CLOSING THE BARN DOOR ... AND MORE

THOUGHTS IN BRIEF OR AT LENGTH ...
December 6, 2005
CLOSING THE BARN DOOR

Much like in his delayed response to victims of Hurricane Katrina this summer, President Bush has finally noticed something that should have been obvious in his war on terrorism.
Our borders are far from being secure, and one can't help but wonder how many potential terrorists and other enemies of the United States have already crossed the border between Mexico and the U.S. since Sept. 11, 2001.
More than four years after the world changed forever with the terrorist attacks on New York City and Washington, DC, the president recently took a brief tour of the border, not even getting out of his vehicle except for a photo opportunity with the Border Patrol and to proclaim that some degree of security and law enforcement would be enhanced there.
Any estimate of illegal aliens who have come to this country by way of Mexico would probably be inaccurate since no one really knows, but the numbers are obviously high.
Look around many communities in the U.S., particularly in the South and in Florida (where residents don't consider themselves to be a Southern state). The Mexican population in the U.S. has increased many times over, working in jobs that American whites and blacks seem to think they are too good to do.
Most are probably here illegally. Many likely want to work and achive the "American Dream," while those who don't want to work often engage in criminal activities. And what is amazing is that little seems to have been done in regard to this matter.
Bush even wants to allow work privileges for these folks for a certain period of time, seeming to condone the influx that impacts our already suffering social and health programs.
The disturbing fact is that if so many Mexicans can cross the border without being noticed or caught, what is to stop those who would like to do serious damage to the U.S. from doing the same thing? How many terrorist cells might there already be here who eluded the publicized security measures we all know so much about?
It's like the proverbial closing of the barn door after the animals have gone.
One would think that one of the first things that our leaders would have done after that horrible day in 2001 would be to increase the numbers of those patrolling our borders, both north and south. It seems that an effective measure would have been to station U.S. troops at strategic points along the entire border and give them the same authority that our soldiers in Iraq have at checkpoints there.
Yes, the numbers of military people might be large, but likely wouldn't approach the numbers now on the ground in Iraq, trying valiantly to win a war that has no end in sight.
Indeed, using some of our armed forces to protect our borders would be costly -- but probably cheaper than the battle in Iraq has been. Too, the number of potential casualties would be minimal in comparison.
This is not to insult our Border Patrol. Those folks are doing the best they can with what they've got, and the proposed increased technology to detect intruders from the south will be some help. However, nothing can replace human presence, and citizens of the entire country would probably sleep better at night that our troops would be on American soil, in our own airspace and in the waters along our shores.
If Mexicans or people from any other country want to be U.S. citizens, living and working here in peace, they should do it legally. They could still do the so-called menial jobs if they wanted -- and they would be needed -- and have the comfort of being legitimate.
Most Americans wouldn't mind. Business people are obviously content to sell out their businesses to foreign interests anyway, and many might even be eager to join them in low-paying jobs as companies in the United States fire or lay off more and more employees, giving their jobs to folks overseas who don't -- or can't -- demand a lot of pay.
Perhaps we can't really blame the president and his administration for closing the barn door after the inhabitants had already gone elsewhere. After all, our complacency and lack of interest allowed them to do it. And still there are only a few voices to indicate that some people have noticed and would like to see something done to have America be America again.
Sheep don't worry about borders or security or much of anything else -- until they realize they've been sheared and have been led into the slaugherhouse.

---- (c) 2005, Toney Atkins

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November 20, 2005

Events of the past week in particular, as well as during all that has happened since my 62nd birthday on Jan. 2, 2005, are prompting me to begin writing a real journal or diary or whatever one might call it. Some of the things about which I will write will include experiences on all levels of my life and will be expressed as I saw or experienced them. In most cases, I will change names to protect the guilty. If you know me, you will likely see yourself along the way as this progresses ... and I hope to use this avenue as an outline for what I laughingly call my future "Great American Novel."
Since my decision to start this adventure in writing happens to be at 6:40 a.m. and I haven't slept since yesterday, the actual odes will begin to appear here after some sleep and thereafter as inspiration spurs me.
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November 20, 2005

