COMMENTS FROM OLD WHITAKER

2011-07-11T22:11:00.003-05:00

PROOF THAT THIS IS A CHRISTIAN AND PROTESTANT NATION

By Charles Hodge

The proposition that the United States of America are a Christian and Protestant nation, is not so much the assertion of a principle as the statement of a fact. That fact is not simply that the great majority of the people are Christians and Protestants, but that the organic life, the institutions, laws, and official action of the government, whether that action be legislative, judicial, or executive, is, and of right should be, and in fact must be, in accordance with the principles of Protestant Christianity.

1. This is a Christian and Protestant nation in the sense stated in virtue of a universal and necessary law. If you plant an acorn, you get an oak. If you plant a cedar, you get a cedar. If a country be settled by Pagans or Mohammedans, it develops into a Pagan or Mohammedan (Muslim) community. By the same law, if a country be taken possession of and settled by Protestant Christians, the nation which they come to constitute must be Protestant and Christian. This country was settled by Protestants. For the first hundred years of our history they constituted almost the only element of our population. As a matter of course, they were governed by their religion as individuals, in their families, and in all the associations for business, and for municipal, state and national government. This was just as much a matter of necessity as that they should act morally in all these different relations.

2. It is a historical fact that Protestant Christianity is the law of the land, and has been from the beginning. As the great majority of the early settlers of the country were from Great Britain, they declared that the common law of England should be the law here. But Christianity is the basis of the common law of England, and is therefore of the law of this country; and so our courts have repeatedly decided. It is so not merely because of such decisions. Courts cannot reverse facts. Protestant Christianity has been, is, and must be the law of the land. Whatever Protestant Christianity forbids, the law of the land (within its sphere, i.e., within the sphere in which civil authority may appropriately act) forbids.

Christianity forbids polygamy and arbitrary divorce, so does the civil law. Romanism forbids divorce even on the ground of adultery; Protestantism admits it on that ground. The laws of all the states conform in this matter to the Protestant rule. Christianity forbids all unnecessary labour, or the transaction of worldly business, on the Lord’s Day; that day accordingly is a dies non, throughout the land. No contract is binding, made on that day. No debt can be collected on the Christian Sabbath. If a man hires himself for any service by the month or year, he cannot be required to labor on that day. All public offices are closed, and all official business is suspended. From Maine to Georgia, from ocean to ocean, one day in the week, by the law of God and by the law of the land, the people rest.

THIS CONTROLLING INFLUENCE OF CHRISTIANITY IS REASONABLE AND RIGHT

It is in accordance with analogy. If a man goes to China, he expects to find the government administered according to the religion of the country. If he goes to Turkey, he expects to find the Koran supreme and regulating all public action. If he goes to a Protestant country, he has no right to complain, should he find the Bible in the ascendancy and exerting its benign influence, not only on the people but also on the government.

The principle that the religion of a people rightfully controls the action of the government, has of course its limitation. If the religion itself be evil and require what is morally wrong, then as men cannot have the right to act wickedly, it is plain that it would be wrong for the government to conform to its requirements. If a religion should enjoin infanticide, or the murder of the aged or infirm, neither the people nor the government should conform their conduct to its laws. But where the religion of a people requires nothing unjust or cruel or in any way immoral, then those who come to live where it prevails are bound to submit quietly to its controlling the laws and institutions of the country.

The principle contended for is recognized in all other departments of life. If a number of Christian men associate themselves as a manufacturing or banking company, it would be competent for them to admit unbelievers in Christianity into their association, and to allow them their full share in its management and control. But it would be utterly unreasonable for such unbelievers to set up a cry of religious persecution, or of infringement of their rights and liberty, because all the business of the company was suspended upon the Lord’s Day. These new members knew the character and principles of those with whom they sought to be associated. They knew that Christians would assert their right to act as Christians. To require them to renounce their religion would be simply preposterous.

When Protestant Christians came to this country they possessed and subdued the land. They worshipped God, and His Son Jesus Christ as the Saviour of the world, and acknowledged the Scriptures to be the rule of their faith and practice. They introduced their religion into their families, their schools, and their colleges. They abstained from all ordinary business on the Lord’s Day, and devoted it to religion. They built churches, erected school-houses, and taught their children to read the Bible and to receive and obey it as the word of God. They formed themselves as Christians into municipal and state organizations. They acknowledged God in their legislative assemblies. They prescribed oaths to be taken in His name. They closed their courts, their places of business, their legislatures and all places under the public control, on the Lord’s Day.

They declared Christianity to be part of the common law of the land. In the process of time thousands have come among us, who are neither Protestants nor Christians. Some are papists, some Jews, some infidels, and some atheists. All are welcomed; all are admitted to equal rights and privileges. All are allowed to acquire property, and to vote in every election, made eligible to all offices, and invested with equal influence in all public affairs. All are allowed to worship as they please, or not to worship at all, if they see fit. No man is molested for his religion or for his want of religion. No man is required to profess any form of faith, or to join any religious association. More than this cannot reasonably be demanded. More, however, is demanded. The infidel demands that the government should be conducted on the principle that Christianity is false. The atheist demands that it should be conducted on the assumption that there is no God, and the positivist on the principle that men are not free agents. The sufficient answer to all this is, that it cannot possibly be done.

THE DEMANDS OF INFIDELS ARE UNJUST

The demands of those who require that religion, and especially Christianity, should be ignored in our national, state and municipal laws, are not only unreasonable but they are in the highest degree unjust and tyrannical. It is a condition of service in connection with any railroad which is operated on Sundays, that the employee be not a Christian. If Christianity is not to control the action of our municipal, state and general governments, then if elections be ordered to be held on the Lord’s Day, Christians cannot vote. If all the business of the country is to go on, on that as on other days, no Christian can hold office. We should thus have not a religious but an anti-religious test-act. Such is the free-thinker’s idea of liberty.1 But still further, if Christianity is not to control the laws of the country, then as monogamy is a purely Christian institution, we can have no laws against polygamy, arbitrary divorce or “free love.” All this must be yielded to the anti-Christian party; and consistency will demand that we yield to the atheists, the oath and the Decalogue; and all the rights of citizenship must be confined to blasphemers. Since the fall of Lucifer, no such tyrant has been made known to men as August Comte, the atheist. If, therefore, any man wishes to antedate perdition, he has nothing to do but to become a free-thinker and join in the shout, “Civil government has nothing to do with religion; and religion has nothing to do with civil government.”

CONCLUSION

We are bound therefore to insist upon the maintenance and faithful execution of the laws enacted for the protection of the Christian Sabbath. Christianity does not teach that men can be made religious by law; nor does it demand that men should be required by the civil authority to profess any particular form of religious doctrine, or to attend upon religious services; but it does enjoin that men should abstain from all unnecessary worldly avocations on the Lord’s Day. This civil Sabbath, this cessation from worldly business, is what the civil government in Christian countries is called upon to enforce. (1.) Because it is the right of Christians to be allowed to rest on that day, which they cannot do, without forfeiting their citizenship, unless all public business be arrested on that day. (2.) Because such rest is the command of God; and this command binds the conscience as much as any other command in the Decalogue. So far as the point in hand is concerned, it matters not whether such be the command of God or not; so long as the people believe it, it binds their conscience; and this conscientious belief the government is bound to respect, and must act accordingly. (3.) Because the civil Sabbath is necessary for the preservation of our free institutions, and of the good order of society.

The indispensable condition of social order is either despotic power in the magistrate, or good morals among the people. Morality without religion is impossible; religion cannot exist without knowledge; knowledge cannot be disseminated among the people, unless there be a class of teachers, and time allotted for their instruction. Christ has made all His ministers teachers; He has commanded them to teach all nations; He has appointed one day in seven to be set apart for such instruction. It is a historical fact that since the introduction of Christianity, nine tenths of the people have derived the greater part of their religious knowledge from the services of the sanctuary. If the Sabbath, therefore, be abolished, the fountain of life for the people will be sealed.2

Hengstenberg, after referring to the authority of the church and other grounds, for the observance of the Lord’s Day, closes his discussion of the subject with these words: “Thank God, these are only the outworks; the real fortress is the command that sounded out from Sinai, with the other Divine commands therewith connected, as preparatory, confirmatory, or explanatory. The institution was far too important, and the temptations too powerful, that the solid ground of Scriptural command could be dispensed with … It is as plain as day that the obligation of the Old Testament command instead of being lessened is increased. This follows of course from the fact that the redemption through Christ is infinitely more glorious than the deliverance of the Israelites out of Egypt, which in the preface to the Ten Commandments is referred to as a special motive to obedience. No ingratitude is blacker than refusing to obey Him who for our sakes gave up His only begotten Son.” He had said before that the Sabbath “rests on the unalterable necessities of our nature, inasmuch as men inevitably become godless if the cares and labours of their earthly life be not regularly interrupted.” 3

Notes:

1. A free-thinker is a man whose understanding is emancipated from his conscience. It is therefore natural for him to wish to see civil government emancipated from religion.

