WHAT THE MAN AND WOMAN ON AND OFF THE STREET ARE SAYING

WHAT THE AVERAGE MAN THINKS AND SAYS
Mood: a-ok
Topic: MANY THOUGHTS
A FEW FAVORITE QUOTES FROM THE SO-CALLED AVERAGE MAN

Some folks among us can remind us of some of life's important things in their conversations with us -- if we just listen. And other folks just say funny things I like to share. Some of the outstanding things said to me (or that I overheard while unintentionally eavesdropping) include:

--- "Life's too short. Enjoy it. ... I don't understand how people get depressed. You can find the good in any situation. (When there's a problem) get off your butt and do something about it. ... Life's too easy. People just try to screw it up." -- Name withheld by request. (Smart thinking from a sharp Southern 19-year-old working man who also attends college and serves his country.)

--- "The Garden of Eden had no condos." -- A Navy veteran, who is concerned about man's destruction of the environment and the selling of national park land to developers. He added something about how the "beautiful world of the creation of whatever God you believe in is being paved over with concrete."

--- "Politicians only come to the black community and our churches when they're looking for our votes to be elected or re-elected. They smile and shake our hands and make all kinds of promises, but then we never see them again until the next election, and they usually don't keep their promises." -- A black resident of Daytona Beach, FL.

--- "Foreigners are taking over the United States because they're willing to do the jobs that Americans think they're too good to do." -- Overheard at the Country Cafe, Rossville, GA.

--- "Americans will do any job, even some that don't pay a living wage." -- A neighbor who wishes to remain anonymous because of fears that his phone, and I quote, "might be tapped" because he disagrees with the president and his administration.

--- A woman had to have emergency surgery at the hospital. To her horror, she found herself moving through the darkness toward a bright light. Suddenly, she heard God say, "Go back. You have 40 more years." Recovering from the operation and excited and happy that she had so many years left, she went to a plastic surgeon and spent thousands on having a complete makeover. Pleased with her new look, she left the surgeon's facility, walked in front of a speeding tractor-trailer rig and was splattered all over the highway. Once she got inside the Pearly Gates, she confronted God and said angrily, "You told me I had 40 years left! -- to which God answered, "Sorry, I didn't recognize you." -- An obvious bit of humor overheard at the Country Cafe.

--- "If a politician comes up to me, says he's honest and wants me to vote for him, I'll tell him no, because I don't want to make a dishonest lawmaker out of him." -- J.S., Chattanooga, TN

--- "Don't fergit to stop and git summa that I Cain't Believe It Ain't Butter." -- An elderly man to the lady with him. (This one made soup spew from my nose at a favorite restaurant.)

--- "In 2000 and 2004, I voted for the other guy. This year, I'd just like to see every congressman and senator up for election replaced by somebody else, and in 2008, we'd better concentrate on the person addressing the real issues affecting us instead of paying attention to political ads." -- An acquaintance who says he doesn't trust any politician.

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THE UNITED STATES OF ... WHAT?

By Toney Atkins

I knew from all the years I spent in Daytona Beach who read newspapers and watched TV news. You could sit in a barroom and argue the issues of the day, and at least a few of those present knew what you were talking about. You could ride the Votran bus service and see those who were glued to cell phones or iPods and those who were reading the newspaper or talking about current events, and you had a good idea who knew at least a little of what was going on in our ever more turbulent world.

I'm not opposed to all of these amazing electronic devices that envelop us in our own private world of music or the small DVD players that put a recent smash box office hit into our laptops. Our cell phones keep us from communicating with our neighbor on the bus or train because we can chatter away with some invisible person that we'll see in person within minutes anyway.

All of these marvels are wonderful, but they've managed to consume the lives of many who have no idea what's going on in the world beyond their sphere of existence. They'll say they don't watch the news because it's "boring" or "depressing." They have their own problems -- romantic, financial, etc. Why be concerned about politics and what's going on in the world?

They laugh when you say that China is close -- if not already there -- to being more powerful than the United States. That communist nation sells far more goods to the U.S. than we do to them. We're in debt to China, as a matter of fact -- not just a few dollars, but billions. While we haven't been paying attention, China, India and even Iran, a member of the so-called "Axis of Evil," have representatives in this country, buying properties and making business investments. While we fear a nuclear threat from Iran, what can we really do about it, because China has business dealings there -- particularly with its increasing demand for oil? China's military is strengthening, so the U.S. now must very carefully consider whether or not to go after one of its friends, lest we start World War III.

All of a sudden, illegal immigration across the U.S.-Mexico border is getting attention. Why didn't someone in Homeland Security think of that after Sept. 11, 2001? If refugees, drug smugglers and such have gotten across in large numbers without being caught, who's to say that a potential terrorist or two hasn't gained entry into the U.S. in the same way? Border security presently is a joke that's not funny, but we Americans are "suddenly" shocked into the realization that Mexicans believe they have the right to come into the U.S. illegally, get health and educational benefits that some citizens can't get, fly their flags and tell us what we should do.

U.S. senators and representatives are getting a bit nervous because this is an election year and many people are putting down their iPods, cell phones and DVD players and asking hard questions about what they're doing for the good of the legitimate citizens of the U.S. of A. There will be a lot of double-talk and evasive answers between now and the congressional elections, but we need to wake up and demand positive change in our government. After all, those eyes from around the world who would like to see us knocked from our perch are watching.

Postscript: One of my best sources of legitimate news impacting the middle class of America is "Lou Dobbs Tonight," which can be seen on CNN at 6 p.m. and repeated at 4 a.m. for night owls or early birds. Be informed, if only for an hour.

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LOVE AND PEACE

SPREAD LOVE AND PEACE! TELL SOMEONE YOU LOVE THEM! THEY'LL FEEL GOOD AND YOU WILL, TOO! Please visit my web site at http://www.toneyatkins.com/ .

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HELP SAVE OUR NATURAL ENVIRONMENT!