REMEMBERING CHARLES W. CHERRY

A year of dramatic changes in my life actually began in November of 2004 with the death of Charles W. Cherry Sr.
The news of his passing sent shock waves through the Daytona Times office as well as throughout the Daytona Beach community. It was common knowledge that he had battled serious health problems for more than a year, and it had been months since he had come to the office on a regular basis, although he continued to attend most meetings of the Daytona Beach City Commission, where he was in his fifth term in the Zone 6 seat.
I was stunned when starting work that morning, a little more than a week before Thanksgiving, I was tipped that Hospice had been called to his home. We were later to learn that he had taken a sudden turn for the worse the previous evening. He left this life surrounded by family and friends.
His passing, at least briefly, was almost as controversial as his life as a community and civil rights leader had been. His son, Charles Cherry II, known to most of us as "Chuck," came into the office to officially inform the staff and to make the public announcement on his radio station, WPUL-AM 1590.
About half way through the program, in which callers were telephoning their sympathies to the radio station as well as practically ringing all the phones off their hooks in the newspaper office, a city employee stormed in, confronted me and demanded to know why the Daytona Beach city government hadn't been notified before the news was broadcast on radio. He was very upset, but that was the manner in which the grieving family wanted the announcement to be made.
I was kept busy answering calls and gathering comments of tribute for one of the news story I would write about Mr. Cherry's accomplished life, highlighted by his battle for civil rights on the local, Florida state and national levels.
I had talked to Mr. Cherry on the phone only several days before. He had just gotten out of the hospital and sounded rather robust, as I had always known him, and in good spirits. He commended the job I was doing and definitely took me by surprise when he said, "We've got to give you a raise. You're running the place, aren't you?" The conversation continued on a personal level with some insights as to his plans for the future.
Needless to say, I didn't get the raise, but I appreciated the thought. At the time, we were going through some turmoil among our small staff and, as assistant editor, I had to deal with office personalities as well as write stories, edit stories and help with layout, while dealing with the public and fighting deadlines.
Over the nearly 15 consecutive years that I had worked for Mr. Cherry, I learned a lot about him, his family and, mostly, the black community and its problems as well as its triumphs.
He first hired me back in 1987, admittedly to a little surprise on my part. The Daytona Times is a black-owned and operated newspaper and I am white. Color wasn't an issue for me, and it apparently wasn't for him. He said then, and was to say many times later, that I was fair in my reporting about him and issues in the black community when I worked for the city's mainstream newspaper. (I had left that job after my blood pressure started going through the roof and doctors were telling me to slow down.)
After a few months, I was offered a better paying job at a daily paper on the other side of the county and took it. After a year or so, I returned to my home state and worked for a paper there.
On a trip back to Daytona in the early 90s, I dropped a letter in the front door slot of the Times office, indicating that I would like to return if needed. About a month later, Mr. Cherry called my Georgia home and asked me where I was -- that he assumed I was coming back. Come back, I did, and went to work immediately.
It was then that I began one of the most exciting phases of my journalistic experience. Mr. Cherry gave me a great deal of freedom of expression, along with the responsibility of editing most if not all of what went into the paper. The pay was always lower than what I could have gotten at most other newspapers, but I enjoyed what I was doing at the Times and writing about issues that other news media wouldn't touch with a ten-foot pole.
Greeted with suspicion from some in the black community, I gradually earned their respect, and I consider many who live there -- from the average man on the street to ministers to civil rights leaders to politicians, you name it -- to be among my best friends. I was to find that many blacks would help me in a heartbeat when white acquaintances wouldn't, probably, if the truth be known, they resented and disrespected me for working for Mr. Cherry and the Daytona Times. Mr. Cherry was rarely given his just due by the white community and even many in the black neighborhoods, although he was fighting for the rights of all.
Mr. Cherry helped me through some rough times. I admired and respected him. To work for and with him was a privilege and an honor I'll never forget.
His death had a greater impact on me than I might have anticipated. As I approached a time when I could take early retirement, the fire inside me was burning me out. There were so many stories about the black community I felt needed to be told. (Some of these issues are addressed in stories on www.toneyatkins.com/ ) But after Mr. Cherry died, practically working as the only in-house writer for the paper, in addition to editing and other duties, I began to feel overwhelmed by it all. Health problems were surfacing. I suffered a painful back injury. Yes, early retirement was in order.
A year later, I still feel a void that Mr. Cherry once filled in my life with his presence. He was an important man to society, to politics, to the fight for an end to prejudice, to his family and to many in the community who suddenly had no new outstanding black leader to turn to when Mr. Cherry died.
I miss him and hope that Mrs. Cherry, Cassandra, Chuck and the others know that the prayers of many, including myself, are still with them.
Mr. Charles W. Cherry Sr. made his marks. He will not be forgotten. And I'm proud to have known and worked for and with him.
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November 21, 2005