2. The Sabbath and Free Institutions. A paper read before the National Sabbath Convention, Saratoga, August 13, 1863, by the Rev. Mark Hopkins, D.D., President of Williams College, Mass. See also an able article from the pen of the Rev. Joshua H. McIlvaine, D.D., entitled, “A Nation’s Right to Worship God,” in the Princeton Review for October, 1859; also the article on “Sunday Laws,” in the same number of the journal.

3. Ueber den Tag des Herrn, Berlin, 1852, pp. 92-94; 40

— Charles Hodge (1797-1878), American theologian, in his Systematic Theology, Vol. 3, pp. 343-348

2010-12-27T12:18:00.006-05:00

OUR ANTI-CHRIST CULTURE

“It’s a Christian’s duty,” wrote Thomas Watson, “to be settled in the doctrine of faith. Settled Christians are not meteors in the air, but fixed stars.” Yes, we know this is “odd” theology, but the apostle Paul said it first (Colossians 1:23).

Are we really “grounded and settled” in the faith? If we are, we are well aware that our culture opposes true Christians and the true gospel. Opposition often makes us “unsettled,” doesn’t it? We cringe when we are spoken against, or when our faith is challenged. We are “moved away from the hope of the gospel” when castigated for professing such hope, even though we know in our hearts that Christ alone is “the way” and “the truth” and “the life.”

Our sports culture is anti-Christ. Think about it! Our media culture is anti-Christ. Think about it! Even our religious culture is saturated with an anti-Christ message, dishonoring Him, putting “little Jesus” on the shelf with all of our other so-called gods. And sadly, our homes have become anti-Christ, no longer having daily Bible reading and prayer. Think about it!

But Scripture tells us plainly that when we speak we are to do it as the very “utterances” or “oracles” of God, “that God in all things may be glorified through Jesus Christ, to whom be praise and dominion for ever and ever” (I Peter 4:11). But this squarely conflicts with our culture’s view of Christ. What? “Praise Christ”? Never! The culture wants nothing to do with glorifying Christ! Take a stand for Christ in public anywhere and see! Speak up for Christ on the job or in class and see! The great emphasis placed upon the Person and work of Christ in the Biblical record is not going to be tolerated for one moment in the public arena! This shuts our mouths as Christians, causing us to become ashamed of our profession. We are in the minority for sure. The question remains, Are we going to fulfill our “duty” to be “grounded and settled,” being “fixed stars” for our glorious Lord and Master? Here is the challenge: let us all humbly “examine ourselves,” then “take up our cross daily,” and be in reality true “followers” of the Lord Jesus Christ in our ungodly, anti-Christ culture. by W. F. Bell, Canton, GA

2010-11-01T10:02:00.007-05:00

Subject: RETIRED

Working people frequently ask retired people what they do to make their days interesting. Well, for example, the other day I went downtown and went into a shop. I was only in there for about 5 minutes and when I came out there was a cop writing out a parking ticket.

I went up to him and said, “Come on, man, how about giving a retired person a break?” He ignored me and continued writing the ticket. I called him a “Nazi.”
He glared at me and started writing another ticket for having worn tires.

So I called him a “doughnut eating Gestapo.” He finished the second ticket and put it on the windshield with the first. Then he started writing a third ticket. This went on for about 20 minutes. The more I abused him, the more tickets he wrote.

Personally, I didn't care. I came downtown on the bus and the car that he was putting the tickets on had a bumper sticker that said “Keep PELOSI in the House.”

I try to have a little fun each day now that I’m retired. It’s important for my health.

2010-11-01T09:57:00.003-05:00

FORGETTER FORGOTTEN OR WHAT?

My forgetter’s getting better,
But my rememberer is broke –
To you that may seem funny
But, to me, it is no joke

For when I’m “here” I’m wondering
If I really should be “there,”
And, when I try to think it through,
I haven’t got a prayer!

Oft times I walk into a room,
Say “What am I here for?”
I wrack my brain, but all in vain!
A zero, is my score.

At times I put something away
Where it is safe, let’s see:
The person it is safest from
Is, generally, me!

When shopping I may see someone,
Say “Hi” and have a chat,
Then, when the person walks away
I ask myself, “Just who was that?”

Yes, my forgetter’s getting better
While my rememberer is broke,
And it’s driving me plumb crazy
And that isn’t any joke.
CAN YOU RELATE???

Please share with everyone you know because:
I DON'T REMEMBER
WHO I SENT IT TO!

2010-10-17T08:05:00.003-05:00

A GUN CONTROL HISTORY LESSON

In 1929, the Soviet Union established gun control. From 1929 to 1953, about 20 million dissidents, unable to defend themselves, were rounded up and exterminated.
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In 1911, Turkey established gun control. From 1915 to 1917, 1.5 million Armenians, unable to defend themselves, were rounded up and exterminated.
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Germany established gun control in 1938 and from 1939 to 1945, a total of 13 million Jews and others who were unable to defend themselves were rounded up and exterminated.
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China established gun control in 1935. From 1948 to 1952, 20 million political dissidents, unable to defend themselves, were rounded up and exterminated.
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Guatemala established gun control in 1964. From 1964 to 1981, 100,000 Mayan Indians, unable to defend themselves, were rounded up and exterminated.
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Uganda established gun control in 1970. From 1971 to 1979, 300,000 Christians, unable to defend themselves, were rounded up and exterminated.
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Cambodia established gun control in 1956. From 1975 to 1977, one million 'educated' people, unable to defend themselves, were rounded up and exterminated.
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Defenseless people rounded up and exterminated in the 20th Century because of gun control: 56 million.
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It has now been 12 months since gun owners in Australia were forced by new law to surrender 640,381 personal firearms to be destroyed by their own government, a program costing Australia taxpayers more than $500 million dollars. The first year results are now in:
Australia-wide, homicides are up 3.2 percent
Australia-wide, assaults are up 8.6 percent

Australia-wide, armed robberies are up 44 percent (yes, 44 percent)! In the state of Victoria alone, homicides with firearms are now up 300 percent. Note that while the law-abiding citizens turned them in, the criminals did not, and criminals still possess their guns!

It will never happen here in our America, you say. I bet the Aussies said that too!

2010-10-17T07:48:00.006-05:00

CATCHING PIGS

There was a chemistry professor in a large college that had some exchange students in the class. One day while the class was in the lab, the Prof noticed one young man, an exchange student, who kept rubbing his back and stretching as if his back hurt.

The professor asked the young man what was the matter. The student told him he had a bullet lodged in his back. He had been shot while fighting communists in his native country who were trying to overthrow his country's government and install a new communist regime. In the midst of his story, he looked at the professor and asked a strange question. He asked:

"Do you know how to catch wild pigs?"

The professor thought it was a joke and asked for the punch line. The young man said that it was no joke. "You catch wild pigs by finding a suitable place inthe woods and putting corn on the ground. The pigs find it and begin to come every day to eat the free corn. When they are used to coming every day, you put the fence down one side of the place where they are used to coming.

When they get used to the fence, they begin to eat the corn again and you put up another side of the fence. They get used to that and start to eat again. You continue until you have all four sides of the fence up with a gate in the last side. The pigs, now used to the free corn, will start coming through the gate to eat that free corn again.

You then slam the gate on them and catch the whole herd. Suddenly the wild pigs have lost their freedom.They run around and around inside the fence, but they are caught. Soon they go back to eating the free corn. They are so used to it that they have forgotten how to forage in the woods for themselves, so they accept theircaptivity."

The young man then told the professor that is exactly what he sees happening in America. The government keeps pushing us toward Communism/Socialism and keeps spreading the free corn out in the form of programs such as supplemental income, tax credit for unearned income, tax cuts, tax exemptions, tobacco subsidies, dairy subsidies, payments not to plant crops (CRP), welfare, medicine, drugs, etc. while we continually lose our freedoms, just a little at a time.

--------------------------------------------
One should always remember two truths:
1) There is no such thing as a free lunch, and
2) You can never hire someone to provide a service for you cheaper than you can do it yourself.

If you see that all of this wonderful government "help" is a problem confronting the future of America, you might want to share this with your friends. If you think the free ride is essential to your way of life, then you will probably ignore this.

But God help you when the gate slams shut!