Our natural environment is disappearing rapidly and even moreso with the U.S. Forestry Service announcing the potential sale of national forest lands to developers and others. I urge you to read the Forestry Service press release and my accompanying commentary and give your opinions on the subject at the specified email or "snail mail" addresses (or the fax number) by April 24. Click on http://www.toneyatkins.com/id62.html . -- Toney Atkins

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THE DARK EASTER SUNRISE By Toney Atkins

The air was cold and damp, with threatening black clouds above seemingly trying to decide between dumping a chilly drizzle or a pouring rain. The dismal setting at the standpipe above a mountain spring's opening, which constantly and silently pumped crystal clear ground water into a wider lake east of the old water tower, did not stop several hundred residents from gathering for the annual Easter sunrise service.

Most were not wearing the special finery that would adorn them when they later went to traditional Easter morning services at the several churches in the small North Georgia town. Fathers and mothers alike held young children close for warmth as an interdenominational choir began to sing. Some of the attendees didn't know whether to be happy or sad at the celebration of Jesus Christ's resurrection more than 2,000 years ago. Each denominational minister who spoke was inspiring, and all glanced eastward at least once, possibly hoping that the power of their words would break the clouds and let some rays of sun shine through on that early Sunday morning.

My eyes couldn't help but follow the clear waters that had traveled a dark course from somewhere in the mountains as it flowed beneath the nearby wooden railroad trestle and into the colorfully putrid lake, made so in those days of the 1960s by regurgitations from the textile plant which was the town's major industry. There, the pure waters relentlessly fought a losing battle with dyes and other chemicals.

The inclement conditions didn't seem to bother the worshippers as they ignored the almost contradictory view and tried to respond to the spirit of love, peace and joy within them, particularly tuning in to the constant flowing spirit of the Almighty that was available to those who could be moved enough to feel the love waves connecting with welcoming hearts.

When the service ended, everyone, including myself, seemed happier than when we arrived, despite the still gloomy skies above.

While eating breakfast alone before Sunday school and the morning church service would start at the Pentecostal church that I had started attending on a regular basis earlier during the winter, I thought about the short trip I had already taken in my love for the Lord.

I first attended the church at the request of a girlfriend who was a member there. After overcoming an initial feeling of discomfort and my not-so-religious reasons for being there, I sat back and soaked in the beautiful and joyful music being sung by the choir, which basically was comprised of anyone in the congregation who wanted to go to the choir loft to sing. I listened to the pastor's fiery sermon, and his message struck some chords.

By the second Sunday of attending the medium-sized, country-style rock church, members of the congregation of about 100 were welcoming and genuinely seemed glad to see me. During the services, I would look around at the faces. The expressions ranged from a quiet celebration in communing with God in prayer, tears rolling down faces, to those whose faces were sad yet committed to praising the Lord and asking Him to answer their prayers. Some simply raised their hands skyward and offered quiet praises.

As the weeks progressed, I looked forward to those Sunday morning services. The people were so down to earth, unpretentious and apparently experienced in feeling and rejoicing in the Holy Spirit. I found myself wanting what they had.

Several, including the minister and his wife, had quoted the scriptures to me about the road to soul salvation. Something inside me kept fighting it. I was still young. I wasn't sure that I was ready to give up anything that might commit me to some restrictive rules of practicing Christianity. Unknown to me, the people of the church were praying for me as they shared their loving welcome.

The hole in my soul was growing intensely. I wanted and needed much more. I needed that positive fellowship within the church building, but foremost, I needed to be able to fellowship with myself.

The frustrating battle grew to the point that I skipped my afternoon college classes and just started driving around, thinking. The pain of emptiness was such that I almost wondered if I needed medical attention. I was a nervous wreck. I drove by the pastor's house, but he and his wife had company -- probably the evangelist who was to start a revival in the church the following night.

My next stop was the white-stoned Civil War tower in the nearby national park. I walked up the dark circular staircase to get to the top, where I looked around, taking in the beauty of the park, even under the dismal clouds which matched my mood as dusk approached. I drove back by the pastor's house. The company was still there. I felt I needed to talk with them, but I didn't want to disturb them.

I finally drove to my home, where I lived with my mother and father, neither of whom were committed to any kind of religion. After doing some studying, which did no good because I couldn't think straight, I picked up the book, "World Aflame," by Billy Graham. All of a sudden, I started to understand. All of a sudden, I believed.

I knelt beside the bed and prayed, crying, repenting and ended up rejoicing because that hole in my soul seemed to be filling up. It was a wonderful and joyous experience. I slept better that night than I had in years, despite lighting, thunder and wind outside, which ordinarily would have kept me awake.

The church members rejoiced and praised God when I shared the news. I felt the spirit of God in a powerful, wonderful way, and they joined me in my celebration. They wanted to believe that I had found salvation on the first night of revival. I didn't have the heart to tell them that it had come quietly, bringing peace and joy to my bedside, alone in my room.

I had sinned and fallen short of the glory of God. Jesus had died on a cross, assuming the sins of those who hated and reviled Him then and even of those who were to follow over the centuries. I asked His forgiveness, I had to forgive myself and move forward. I was at the happiest point of my life and I wanted everyone to feel what I felt.

So that first Easter sunrise service at the spring was far from depressing as I heard again about Christ's disappearing from the tomb, speaking with those disciples and others who loved him and then ascending into heaven. The dark, threatening clouds could not convince me that they would permanently cover the light, and sure enough, before the end of the day, the sun was shining its light and warmth upon us.

God and Jesus are very much alive, waiting for hurting souls to find them. They're right there, with us and behind the clouds, waiting patiently for the sun to cast its light upon us with a new brilliance.

If only the entire world could accept and enjoy that Easter light and its dramatic and life-changing capabilities! It's something to hold on to during the storms and on the clearest of days -- now and forever.