PONDERING THINGS TO COME:
A journal or diary is usually a day-to-day recording of events to reflect back upon at a later time. This particular journal will probably often go back in forth in time to events and remembrances as they come to me at a particular time as I sit down to write.
I know that in the days, weeks and months to come, I will recall things that I wish I had included in a certain item when I wrote it. I haven't quite decided how to do that, but I'm certain that I will come up with a way to make a story complete.
Some of the remembrances I plan to include on these pages include stories about (1) the most beautiful and truest friend I've ever had; (2) a dearly loved cousin from the "other side of the lake" who fought and won many battles from childhood to adulthood and, with determination, hard work and love, made it to a happy place and a wonderful house on a hill; (3) going behind the scenes at the newspapers for which I worked, the drama and the melodrama, featuring some of the finest people I ever knew; (4) undercurrents of life in the city of the "World's Most Famous Beach" and the changing tides there; (5) the almost fantasy world of karaoke and the often colorful but all-too-human characters who inhabit it; (6) the real reasons I walked out the doors of organized religion but kept my faith; (7) my years of teaching in the classroom and the teriffic kids I remember and wonder about; (8) the story of the greatest love of my life; plus (8) investigating my father's death and nagging questions about the way the Veteran's Administration and other doctors handled his case over the past few years, in the hospitals and even after his passing. (i.e. Why did it take so long for a major problem to be found, and why did he deteriorate so rapidly after first being admitted to a hospital?)
As anyone who knows me can tell you, some folks may be happy, some may be inspired and others may be VERY angry as entries in this journal appear in my pursuit for truth, love and peace on many levels. I can assure you that nothing will be designed to hurt anyone ... unless the truth hurts.
****

PREPAID DEBIT CARDS AND CAR RENTALS CAN HURT POCKETBOOK

BY TONEY ATKINS

Thinking about renting a car with a prepaid Visa or MasterCard? Well, prepare yourself for a royal nightmare if you have to extend the car rental and handle it the way I did.

Two days ago, I received an e-mail from WiredPlastic.com informing me that my available balance was a little more than a comfortable $700. Yesterday, I was literally stunned when I received an e-mail from the prepaid card company notifying me that an important payment had been denied because I was more than $100 in the red.

More than a little alarmed, I went to Wired Plastic's web site and discovered something truly disturbing. My initial thought as the page opened was that I had been a victim of identity theft. As it turns out, the company had suddenly held back more than $800 as an "authorization" from the car rental agency -- with the date of the authorization being Sept. 1.

This issue presumably had been resolved shortly after the rental firm had submitted the final total due at mid-month. That took hours of valuable time (and money) in talking to representatives of Wired Plastic and sending them a fax of the final payment, then making more calls.

In effect, in addition to the settled amount of more than $1,000 (outrageous in itself), Wired Plastic is presently holding more than $800 of my money, making the three-week car rental amount to more than $1,800!!!

This isn't the first time this has happened when I had to extend a rental while using a prepaid Visa or MasterCard, and Wired Plastic hasn't been the only problem.

In the latest case, after my father passed away, his vehicle, which I had been driving, stopped on me. There were a lot of things to take care of, in addition to the possibility of returning to the state where I had lived more than 30 years to retrieve my belongings, so I rented an economy car.

The initial amount held on my account was several hundred dollars. When I returned the vehicle on Sept. 1, I asked for an extension on the rental. The $800-plus was then held from the funds available to me, including a second deposit. This showed up as two separate authorizations at Wired Plastic. When I returned the car on the due date, the final charge was sent to the card company and was settled. Yet, the previous authorizations were still there, meaning I did not have access to the funds.

