Why?

Dr. Ross,

This letter to you is written as a blog, online, going around the world. The letter is not the 1297 Magna Carta, but should be important to you. If I could hear Christ praying for me in the next room, I still would not fear writing it.

The happiest days of my life were spent as a student at Chapel Hill. In my 81^st year, looking back, I remember Dr. Frank Graham at his Methodist church telling me, “you are what the university was built for.” Since I was Baptist, I normally sat with Dr. J.T. Dobbins at the Baptist church, on the corner of Franklin St.

Since the Korean War, I have been a totally blind, 100% disabled, service-connected, medical officer veteran. As a veteran, I have encountered every insult your country can offer. One of the finest physicians I have ever known, Dr. Charles Beauchampf at Durham VA, wept as he told me of the treatment of young warriors returning from (then present) wars. Some day, God will explain many things to me, such as why this university here in Wilmington has become totally communist. One young man working for me, along with his wife, both students, left town after attending a performance at Thalian Hall where they recognized women professors, two lesbians, dressed as men, making out and causing a scene.

Although born in poverty on an eastern NC tobacco farm, I have the paperwork which traces my family to the first farm survey of Morristown, New Jersey, made in 1766 by the surveyor Adjoniah Peacock, who manufactured weapons for the Revolution. My folks were just dirt farmers, my father farmed, built houses and cut hair on the weekends so that his four children could attend college. I graduated from a country school with 13 students, right near the school that Governor Charles B. Aycock had attended with my two grandfathers. The county superintendent made sure I went to Chapel Hill.

I took advantage of everything the university had to offer. I heard Eleanor Roosevelt at Memorial Hall, say, “the individual is all that matters.” You can check with my lawyers, I am still leaving a chunk of my wealth to the university, but I will never forgive, nor forget, my attempt to get one of my cousins into the university.

I knew Erskine Bowles' father, Skipper. He wanted me to go to Chapel Hill and walk around with him and let him try to explain to me. My cousin, like me, was from a dirt-poor family, his grandparents had named him for Kay Keyser of Chapel Hill. His name, Kay Eldridge Pittman. I wrote to Chancellor House, Guy Phillips, W.C. George, Walter Spearman, all professors and men who I felt knew me. Still, Chancellor House would not admit my cousin who, like me, needed financial help. Anyway, he distinguished himself in the military and college, retired as an esteemed government worker, and is of great pride to his community.

I missed much, because at Chapel Hill and later in professional school in Memphis, I worked at night, but you should know that during those 8 years I sold Bibles door-to-door each summer, covering every pig path in eastern North Carolina. One day, a black grandmother, looking towards her black grandchildren, said to me, “son, what future do my grandchildren have?” At least, my cousin and I, with genes from early colonial families, could go to college.

In spite of things which you “normal” people will never understand, I have enjoyed the success of investing and being philanthropic in several places, particularly Mount Olive College and ministries supporting the God to which I am totally committed. You may have never heard this song, but you should, because in these days, we all need an answer. My passport has been stamped in 157 countries, and I realize that no one cares, but I have sought the answer. Ed Ames, asked “Who Will Answer?” (Song attached below)

At my age, still working every day, living alone, taking care of myself completely (I have one son, a Ph.D professor at Southwestern Seminary, two grandsons; a lawyer and an engineer, all university graduates and SBC missionaries to South Korea) Forsaken by my country, putting cement blocks behind my doors at night, I often contemplated suicide while in this cocoon of blackness for over 50 years, but God does not test a men when everything goes well, but only when things go bad. He has been too good to me to disappoint Him now. Be careful for nothing; but in every thing by prayer and supplication with thanksgiving let your requests be made known unto God. And the peace of God, which passeth all understanding, shall keep your hearts and minds through Christ Jesus. (Philippians 4:6-7)

I have every promise that He has given those who love Him. Be strong and of a good courage, fear not, nor be afraid of them: for the LORD thy God, He it is that doth go with thee; He will not fail thee, nor forsake thee. (Deuteronomy 31:6) I have the assurance of knowing that those who have forsaken me and others like me, even our lying, decadent government, will receive what is coming to them. Say ye to the righteous, that it shall be well with him: for they shall eat the fruit of their doings. Woe unto the wicked! it shall be ill with him: for the reward of his hands shall be given him. (Isaiah 3:10-11)

The largest minority are the disabled, larger than any other minority, and you will note that I have left funds for disabled students. The great preacher John Wesley, one of 19 children, after he had traveled the world, after he had done all he was capable of doing, just before his death, said ”the best is yet to come.”

