conky Sorrell, Alan Fleming, Richard Viguerie, Oscar Wiygul, Greg Bell, Randy Marcus, Carol Buckley Harty, Frank Aschmann, John Keats, Henry Hudson, Alan Dye, Faye Wolford, Ellen Mitchell, Maria Hegstad,

            And, most of all, friends and readers of The Covert Letter. (c) Copyright 2007 Harry Covert.

Jim and Tammy: A Night With Paul Harvey

I wrote this story in August 1989 as the scandals involving television  evangelists throughout the nation exploded. Jim and Tammy Bakker, two young people from Minnesota, were founders of the PTL Television Network in Charlotte, N. C.  On Saturday, July 18,Tammy Faye Bakker Messner died suffering from colon cancer, which had spread to her lungs.

The Bakkers were at the forefront of the burgeoning religious television programming of the 1970s and 80s.  It was their popularity and hard work that changed the face of national Christian television. They gave many well-known church and religious media personalities opportunities to become national figures.

Jim and Tammy began their television careers in Portsmouth, Virginia, at Pat Robertson’s UHF television station Channel 27, forerunner of the Christian Broadcasting Network (CBN). They began an entertaining children’s puppet program and became the most popular figures in Tidewater, Virginia television for several years.

I was a young newspaper reporter and columnist at the Newport News (Va.) Daily Press when I met them in the late 1960s.  When the PTL story broke two decades later, I had a different slant on the story, which appeared in numerous daily newspapers.

Here’s my story:
Jim and Tammy didn’t always live high on the hog as famous TV preachers. When I met them, they were poor and willing to work for free.

It was 1971 in Hampton, Virginia. Several local businessmen, fancying themselves as event promoters at the newly opened local coliseum, contracted their first big event. Paul Harvey, the famous Chicago news commentator, was coming. The promoters were counting their erstwhile profits.

Paul's fee for that night was a healthy $7,000. The promoters weren't worried. They had gladly paid in advance. They were convinced. Tidewater Virginia patrons would flock to hear everybody's favorite broadcaster.

Why not, they reasoned? Two Johnny Cash shows had just sold-out in the Hampton Coliseum, grossing more than $200,000. Visions of quick money mesmerized them.

Daily, the touts checked the box office. But, a week before the event, they realized they faced economic ruin. Sales amounted to a few tickets.

When they called me, I could sense panic. Their thoughts of easy dollars had vanished. They came by my newspaper office, pleading for some free news space. They didn't have to remind me what a black eye an empty hall would be for the city.

I asked who else was on the program. Mr. Harvey would be the only speaker, except for some local politicians. I suggested they needed an opening act to sell more tickets.

We thought for a while. And, then I had an idea. My kids watched Jim and Tammy Bakker's puppet show on the UHF station and loved them. It occurred to me that an event drawing children would bring parents, too.

But there was no money left. Not for advertising. Not for Jim and Tammy. Not for anybody. With some trepidation, I called Jim Bakker anyway. He told me not to worry. He and Tammy hoped to begin supplementing the $45 a week that Pat Robertson paid them for their puppet show. Public appearances, Jim figured, may well be the start of a new dimension.

I told Jim if he'd mention the coliseum appearance on TV, I'd publish their picture and story in the paper.

And, Jim happily agreed to appear gratis. Besides, he said, he'd always wanted to meet Paul Harvey.

Well, it was a good night. Jim and Tammy greeted thousands of children with smiles and giggles. Tammy sang her heart out.  Paul Harvey, as always, was entertaining and informative.  And the promoters? They went back to their regular work, no poorer, but much wiser.

After leaving the coliseum, Jim and Tammy came to my office with two friends. They needed seventy-five cents to pay the bridge toll across the James River and $10 gas money for the ride home in their black Coupe Deville Cadillac.

I borrowed the money from the company petty cash. And Jim and Tammy were on their way?

© Copyright 2007 Harry Covert.

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.

Scotland Yard’s Successful Methods

I’ve spent the weekend watching the news from London and Glasgow, Scotland.  You have to give Scotland Yard and all members of the British Police great plaudits for their handling of the bomb plots at Haymarket, near Piccadilly Circus and then Saturday’s terrorism at Glasgow’s international airport. 

            The Brits made good use of closed circuit television cameras all around the country.  They’ve made arrests because they were caught on camera.  At Glasgow, the safety barriers stopped the Cherokee Jeep in which two “Asian” men tried to crash into the airport.  Scotland Yard has arrested at least five of the suspects, one of whom even though critically burned, fought to keep going to

complete his mission of killing innocents. 