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THROWING STONES

THROWING STONES

(c) 2006 By TONEY ATKINS

    It intrigues me when readers accuse me of trying to shatter faith and of being a lover of "niggers" and "queers."

    In reality, I am a lover of all people who value life, who treat each other with mutual respect, who do not hate, murder, rob, maliciously gossip about or intentionally physically or emotionally hurt another person.

    As far as my personal faith is concerned, I am a believer that all have sinned and fallen short of the glory of God and that God loved the world so much that He gave His only begotten Son that whoever believes in Him shall not perish, but have everlasting life.

    If my thoughts that are  intended to make a reader think for himself or herself have the ability to "shatter faith," then there's not that much faith to shatter.

    Riding on the train of thought of some of these critics, I have to say that I have to laugh at the tired phrase, "If God had wanted homosexuals, He would have created Adam and Steve instead of Adam and Eve." What if He had created Adam and Steve? Since the biology wouldn't have allowed for procreation, there would not be overpopulation and hunger; there would still be a Garden of Eden; the earth of God's creation would likely still be beautifully green and the waters would be a sparkling blue, the air and drinking water would be clean, free of harmful chemicals and other contaminants; there would be not hatred and discrimination, and therefore, no wars -- it would be a great place in which to live in peace and freedom.

    And since we all know that God created everything, including the serpent or snake or whatever it was that tempted Adam and Eve in the Garden and got them thrown out, perhaps there would be no reason to fear the seen and unseen slithering and crawling things -- spiders and snakes, bacteria and viruses or anything else that is invisible to the naked eye.

    Forget Adam and Steve. Being human, they could have made a mess of things, too. Adam and Eve obviously weren't happy with what they had and were ripe for temptation, and look at what has happened since -- hate, discrimination, war, fear, disease, pestilence, hunger, too many "marriages" that end in divorce, leaving children to suffer the worst of the consequences, too many religious beliefs and denominations that cause far too much confusion, disrespect for others, too much self-indulgence -- I believe you get the message without painting a montage.

    Too many of us are eager to throw stones at the sins of others when we won't even acknowledge our own sins. We want laws, but then we abuse them or simply don't obey them. We don't think beyond what those of propagandize religions and politics want us to think, and that in itself is sinful. We hate and fear what we don't even try to understand.

    No one is perfect on God's still partly green earth, not me, not you. I wouldn't even try to tell you what to think or what to believe, because that's not my place. I would like to see people of all races, colors and creeds to think about what could make us, as individuals, better residents of this God-given planet and about what we all could do to make the world a better place instead of destroying it a little more each and every day.

    Meanwhile, I can only wish you love, peace and a body-and-soul-healing faith. Go with God. He's pretty great. (And maybe you'll even learn to like your neighbor instead of being afraid of him or her.)

(Please visit my web site at www.toneyatkins.com/ .)

    

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HOW THE ORDINARY CITIZEN IS GETTING THE SHAFT FROM GOVERNMENT

THE TRUTH ABOUT THE IMPACT OF ILLEGAL IMMIGRATION, THE IRAQ WAR AND CORPORATION RULE IN THE U.S. ON THE COMMON MAN

If you missed "Lou Dobbs Tonight" at 6 p.m. EDT and 4 a.m. EDT, read the transcripts of the most honest TV news reports on issues affecting the common man and woman at http://www.cnn.com/loudobbs/ .

Click on http://www.cnn.com/loudobbs/

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KUDOS TO WALMART

MAJOR CHAIN STORE REFUSES TO TAKE MOVIE OFF THE SHELVES

By Toney Atkins

Hats off to Walmart for refusing to bow to pressure from a conservative Christian group to remove the DVD "Brokeback Mountain" from its shelves.

The group claimed something to the effect that the movie promotes homosexuality, so obviously none of the members actually saw the film.

How Christian is it to want this one particular DVD to be unavailable to the public when the Academy Award-winning "Crash" is full of violence, profanity, and explicit sexual situations? And that's not the only title that has more than a share of sexuality, bad language, criminal actions and violence -- and the good guys don't always win. Why aren't the Christian groups clamoring to get all of those -- and there are many -- out of the stores?

Perhaps they want only Disney titles available for the public -- but then again: Listen closely and adults and the modern generation of savvy kids will catch some suggestive dialogue in some of the newer animated as well as live-action films.

"Brokeback Mountain" has fewer sex scenes than the average PG-13 rated movie, and the most sizzling one has to do with one of the cowboys and a "lady" who comes on to him in a bar. The men aren't really gay in the story. They're two men who have a sexual encounter (not even graphically shown) and develop a deep, loving friendship. Yes, two men can love one another -- it's a fact of life -- and these men love their wives and children as well. I saw nothing in the movie that would promote homosexuality as a lifestyle of choice, but neither does it denounce it. It's an unusual and dramatic love story, and the only major violence in the entire movie is a brief glimpse of a hate crime, which anyone, especially Christians, should denounce.

I would hope that groups proclaiming the love and forgiveness of Jesus Christ and God the Father would at least see and tell their congregations the truth about both films and books before denouncing them. Either that or make us a "1984" society in which everything of which the church doesn't approve is banned or burned, no matter what the content. Anyone can find something offensive in anything, and I'm offended by those who are so quick to condemn without knowing what they're talking about.

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QUOTES FROM THE "AVERAGE" MAN

A FEW FAVORITE QUOTES FROM THE SO-CALLED "AVERAGE" MAN (Updated April 7, 2006)


Some folks among us can remind us of some important things in what they say -- if we just listen. Some of the memorable comments that have been made in interviews or simply overheard recently:


--- "Life's too short. Enjoy it. ... I don't understand how people get depressed. You can find the good in any situation. (When there's a problem) get off your butt and do something about it. ... Life's too easy. People just try to screw it up." -- Name withheld by request (smart thinking from a fine and sharp 19-year-old Southern working man who also attends college and serves his country).