Tailgate Party

One who reads books, listens to the radio, has been somewhat exposed to certain areas of the city where there are large homes with manicured lawns, and tennis courts, and we realize that there is a certain line of demarcation between the 'haves and the have-nots'. In my early years, I was exposed to the 'black' sections of town, from which my father would haul field hands to work on the farm. Deep within the recesses of my soul, an inner being of consciousness (with which most of us are blessed) we know that our God of grace and glory made all of us in his image and we “stand amazed” that there is such a difference in the heritage of human beings. Many of us actually believe we are members of just one race, the human race.
I did not realize the vast chasm between the rich and the poor and the attitude of the rich towards the poor, particularly the bigotry existing between rich white people and poor white people and their absolute disdain for black people. I had heard of hypocrisy, the fact that ones 'talk' does not agree with their 'walk'...but, at the university, at Chapel Hill, I realized the chasm of opportunity provided for the state's wealthy people compared to those who merely survived. To this day, I get absolutely righteously sick when I see the pompousness of those whose fore bearers just happened to have been lucky in buying real estate at the right time or getting an automobile dealership at just the right time or by 'hook or crook' and kissing the right gluteus maximus, the right job in a bank or elsewhere.

As a poor, struggling student, who really was not supposed to be there, but was blessed enough to be there, I would stand in my dormitory room at UNC Chapel Hill, on football weekends and see these large cars with our state's drunken elitists, parked in the parking lots, open up the 'tail gate' and have nice expensive food. Meanwhile, I survived 8 years of university education (Chapel Hill and U of Memphis), eating on $1 a day. The more they ate and drank, the drunker they got. By the time they staggered to Kenan Stadium, where I would usher for a few dollars, these Caucasian, pompous elitists were so 'debacled' by their attempt to rally those around them, whom they were trying to impress, with their expensively feathered vestments, and gold decanters that they did not know which school team was on the field.

These same trustees and legislators, and they always made sure everyone knew who they were, judges and the state's powers of commercial prowess, whose sons (at that time, only a few girls attended the university) were there because of WHO they were, WHAT they were, not in any respect their academic ability. It sickened me then, and it paralyzes me with resentment today, that this state-tax supported university furnished special tutors to make sure the sons of legislators, trustees, power-brokers, opinion-molders, and 'blue-bloods' in the state had no difficulty at the university. One of my friends, whose father was a judge, was visited regularly by one of these university lackeys, to make sure he was not having any problems with anything.

The university athletes were always given special privileges of every type; tutoring, expensive food at the Tarheel Club, and spending money to make sure that they were happy “Tarheels”. A young man, who lived across the hall from me in the Stacey Dorm, whose father was a CPA University Trustee, always was brought back from home in a black Cadillac. I remember asking him how much the Cadillac cost. At that time, a black sedan Seville Cadillac cost $5,000. He said, “My mother also has one.” In this university academic quandary of bigotry, with the fraternity set, the special student social groups, (Gimghoul, Order of the Minotaurs, Gorgon's Head Lodge, Order of the Sheiks, Order of the Old Well, Order of the Grail, Order of the Golden Fleece, etc... I understand the cost for being a member of “Skull and Bones” is around $10,000 a year and I'm sure the cost to belong to many of these 'secret', prestigious organizations at Chapel Hill was many thousands of dollars a year.) these “big men on campus”, (BMOC) incested from family and friends who paid their way through this molestation, who continue to pay great fees for their pompous attitudes in their fall visits to their dining rooms are now the very ones who are the prostitutes of the lobbyists in the shrine of the Democrat party, shrine located on Jones St. in Raleigh, the caboose of their ride to fame and fortune, the legislature of North Carolina, and more affected ones, congressional seats in Washington.

Only the wealthiest families in the state (at this time, there were only a few prestigious universities in this state, Duke, Wake Forest, etc) could finance a son's debutante entrance into the premier society of the 'rich and famous' in the Tarheel State. All Democrats, all bigots, all 'country club'. I always stayed very quiet and just watched this debauchery, their paddles, their Greek pins, their one-up-manship on who knows who, and who is sleeping with who at the prestigious, state girls' schools.