"The double charge comes from the rental company not canceling their first authorization when they claim their final amount. They run through a second transaction rather than closing the first one," a representative of Wired Plastic told me nearly two weeks ago.

The aforementioned ordeal of trying to get this straightened out, proving that both authorizations were for the same rental, was eventually resolved -- I thought.

Yesterday, the Sept. 1 authorization suddenly reappeared, without any reasonable explanation being given to me by Wired Plastic. Now this, mind you, was on Sept. 28.

I rarely lose my temper, but I certainly did when I called and literally demanded that the matter be straightened out. The fax I had sent weeks ago apparently was nowhere to be found, so here we go again!

Car rental firms are leery about debit cards anyway, and I now can understand why. They have to authorize a rental, as well as an extension, and how they do it can add up to a chunk of change ... and it's not their fault.

For the most part, my relations with Wired Plastic and the firm that previously handled my payroll funds in a debit card have been excellent. The cards with the Visa or MasterCard logos can be used as credit cards, although you are using your own money, and that, for me, has been better than carrying cash.

My recommendation to the reader: If you plan to use a prepaid Visa or MasterCard debit card to rent a vehicle of any kind and find that you need to extend the rental, close out the first charge and make the extension a new rental ... a totally separate charge that won't cause any problems when it gets to the card company, which can hold an authorization up to six months if the charge is not settled.

If you work hard for your money and have to rely on every cent just to survive in this day and age, you will save yourself a lot of grief, headaches and access to your money by following the procedure in the paragraph above. By nature, I always have to learn things the hard way, so at the moment, my blood pressure isn't so good and I have a major headache.

I pray that my experience will help those of you who don't have "real" credit cards to avoid these unpleasant and unnecessary health issues and the wasting of your time and hard-earned dollars.

P.S. This postscript is being written less than 10 hours after the above text. Wired Plastic took care of the problem early this morning, and the funds were made available to me again. Let me emphasize that I give Wired Plastic a good rating and, for the most part, trust them with my money as a prepaid debit/credit card firm. This was my first major issue with the company, and it was resolved quickly, for which I am grateful.

There are still vital lessons here. This could happen with any such company, and I strongly advise that you regularly check balances and transactions if you have such an account. I have still received no explanation as to why the error occurred, but I am satisfied that it has been corrected. I will continue, with a watchful eye, to do business with the company.

HELPING DISASTER VICTIMS

The Salvation Army was a lifesaver for me during a period when I was down and out, and it certainly will continue to be a certain aid for the poor and homeless, especially in the wake of the 2004-2005 hurricane disasters. I urge you to donate what you can. Click on the title link above.

KATRINA AND RITA -- THE LATEST NEWS

Hurricane season 2005 has been a killer, causing massive destruction and forcing government to change the way it reacts to disasters. Many citizens do not believe the nation is any more prepared for natural and human-produced disasters than it was in 2001. This link updates the latest news and opinion about the changing face of America in the wake of a horrific storm season. Click on the link above.

GOD'S "SPORT" AND 9/11

A controversial look at the "persona" of God (from Common Dreams)

AFTERMATH OF DISASTER

HURRICANE KATRINA: AN HISTORIC CATASTROPHE
http://www.cnn.com/

CATASTROPHIC KATRINA SPAWNS HORROR, DEATH

AFTERMATH OF A KILLER HURRICANE
http://www.msnbc.com/

SAYING WHAT I MEAN AND MEANING WHAT I SAY

By Toney Atkins

I was stunned to get a response from an individual who indicated that sharing my feelings about my father's illness and subsequent death this week has been a ploy for attention, sympathy and even financial gain!!! Needless to say, I would be insulted if the suggestion were not so ridiculous, outrageous and even rather shocking, especially since it was coming from someone who claims to be a Christian.

I shouldn't even respond to such nonsense, so I'll address the intelligent readers who may wonder why I've been addressing such a personal and sensitive issue as my father's sickness and spiritual departure to a better world.

Many of you have shown extreme unselfish kindness in taking a few moments of your busy life to think of Dad and me, and I appreciate that more than you know.