(From an e-mail sent by my sister, Becky

2009-09-08T23:26:00.003-05:00

Today I came across a story which I had read many years ago. It was found in an old issue of the MESSENGER OF PEACE magazine (January 1943). I have slightly edited this work of an unknown author. W. Fulton

WRONG DIRECTIONS

I was going West one time during the winter. The train had two engines ploughing along through heavy snowy conditions. There was a woman with a little baby in her arms who wanted to leave the train at a certain little station. The brakeman came in and called the name of the station when we were getting near. The woman said, “Don’t forget me.” He replied, “Sure.”

A nearby passenger said, “Lady, I will see that the brakeman does not forget you—don’t you worry!”

A while later he said to the woman, “Here’s your station!” And she hopped off the train and into the winter storm!

The train pulled away and had gone on about three-quarters of an hour when the brakeman returned and asked, “Where is that woman with a child?” “Oh,” the traveling man said, “She got off back there.”

The brakeman cried, “Then she’s gone to her death! Man, we only stopped the train back there because of a problem with the engine! That was not her station! She got out in the wilderness.”

Immediately they called for volunteers and went back looking for the lady. They searched for hours, and finally found her out on the prairie, covered with a shroud of ice and snow from the pitiless storm, as she had folded the little babe to her breast. She followed the man’s misguided directions, but they were wrong and led to certain death.

Greater will be the responsibility of that preacher who betrays the trust placed in him by his hearers and who directs them wrongly to their eternal destruction. Only the proven truth of God will benefit any person. A lie damns. This is true in the personal salvation of the soul. It is also true of the Ship of State, here in the United States of America, where so much of the political viewpoint at this hour is Godless and un-American. How solemn the responsibility of our elected officials when they lead their citizenry further away from the foundations of GODLINESS and PERSONAL RESPONSIBILITY on which the U.S.A. government was founded! Beware!

SCRIPTURE:
“There is a way which seemeth right unto a man, but the end thereof are the ways of death” Proverbs 14:12.

ON THE U. S. ELECTION & NEW PRESIDENT

2009-09-08T23:10:00.002-05:00

In meditating this morning about the 2008 U. S. general election, I turned to the 23rd Psalm, and it came to me in this way:

“THE LORD is my Shepherd” — that is, my Supplier, my Leader, my Teacher, my Guide— “I shall not want.”

In other words, “THE LORD is my Shepherd,” NOT the New President and New Congress. “THE LORD” is my Supplier, NOT “Barack Hussein Obama”! And while I must show respect to those who are in authority and pray for them, as the Scripture clearly teaches, and seek to lead a quiet and obedient life, I do not have to depend upon them or the various winds of partisanship that now and in coming days will be displayed. No, “My hope is in the LORD who made heaven and earth.” Or as the hymn expresses it —

“My hope is built on nothing less than Jesus’ blood and righteousness,
I dare not trust the sweetest frame, but wholly lean on Jesus’ Name.”

And in this way, readers of old Whitaker’s comments, we shall get through whatever crisis the LORD allows to beset us in the wake of the last election. If we belong to the King, then we know that even the new President is under His control. Neither Obama nor a left-leaning Congress, nor a jeopardized Supreme Court, can take us outside the realms of God’s control. And ultimately all things must serve for our good and the advancement of God’s eternal covenant purpose for this nation and the world, and, yea, in the entire universe that HE created.

My heart grows anxious and deeply frustrated at times (and perhaps yours also), filled with worry and a sense that things are “out of control and beyond hope” — but for the present moment, at least, I can rest in this assurance, and commend it to you! Amen.

Wylie Fulton
November 6, 2008

2009-09-08T22:55:00.005-05:00

GOD’S PERFECT WORD

By Don Shaw

The Bible is the word of God;
Most Christians won’t dispute it.
And yet they meekly acquiesce
When someone dares dilute it.

They’ll change some here, delete some there —
’Til it’s simply not the same.
And then they sign this counterfeit
With God’s pure and holy name.

He will not lend His name to error,
Nor let you use His signet.
You put His name on what you wrote,
He tends to get indignant!

The Bible says His word is pure —
Then change must needs “un-pure it”!
How great the impudence of man;
How can great God endure it?

Does “God” mean “GOD”? And if it does,
What are the implications?
Does “God” not mean complete and true,
With never limitations?

Then how can anyone presume
To change the words He’s spoken?
Perfection cannot be improved —
Your efforts must be broken!

Man cannot live by “every word,”
If some words are excluded.
If you think there’s no consequence,
My friend, you’ve been deluded

You cannot fool the word of God
It’s such a clear discerner.
It sees the motives of your heart —
So read — and be the learner.

The counterfeits can’t see your heart;
They don’t know what you’re thinking.
You search them with all diligence,
And still don’t have an inkling.

Please take the word of God as truth —
Change only leads to shame.
Don’t fear to trust what God has said
He honors above His name.

God sent His prophets through the years
To proclaim the things they’d heard.
He sent them with instructions sealed:
“Speak!—Diminish not a word!”

God still speaks through that Old Book called THE BIBLE; after all, that's why He gave us His Word, isn't it? This precious volume — and I unashamedly prefer the old KING JAMES VERSION — has been called “God's written revelation to man.” That's what it is, and thank God for the many times it has convicted, instructed, comforted and uplifted me along the journey of life. I cannot do without it — "God's Perfect Word" — Thank God! W. F.

BLACKSBURG “CENTRALIZED” HIGH SCHOOL

2009-07-16T21:40:00.007-05:00

I enrolled in Blacksburg “Centralized” High School (as it was formerly called) in the fall semester of 1952 and was a member of the famed “Class of ’57” – and for my first year I was in the homeroom of Mrs. W. A. Hambright; I was in 8th grade. And while going to the “big city high school” proved a frightening experience for me, there was much to enjoy in that first year. At Holly Grove, under Mrs. Westbrook, I had learned how to study and apply myself, so good grades came fairly easily in the new school. My history teacher was Mrs. Hambright; for English we had Mrs. Rachel Jones; Miss Mary Martin (alluded to in Holly Grove article) was my math teacher; then we had Mrs. Ruby Stover for science. In study hall, which was held in the high school library, we were under the watchful eye of Mrs. Mabel Bridges — and in the opinion of this reporter, the world has never known a finer librarian than Mrs. Bridges! With this lineup of totally dedicated teachers, insisting on high achievement, my opportunity for scholastic advancement was great.

Coming to 9th grade, as I recall we sat under these instructors: Science, a Mr. Yeager; English, Mr. George McMillan; Math, Miss Martin again — sadly, I am not sure of the two or three other teachers that year. But one thing is outstanding, fellow classmate Thomas Davis and I were DEATHLY afraid of English teacher George McMillan! He was an assistant coach with Mr. Bill Fisher; was a tall and large man; was very disciplinary in his class lectures and expectations of students. So Thomas and I went to the front office imploring Principal Robert Clary to transfer us back to a LADY English teacher! He refused: “You guys are going to have to adjust to Mr. McMillian!” Well, we did! And it proved to be the best experience of all my high school years — McMillan was one great teacher; he made ENGLISH come alive for me! Never had I understood the parts of speech, conjugation of verbs or diagramming sentences, or how to even write an effective sentence—until George B. McMillan! I owe my ability to put anything intelligible on this page to this one man!

Just to give you a rundown of the BHS teachers I remember best: Mrs. Nellie Mae Peek, Mrs. Madge Roark, Miss Mary Martin, Miss Annie Lou Byers, Mrs. Rachel Jones, Mrs. William Hambright, Mrs. Ruby Stover, Mrs. Mabel Bridges, Mr. George McMillan, Mr. George Goforth, Principal Mr. R. C. Clary, Secretary Mrs. Patsy Borders Batchelor, Coach Bill Fisher and home-ec instructor Mrs. Georgia Mitchell – and others. These people were all, to my mind, outstanding professionals in the field of academics. They were also moral and highly successful — and worthy models for high school aged students.

At Blacksburg High in my days, there was order and dedication to the foundation principles of an education — students and faculty all were expected to dress well, modestly and conservatively. One never saw shorts, message tees, caps or hats or unkempt shoes. The boys’ hair was kept neatly trimmed, the girls’ hair nicely, neatly done — none had highlighting or far-out hairdos. Boys were BOYS, and the girls were GIRLS — and so far as I can recall neither gender tried to emulate the other. They knew who they were and tried to be content with the God-given role that life delivered to them. Smoking was permitted at designated spots on the school grounds, but these were not unisex — boys smoked at two special places, but I don't remember the girls have a “smoking spot” neither do I think more than one or two females in my entire class would have taken up cigarettes. May I add that while the use of tobacco was tolerated in an orderly way, cursing, boisterous, loud and abusive talk would be immediately squelched.