While a medical officer in the Army, another medical officer, graduate of the University of Alabama at Tuscaloosa, whose father and grandfather were also the paternal 'debauchers' of the fraternity lifestyle, invited me to go to Tuscaloosa with him one Saturday. I then discovered the extent to which this nomenclature of bigotry extended. We walked into the dining room of the fraternity house, the black waiters were bowing and kneeling to the 'homecoming' returnees. Food, fit for a king, was on every buffet just for the eating. Each person in the room was trying to 'out impress' the others with their financial accomplishments. This, my friends, is the way the offspring of the rich and famous live, get their political backing, and like the 'Judas goat', foils you at the voting booth. Who is surprised, when former Governor Easley and his wife, are so caught up in this madness of excess, thievery and crooked activity?

I want to disclose a situation, to which a young black man had sworn me to secrecy, because he did not want me to get into any kind of trouble while I was a student at Chapel Hill. This young black man, 19, had graduated at the top of his class in a nearby black high school in Orange County. He wanted to attend the university, but no blacks were allowed at the university at that time. His widowed, poverty-stricken mother took in washing (laundry) for a living. He worked as a janitor in the dormitory, where I got to know him. He realized, that I worked at the medical school (at that time, a 2-year school) and wanted to use some books in the medical school library. I knew Ms. Annie Pickard, medical school librarian, would never allow him inside the facility, just across the hall from Dean Barry Hill's office. But, I told him, on the nights when I would be in charge of the library, he could come over and use the books; he was a magnificent artist and was making drawings of all the musculature, the circulatory system and nervous system of the human body.

He needed to study the books in the medical school in order to perfect his drawings. is intentions, if he could ever get the money together, was to attend the black medical school, Meharry, in Nashville, TN. So, he would come over at night, sit at the table, and do his work. The only problem I ever encountered, Dr. Margaret Swanton, professor in the pathology department, one of the few women on the faculty, asked me what that 'Negro' was doing in the library. I made up some story, which she bought, and never heard anything more from it. But, he knew, as a black citizen of this state, whose mother and family paid taxes at the store just like anyone else, that he was not allowed within this state facility and he also knew, that this poor white boy, whose stay at the university depended on his job, was taking a risk in allowing him to study there.

My education continued, I went on to another university, into the military, and then into a world of isolation and blindness. The last I heard of this young man, he never went to medical school, but did attend the Wharton School of Economics in Philadelphia. He is probably one of the top black entrepreneurs We often wonder why North Carolina has been so bedraggled by self-imposed hypocrisy. When poor whites, decedents of the 'cotton mill impoverishment' and poor blacks, descendants of the tenant farmer obstructionists, complain to me about their lack of opportunity, I simply say, “Keep walking lock stepped to the polls, voting the Democrat ticket, your slave masters for over 100 years.” You must love the fact that just last year, this Democrat, decadent, legislature lost $635 million which should have gone to the mental health facilities of this state. This is enough money to have put running water in every home in Eastern North Carolina which still has out houses. This is enough money to have corrected all the problems at the mental institutions such as Cherry Hospital where one patient died while waiting for care (24 hours).

When I was a student at Chapel Hill, two of my father's friends, Hardy Talton and Rowland Braswell, were in the legislature. Since they knew my ability, my interest in politics, they would invite me over to watch the legislature, which at the time, was meeting in the capital building. I still remember, 'cousin' Wayland Spruill, longtime politician, who passed out all the state funds to his friends, coming into the hall of power, calling out “SUEY, SUEY, SUEY” as if he were calling the hogs to the trough. The Democrat hogs are STILL at the trough, after 60 years, very little has changed. Life in the “good ole north state” is still a big tailgate party.

Too Short For Boxing

The Broadway play Your Arm's Too Short to Box with God opened at the Lyceum Theater in New York City in 1976 and closed in 1978. The show is based on a passage of scripture found in Matthew's Gospel. I never cease to be amazed at those who think they can live this life as just another breathing animal. Before the very foundation of the world, we were made in the image of God and our destiny is that God is in charge of everything including our lives. Authentic humility is the discovery of truth and the truth is that God is in charge of everything.

Around 40 years ago, I became very interested in radio talk shows. Music is wonderful and I enjoy music. I have a collection of over 50,000 records: classical and semi-classical. But nothing thrills the human psyche like the symphony of the human voice; conversations of individuals expressing their opinions.