            I’ve spent lots of time in London around Haymarket, Piccadilly Circus, Covent Garden and Westminster.  I couldn’t help but smile when I heard a terrorist expert exclaim Sunday just how the Scotland Yard would give the suspects “a clinical examination.”  I know what that means.  I’m for it.  Terrorists don’t deserve the freedom they are innocent until proven guilty.

            Like lots of other people, my thought is how long are we going to put up with the terrorists.  When are we going to get visibly angry and yell to the top of our lungs, we’ve had enough?  Isn’t it time for an even more hard-line approach? And we’re worried about them being held in our Guantanamo Bay prison?  Hogwash.

            My suggestion today, and hopefully not laughable, is that world leaders – read that Western leaders – convene immediately leaders of all the Arab countries, force them to grab hold of the terrorist problem.  The threat should be isolation of all the Arab countries if they don’t intervene in the Muslim fanatic terrorism.  I mean to totally close them off, send them go back to the Stone Age, which they so fervently admire.

            This may be a bit simplistic, maybe even sophomoric.  But terror plots are now big business and threaten the rest of the world. ◄

Ric Flair: “The Dirtiest” Wrestler A Real Champion

It saddens me to hear about the recent murders and suicide of the professional wrestler Chris Benoit and his family.  How tragic.  For whatever reason some are trying to make the case that steroids made him do it.  Despite the demons that Benoit (pronounced Ben-wah) faced, he simply became a murderer. 

It’s not the fault of the professional wrestling business.

It’s not the fault of his doctors.

It’s not the fault of his fellow wrestlers.

He’s the fellow who strangled his wife, smothered his son and then hanged himself.

This is a hot story as professional athletes of all stripes have apparently been using steroids (supposedly illegal) to bulk up their bodies for the sole purpose of enlarging their sports statistics. It’s big business, worth millions. It’s the next level for public adulation.  It's not the organic food business.

Pro ‘rasslin’ is entertainment just like the other professional sports, the movies and even now America’s political scene.

One of my favorite wrestlers is Ric Flair, Nature Boy.  He’s not only an athlete, he’s a terrific performer, entertainer and a good public relations man.  (Photo at the top right is Courtesy of David Matthews of www.rfgolds.com) Flair is a blond-haired, 6-foot-1-inch 240 pound guy who has paid his dues.  He spent years traveling the pro wrestling circuit for North Carolina promoter Jim Crockett.  He and his colleagues appeared on Crockett’s taped television shows and distributed all over the mid-Atlantic and south.  Once the shows aired, the wrestlers hit the towns throughout in Virginia, North Carolina, Tennessee and Georgia.

Flair, now 58 years old, is still going strong as a star for Vince McMahon’s World Wrestling Federation/Entertainment (WWE).  He learned his craft well traveling to National Guard armories, high school gymnasiums and any facility that could handle a crowd of paying customers.  The wrestlers traveled four and five men to a car to save expenses.

I met Ric Flair in 1980 before he won the National Wrestling Alliance’s World Heavyweight Championship.  Here’s how it happened.

I was a member of the Virginia Athletic Commission.  Our commission licensed all pro wrestlers and promoters.  The state received fees and percentages from the gates. 

In the spring of 1981, Ric Flair was on a Friday night pro wrestling card in the Lynchburg, Va., City Armory.  My son, Chris, loved television wrestling.  In those days his favorite was the colorful Ric Flair.

I advised the promoter that Chris loved Ric Flair.  I asked if he’d introduce him and possibly get an autograph.  About an hour before the first match, Flair and his fellow wrestlers drove up in a black Cadillac Coupe de Ville.  They came in through a side door.  Ric agreed to meet Chris but wanted to dress in his wrestling outfit.

In about 15 minutes as we stood a few feet from ringside, the crowd milled about the armory and excitement was in the air.  A table was set up near the ticket-taker. Ric Flair in his togs walked up and introduced himself.  He and Chris shook hands.  Then Flair took him by the arms and asked, “Chris, want to wrestle me?  Think you can beat me?  Wooooo!!!!”  That trademark roar brought the crowd’s attention to us. 

Already, smiles turned to serious business.  I didn’t know what was coming next.  But Chris did.  He just beamed and held on to Ric’s big fist. 

Ric asked him again, “You want to wrestle me?”  Chris said firmly, “Yes.” 

“Then, let’s arm wrestle,” Ric said.  “You’re a pretty strong guy.”