I've shared some of my thoughts because I know many others have gone through the same thing or are suffering illnesses today that may threaten their own lives.

I'll soon be writing about hope and the miracles that I've witnessed and experienced during the past few months of Dad's illness -- proof of God's love and spiritual healing that I pray will inspire the sick and those who care for and about them; and about the peace, not pain or fear, when one approaches and enters death's door.

There's one sure thing about life, and that's death. It comes to all of us, young and old, and it would be great if we could all appreciate life (and I'm including myself here), not only when we're sick, but when we're in the best of health as well.

I don't apologize for sharing the new closeness that Dad and I had never had before this year. I don't apologize if I've often seemed maudlin or even morbid. I share my thoughts because I want to, and as we all do in life, the reader can take them or leave them, with my blessings. I certainly don't apologize for sharing the fact that I've found that LOVE TRULY WORKS!

It has been a trying time, but I thank God for it and for those who care (and even those who don't give a darn).

I love you all, whether you want me to or not. I pray God's richest blessings upon you and one more time I say, "Thank you!"

TONEY ATKINS



Have you told a veteran of any war how much you appreciate the job they did? Why not do it today? Meanwhile, continue to SPREAD LOVE and check out my not-for-profit, something-for-everyone web site: http://toneyatkins.tripod.com/html.index/ .

SPECIAL THANKS TO SPECIAL PEOPLE (Updated)

Special people deserve special appreciation and blessings ... and that means YOU! Click on http://toneyatkins.tripod.com/id39.html

SPECIAL PEOPLE

Friends prove themselves in trying times: http://journals.aol.com/toneyatkins/TONEYATKINSTHEWORLDAROUNDME/

SPECIAL THANKS TO SPECIAL PEOPLE

By Toney Atkins

I want to use this avenue to express special thanks to special people who have expressed their concerns via e-mail or verbal communications about my earthly father, who is very ill as I write. You don't realize how important your prayers and positive thoughts have been during this tumultuous time.

My appreciation and special prayers for blessings in your own lives go out to Charles Cherry II, publisher of the Daytona Times in Daytona Beach, FL, who last November lost his father, noted publisher, civil rights activist and city commissioner Charles W. Cherry Sr.; Krista Barriero, David Elliott and Mary Kendrick, all of the Daytona Times; Volusia County-Daytona Beach Branch President Cynthia Slater and other members of the NAACP branch, who also have been a blessing and a help to me in the past; Daytona Beach City Commissioners Gwen Azama-Edwards, Cassandra Reynolds, Sheila McKay and the honorable Daytona Beach Mayor Yvonne Scarlett-Golden.

Friends in Daytona Beach who have shown their support and encouragement include Don, former night manager at a motel where I used to live and work as a DJ and karaoke host in the establishment's nightclub, Bill Elliott and his lovely wife, Barb, and my former landlord, Sam Maness.

Very special appreciation goes out to my beautiful cousin in Chickamauga, GA, Linda Newberry and her fantastic husband, Terry, who are being quite supportive. I also stay in regular contact with Judy Rice, Dad's concerned special friend, and members of her wonderful family.

My dad, Charlie J. Atkins, who will be 84 on Aug. 22, is a World War II veteran who served in the U.S. Army's 10th Armored Tigers. He received the Purple Heart during his term of service, and he has suffered ever since, more so in recent years, from back injuries he received during the war.

His health has not been good for several years, but the severe impact came in late June when blood clots were discovered in his legs. In less than a month, he underwent three major surgeries, so he is very weak and fragile ... conditions that the strong and courageous man still finds difficult to accept. The prognosis at this point is not good, although he continues to struggle to regain his "old self." He is currently under 24/7 care, and is being kept as comfortable as possible.

I also have to give very special thanks to the medical staffs and other employees of Erlanger and Memorial hospitals and HealthSouth in Chattanooga, TN, as well as the National Health Care facility in Fort Oglethorpe, GA, and North Georgia Home Health Agency, Ft. Oglethorpe, GA, where all involved have shown him love, caring and every attempt possible to make him better.