--- "The Garden of Eden had no condos." -- A Navy veteran, who is concerned about man's destruction of the environment and the selling of national park land to developers. He added something about how the "beautiful world of the creation of whatever God you believe in is being paved over with concrete."


--- "Foreigners are taking over the United States because they're willing to do the jobs that Americans think they're too good to do." -- Overheard at the Country Cafe.

--- "I mistakenly used a tube of hemorrhoidal ointment instead of Poligrip to hold in my false teeth, and now my gums have shrunk." -- Overheard at a favorite restaurant.

--- "Religious organizations are exempt from paying taxes, so they should stay out of politics. If they preach politics, they should pay taxes." -- Name withheld by request.

--- "Where do these illegal aliens get off waving the Mexican flag in the United States? If they want to be American citizens, they should be waving the American flag!" -- Name withheld by request.

--- "We aren't serving that right now. It's bug night." -- A new waitress at a chain restaurant in Florida in response to my request for a menu item and a query as to why part of the establishment was roped off. The manager quickly rushed over to explain that the place was closing early for routine monthly insect spraying. He then suggested to the blushing girl that there might be a better way of explaining the situation to any other customers (including bugs) who might come in.

--- "The argument that Americans won't do the jobs that illegal aliens will do is based on the simple fact that employers don't want to pay living wages, and they know that Mexican immigrants will work for practically nothing. The government is just offering excuses for giving American jobs to other countries and to avoid having to deal with the hassles of trying to handle border security." -- Quote from an email, author wants to remain anonymous.

--- "If my nose was running money, I'd blow it all on you. ... I wish my nose was running money, but my friend, it's not." -- Say that fast. Lines from a song heard in a recorded comedy routine played on an AM radio station in Georgia, artist unknown.

--- --- A woman had to have emergency surgery at the hospital. To her horror, she found herself moving through the darkness toward a bright light. Suddenly, she heard God say, "Go back. You have 40 more years." Recovering from the operation and excited and happy that she had so many years left, she went to a plastic surgeon and spent thousands on having a complete makeover. Pleased with her new look, she left the surgeon's facility, walked in front of a speeding tractor-trailer rig and was splattered all over the highway. Once she got inside the Pearly Gates, she confronted God and said angrily, "You told me I had 40 years left!" -- to which God answered, "Sorry, I didn't recognize you." -- Overheard at the Country Cafe.


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MOTHER'S DAY

Don't forget your mother on Mother's Day in May!VISIONS Column

REMEMBERING MOTHER

By TONEY ATKINS

In past years, I have received a number of wonderful and inspiring phone calls and letters about what has become my annual tribute in the Daytona Times to my beautiful mother, who passed from this world on April 17, 1994.

There have been requests to repeat that tribute, at least in part, to share with those who know what it means to have lost a mother and with those who are fortunate enough to still be able to look their mothers in the eyes on Mother's Day and say, "I love you."

This year marks the 11th anniversary of my mother's death and the 11th year that I still get choked up when I pass a counter in a store stocked with Mother's Day cards - especially the giant ones, which would truly have impressed my mom.

I recently traveled back to the town in which I was born to be with my dad, who currently is going through several different health crises which threaten to take him from me, too.

During the last few months of her life, my mother pleaded with me to get closer to my earthly father and to take care of him. He and I, indeed, have bridged a terrible gap that always seemed to be between us for far too many years, so the prayers of a loving mother were answered - and I am grateful. My dad, who took tender care of Mother during her final months, and I both still miss the woman who had a tremendous impact on both our lives.

My mother is eternal now, but in a spiritual sphere where I can't pick up the telephone and call her and tell her how concerned I am about my father and to hear her words of comfort and advice. Oh, how I miss her! Oh, how I realize how much I took her for granted! Time has increased my appreciation and love for her, but she's not here for me to tell her so.

Somewhere in my belongings is the Mother's Day card I had bought ahead of time in 1994 - the first time I had gotten one in years to send early so she would get it on or before Mother's Day, not several days or a week afterwards. "Better late than never," I always said with a laugh as I excused myself and apologized when she inevitably received it late, and she always said she forgave and thanked me profusely.

I still vividly remember the night that I walked into a dimly lit room in a Georgia hospital and looked down at the shell of my mother on the bed. She appeared to be so at peace and looked so much younger than her 74 years.

An hour earlier, she had been struggling for breath as she lay in a coma on a bed in another room in the hospital, with tubes running into her nose and into her arms that seemed brutally bruised by too many intravenous needles. There were fewer of them than there had been before, because they were relatively useless now. The doctors and nurses had told my dad and me that her body was shutting down, its parts failing rapidly, and that soon the few breaths we heard rattling through the room would be silent.

They were right. Her battle with cancer, congestive heart failure and other ailments - especially the stroke that sent her to the hospital for the last time - would be over that Sunday night - three weeks to the day before Mother's Day that year.

The card she never got to see was still in Daytona Beach.

The blessing was that, at least by appearances, she died without apparent agony from the horrible pain she could have been feeling. She had suffered very much. After her last breath, even with the hospital paraphernalia still attached to her, her years of struggle melted away. As her spirit entered a realm free of suffering, her face expressed its relief.

My mother loved me - sometimes, I thought, too much. She never liked my living 550 miles away. I lived under the "curse" of being an only child and being "smothered with love."

She was an outspoken woman, even moreso with age. You could always depend on her speaking her mind to anyone and everyone. If you didn't like it - tough! But most people, young and old, including the minister who preached at her funeral, loved her for her simplistic, down-to-earth qualities. They saw her goodness as well as her human frailties, and the minister made special note that she indeed was one of a kind.

My mother was proud of me. It wasn't that I could do no wrong, because she would always be the first to let me know that I often did. But whether she approved or disapproved, she tried to act as though she respected my feelings and decisions.

I was required to send her copies of the Daytona Times (and the Daytona Beach News-Journal, when I was a writer and editor there) so she could proudly show off my writings to her friends and neighbors.