There was SEX — boys and girls were interested in each other and some no doubt went too far — but not in public, nor would they even talk about such subjects in a mixed group. There was yet some shame and modesty and fear of God!

When I was in BHS, of course school sports were popular; the fall football contests were often heated and there were old rivals that our Blacksburg “Wildcats” wanted to beat each year. Chesnee, Whitmire and Union were three schools we played each season and fought our dead-level best to whip! I remember the cheers; they were wholesome and robust as cheerleaders with megaphones made themselves heard and commanded prompt and united response from the grandstand. A local Christian minister was always on hand to lead in public prayer — praying in the name of Christ. You often saw the coaches and players huddled in brief prayers at kickoff time. Things were not perfect but different then. My forefathers had left us a climate that included a public recognition of Almighty God, respect for the Lord’s Day and honor extended to people who professed His name. What sort of climate are we leaving to our future generations? I fear that all is not well in this early 21st Century. Men have been making more money, living in larger homes, driving nicer automobiles, enjoying many fruits of “the good life” that money can afford — but morally and spiritually we are in a tragic decline. And it is leading into financial decline as well. One said that the situation in America now is too close to Sodom — and no doubt it is. But note the difference: SODOM HAD NO BIBLE, SODOM HAD NO CHURCHES, SODOM HAD NO GOSPEL PREACHERS! Will God grant America a better fate than she?

During the earlier part of my time in high school I was a serious, attentive, promising student, as I had been at Holly Grove. However, the concern for my soul’s destiny, as awakened by the Holy Spirit, overwhelmed me late during my sophomore year; up to that time I had been almost a “straight A” student, but grades fell off as I began searching the Scriptures and the best spiritual writings I could find. Along with my Bible at that time, especially the sermons and writings of the late L. R. Shelton and A. W. Pink became constant companions at school, at home, on the mountain, riding in the car or elsewhere. I am not justifying myself in this inattention to school work and other duties, but the fact that my soul seemed to be in the balance became one burden too heavy to bear. I could not rest, but felt an URGENCY to find peace with God. The concern was pretty much central in my mind during the remainder of my school career.

High school days soon ended, and the Lord gave me to hope in His mercy and grace to a sinner in deep need. Then came my Army days, which I hope to write about at another time. May God bless each person who visits this site, and if you have a desire to contact me, I will be glad to hear from you.

2009-05-28T18:30:00.005-05:00

“PEERIN’ ”

When Mrs. Stella Foster (Lewis Foster’s mother) lay dying in her daughter’s house in Blacksburg, some years ago, we paid her a visit and she said to my Mother and me, “I wish I could get up from here and go to church.”

“Well, what church do you wish to go to, Mrs. Foster?” I asked. In my memory I could not remember her as a faithful churchgoer, and so the question just naturally popped out.

“Oh, the same one I ’spect you’d like to attend—dear old PEERIN,” she said.

She was referring to Mt. Paran Baptist Church, our “home church” just out of Blacksburg SC on Highway 198, where she is now buried by the side of her husband Fletcher Foster. For many years the country folks have pronounced the name of the church as peerin’, somewhat as if you should tell me that you had been “peering” over a cliff, ignoring the “g” as my generation often does. And it’s amazing to me today that they couldn’t say nor spell the name of the church, as it’s found twice in the Bible (Deut. 33:2; Hab. 3:3).

Mount Paran in South Carolina was constituted as a Southern Baptist Church the Third Sunday of May, 1853, and almost every subsequent “third Sunday in May” has been designated as the church’s “Homecoming Day,” “Decoration Day” or “Memorial Day.” And it’s really all of these. The former members of the church usually try to return to their early place of worship, remembering all the dear ones who now lie in the LARGE Mt. Paran cemetery, decorating the graves with fresh flower arrangements, grieving over the lost ones, yet rejoicing in recollection of the good times spent with them. It’s a day of much singing, with special groups coming in, and many enjoy this. Then a former pastor or longtime friend of the church is invited to speak at the 11 o’clock worship service.

Also it is a day of “dinner on the grounds,” with present and former church members bringing in their well-filled dishes for a good old Southern Baptist feast! It’s a time of renewing acquaintance with those who survive—and when one has reached the “threescore and ten” mark (as I did two weeks prior to the 2009 “homecoming”), this meeting becomes a time when we wonder WHO of our friends will be gone the next time this anniversary rolls around.

We attended that memorable and loveable occasion on the third Lord’s Day in May last (May 17, 2009), and found the church building packed with many returning to the place of their childhood. It was an increased attendance over the past few years, and yet I can name several who failed to make it. ALL-IN-ALL it was a good time, and I wish you had been among us. I also wish that our neighbor Mrs. Stella Foster, along with my Mother and Dad, and so many other departed ones, could have been there. While he was alive, my Dad (G. D. Fulton, 1909-1995) always wanted his children to attend the Homecoming. Perhaps in spirit he was present again this year.

This year was the first time for that occasion since my dear Mother (Mrs. Edith Fulton, 1916-2008) passed away on Dec. 28, 2008. The MEMORIES flooded our minds and hearts and welled up in our eyes. Of course, my sisters Becky & Sue decorated her grave very nicely, and gave me one of the potted arrangements to bring home at the end of the day.

Happy to report some of the latest happenings at dear old Mount Paran, I remain hopeful to be there on Sunday May 16, 2010. Will you join me?

Wylie (Whitaker) Fulton

ANOTHER “DUB” AND OUR FIRST JOB

2008-01-11T21:56:00.001-05:00

Mr. G. W. “Dub” Blanton of Blacksburg was a close friend of my Dad’s and a very personable fellow, closely associated with Whitaker Mountain. I think he and my father “hit it off” together very well because of their nicknames — my Dad being G. D. “Dub” Fulton.

Anyhow, one time Mr. Blanton and Dad were talking, and this other “Dub” stated to “Dub” Fulton: “I could use your two boys a few hours every day at my sawmill.” Mr. Blanton was a Blacksburg businessman, sawmill owner, investor, rancher and later Mayor of the Iron City.

His sawmill was a busy place in those days, producing a lot of lumber for the countryside — when I was 14 or 15 years old and my brother Bobby two years younger — and so we took the job. He wanted us for the all-important task of moving sawdust! As a part of the operation of the mill, there was a large link-chain that traveled from beneath the main saw blade up to the top of a distant pole. The idea was to drag the sawdust away from the saw without detracting workers for that purpose. Eventually a large sawdust pile overwhelmed the chain and the tall pole, as a miniature mountain.

Mr. Blanton hired Bobby and me for the express and sole purpose of shoveling the dust back away from that pole! He paid us, I think, 15-cents per hour. What would we be able to DO with that much money in the early 1950s !? Anyhow, this was a job we worked a few hours every day — I think it must have been in the summertime, for I don’t know how we would have done that during the school year since we depended on the school bus to take us to and from Blacksburg High School and our home 3 miles out in the country.

Mr. Blanton’s business was located near one of the side tracks off the main Southern Railway tracks north of Blacksburg, and just off Mountain Street. In years prior to the building up of that sawmill, I am told, on the same or adjacent property was an old “turntable” for the trains. The turntable was a portion of track on a bridge-like structure connected to a power source — the locomotive engine could be backed onto it, then the power engaged to revolve the structure exactly 180-degrees, and the engine would drive off forwards over the same tracks it had been traveling, pointed in the opposite direction!

These devices may still be used in some areas, but not as necessary now as in the olden days when an engineer simply MUST be able to see out the windshield and side windows facing the direction in which he was going. Most of today’s big diesel engines are just as suited going one direction as the other. Then, too, in those glory days of steam, all the trains carried fully-staffed cabooses, a little car (usually RED) at the back end of the train—a relic of the GLORY DAYS, totally missing from modern railroading! And I don’t like it, for I MISS the red caboose.
(Somehow in these Whitaker Mountain notes, I always manage to get back to the RAILROADS! See my earlier article, WHITAKER MOUNTAIN and the RAILROAD.)

MOUNT PARAN BAPTIST CHURCH

2007-12-29T22:08:00.007-05:00

The Church of Holly Grove and Mt. Paran Community

IF YOU LOOK almost due WEST from the Whitaker mountain top, I expect you to see the white steeple of Mt. Paran Baptist Church. Pastors I remember from my student and younger years were W. E. Brant and Raymond B. Dobbins (later, Joe Kanipe, Archie Chapman and Leonard Thomas). This was a close-knit country Southern Baptist church about two miles northwest of downtown Blacksburg, along SC Highway 198. When God began His special, effectual work of grace in my heart, Raymond Dobbins was pastor; and while I don’t remember much about his ministry to help me, he preached once on PRAYER and admonished sinners to think of prayer as a means of returning to God through the merits of Christ the Lord. “Pray continually to God to save you!” Well, that was instruction hit home; so again the teenager who was under soul concern betook himself to the mountain behind our home. I believe that every sinner whom God deals with for salvation finds somewhere a “trysting place,” a spot where he can pour out his heart to God. Mine was the old farm and especially Whitaker Mountain.