If I have omitted anyone, I apologize, and you can rest assured that you will be recognized as I update this during Dad's recovery. Let me also assure you that as much as he would like to stay, he is ready to go if God wants him.

Again, thank you, and God bless you all with good health, much love and good fortune in all things. Your caring has kept me strong and rekindled what had become a dwindling faith in human nature. You all are the best, and please keep the prayers alive.

SAY 'THANKS' TO A WAR VETERAN

SAY 'THANKS' TO A WAR VETERAN

PSYCHIC OR PSYCHO? THE SPIRITS AMONG US

PSYCHIC OR PSYCHO? THE SPIRITS AMONG US

AN ULTIMATE VICTORY OVER CANCER ... And More Inspiration And Humor From The Desk Of Linda Bell Newberry Johnson

AN ULTIMATE VICTORY OVER CANCER ... And More Inspiration And Humor From The Desk Of Linda Newberry

BLACKS AND HOTBEDS OF CRIME

TONEY ATKINS COMMENTARY

It Really Is A Crime

DAYTONA BEACH, FL -- For years, I've kept my itchy typing fingers still on the subject of crime in the Black community, but if we don't tackle the problem now, when will we do it?

Blacks get upset when crime statistics show that some of the top hotbeds of crime are in the Black community. A former co-worker at the times, who often appeared to be prejudiced against whites, displayed anger on numerous occasions, claiming that Blacks who were accused of breaking the law were prominent on television news shows as opposed to the number of whites.

On that issue, I recently kept a personal survey of the alleged lawbreakers pictured on television. On many occasions, whites who had been arrested for one thing or another outnumbered Blacks. Besides, if you don't commit the crime, you don't get the television time. Simply, the best way to avoid being on a local newscast as an accused criminal is not to commit a crime -- and that's true for Blacks and whites.

Let's face facts. There is a lot of crime in the Black community. Blacks sell drugs in the parking lots of convenience stores as well as elsewhere in the community. Blacks have prostituted their bodies openly in the Black community, sometimes in front of the Daytona Times building, other businesses and even churches.

The "poor me" excuse for such criminal activities doesn't carry any weight for either the law-abiding Blacks in the community -- and there are a large proportion of them -- or for me. Newspapers have many classified ads listing jobs. Some may be low-paying jobs in the accommodations industry or washing dishes in a restaurant -- but it is honest work and as respectable as anything anyone can do..

However, many minorities will claim there are no jobs available for Blacks. I have had many business people tell me the contrary, but a person of any color has to apply to get a job and then has to apply himself or herself on that job to move forward and eventually make more money. Some Blacks have admitted to me over the years that they are not going to work at a menial job for little pay, and that there is more money in distributing illegal drugs, along with being able to work on one's own schedule.

Of course, drug dealing can result in violence, including fights, gun battles, slashing with knives -- and let's be real. These things do go on, and sadly, many people in the community are too frightened to combat the problem. They lock themselves in their homes, with bars covering the windows, and won't even leave the house at night because they are scared. In nearly 15 years with the Daytona Times, I have been told this by residents time and again.

If the police try to maintain peace in the community, the lawmen are taunted and accused of brutality. A number of members in white communities also hate authority and blame the police, especially if they get caught committing a crime. Area police officers are basically outstanding and do the best they can, and they handle alleged lawbreakers equally, no matter what their color.

I'm not writing this from mere hearsay. I've witnessed the nightmare, the danger. I've ridden through predominently Black parts of town where many law-abiding Blacks would not go after the sun went down. They are afraid they'll be robbed, shot, beaten ... or worse.

Police often seem to protect at least some Black offenders, for reasons unknown. When my car was stolen by a Black man with a white woman about 15 years ago, a detective came by to see me about a month after the stripped vehicle was found. He showed me mug shots of a number of possible suspects. I pointed out the photo that most resembled the man of my description. A young resident came by the office to give me a person's name who was claiming to have taken my car, which contained all of my earthly possessions. To my knowledge, the individual who, by the time the detective talked with me, was in jail on another charge, was never arrested for taking my car, and I was urged by the detective not to write any more columns about my harrowing experience in the newspaper. You figure it out.