And at the table, Flair bent over, Chris bent over and they clinched right arms.  Flair gave the go-ahead signal, “Okay.”  Before we knew it, Chris slammed Ric’s arm down.  Flair grinned sheepishly and promptly declared Chris the winner, raising Chris’s arm.  The crowd roared.

The “winner” beamed and loved that moment.

“Wooooo!!!!” said Flair.  He hugged Chris and off he went to the ring where the crowd yelled and screamed.  This time, Flair won his match.  Ric always says, “To be the man, you have got to beat the man.” Chris was 12.

Several months later, the then 32-year-old wrestler, born as Richard Morgan Fliehr, would win his first NWA Heavyweight championship.  Pro wrestlers are superb showmen, great athletes and great at make-believe.  His ring persona today may be the “Dirtiest Player in the game.”  In my book, Flair’s a real champion. © 2007 Harry Covert.

I Paid To Vote

By HARRY COVERT

One of the most exciting days of the year for me has always been Election Day.  This day not only has been the climax of political campaigning and campaigners but back in my young days it was somewhat of a social event, really a fun day.

On the day I reached 21 years of age, I proudly and innocently marched down to the city’s voter registration office.  There in the courthouse Mrs. Inez Ashe, Hampton’s Registrar, had a few questions for me.  Was I a property owner?  Had I paid my taxes? How long had I lived in the city?  I also produced a copy of my birth certificate and even my draft card, which I still have, all brown with age and showing 1-A.  I never burned it and was never called up.

At the moment Mrs. Ashe’s questioning seemed akin to being interrogated by the city police.  All I wanted to do was vote.  I did what I was told and signed the form. I was excited and ready for the next election, which would have been the spring primaries.  Then Mrs. Ashe said, “You gotta pay the poll tax.”  No one had alerted me about more taxes.  But a tax to vote?  I put up a small argument but Mrs. Ashe didn’t crack a smile.  Firmly as a prison matron, she said, “if you want to vote you have to pay the $1.50 poll tax.”  I had a dollar bill and at least 50 cents in assorted change.  I just made it.

In today’s world I chuckle when I hear about people who have trouble pulling the right lever or punching out the right holes.  In my early days you just marked the ballot with a pencil, paid the poll tax and kept the receipt just in case you were challenged.  You couldn’t pay the tax the day before the election or the day of the voting.

In the Commonwealth of Virginia, several things were important in elections.  It was advantageous to be a Democrat.  It was smart to be a supporter of Winchester’s Harry Flood Byrd, Senior, and also the local members of the Byrd Machine. Whatever office you wanted to run for you had to have the Byrd blessing.  Of course, you had to be a public Democrat, too.  Another caveat was you had to pay the poll tax, thanks also to the Byrd Machine.  And there was such an organization.

Now a $1.50 was quite a high fee for a lot of people back in the Fifties and Sixties.  I was such an innocent it was only then I realized the reason for the poll tax:  to keep “some” people from voting.  No one wanted to admit it but those “some” people were primarily the black families and poor whites all over the Commonwealth and throughout the south.

I started working the polls.  In those days the Commonwealth allowed everybody to get a driver’s license at age 15 if you could pass the written, the driving and then the parking test.  There was intimidation for a 15-year-old and that was with the uniformed and armed Division of Motor Vehicles agents, dressed similar to the State Police.  You had to drive around the block, give hand signals out of the window and then park between two imaginary cars without bumping the curb.  I passed the test in January.

In the spring, there came the primary elections.  A “machine” friend offered me an Election Day job.  I couldn’t vote, but I could drive people to the polls.  I loved it.  The pay was five bucks and a lot of tips.  We managed to get many people safely to the voting booths and no one complained.

Precincts were fun to be around.  We’d pick up the voters, drive to the proper voting place and wait.  While we were waiting we could enjoy all kinds of homemade cakes and pies and sandwiches.   I liked the chocolate meringue pies and political talk.

Sometimes, we had to make late rides because it was getting near to closing time and the candidate or candidates needed an extra bit of help.

I didn’t know the difference between the parties in those days.  There weren’t any because there was just one, Byrd Democrats.  In those days we pretty well knew who was going to win on all levels. You couldn’t even be a local precinct leader of the local Democratic executive committee unless you had permission and the approval of Senator Byrd’s team.

Of course, now we voters and workers are a bit more sophisticated, some even superannuated.  We have real voting rules, mainly no $1.50 poll tax and 18 year olds can vote.  Times have changed.  Fifteen-year-olds can’t have a full-fledged driver’s license.

This year, we don’t know who’s going to win the elections before hand.  Even the so-called experts really can’t honestly predict.  And I’m not either.