Oh, the many things I miss about Mother! She was always there when I needed someone to talk to. In our long distance telephone conversations, she worried about me, concerned about whether I was eating right, whether I was staying out of trouble and always wanting to know when I was going to get married and give her a grandchild to dote over. Even though I had crossed the threshold of 50 at the time of her passing, I was always her "little boy."

Eleven years later, I still sometimes find it hard to accept that my mother and my best friend is gone and I can't tell her how I feel about her and let her know that she did a wonderful job in trying to raise a good son. (None of my character defects can be blamed on her.)

How I wish I could hug her tightly and talk to her now!

The purpose of this writing is simple. It's not just therapeutic. I hope it prompts each and every reader whose mother is still alive to stop and think about that special woman, to remember her and treasure her while she's here, especially on the upcoming Mother's Day.

Pay her a visit. Send a card. Send flowers. Give her a telephone call. Buy a gift. Make her feel special, because after all, she brought someone special into the world - you.

Most important, tell her you love her while she can still hear your voice. She'll feel good, and you will, too.
-- This tribute by former Daytona Times Assistant Editor Toney Atkins is dedicated to all mothers everywhere and to the children who love them.
(c) 2005, Toney Atkins / Daytona Times

WHO WILL TAKE OVER AMERICA NEXT?

It's On My Mind

THIS IMMIGRATION THING (Posted April 2, 2006)

I find myself disturbed about my own initial gut reactions to the current argument about illegal immigration, and I honestly do not know if my depressed state of mind may not be reacting properly -- and then I wonder if my brain cells aren't already overloaded with too much information and propaganda.

Looking at history, we all are illegal immigrants. This land belonged to the native American Indians when our forefathers came to these shores. The forefathers connived, cheated and killed the natives in order to claim this land for their own. This process continued as the forefathers moved westward, portraying the Indians as villains and devils, and the forefathers did not hesitate to fight them, capture them and eventually segregate them on reservations. We raised the American flag over territories from east to west and north to south. This land was our land, we proclaimed -- but was it really?
Blacks may be the only legitimate aliens in this country. Most of their ancestors were brought to this land against their will to serve as slaves to the white man. When slavery was abolished, they still had to fight the white man for more than a hundred years to achieve equal rights, and in some respects, that battle continues. They, too, had been segregated from the whites, many of whom believed that Caucasions were superior. Hate and distrust proliferated on both sides. A funny hypocrisy to the discrimination that still exists to a certain extent can be found in today's white society. Our young and middle-aged people make their auto and truck speakers and i-Pods shake with the sounds of black rap, and many whites use black lingo. But some of these same people will still say they hate blacks. Many will say blacks still want to take over, to steal our homes from us, to rape our women. Huh?
The illegal exodus of many Mexicans across the border into the United States has been going on for years, but suddenly, it is being noticed. Many have gone the proper route to gain legal citizenship to have the rights and services offered to American citizens. Many more have taken the illegal route, secretly crossing the U.S.-Mexico borders by the thousands. They are given jobs by businessmen who do not want to pay the living wage sought by Americans, and those businessmen choose to look the other way when it comes to whether these Latino workers are here legally or illegally.
Now, the legals and the illegals want to fly the Mexican flag on U.S. soil. They demand equality. They demand health and educational services. They don't necessarily want to learn our language, possibly because deep down they know that their language will someday become the prominent one here.
(By the way, "illegal" does still mean "unlawful," doesn't it?)
Even after foreign terrorists staged their spectacular and life-changing attack on New York City and Washington, DC, in 2001, nothing much was done to heighten security at our northern or southern borders. Essentially, anyone can get across if they really want to and if they try hard enough. How many sleeper terrorist cells are already here? God only knows. How many domestic terrorists -- citizens of the U.S. -- are awaiting their opportunity to attempt dominance? Only God knows that, too.
Let's face it. The 21st century is a mess. How long will it be before we destroy ourselves with our own apathy and false beliefs about the innate power of the United States?
Since 1492, we have been the illegals who made ourselves legal. Now other illegals want to come in and make themselves the legal proprietors of this land. China, Saudi Arabia, India and other countries -- some of them so-called "enemies" -- get our outsourced jobs and resources. They even run businesses or have ownership in corportations here. When will Americans wake up to the truth that goes far beyond the illegal activity coming into the U.S. from the south? Perhaps we don't want to wake up to it, because it might just scare us to death.
It's a small, small world and getting smaller. Please, God. Please bless it with love and peace and take away the dark clouds that are growing on every horizon. Please, God, tell us what to do before it's too late.

MORE BLACK COLLEGE REUNION INJUSTICE?

-- Thanks to Christopher King (comment at bottom of series of various stories) for bringing this to my attention. Black College Reunion is Daytona Beach's most controversial special event, and over the years has prompted complaints of discrimination, racial hatred and the like. While the BCR revelers are generally no more disruptive as Spring Breakers, the city has been known to overpopulate the streets with law enforcement officers for this event only, with lawmen coming from all over the state and, in the past, from throughout the Southeast. Daytona Beach-Volusia County NAACP Branch President Cynthia Slater has always been a major presence on the streets during the event to monitor the activities for discriminatory practices that are not seen during the city's other special events. The following story appeared in The Daytona Beach News-Journal:

April 02, 2006

NAACP president arrested

By SETH ROBBINS
Staff Writer
DAYTONA BEACH, FL -- The local NAACP president was arrested Saturday afternoon on misdemeanor charges after an altercation with deputies after she attempted to hand a flier to the driver of a car involved in a Black College Reunion traffic stop.

Cynthia Slater, president of the Volusia County-Daytona Beach Branch of the National Association for the Advancement of Colored People for the past six years, was charged with two counts of resisting an officer without violence, disorderly conduct and obstruction of a street. But Slater and the Volusia County Sheriff's Office have very different views on what occurred on North Atlantic Avenue during the second day of the annual gathering of black young adults.