On several recent occasions, after working late at the Daytona Times, I would stand in front of the building, either waiting for a taxicab or a bus (when there was service through the community south of Orange Avenue after dark). Although I was never threatened, I was approached many times by Blacks selling drugs or prostituting themselves. I suppose that, in their minds, a white man in the Black community must be after something more than a ride home.

With some humor laced with sadness, I could almost understand the community's feeling of harassment when one night, a police car stopped as I was waiting in front of the newspaper building. Two officers emerged from the patrol car, wanting to know why I was there. They didn't seem to believe my story about waiting for Votran until a bus approached on Dr. Martin Luther King Boulevard and I waved it down. The officers allowed me to catch my bus.

That touches on a related fact. Votran halted its night service south of Orange after several instances in which rocks, bricks and other materials were thrown at buses as they passed. On at least one occasion, the windshield on the driver's side was broken. A spokesperson for Votran told meat the time that the company couldn't afford to endanger their driversorpassengers. That makes sense, but the policy hurts those in the community who wouldn't think of breaking the law and who need rides to their jobs or to stores or entertainment establishments after dark.

It is also true that drugs and prostitution abound on parts of Ridgewood Avenue within several blocks in either direction from its intersection with International Speedway Boulevard. The same activity occurs on S. Atlantic Avenue on the beachside, particularly in a several block area near the street's intersection with Silver Beach. A mostly-white element is involved there.

When fear and dread keep Black residents trapped in their own homes, it is criminal.

There can be no excuse for anyone robbing, threatening, wounding or sometimes even killing another person. When criminals rule the roost, the henhouse is in trouble.

Instead of accusing the white establishment, the police and the mainstream media of "falsely" pointing to parts of the Black community as a hotbed of crime, perhaps Blacks who want peace, who want to take a walk down the street or even desire to go shopping after the sun sets need to unite and do something about the problem ... something to take back the community and bring back the pride that once was here.

The reader may think: That would take a miracle. It might, but miracles begin with each of us. We can douse the hotbed of criminal activity and live without fear. But that is not going to happen by itself.

Will the creation of a new reality in the community begin with you?

-- Toney Atkins, a veteran writer and former assistant editor of the Daytona Times, takes sole responsibility for these comments, which may not be shared with others involved with the Daytona Times.

New Memos Detail Early Plans for Invading Iraq

New Memos Detail Early Plans for Invading Iraq

ESCAPING THE HURRICANE: A VISION OF ARMAGEDDON?
A VISIONS COLUMN BY TONEY ATKINS

Hurricane season is here again, and the tropics are starting to churn. After suffering the wrath of three devastating hurricanes within a six-week period, some folks around Daytona Beach are watching the weather with a certain amount of fear and trembling, if only in the back of their minds.

Despite an appearance of normalcy, signs of the storms' wrath in 2004 are still visible in the Daytona Beach area. Some businesses remain closed, workers can still be seen making repairs on structures throughout the county, and a number of residents still suffer psychological effects of the impact the hurricanes had on their lives -- something many had believed they would never have experienced because such storms had been a rarity here.

Black and white businesses alike continue to struggle to recover their losses. Some residents say they still haven't received the financial assistance they believe they were promised to get their lives together again.

One Black resident died after Charley plowed through the area. As the rains and winds were diminishing, she was outside and was electrocuted when she came into contact with a live power line.

In addition to fallen trees, power lines and damage to homes, businesses and property, residents learned the harsh realities of the potency of a hurricane. With each of the three storms, people discovered what it meant to live without modern conveniences. For days and even weeks, some areas had no electricity, meaning no lights, no air conditioning, the inability to pump gasoline into their vehicles or to get money from ATM machines. Computers were useless in places without power or backup generators, and in some areas, cell phone service was disrupted.

The experiences were much like ominous glimpses into what could happen as the result of a terrorist attack. In these cases, Mother Nature was the terrorist, reminding us that we are mere mortals who have to learn to weather and conquer obstacles in order to survive.

My mind flashes back to the Labor Day hurricane -- Frances, I believe it was. Residents on beachside areas along most of the east coast of Florida were ordered to evacuate. Because there was uncertainty as to where the storm would actually hit, many did not know where to go, so they simply headed north.

