A Visit to the Dog Park...

There's a handsome bronze dedication plaque
at the entrance to the dog enclosures

Yesterday was a beautiful day in the Tennessee Valley.  Temperatures rose to near 70 degrees with a light southerly breeze.  Mary Ann and I decided it was the perfect day to be outside.  Over the last couple of weeks, she has been researching the location of dog parks in the area.  One looked particularly interesting because it was described as having separate fenced enclosures for large dogs and small dogs.  The name of that park is the Mill Creek Dog Park on Balch Road in Madison, AL.  We decided to take Bella on her first park outing.

After loading up the car with dog toys, snacks, water, and the other necessities of dog travel, we left the house a little after noon.  We had no trouble finding the place, as I had printed Google Maps directions.  We first parked in the parking lot at the southern end of the Mill Creek Greenway.  After asking a gentleman if we were in the right place, we realized that we could drive about a half-mile north on Balch Road to another parking lot closer to the dog park.  That parking lot has a porta-potty and ample room for probably 25 cars.  It also has a walkway under the Balch Road bridge over Mill Creek, so you don't have to cross Balch Road traffic with your dog.  Very well planned, indeed.

The park was a great success for us and Bella.  We all socialized very well.  The small dog enclosure was quite muddy, so the small dog owners rebelled and took over the large dog area as soon as it became vacant.  The variety of dogs was remarkable.  We will return soon.

The Great Toilet Seat Incident...

    There are people alive who didn't know until reading this that I was expelled from high school.  It's true.  During my senior year, I and a few of my closest friends were tossed out and had to be readmitted by our parents.

    It started because one of our well-loved teachers, Ms. Isabelle Jarvis, a teacher of English and Creative Writing, had to take a few weeks off for cancer treatment.  A substitute teacher named Mrs. Lusk was assigned to take her place during her absence.  Mrs. Lusk was no Isabelle Jarvis.  Nor could she ever have been.  Nonetheless, a few of us smart-alecky high school seniors decided to protest in a very cruel, immature way.  

It went down like this:Someone in my inner circle of friends (It might have been me; I really don't remember) got the brilliant idea.  Mrs. Lusk was such a half-ass teacher, we should give her a half of a toilet seat!  Collectively, we thought it was brilliant.  In the basement of my home was a bathroom that had not been used in years.  We removed the toilet seat, which was wood, cut it in half, cleaned up one half, and carefully wrapped it in Valentine's Day wrapping.  We put a heart-shaped card on the package that read, "To Mrs. Lush from All of Ush..."  And on Valentine's Day, we sneaked into her classroom very early and left it in her seat.    

Mrs. Lusk waited until her first class to open her "gift."  It was not pretty.  The class laughed; She cried and left the room.  The word spread throughout the school.  And the search for the culprits began in earnest.

 The school administration -- Principal Donald Sayles and Assistant Principal Charles Abba -- questioned all the usual suspects.  No one had a clue who might have done the dastardly deed.  Mrs. Lusk resumed teaching her classes, but there was always that question hanging over the school as to who might have committed this thoughtless, cruel act.  Several weeks passed, yet no one had been identified as the perpetrator.  My friends and I kept quiet.    One day, Mr. Abba appeared in our English class.  "As you all are aware, a horrible act was perpetrated against Mrs. Lusk a few weeks ago.  I assure you that we will find the person who committed this misdeed, and when we do, we will take appropriate action.  That person will never get into a respectable college or university.  They may never graduate from high school.  They will be disgraced."  Then he went on to be the "good cop."  "If the person who committed this act steps forward, we may show some consideration.  I encourage anyone who knows anything about the event to come to my office at any time to discuss it.  My door is open.  Thank you."    

That was just before the lunch hour.  My partners in crime and I discussed it during the lunch hour and decided to turn ourselves in.  One of the perps, Dennis L., was the son of the President of the PTA.  We all had honor-roll grade point averages.  We were all very active in class societies and projects.  What could they possibly do to us.  There were a few people who knew we had done it.  What if one of them squealed?   And so we went to Mr. Abba's office at 1:00 PM to face the music.  There were plenty of other people present in his waiting room.  He came in shortly after 1:oo and started around the room.
    "Angelo, what are you here for?"
    "I punched Mr. Pezzano 'cause he pissed me off."
    "Come back at 1:30."
    "How about you, Vinnie?  Why are you here?"
    "I got kicked out of Miss Tarbell's class for giving her some lip."
    "Come back at 2:00."
And so it went.  Finally, he got around to us.  "Hi, Dennis.  What brings you to my office?"
    "Bob and Rick and I are here to talk about the toilet seat incident."

He was shocked.  He spoke almost in a whisper.  "Come in my office and have a seat."  He led us into his office.  "If you boys know something about this incident, let me first assure you that the school will make every effort to protect you.  We will never allow the perpetrators to harm you in any way."
We looked at each other and then stated almost in unison, "We did it."
There was a prolonged silence.  Finally, Mr. Abba said "Oh, my God!" as he rushed out the door.  We waited more than an hour for his return.