Deputies acted appropriately under the circumstances, said Gary Davidson, Sheriff's Office spokesman.

"Miss Slater is entitled to her opinions, but she is not entitled to obstruct deputies when they are doing their job," Davidson said.

Slater, who was released without having to post bail, said she never obstructed the deputies from doing their job and plans to fight the charges with the help of the NAACP.

"If they can do it to me," she said by phone Saturday night, "they can do it to any one of these young kids."

Slater walked across the two southbound lanes of traffic on the 500 block of North Atlantic Avenue toward deputies conducting a traffic stop in the center turning lane about 2:30 p.m., according to a police report. The passenger was in custody, and the driver was to be in taken into custody as well when he began to back his vehicle up to move it out of the northbound traffic lane.

That is when Slater reached the center turning lane and handed the driver a flier with information on how to contact the NAACP if someone feels he or she has been the victim of discrimination. It is here that the stories diverge.

According to the police report, Slater yelled and flailed her arms, inciting a crowd that had gathered. Slater said she never said a word to deputies when she went to give the flier to the driver of the vehicle and only became irate after a deputy grabbed her.

According to the report, the deputy repeatedly told Slater to walk away from the traffic stop, but she refused. Fearing for his own safety because he had only one subject in custody, the deputy attempted to grab Slater's left arm. When he did this, she pulled away and walked away back across the two southbound lanes.

Deputies who observed the scene then took Slater into custody across the street. According to the report, Slater continued to yell, scream and resist the application of the handcuffs.

Slater said when she turned to walk back across the street after handing the driver the flier, the deputy pushed her out of the way.

"I told him to keep his hands off of me," she said, "but there was nothing said before he put his hands on me. I didn't open my mouth. I did not say a word."

Davidson said deputies did the right thing.

"The crowd formed on the sidewalk became inflamed by her actions as she was yelling and flailing her arms, and the deputies had to gain control of the situation," he said.

Slater said she at no point impeded traffic and the only time she became angry was when the deputy tried to grab her. She said, after that, she complied with deputies, even walking back to the center turning lane when asked to by one of the deputies.

"Injustice to one," she said, "is an injustice to every visitor at BCR."

seth.robbins@news-jrnl.com

(C) 2006 by The Daytona Beach News-Journal

RECENT MUSINGS

SOMETIMES IT'S HARD TO LOVE (Posted March 10)
I know I preach love and peace, but I have to admit that it's very hard to love some people. All I can often do is wonder what happened to their humanity and to their souls.
Not necessarily in any order, these are some of the people that I almost detest: Any adult who sexually, physically or verbally abuses any youngster under the age of 18 (and sometimes I put that age at 21); any man who sexually, physically or verbally abuses a woman, no matter what the age; any woman who sexually, physically or verbally abuses a man, no matter what the age; any man or woman who believes that issues can only be resolved by violence; any man, woman or child who would injure or kill another, except in the circumstance of self-defense; any human being who maliciously harms defenseless animals; and anyone who would steal from anyone else.
We seem to be living in a time frame where consciences are disappearing. People beat up on other people without caring about the consequences. Sometimes, they even kill without apparent remorse. Law-abiding citizens are no longer safe in their home or cars. The days of leaving doors and windows unlocked are in the past.
Men beat their wives and vice versa. The institution of marriage is disintegrating, and the major victims are usually the children of that marriage, who must grow up without either a mother or father. Many children, through no fault of their own, are brought into an already crowded world as the result of a casual sexual relationship outside marriage, and they have to grow up wondering who and why they really are.
Do I believe in loveless marriages, even if there are children? No, because everyone, including the kids, may end up being hurt in some form or fashion. (I speak from personal experience here.)
Instead of kind words in society, too many times we hear rude, obscene and hateful language. Road rage has become part of our vocabulary in this hurried, impatient and violent society -- and the end result can be injury and death.
Where is the love? Where is the peace? I choose those principles, and I hope many, many others agree. Good may never conquer evil until time, as we know it, ends, but that doesn't mean that we who care about the positive principals of life can lay down our values and quit the fight, if only for our own personal accomplishment.
Hate, violence and disrespect of others accomplish nothing in this world. I suppose we only pray for the souls of those who believe in those things and pray that our families and friends will not become victims of those sad, sick people.
Which choice will we ultimately make?
-- Toney Atkins
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USING GOD'S NAME IN VAIN (Rough draft, posted March 9, 2006)
By now you've probably heard of that profanely obscene and insanely-acting independent Baptist group that dishonors God, Jesus and any aspect of Christianity in staging protests at military funerals.
A news service reported that Fred Phelps, the Topeka, Kan., pastor who has been protesting at the funerals of U.S. troops slain in Iraq, engages in “hate-filled activities” and is not a Southern Baptist, according to SBC President Bobby Welch.
The published report, along with reports on CNN, say Phelps and his followers from Westboro Baptist Church -- notorious for their “God hates fags” posters -- have staged protests at soldiers’ funerals in several states. The group reasons that roadside bombs killing American troops in Iraq are God’s retribution against America for a small bomb that caused approximately $1,800 damage outside the Topeka home of one of Phelps’ daughters in 1995. The group also emphasizes that it opposes the U.S. military for allowing homosexuals to serve. The military's "don't ask, don't tell" policy prevents homosexuals from serving openly but also prohibits the military from asking soldiers about their sexual preference.
Some news coverage has shown members carrying handmade signs that accuse all soldiers of being "faggots" and indications that they praise God every time they learn of the death of a member of the armed forces in Iraq or Afghanistan.
Westboro Baptist is an independent church not affiliated with the Southern Baptist Convention -- and what real Christian would lower himself or herself to support the group?
If you've seen any of the TV coverage, you've witnessed the pastor, with glaring, almost demonic eyes, spouting his beliefs, none of them truly supported by the Bible, and calling anyone who disagrees with him "perverted." One of the church women is a frightening example of hate, hatefully spouting venom into a microphone that they were going to force the "cup of God to their mouths and make them drink" (that's slightly paraphrased).
To insult and hurt survivors of troops who have died in Iraq and Afghanistan in this dreadful manner is so distasteful that even Satan might spit it out. All the protests are doing is hatefully disrupting services in which families are having to deal with their suffering and grief at the loss of young men and women who probably met their deaths performing a duty that the group's members wouldn't have the courage to dirty their hands to do.
Thankfully, a wonderful group of flag-waving motorcyclists has mobilized, and they go to the scene of the protests, get between the protesters and the grieving families, and rev their bikes to drown out the vicious taunts from the questionably self-proclaimed Christians.
Sadly, this is an example of a hate group operating under what they say is the banner of God. We don't stop to remember that while we fight enemies abroad that there are organizations of hate across the good old USA who go even farther than the Phelps and commit acts of violence and rage against those Americans with whom they disagree. Some of them would overthrow the government if they could and proclaim this to be a "white man's land" (forgetting, perhaps, that today's U.S. exists only because the white man invaded the land of the native, darker-skinned Indians, slaughtering them, taking away their lands and eventually cramming the country's remaining original inhabitants onto reservations). Some of the current hate groups claim superiority over blacks, Jews and others. They're still among us; they're just so secret that few know about their presence and their actions -- except, perhaps for the law enforcement agencies that try to keep track of them in this Age of Terrorism.
The creepy thing is that Phelps' group is small now, but how many other uninformed, even ignorant, folks might join them in trying to completely devastate the funerals and homegoing services for our brave men and women who gave their lives so that such people could have their vindictive and misinformed freedom of speech.
The Phelps have a ministry of hate. We can only pray that other genuinely Christian groups don't fall into their anti-Christian movement trap. (Someone hand them a copy of the New Testament and ask them to study the red words of Jesus. Of course, be prepared to have it thrown back in your face by these gospel hypocrites.) -- Toney Atkins
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REPUTATION AND BROKEN GLASS (Posted March 9, 2006)

