In the early morning hours, I thought about some of the people I’ve met and formed at least a surface friendship with across the past four decades. Many of those connections came my way simply because I was the pastor at Henly Baptist Church.
This morning I thought about a man who might have fallen into the category of a drifter. His name briefly surfaced in the periphery of my memory. It was many years ago, but as I recall, he lived in a small older motor home that seemed no worse for wear. He located work for some time at the only gas station in town.
He was the kind of guy most comfortable cooking outside on a barbeque pit and spending recreational time throwing horseshoes or pitching washers with other folks. Of course, those activities would only appeal to him if he couldn’t be hunting or fishing.
Don’t get me wrong. I put my britches on one leg at a time, and I’ve never lived in the fast lane. When it comes to recreational activities, there is something about tossing horseshoes and pitching washers that fall flat with how I want to spend my time.
But there are folks in the Henly crowd that historically did both. From a practicality standpoint, I can assure you that no one I’ve ever known, regardless of how much they enjoyed tossing horseshoes or pitching washers, would have purchased those items from a specialty store.
On the outside chance that I’m wrong, you can order four horseshoes and two metal posts from L.L. Bean for $129.00. You can also purchase four metal color-coated washers elsewhere for $22.99. Things like that don’t happen in Henly.
Shucks, any number of people probably had those items already on hand. For instance, my dad never threw a nut, bolt, or washer away. He tossed them in a metal bucket inside the garage for safekeeping. He operated on the notion that you never throw anything away that you might one day need.
The same is true of horseshoes and washers. If you ever had them, you probably still have them. You certainly didn’t shop for them at a specialty store in a “ready-made kit” for use.
I don’t know where the guy whose name surfaced in my head this morning was from. I’m sure at one time, I knew the answer. “Where are you from?” is the kind of logical question I’d ask any stranger or first time visitor who showed up at church.
My memory is a little foggy, but I think the man gained the church’s permission to park his small motor home on the other side of the well-house. That kept the RV was out of sight when you drove into the church’s parking lot. It was an ideal location for him. The man walked to work. He also had virtually no reason to miss church since he was on the premises.
I don’t remember where the man headed when he left Henly. What I do remember is the answer I received from one of his friends when I asked about his whereabouts years later. Reportedly, it was believed that he somehow aligned himself with David Koresh and the Branch Dividians at the Mount Carmel Center ranch outside Waco.
I remember watching in horror the news report of what later came to be known as the Waco massacre. Reportedly, because it was suspected that the Branch Dividians were stockpiling illegal weapons, the Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco, and Firearms (ATF) obtained a search warrant for the compound and arrest warrants for Koresh, as well as a select few of the group’s members.
No one expected the seize that lasted 51 days or the gunfight that ensured when the Federal Bureau of Investigation launched an assault and initiated a tear gas attack in an attempt to force the Branch Dividians out of the ranch.
There are mixed stories of how the fire that killed 76 Branch Davidians (including 25 children) actually started. But news reels captured the flames, and I remember the sense of horror and sick sensation in the pit of my stomach as I sat spellbound in front of the television while I was home for lunch.
It is a sad memory.
All My Best!
Don
Carpe Diem 