Mt. Paran Baptist Church was constituted in 1853 as a member church in the Kings Mountain Baptist Association. Their first pastor was Elder John Jones and according to early church records this congregation was first an “arm” of old Buffalo Baptist Church, one of the oldest churches remaining in the area — Buffalo was constituted as “The Baptist Church of Christ at Buffalo Creek” in the year of our Lord 1772, four years prior to America’s Declaration of Independence! This stalwart old church adhered to the Philadelphia Baptist Confession of Faith, a slight alteration of the Old London Confession of 1689 — maintaining the old Calvinistic truths that I was coming to believe in the year 1955! But both the Buffalo and Mt. Paran churches, as most modern congregations of the time, had somewhat departed from public proclamation of these principles of Grace, in favor of more humanistic methods of evangelism and church life. There was something missing, and the young Fulton boy knew it.

Later, and for almost all my lifetime, Mt. Paran was a member in the old historic Broad River Baptist Association. I have written and published historical articles on that association of Baptists founded in 1800, and I will gladly mail my articles on BROAD RIVER churches to any who e-mail and request same.

In Mt. Paran’s large cemetery lie many of my ancestors on my father’s side. My great grandfather J. Bishop Fulton, my grandfather Wylie I. Fulton, grandmother Bertha Wells Fulton — along with my own father and mother, Gabriel D. (Dub) Fulton and Edith Martin Fulton, my brother Jimmy Fulton, my youngest sister Debbie (who died in a tragic auto accident at age 17, the story of which is told in our Growing Up on the Old Dub Fulton blog) — also numerous aunts, uncles, cousins, friends and acquaintances are buried there. In the good providence of God, when I am gone I expect my body will be laid to rest in this old cemetery.

Some of the family names long associated with Mt. Paran include: Martin, Thompson, Moss, Moore, Thomas, Putnam, Allen, Rippy, Sapoch, Foster, Byers, Neal, Gibbons, White, Bridges, Collins, along with Fulton and Wells. There are many stories concerning the church I could tell, but a book of its history (Mount Paran Baptist Church, 1853-1977) compiled by a distant cousin, Mrs. Marie T. Moss, tells the story. This volume has been a treasure in my library. It’s long out print, but you may be able to consult a copy in either the Gardner-Webb University Library (Boiling Springs NC) or the Wake Forest University Library (Winston-Salem NC). According to the record, when Mt. Paran was established they declared without reservation their stand for the grand old Calvinistic doctrines of man’s total and complete depravity and the need of regeneration by the Holy Spirit, the doctrine of the eternal election of the church in Christ Jesus before the world began, the substitutionary and eternal redemption of God’s elect by Christ on the cross of Calvary, and the perseverance of the saints in grace. It was a Southern Baptist church from the beginning, a very conservative and Bible-believing church. With all the human faults and failures of those who made up its constituency, Mt. Paran held forth the banner of the truth of God for many decades.

I thank my God for this old church in the curve of the road. What a sad and lonely feeling was mine as I stood above its ashes when the old wood frame structure (in process of remodeling) was burned to the ground in January 1949! I remember seeing charred hymnbooks and the old pulpit Bible. While the rubble was cleared away and the meeting house being rebuilt, our church met in old Holly Grove School House, near the old Frank Neal farm. During that time a “revival meeting” was arranged, calling the popular preacher Dr. J. A. Brock to lead in the services. Brock rallied the troops and stirred the fires of church loyalty, hastening the work of re-building. I remember his preaching and the tears that were shed by many in the congregation each night of that particular week of dedication and renewal.

HOLLY GROVE SCHOOL

2007-12-29T16:54:00.001-05:00

Holly Grove School House, near Blacksburg SC

From Whitaker Mountain, one looks due Northwest to the site of our first education institution, old Holly Grove School. It was a neat brick structure in my early classroom days (circa 1945), while many other community schools were old woodframe buildings. Some of my teachers there were – Miss Mary Martin, Mrs. R. L. Westbrook, Mrs. Elma Wylie and Mrs. Molly Sapoch Baber. Our single lunchroom employee was my Dad’s aunt, Miss Blanche Wells. We have a few fond, though vague memories of that original schoolhouse and my early academic exercises. I do remember that I early showed a grasp of spelling and English. In the fifth and sixth grades Mrs. Westbrook no longer wrote an “A” for my six-weeks grade point average, but changed it to the actual number – “100!” Still in my possession is one of those old report cards, greatly cherished by me and sometimes used as a bragging point with my own children and grandchildren when they are caught miss-spelling words!

There were only two classrooms in that old country school:

The early grammar grades (1st-2nd-3rd) met in the back classroom and when I started school Mrs. Elma Wylie of Blacksburg was the one teacher in that room, of all three grades! There was no such personage as a “teacher’s assistant or aid.” After two years, I believe, Mrs. Wylie was transferred to Blacksburg Elementary and Mrs. Molly Baber came in to lead the younger grades. Both ladies were outstanding instructors, and I feel they laid in my life the proper scholastic foundation.

Then the upper grades — “middle school,” although no such term had yet been invented! — (4th-5th-6th-7th-8th) met in the front classroom and when I started school Miss Mary Martin was the one teacher of FIVE grades. Later she went to Blacksburg High School and Mrs. R. L. Westbrook came to head up this classroom. I consider both of these ladies to be extremely qualified, dedicated teachers. I never sat under Miss Martin at Holly Grove but was to be in her math and algebra classes at Blacksburg Hi a few years later. But I did have Mrs. Westbrook for 4th, 5th, 6th and 7th grades. By my 8th grade, we had transferred to BHS.

Some of my student buddies at old Holly Grove included: O. R. “Junior” Rippy, Albert Rippy, Bee Ray Thompson, Claude Martin, Jack Greene, Shirley Greene, Bonnie Welch, Jo Ann Foster, Buddy Foster, Shirley Foster, Morris Foster, Marjorie Foster, Harold Foster, Jerry Neal, Gary Thomas, Neil Thomas, Maudine Greer, Inez Batchelor, Bo Foster, Stephen Foster, Lester Isler, Glenn Isler, Ralph Rippy, Richard Rippy, Sharon Pigford, Sue Melton, Beulah Isler – and in later years good friends Ronald, Tommy and Carolyn Andrews. WHY can’t I remember the others? My brother Bobby and sisters Sue and Beth also attended there and studied under, mainly, the same teachers I had. Our younger brother Larry went to Holly Grove for “summer school” only and in the fall re-started his first grade at Blacksburg Elementary.

I experienced little soul concern while in this school, although it was at this time Bobby and I joined old Mt. Paran church on a profession of faith and were baptized, both of our Holly Grove School teachers attending the ceremony.

NOTE: The photo we found (above) was apparently made in the late 1960s, long after the school had closed and was turned over to Mt. Paran church folks as their “Community Center.” But the old structure, since destroyed by fire, is very identifiable here, in appearance the same as it was when I attended there 1945 - 1952!

RUFUS AT THE FULTON FARM

2007-12-29T12:57:00.000-05:00

Dr. & Mrs. Rufus N. Lockhart, Charlotte NC (circa 1986)

THIS mountain story cannot be complete unless I tell you about RUFUS. Rufus was my “other brother,” and a great brother indeed! Rufus Lockhart was a black boy from Blacksburg, about 11 years older than I. He came to work on the little mountainside farm of Dub Fulton when I was perhaps only 3 or 4 years old. Before coming to help us he had worked in the fields of Mr. Ben Childers, a farm later purchased and operated by one of my Dad’s dearest friends, Neely Thomas. At the Childers farm, Rufus worked with his older brother Johnny and several others, but when coming to the Fulton farm he was the only regular worker other than my Dad. Being too young to furnish any assistance on the farm, I naturally looked up to Rufus and he began to teach me many things about the planting, cultivating and harvesting of our crops. He taught me how to harness the mule, hitch up the plow and go down thru long rows of corn or cotton, shouting the inevitable commands, “Gee” (turn to the right) or “Haw” (turn to the left) or “Whoa” (stop and stand still) or “Back in here” (back up or step back inside the traces). For a good portion of the year my Dad worked at the Broad River cotton mill in Blacksburg and left Rufus to keep the farm going. My mother, about every two years, was occupied with the care of a new baby — remember she and Dub Fulton didn’t stop having babies until their 10th child, my sister Deborah, came along in December 1956!