I heard a good line in a movie the other night. Unfortunately, I don't remember the film's title, and I'll have to paraphrase the line. It went something like: "A reputation is like a glass. Once it's broken, it can't be repaired."
To a great extent, that's true. We can try to mend the glass, but Super Glue notwithstanding, the cracks will still be seen.
Sometimes we break our own glass, and sadly, many times, others do it for us.
Speaking only for myself, I can think of times in my life that I actually did nothing wrong, but malicious gossipers (who probably couldn't even face themselves in a mirror) delighted in playing on unsubstantiated suspicions and spreading false rumors. Those were cracks in the glass over which I had no control.
I have always tried to treat others as I would like to be treated, but admittedly, I could not always live up to the expectations of those others. Therefore, cracks appeared in my reputation.
Being human, I have done things for which I have had regrets, and if I could go back in time, they wouldn't have happened and the reputation in my own mind wouldn't have been cracked.
I could have stared at the broken glass if I had chosen to do so, living a life of despondency and depression.
However, I chose to trash the broken glass and get a new one. It's up to me to wipe off the spots every now and then and, especially, avoid cracking or breaking it.
As long as I can look at that new glass and know within myself that I am doing my best to take good care of it, I don't really care if others who might have narrow minds see only the discarded broken glass. The new one may never remain spotless, but that will be up to me and no one else.
Lies and misconceptions on the part of those others will crack my glass only if I allow it to happen, and why should I worry about those in this life who only look for invisible blemishes and breaks? -- Toney Atkins
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'CRASH' AND 'BROKEBACK MOUNTAIN' -- CONTROVERSIAL STORIES THAT NEEDED TO BE TOLD (Posted March 8, 2006)

With all the hoopla surrounding multi-award-winner "Brokeback Mountain," it came as a surprise to many that "Crash," a violent, often profane exploration of today's human condition, won the Academy Award for "Best Picture."
Being no expert and having seen only three of the nominees for the honor, I was torn between "Crash" and "Brokeback Mountain" as to what would be my favorite. Both tackle social issues in different ways. One is sometimes hard-to-watch non-stop action, while the other leisurely and dramatically examines an issue that most Americans don't really like to talk about, even though it's honestly real and a secret part of life for many people -- particularly men.
Examining the concept that people today rarely know one another because of fear, mistrust and even hate, "Crash" takes a superb all-star cast through about 36 hours of "crashing" into one another in surviving their everyday lives and the tragedies we all can face at one time or another.
The film examines racism, sexism, police brutality, corruption (political and otherwise) and antisocial behavior in general. The theatrical version has been re-released because of its new award status, but the impact is still very strong in the small screen DVD version. It's not for the kids because of the violence, sexual situations and language. In a way, it's a sad commentary about how far apart our society has grown despite perceived knowledge and "advancements" of the past half-century. I've seen it twice, and I likely will view it again in the future.
"Brokeback Mountain," although flawed and certainly not the first of its kind to examine a still almost taboo theme in America, is groundbreaking in that it tells a heartbreaking love story without resorting to sensationalism. While many have referred to the two central macho, Marboro man type characters as "gay cowboys," that reference is a bit much. Starting in the 1960s, the cowboys (actually watching over a sheep herd) develop a strong friendship in which there is a sexual encounter. Their friendship and fondness for one another lasts even after they go their separate ways, marry women and have children. They meet again at Brokeback Mountain over the years where they can express their socially-forbidden feedings for one another.
Why, then, do I say they are not "gay" cowboys? I would say they are bisexual or just plain sexual, with one having more of a capacity to want love and commitment than the other. What may be upsetting to many men (straight and "otherwise") is the underlying revelation that many, many men (macho straight and otherwise) have had same sex sex contact in some form or fashion at one time or another in their lives. Does that make them gay? No. Society has a way of categorizing and ostracizing people without even attempting to understand them and without even knowing the truth.
"Brokeback Mountain" prompted many jokes and at least some dialogue, based on what I heard outside the theater. Will it change perceptions? I doubt it, but the adult story is good in its exploration of the joys and pain that come with love, no matter what kind of love it is. An excellent cast (the men and the women) helps make this film work as fine storytelling.
Perhaps all of the nominated films for this year's Oscars, all made outside the Hollywood mainstream, will inspire the movie industry to bring us more thought-provoking films that don't rely on a deluge of special effects to ensure financial success. (How about an updated "All the President's Men," with an exploration of the real-life corruption and misleadership in today's political system? I'd pay to see it.) -- Toney Atkins
_________________________________________________________________