As fate would have it, I had to travel to Georgia to deal with a familyemergency. My adrenaline was surging as I drove on U.S.92 underneath the Interstate 95 overpass. The interstate was like a parking lot. Vehicles were not moving much at all. The one service station that was selling gasoline near I-95 was jammed with a line of cars waiting their turns at the pumps.

I stopped at a boarded up 7-Eleven that sported a handwritten sign advising that the store was open. There were few people inside, even though the hurricane was a couple of days away. The latest edition of the Daytona Times headlined that Volusia County residents were gearing for the storm.

There was little traffic on International Speedway Boulevard all the way to the beachside, and a decision to drive through part of the Black community revealed the uncanny, unusual sight of practically no one on the streets. Atlantic Avenue on the beachside resembled a ghost town, unlike an ordinary time when the street would be busy with cars and pedestrians. Hotels and motels had already boarded up and shut down. The air was almost too still, only occasionally awakened by a gust of wind.
My pondering as to which route to take took me up S.R. A1A. I couldn't help but feel an eerie sensation as I drove north, practically the only vehicle on the highway. There was a sense of foreboding as I glanced at the angry Atlantic Ocean and almost expected a huge wave to sweep over the road and drag me out to sea. Occasional raindrops and sea spray sprinkled my car.

When I was forced to I-95, the nightmare really began as I became part of the gridlock of evacuees. Interstate 10 was faster moving, but surreal with the number of cars packing the rest areas and lined along the road. The gridlock resumed at Interstate 75 and again it was difficult to find a parking spot in a rest area, where people of all races, tired and some with wild eyes, walked around to take a break from their travels to heaven knows where. A van hauling horses passed through; some cars seemed to be loaded with all of their occupants' earthly belongings; people seemed ignorant of any differences as they talked about the impending storm, their concerns, their fears and their prayers. A woman opened her raincoat to reveal her naked body as cars moved slowly toward the exit, which made me wonder irrationally if she had left home so fast she forgot to put on her clothes.

Vehicles became constant neighbors as they snaked northward on I-75 after dawn. You got to know people you didn't even know. In South Georgia, the DJ on a radio station playing gospel music warned drivers that all hotels and motels near the interstate were already booked solid all the way to Atlanta. Churches called in, offering refuge to travelers. One caller offered a room in his home. Places to get free meals were announced. Another station revealed that the hospitality was spreading. I remember thinking that Floridians should express their gratitude to the Georgians for opening their doors during a time of crisis.

It was rare to see anything but Florida tags on the northbound vehicles. It was a though Georgians were taking alternate routes to avoid adding to the line of cars snaking through their state.

Atlanta radio stations advised that there were no acccommodations all the way to the Georgia-Tennessee state line. In Chattanooga, stations were advising that many hotels and motels were already full, and callers told of heart-wrenching encounters with the refugees in which they overheard such conversations as one between a father and daughter. The girl wanted a candy bar, and her dad told her that she couldn't have it, but only because he didn't know how they were going to afford to spend the night at a motel. Generosity bloomed again as shelters opened and people offered prayers for the people of Florida. Many Floridians didn't know what they would find when they were able to return.

A trip to my destination took more than twice as long as normal.

As it turned out, the area where I lived just outside Daytona Beach was flooded and without power for days while I was gone. My return trip was in total darkness, driving down I-75 past exits where there were no lights at the usual restaurants, service stations and other businesses.

It was like a glimpse of Armageddon.

I relate this experience because it dramatically impacted me as to the power of nature on our lives and that it could happen again. And I couldn't help but wonder how the same people who stayed and those who left would handle an even worse catastrophe, God forbid.

Are we ever really prepared? Now's the time to start thinking about it with Hurricane Season 2005 in its infancy. Now's the time to live in hope, not fear or dread. It's time to be ready, with prayers that no one anywhere will have to experience repeat performances of last year's horrors, minor in some respect to those elsewhere in the world.

-- The opinions expressed in this column do not necessarily reflect those of the staff and management of the Daytona Times. Toney Atkins is a senior writer for the newspaper.(c) 2005, Toney Atkins / Daytona Times

About Toney Atkins: Living And Loving It

About Toney Atkins: Living And Loving It