I am probably the best known radio caller in the area and have made many friends via radio talk shows across the nation. Talk shows have become the most important area of technological communication. Why do you see everyone with a telephone in front of their face? They love the sound of people talking to them. A friend of mine, the New York radio personality, Barry Farber, native of Greensboro was in my graduating class at UNC Chapel Hill. I have been a talker on radio talk shows for many years. One day, on the Farber Show, I called and said, “You and I are sitting in Keenan Stadium. Here comes Coach Snavley with his hat on, his play notebooks under his arm, and what do you know? Here comes Charlie Justice and Art Weiner and all the other great players we knew.” I said, “You can tell Coach Snavley means business today.” Much to my surprise, because it had been many years since I had talked with him, even though I had sent him some ancient original UNC yearbooks, and thanked him for being such an inspiration and credit to our university across the nation. He said, “Where have you been? Why have you not called me before?”

I truly believe, in this world of the insanity of Michael Jackson memorials, Obama bail-outs, the lackadaisical attitude persisting around us regarding every area of human existence, that the only possible way conservatism can save this country is with talk radio and the small Christian church which still proclaims sin's ruin and Christ's redemption.

Two men in jail, looked out through the bars. One saw muddy ground, the other looked up and saw stars. I'm convinced, in this time with Madoff in handcuffs, Stanford in leg irons, that most of our fellow citizens would still free the thief Barabbas. But, those three crosses, for time and eternity, one thief on our blessed Lord's left who never expressed innocence but asked for forgiveness was promised Paradise. The other thief, who recognized the omnipotence of our blessed Lord just wanted to come off the cross so he could go on thieving. It's unfortunate that the dying thief on the cross, asking God to remember him, had spent his life in a wasted existence. There are billions around us everyday, living the same worthless existence. Saint Augustine said, “Our lives are restless until we find rest in Him.”

Christianity flourished in North Africa after the plague because the unsaved natives, saw the difference in attitude as the Christians buried their dead. The sorrows of this world cannot compare to the joys of heaven. The rich man, who had enjoyed so much of this world's wealth, lifted up his eyes in hell (Luke 16) whereas Stephen stoned, as Saul held the coats of the hurlers of stones, lifted up his eyes and saw Christ in heaven awaiting him (Acts 8).

We live in a state of such confusion. We have a greater capacity for pain than for pleasure. Just this week, we have such a perfect example of someone who has enjoyed so much of this world's wealth (estimated spent $100,000 a day on lifestyle) who because of excesses and addictions died at an early age and we have seen the news media go absolutely berserk and seen talk shows dominated by this one man's death who we are kind enough to say was controversial.

It is estimated that one and a half million people tried to get tickets to his funeral service in an auditorium which seats 17,000 people. I heard a black preacher, come on a radio talk show and talk about how great he was and how excited the “black pop folks” would be in heaven. Does one honestly think, that the King of Pop wanted to meet the King of Kings? Is there any sane person who believes that the King of Pop cared anything about our blessed Lord and those who believe in Him while Jackson was here on earth? Has God been so minimized, has the sacrifice of our blessed Lord been so vaporized, has the Christian church become so insignificant, that those saved by grace through faith in our precious Lord will no longer stand up and defend, even offer to identify the blessed cross on which our Lord “paid it all”?

In Atisha's Book of Wisdom, we find these words, “The dewdrop slipping from a lotus leaf and the morning sun shining on it and creating a small rainbow around it, and the moment is so overwhelming...the dewdrop slipping off the leaf, just on the verge of meeting with the infinite, disappearing into the lake – and it is as if you start slipping, as if your drop starts slipping into the ocean of God.” The dewdrop is like the universe to God.

As one of my favorite authors, Father Benedict Roshelle, has stated, “We might as well forget yesterday, the past. Tomorrow is a mystery. All we have is the moment.” Every moment of our life should be devoted entirely to our Savior. We are blessed to have a book in which the Creator of the universe can speak directly to us, answer all of our problems, through the Father, Son and Holy Spirit.

We live in a world where people cheat themselves. How can one survive these days, without having the “blessed assurance” that Christ has already “paid it all”? Why should you listen to the uninformed, misinformed pagans of the airways, even the heathen who call talk shows who believe that sin is natural and normal? Why should black people, lamenting the death of a black entertainer accept the words of a black president who compares the awfulness of the Civil Rights struggle in which many of us participated with the culture shock of the impotence of the gay and lesbian agenda?

We live, move, and have our very being through the grace of God, extended to “whosoever will.” His sacrifice was made for all because He is not willing that any should perish but that all shall have eternal life. (John 3:16) The choice is yours. Your arms are too short to continue to box with God.