RETURN (Posted March 3, 2006)
A great writer once said, "You can't go home again."
I don't know how much truth there really is in that -- although, admittedly, there's some. I'm back. It's home. But it's not the same. I guess it never is, so the writer was correct to some extent.
I left northwest Georgia for a new career in Florida more than 30 years ago. There were several reasons for severing the ties with the place I was born and where I had always lived, but I won't write about those until a later entry.
It began with a vacation to the so-called Sunshine State. I felt exhilaration, a sense of freedom that I had not felt for most of my childhood or young adult life. I was raised to be a "good" boy, and the "don'ts" and "do's" often found themselves on a collision course. A lot of people had put me on a pedestal -- one that I hadn't truly earned -- and heights always made me dizzy and feeling that I was on the verge of falling.
Leaving a small, mill-village town for a resort city was a dramatic change and challenge for me, especially after an unexpected job offer to do something I had always wanted to do made me decide to stay in Florida and make the dream come true. The grass may not have been greener, but the sands of the beach certainly seemed a lot brighter. Odd now, when I think about it, that even while living near the ocean in later years, I rarely stepped onto the sand or into the surf.
Journalism was a thrill for me. The early days of my experience were a few years before computers and cell phones, when you had to do literal footwork to get a story. On my first night, I saw bodies, young and old, lying on roadways after several horrific auto accidents and and talked with weeping survivors and investigators. You had to go to the scenes of fires eating homes and businesses and try to keep composure and be compassionate as you talked to those who had lost everything. You had to go to murder scenes and the places where drug raids had been conducted. You had to muddy your feet, running through a muddy, snake infested swamp when gunshots signaled that missing little girls had been found after an all-night search by authorities and many concerned citizens had been conducted. Meanwhile, you had to be considerate of the heroes of the law enforcement officers and firefighters who had to deal with these tragedies and victories and know when they could and would talk to you.
You had to prove integrity so that the common man and people in governmental positions would talk to you, knowing that if something was off the record, it was something that no one else would ever know. You knew that a phone call could set off a string of phone calls that could turn into a major story. You learned to feel the adrenaline when the driver of the car behind you on a lonely stretch of road in the middle of the night pulled beside you, motioning for you to stop, and giving you just enough information to make you turn around and go back to a town council meeting that had resumed after you left. You had to report a scandal, despite threats, that could have sent people to jail -- and be able to breathe a sigh of relief when they pleaded no contest in court and escaped imprisonment.
You had to be able to sit comfortably in the company of people from all walks of life and lifestyles, hear their points of view, their complaints, their hates, their loves.
The "good news" stories were my favorites, but they didn't always sell papers. In-depth research into racism, hate groups and killer diseases could be draining, psychologically and physically, but the reward came when there was a sense of accomplishment in the realization that I had been able to expose some truths that readers needed to know.
Life wasn't a beach, I was to learn quickly. Life was people, good and bad, and realization that each person was unique, as was each situation.
My job was my mistress, keeping my life exciting and my brain alive with its own orgasms.
I was to meet and interview governors, other officials who had power, politicians who wanted that power, civil rights leaders, singing stars, movie stars, TV stars and want-to-be celebrities. Sometimes, and I still don't know how it happened, I caught a glimpse of the real soul, the real person beneath the personalities -- some glimpses I could write about, many I couldn't. I got to share the joys of the successes of average men and women, as well as fight tears when I talked to a devastated mother whose small child had been found dead in a locked school bus on an extremely hot afternoon.
The only physical prize I ever won during my career was an achievement award for a story in the early days -- and that was good. The best prizes were in my heart whenever I believed I did something right. My writings were sometimes controversial and I found myself in hot water more times than once, but I masochistically loved the heat.
Being an only child, my parents always wanted me to come "home," but I had two homes. Was I happy in the Florida home? Sometimes. Was I happy when I visited the Georgia home? Sometimes. Happiness anywhere was sometimes as elusive as a fly. Real friends were few, but I am grateful for the few. Acqaintances, good and not-so-good were plenty, especially if they wanted something from you.
My return to my home in Georgia was anticipated but not planned. It was precipitated by my father's unexpected hospitalization and ultimate passing. Mother had died more than 10 years before.
My successes and failures in life have all required massive readjustments, and going -- or coming -- home again has been no exception. But I thank God I'm here.
Yes, over the past few years I've gotten more eccentric than ever, more reclusive, more of a hermit -- and my moments of happiness come when I talk to my favorite cousin and my dad's favorite friend or feel the warmth and the legendary Southern hospitality of the wonderful folks at the Country Cafe off the beaten path in Rossville and at the Golden Corral in Fort Oglethorpe. I can stop by the Home Depot and shake hands with a new friend whose adventures in life are really just beginning and who is going to have a positive impact on the world, whether or not he knows it yet. Then, I can send an email or two to people about whom I think and care, catch the news, watch a movie and do a little bit of writing on my future book.
Who said, "Home is where the heart is"? All I can say -- when I feel a grateful smile come to my face as my head hits the pillow when the sun begins to rise and Lookout Mountain looks down in its magnificence -- is, "Yep, I'm here and I'm glad. Home at last!"
Life's new beginnings, with tears and joy together -- I can't help but love them!
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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

****

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.
****
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.
****

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