My Dad being a good Christian witness, he read the Bible to Rufus, told him many old stories of Bible characters, placed a copy of God’s Word and numerous tracts in the young fellow’s hands. Rufus, observing the earnestness with which Dub Fulton tried to serve the Lord and hearing his prayers, finally began to be convicted and to desire what his new employer had. It was not long until this young dusky farm worker professed faith in Jesus Christ. At that time the country people held “cottage prayer meetings” in the Mt. Paran community, and Rufus accompanied my family to several of these. In one such meeting, he told how the Lord had saved him and said he believed also that the Lord wanted him to be a preacher of the Gospel. My Dad and Mom were delighted with the progress Rufus made in the Bible and Christian witness. At Blacksburg, this new convert would often address his friends who were going to and from the several pubs or beer-drinking joints in town that catered to black people. Sometimes Rufus would enter the establishments and start “preaching.”

Well, of course, there are always the skeptics and they did their best (or worst) in an effort to undermine Rufus in his Christian profession. They tried to induce him to follow their path of sin. Many were his peers, but also it’s sad to inform that a number of adults (both white and black) began to attack Dub Fulton, saying he had “given his darky a case of religion,” that when Rufus would eventually get out from under Fulton’s influence he would “lose his religion.” Some of Dub’s friends (some, members of Mt. Paran church) said “Dub Fulton always wanted to preach himself but was afraid to do it, so he has sent Rufus in his place,” etc. Rumors fly, especially, I think, in a Baptist community, and so Dub Fulton endured a lot of gossip over Rufus. But it is a fact that Rufus, by God’s grace, was enabled to “hold on his way” (Job 17:9), maintaining both in his walk and talk the characteristics of the new creature (2 Cor. 5:17). God blessed his efforts and some of his buddies and family members were no doubt saved.

RUFUS OUR BLACK BROTHER

But let me give you some little cameo shots of “Life with Rufus.” It was a lot of fun for me, being Dub and Edith’s eldest child, to often tell my younger siblings that “Rufus is our oldest brother!” They disregarded the color of skin, for the Fulton household was never one given over to racial prejudices, and really believed my joking about Rufus as our real brother! But once I betrayed myself and perhaps a bit of inert “prejudice” did come to the surface — when Mom and Dad offered to let me sleep with Rufus (they knew I loved him dearly), I began to shake my head. They insisted. I started to cry. Still they insisted I could “spend the night with Rufus.” Finally Mom was insistent with me: “Wylie, WHY don’t you want to spend the night with Rufus!” “I can’t, Mama, ’cause I’m afraid some of that BLACK might rub off on me!” And this was in Rufus’ presence — shame, shame! After Rufus had gone to his room, I think Dad took me aside and explained to me how cruel my statement really had been.

PREACHING

Another of the many incidents about Rufus: As he felt called of God to be a preacher, when he would be doing farm chores he often “preached” aloud. On one occasion I remember he was in the woods down near the old branch chopping firewood. He was just a-preachin’ away! Wylie and Bobby were with him to help load the wood on the old farm wagon. As he preached and saw the mule, old Pet, hitched to the wagon, I remember something like this: “Ah, I tell you for sure, we are all gonna have to give an account at the great Judgment Bar for the way we have lived down here. Don’t you know that you are supposed to treat everybody RIGHT? And, even the dumb animals are gonna be witnesses against us when we stand up before Jesus at the Judgment. Think of the times you’ve hollered at and abused your old mule; well, there will be that ole mule to bear witness before the Father against you. If you have beat him or cussed him, he’s gonna tell on you! And God is gonna believe these animals, ’cause they’ve got no reason to lie about it! And He’s gonna condemn you, yes, sir! Get right! Get on your knees and pray to the Lord Jesus to forgive you of your sins!”

Well, listening to that “sermon” I wondered if he had me in mind. I didn’t think that I had abused or misused our old mule or dog or chickens or any other animals. But then I got to thinking that at times my Dad would get cross with old Pet when she didn’t go right down the rows to suit him. Maybe Rufus was subconsciously reproving his employer and Christian benefactor! He would never have directly confronted “Mr. Dub.”

WILDFIRE!

Then there is the story about the fire. Rufus was sent to the woods up nearer to Whitaker Mountain. As it was a cold fall afternoon, he took along some matches to build a fire. Also we carried the family’s ONLY ALARM CLOCK, for Mama had told us to come back home about 5 o’clock. Bobby didn’t accompany us for he needed his afternoon nap. So Rufus and I trudged along and finding the spot where he would cut some wood, he built us a little fire. As he chopped away, of course Rufus “lost himself” in his “preaching.” Wylie sat by the little fire and guarded the clock—I was the preacher’s only audience besides the squirrels, foxes and rabbits! Soon the fire got into the leaves and began to spread, and knowing not but that Rufus intended it so, all I did was move myself and the clock back as the flames would draw ever closer. Rufus was “preaching away” and “chopping away” and ignoring fire, clock and his employer’s son! PRETTY SOON, however, that spreading fire got his attention!

“Oh, my God! What has I done? What is I gonna do now?” Rufus resorted to prayer. I picked up the clock and moved further back from the flames. The wildfire was spreading out of hand. When my older “brother” had finished his prayer, I calmly asked: “What did the Lord say, Rufus?” We frantically began to combat the flames with brush or whatever we got hold of, but it was hopeless! Soon it would spread to other people’s property and there was no stopping it now.

In the meantime, as we worked and worried, Dad was arriving home from work. Seeing the smoke, he came running to the woods where we were! “What have you boys done?” he cried, as he began battling the flames. But the fire had caught onto the fallen leaves of the forest floor, also some dead “rich pine” and leaped out into a field filled with broom straw. There was no way to arrest its progress.

Ultimately that fire would range over much of the mountain side, into property owned by Dee Gibbons, William Moorhead, Cal Duncan, Clyde Wilson and Neely Thomas (perhaps others). Dub Fulton feared he would be sued by some of the folks, because he knew that on several occasions when the old steam trains had sparked mountain fires the railroad had PAID property owners for their damages. But, so far as I know, no neighbors ever pressed charges against my father or his careless young farm laborer.

There are so many memories of my dear friend Rufus. He went on to join the US Army. Folks said, “Surely he’ll give up his religion now.” But, I can declare that when Rufus had completed his tour of service (Korean War) he came back to Blacksburg, looked up all his old buddies and critics and began to reprove their sins and urge them to seek the Lord—just as before! My dark complexioned friend came as he went away—fully intent on serving his Lord no matter what the cost or consequences.

And he did! — Yes, Rufus became a preacher and a very powerful leader among the black Baptist churches of Charlotte NC and surrounding communities. He went on to college, met a nice girl and was married. They resided in Charlotte until his death in 2000; I was invited by his widow Lillie W. Lockhart to speak at his funeral in Salisbury NC on Saturday September 30, 2000. (I might add that I was the only white guy on the platform that day, but it was a blessed occasion. My wife and sister Becky, along with my mother and some of our children attended that service. In fact, the Fultons were listed in the funeral handout as part of the extended family! And since Rufus had in 1995 complimented our family by speaking at my Dad’s funeral, it was the joy of my heart to, in a small way, return the favor.)

Then Rufus, my farm buddy and the well-known Baptist preacher who ultimately had been awarded a doctorate, was laid to rest in a small cemetery just off South Tryon Street in Charlotte. I miss him, but have a sure hope that he is gone to a Glorious Reward and that his dust merely awaits the Glorious Resurrection in the likeness of the Lord Jesus Christ whom he served. All the Fultons who remain remember and miss Rufus.

Lyrics: "IT WAS HEAVEN'S GRACE THAT MADE THEE MINE!"

2007-04-06T21:04:00.003-05:00

A NEW WEDDING SONG

You come to me to share life’s rain and sunshine,
Its dirges and its glad refrains;
To be with me in hope and disappointment,
In every loss, in all life’s gains.

Now, since we two have sought the will of Heaven,
And strive to walk the path of God’s decree,
He will make our joy increase, With a love that cannot cease,
He can give us perfect peace, always.

Refrain:
It was Heaven’s grace that made thee mine,
Only Heaven could give such love as thine.
Now all the loneliness and fear have passed away, And you are mine for aye;
Ah, your call to me, in love’s sweet voice, Made my heart of hearts rejoice.
Now my joy is complete and all the day is bright ...
Since the grace of Heaven made thee mine!
— Norman J. Clayton (1951)

Wylie Fulton & Louie Lee Stone - Wedding, Waco, Texas 1962

N.B. Norman J. Clayton (1903-1992) was an accomplished hymnwriter who is noted for other songs such as “Now I Belong to Jesus.” The above hymn, however, is very rare, and was sung at the wedding ceremony of Wylie & Lou Fulton in Waco, Texas, December 8, 1962. Our service was conducted by the late Pastor Tom L. Daniel of Tabernacle Baptist Church. This song was selected and recommended to us by our dear friend Mrs. Brown, the church pianist. It was sung by another dear friend Ed Lane. A search on the internet failed to locate these words and so I have posted them here. These lines are worthy of being preserved. Truly a great song for two people who have in prayer sought the will of Heaven in their choice of each other as lifetime mates! May the Lord make these words a blessing to all who come to this site. If any copyright is hereby infringed, we apologize. To my wife, Lou, after 45 years I can sing with all my heart, as in 1962: “It was Heaven’s grace that made thee mine!” It is wonderful to believe that Romans 8:28 applies to all areas of a believer’s life, including MARRIAGE.

“PEOPLE QUITS!”

2007-02-10T09:24:00.002-05:00

STANDING ON TOP of this favored Carolina knoll, Whitaker Mountain, one looks almost due north and sees the bustling traffic on Interstate 85. As you look closely you detect a rather black or gray colored building joined to the southbound lane of I-85. This is the beautiful, helpful South Carolina Welcome Center — a choice spot to learn all about my native state, the Palmetto State, alias the “Sandlapper” State, alias the Old South State.

South Carolina was the first to secede from the United States at the outset of the Northern Agression and the last state to fully accept defeat and re-enter the Union. Famous for its peaches, its textile products, its prime beaches and great climate, South Carolina has also been home to great statesmen and literary genuises, including Francis Marion, John Rutledge, John C. Calhoun, Henry Timrod, DuBose Heyward, Paul Hamilton Hayne, Archibald Rutledge, William Gilmore Simms, William Barrett Travis and Strom Thurmond. It's the place where you find “beautiful places and smiling faces,” and where friends are easily made.

But, may I say, South Carolina is also the state in which God chose to give to the world a WYLIE FULTON — in fact, TWO Wylie Fultons! First was my grandfather (Wylie Irvin Fulton) whom I never knew, who was brutally murdered at the age of 35 — then myself (Wylie Wayne Fulton) born in 1939 near Whitaker Mountain.

As we continue to stare down the mountain side and towards that Welcome Center, we are looking at a portion of the old Dub Fulton farm where I grew up. That very ridge, where this building and its parking lot are now located, was in other days a part of our old cotton field. My brother Bobby and I, along with Rufus, worked many a day in this choice field.

I remember one day in particular — it was a Saturday, and probably in late May or early June. The rains had been plentiful and the grass was overgrowing our cotton crop! All week long we had toiled to clean out the long rows — “chopping” cotton, it was called. It was actually hoeing, necessary work at least twice during the early growing season of “King Cotton” in those years; for the plow could clear the grass from the middles, but only the hoe could take out those weeds and grass within the rows, between the young cotton plants. Since Adam sinned, you know, this “war with the weeds” has been man’s lot on planet earth. Hoeing was gruelling, dirty work with always the danger of killing your precious cotton plants in the process.

Anyway, this particular day we were working frantically and it was Saturday afternoon. As we worked our way out the rows, near to the old gravel road that ran across the ridge, along came an old sedan and a young black man leaned out the window shouting, “HEY! ’Dis Sad-dy evenin’! People quits on Sad-dy evenin’!” (Back in our country, all the AM hours were called morning; all the PM hours were then considered evening — it would have been only about 1:30 PM when the incident occured.)

True it was that most people in our area laid work aside at noon on Saturday; for they all cleaned up and went to town that afternoon. This young fellow and his auto were definitely headed in the direction of Blacksburg! But little could he have realized that our Dad had told us to get one last section of the field hoed and he would take us to Blacksburg, to the old Star theatre, to see the latest ROY ROGERS Western! So by around 3 PM, we had finished and were headed to our reward that Sad-dy evenin’!

And, say, to quickly reflect, as I am keying this into the computer, I notice we are still in the AM hours of Saturday, but not long until the time arrives when “PEOPLE QUITS!”

WHITAKER MOUNTAIN and THE RAILROAD

2006-11-25T21:35:00.006-05:00

The Southern Railway’s grade out from Blacksburg ran along the eastern side of old Whitaker. Those early steam engines would really sound off their “puffs” as they ascended the grade traveling north, while they often made much ado with their horns and whistles traveling in the southern direction. One old engineer, I remember, often played the tune to the old country gospel song, “Life’s Railway to Heaven.” He would make it ring out into the distance and the sound came clear over the mountain to where we lived on the western side! It was said this engineer told many people around the Blacksburg Depot that he was a believer and wanted to bear witness for the Lord, so he learned to play this old song over the train’s horns. Some of the lyrics are:

Life is like a mountain railway,
With an engineer that’s brave;
We must make the run successful,
From the cradle to the grave;
Watch the curves, the fills, the tunnels; Never falter, never fail;
Keep your hands upon the throttle, And your eyes upon the rail …

Refrain:
Blessed Savior, Thou wilt guide us
Till we reach that blissful shore,
Where the angels wait to join us
In Thy praise forevermore ...

As you roll across the trestle,
Spanning Jordan’s swelling tide,
You behold the Union Depot
Into which your train will glide;
There you’ll meet the Superintendent, God the Father, God the Son,
With the hearty, joyous plaudit, “Weary Pilgrim, welcome home.” — Eliza R. Snow

The trains were popular, and the old Blacksburg Depot was crowded with passengers all hours of the day and night. In fact, Black’s Station (as the town was originally called) grew up around the old Airline Railroad, a predecessor to the Southern Railway, now the Norfolk & Southern. In those early days trains served as the primary means of transportation — both for freight and passengers. The plush Pullman sleeping cars were plentiful in my early years, immediately following World War II. For a surprisingly low fare, one could take a nice vacation, traveling by rail to distant cities like New Orleans, Memphis, Miami, Houston or New York. It was “the way to go.”

Trains were most valuable in those days as mail carriers — almost every passenger train running had a separate Mail Car where postal workers busily sorted mail as they hastened it to its destination. It was not necessary, either, for a train to STOP at every point where mail was picked up or delivered. Merely tossing a mail sack or two onto the sidewalk, where the depot agent or a mail clerk usually waited near the Station, would constitute delivery of mail to Blacksburg. Then another mail sack with the outgoing mail was hooked to a high post near the tracks — the Mail Car had a snare fixed in place to snatch the bag of outgoing mail as the train chugged through the smaller towns!

The railway mail service was fast and most efficient. A letter cost only 3-cents postage in those days and Blacksburg had at least six or eight daily dispatches. Mail being sorted as it traveled facilitated very prompt delivery in the era before 9-Digit Zip codes, computers, trucks, interstates and airplanes! In my younger days, one could mail a letter in Blacksburg at 9 AM; it would arrive in Charlotte NC by 10:30 AM and often be delivered to the addressee by 3 PM! Try to get that kind of service, even at the HIGHEST PRIORITY rates of the postal service today! It was the common experience to get next-day delivery to places like Washington, Philadelphia, New York and Atlanta. Second day delivery was common to Chicago, Detroit, Boston, New Orleans and Dallas. And we had no Zip codes to memorize! Then too, the average town the size of Blacksburg, with all our advantages of “automated mail,” nowadays offers only one dispatch a day! In my opinion a return to a railway system of mail would be better today than what we are getting for our 39-cents — however I understand the sheer VOLUME of mail today (with the ad sheets and “junk mail” which didn’t exist in my youth) must totally overwhelm any delivery system one could imagine!

Steam trains often emitted hot cinders from their fireboxes, and I remember several times when almost the entire mountain burned over by fires kindled from the trains. It was a sight to see! Sitting on the back porch of our old farmhouse, one could see the progress of the fire line as it spread throughout the mountain forest, for two or three days. And we often grieved over the sad losses of enviornment for wildlife, and sometimes feared the fires might reach too near our home — but, as I recall, only a very few of the trees died and the mountain would be as green and pretty as usual by the next springtime. Once, however, old Whitaker (or at least a good portion of the western slope) burned over, and the railway wasn’t the culprit! Read all about this in the article, “Rufus at the Fulton Farm.”

Those Southern Railway trains of my early days were of such interest to me that I often thought I’d go to work with the railroads when I grew up! Also my dad’s uncle, Baxter Wells, was an engineer with Southern Railway, and I’m happy to share above a picture showing him at the controls up in the cab. I don’t know the two crew members on the ground. Enjoy this picture, circa 1948 – 1950. The “glory days” of railroading have come and gone, and now one sees in place of the steam locomotives a fleet of modern, very efficient Diesel-Electric engines. (See some of these Southern trains on display at the Transportation Museum in Spencer, North Carolina.)

As with all things in life, the old gives way to the new inventions and notions, and life moves on. But when it comes to the things that really matter for the home, the church, the community and the nation, one often is made to wonder if this modern “progress” is not rather a toboggan slide to Hell! Says the wise man, "That which hath been is now; and that which is to be hath already been; and God requireth that which is past" (Ecclesiastes 3:15). "Thus saith the Lord, Stand ye in the ways, and see, and ask for the old paths, where is the good way, and walk therein, and ye shall find rest for your souls. But they said, We will not walk therein" (Jeremiah 6:16). For the railroads, what we have today is maybe better — I won’t dispute that — but for the Christian religion what we have today, much of it, is a cheap substitute for the “old time religion” and “the faith of our fathers.” Has the new, shallow, easy and quick form of Christianity produced the “new birth” and the “new creature” required in the Word of God? Read John 3:3-7 and 2 Corinthians 5:17. In the providence of God, please visit me at this site again soon!

[ See later article, ANOTHER "DUB" AND OUR FIRST JOB. ]

HOW IT WAS (and IS) IN BLACKSBURG SC

2006-11-21T09:59:00.001-05:00

Here is a view looking southeasterly on Shelby St. in Blacksburg SC. This is a current view. In the picture you can see buildings that (in the 1940s & early 1950s) housed the four or more grocery stores that were in this one block of Shelby Street—D. D. (Durbro) McCarter [red brick building with white front and a white car parked out front], Finley Roark [red brick building further down the street, next to tall white building], Charles Plaxico [tall white building with pickup truck parked in front] and Mr. & Mrs. W. M. Goode [directly across street to your left from Durbro’s]— all with stores in the same block, and selling almost the same staple grocery items!

To purchase fish, one usually found them either packed in ice or in salt — none were quick-frozen during my younger days. If you were hankering for fried chicken, they were not frozen and packed neatly — most of them were not dressed at all, but you found the grocer had a little pen out back and would sell you the pullet or old hen live and on foot. You had to carry this fighting creature home in a sack, then butcher him yourself! By the time all the work was done and the smelly feathers all plucked, nine times out of ten you'd lost your desire for chicken! (The stores did offer a limited amount of cut up and fresh meat and poultry, but at a much higher price because it was fresh and they had done all the hard work!)

But on the plus side of the scene, my brother Bobby and I kept rabbit boxes (or traps) in the woods on our farm. Whenever we caught a nice sized rabbit, all we did was clean him and take him to one of the grocerymen; they would usually give us about 50-cents worth of some other “needed commodity” such as cookies or candy! Then in turn they sold the rabbit in their fresh meat counter for about 75-cents.

This country town along US Highway 29, with its landmark town hall (all of three stories tall), stood out to me at one time as the greatest and most important place on earth! I had not then seen Atlanta or New Orleans, the mighty Appalachians or Old Man River, or the Great State of Texas. My family and I had not traveled outside the two Carolinas; and the only reason we were familiar with North Carolina was that we lived within a-mile-and-a-half of the state line. In fact, our home in South Carolina carried a “Route 1, Grover, North Carolina” mailing address for many years!

WHAT IS "WHITAKER"?

2006-11-15T09:51:00.002-05:00

We have named this blog, “Comments from Old Whitaker.” Whitaker Mountain (satellite view at this link) is a small peak in “Upstate” South Carolina, between Interstate 85 and the town of Blacksburg. It was near this mountain that I was born in 1939, and at the foot of Whitaker I grew to manhood. The little mountain is situated within two miles of the North Carolina state line at Grover NC, a small hamlet that sits astride the NC-SC border. In fact, when the village of Grover was first founded it was known as Whitaker Station SC, and the first postmaster was an ancestor of mine named Theodore Fulton.

Why is Whitaker Mountain so important to me — enough so, to create a web blog about it? Well, this blog is not going to major only the beauties of my old mountain, but I trust upon the glories that center around the Creator of all things. But, let me tell you that, although Whitaker is a mere “molehill” on the scale of world mountain peaks, yet from its summit (elevation about 1200 feet), looking west-northwest, one can view the large and most majestic peaks of the Blue Ridge Mountains. Looking to the north and east, one sees not only the miniature town of Grover, but also Kings Mountain (both the mountain and the town of that name), Gastonia and even into Charlotte NC! Looking due east and southeast, one sees very little for his eyes are gazing towards “Low Country” South Carolina. As one gazes more in a southwesterly direction, I would like to think that he could see plumb to the Gulf of Mexico and into Texas! Of course, this is not the case, but he will see Hogback Mountain in South Carolina and Tryon Peak in North Carolina. Also on a clear day one observes the smokestack at the Cliffside NC Duke Power facility. And standing on this beloved mountain, looking directly skyward, I believe that this scribe has seen something of that Heavenly Land to which I am going.

When I was a boy — the eldest son of Gabriel D. “Dub” and Edith Fulton who had 10 children! — we grew up on a 52.5 acre farm near the mountain. While our acreage did not include any portion of the hill itself, our property lines meandered along just at the foot of old Whitaker. Many long days we spent on that farm, as my father grew cotton, corn and prize produce. Early mornings found my brother Bobby and me busy gathering tomatoes, watermelons, turnips, okra, beans, or whatever was in season, to carry to the various grocery stores that we supplied. Often this must be done prior to going to school! How cold it was in the fall when we had to wash those turnips, bunched 6 to 8 per bunch, with the greens still on top — and Dad would not try to sell them unless they were squeeky clean! He said the people don’t want to buy the dirt in which their food was grown! And neither do we have any soil to waste! So, even if the temperature was close to freezing, we had to wash ’em clean!

THE GREATEST THING ABOUT WHITAKER MOUNTAIN

But to me, I believe the greatest thing about the old mountain is that not only was I born near there, but evidently was “born again” at or near the same venue. Early in life I made a religious profession and joined old Mount Paran Baptist Church (visible from the mountain top) at about age 11. For two years my mind and heart were not upon the things of the church or the Lord, but upon cars and typical play and dreams of an early teenager. But by 1954, through the medium of radio I began to hear the old doctrines of God’s sovereign grace — true Baptist doctrine, historically — but I don’t think these truths were then being preached at Mount Paran or other Southern Baptist churches in the area. These things should have been stressed because they are a part of their foundation “Articles of Faith.”

God brought me face to face with His sovereignty and with the awareness of man’s fall in Adam, consequently coming to see myself as a depraved, Hell-deserving sinner — something I never knew when first I professed faith and was baptized at Mount Paran. (That is not the church’s fault, and I do not write to place blame upon anyone but my own wicked heart, spiritual deadness and unbelief.)

When God began to show me myself, one of the favorite things I could do was run off to the mountainside and there seek the Lord in prayer. Many days I hid there. The conviction of my sinfulness and need, along with awareness that God in His sovereignty could save me or not, was so real that often meals were skipped. When “company” would visit our old house, if I could I’d slip out the back door, taking my little New Testament, and hasten to the mountainside to spend the rest of the day in reading and prayer. A hallowed spot is Mount Whitaker to me! There I met the Master and Lord of my life, and hope to write more about it at a later time.

My nickname also is “Whitaker,” so you will understand that the comments on this blog are not just coming from a mute MOUNTAIN but from a real speaking PERSON as well. There are many other things I want to tell you in due time. Thank you for reading this — and for the e-mail letter or comment you are going to write me in response!

Additional items posted here may or may not relate to my old mountain directly, but regardless of all old Whitaker Mountain remains a backdrop to each article. I do not place my spiritual hope on this little old mountain, but it remains one of the “Bethel spots” that believers will understand. Right? Soli Deo Gloria!

Hello! And WELCOME to our new Blog!

2006-10-02T11:39:00.000-05:00

Whitaker Mountain is a small peak running from near the NC/SC border Southwest for about 5 miles. It is near the town of Blacksburg SC and lies situated between Interstate 85 and the Norfolk-Southern Railway.

Whitaker Mountain is named for Sally Whitaker and her family, some of the early inhabitants of this area. At that time the town of Blacksburg was known as Black's Station, named for Tom, William and John Black. John was a doctor. Little did they know that their town would become an important trade center as it is today, nor could they have ever imagined all that would take place in the century following!