Mr. Abba returned with Don Sayles, the Principal.  They informed us that they were convening a special faculty meeting at 4:30 PM to review our case and determine the punishment.  They were recommending that we all be suspended, only to be readmitted when accompanied by a parent.  We would no longer be eligible for the National Honor Society, since they planned to strip us of all of our "Activity Honor Credits."  These were "points" that you earned for participating in clubs, societies, and other extracurricular activities.  In our school, membership in the NHS was determined by the combination of grades and activity honor credits.  The ultimate disgrace would be that we would not get to wear the honor "shawl" that came with NHS membership and was worn over the graduation gown.  The faculty met and endorsed our punishment.  Mr. Sayles asked me if my parents had even the slightest clue what I had been up to.  I answered that my mother was aware of the whole thing, watching us cut the toilet seat in half.  In fact, I told him, "She said we were going to get ourselves in plenty of trouble, and that this caper was really stupid."  Mr. Sayles informed me in front of his staff and my friends that I was a barefaced liar.

I got home after a long, lonely walk.  My brother, Willy, who had recently been expelled from the University of Michigan, was home.  My mother was at Bridge Club and my father was playing golf, so I know it was a Thursday.  I explained to Willy what had happened.  He was amused.  When we heard my mother arriving, Willy said, "It's your funeral!"  He ran upstairs, where I knew he was listening at the top landing.  As soon as my mother came in the house, I started bawling as I told her the whole story.  I had to repeat everything when my father arrived home.

The next morning, my father was elected to accompany me to school and get me readmitted.  He and Mr. Sayles were old golfing friends, so we were greeted warmly, if awkwardly, as we entered Mr. Sayles' office.  My father apologized for my conduct and expressed how embarrassing the whole incident was for our family.  Mr. Sayles expressed how shocked the administration and faculty were to find out that three such outstanding students had stooped to such callous behavior.  Then my father did something totally unexpected.  He said, "Don, I understand you called Bob a liar.  The fact is that his mother did know about what the boys were doing and expressed her disapproval.  He was telling you the truth.  I'd like you to apologize to him for your accusation."  Mr. Sayles apologized awkwardly.  We soon left his office, my father left, and I went to class.  But the story doesn't end there.

It really bothered the three of us that we weren't going to get to be members of the National Honor Society.  So when the school was looking for a volunteer to run the annual Community Chest drive (later to become the United Fund), Dennis suggested that the three of us volunteer.  What a brilliant idea!  Maybe we could earn our way back into the school's good graces.  We ran the fund drive, raised more money by far than had ever been raised before, and eventually were granted full restoration of our activity honor credits.

Miss Jarvis returned to school that spring and I don't think she ever forgave us.

The Great Water Slide Adventure...

One of the few images I've been able to locate of the water slide at
the Get-A-Way Skateboard Park  I became very familiar with it!

I moved to Huntsville in 1978 to manage a skateboard park and teen recreation center.  Before long, as I have already documented, I was the general contractor in charge of building the skateboard park.  A couple of years later, I thought I had seen the last of that facility and had moved on with my own general contracting business, Creative Builders.

One day, as I was driving north on Huntsville's Memorial Parkway, I glanced to my left and saw the profile of a steel structure growing near where the Get-A-Way was located.  I turned left on Drake Avenue and then onto Leeman Ferry Road to investigate.  Sure enough, someone had dug a hole for a large swimming pool and was erecting the beginnings of a water slide.  A little research with some of the skateboarders told me what was going on.  As a means of increasing the cash flow of the facility, the management had decided to construct and open a water slide adjacent to the skate runs.  Over the next few weeks, I watched the structure grow -- first several supporting towers of steel, and finally a sinuous fiberglass channel connecting them.  It all looked very high-tech.

One day my phone rang.  It was none other than my old acquaintance Mr. C.D. Howard, the City of Huntsville Building Inspector.  The conversation was something like this:
C.D.: "Mr. Mead, this is C.D. Howard.  Do you know anything about the water slide that Mr. XXXXX is putting up at the skateboard park?"
Me:  "No more than you know, Sir.  I've seen it going up."
C.D.:  "Does he think I'm blind?  I see it everyday, driving down the Parkway.  He must think I can't see!"
Me: "I don't know about that, Sir."
C.D.: "Well, he finally got around to asking about a building permit.  They've got no health permit, no building permit, haven't had any drawings reviewed, haven't had any inspections.  He must think the law doesn't apply.  I'm not at all happy."
Me: "Yes, Sir."
C.D.: "Mr. Mead, I trust you and you're a fine builder.  You do things by the book."
Me: "Thank you, Sir."
About this time, I'm really confused as to where this conversation is going.
C.D. continues: "Mr. Mead, I'm going to tell Mr. XXXXX that if he wants to complete his waterslide, he will only be able to do it with you as the Contractor-of-Record.  He has some jake-leg unlicensed contractor from Decatur working on the thing, the drawings are no better than sketches, God only knows how well anything has been fabricated.  It's a real mess.  I'm just letting you know so when he calls you, you will have given it some thought.

You certainly don't have to take the job.  If you decide to do it, I advise you to make sure he hires you as an employee and that you perform all the construction duties as his employee, under the umbrella of his insurance.  Do not do it under your State License and your insurance."

I asked C.D. what it would take for him to accept the project given it's then-current status.  He said he would want a complete detailed set of "as-built" drawings, including a comprehensive measurement of the thickness of all the fiberglass components.  He said that if I accepted the job, his inspectors would work closely with me.

Sure enough, a few days later, Mr. XXXXX called. He was quite reserved as he asked if I'd consider coming back to work for him.  I told him of my conversation with C.D. Howard.  I also quoted him a total price of $10,000, a number that I would soon learn was the bargain of the century.  We struck a deal.  I went to his office a couple of days later to sign my contract.  Then began the real work.

Every day for the next few months, I spent at least a couple of hours climbing on that water slide and taking measurements.  I completed more than 20 large-scale pages of carefully crafted drawings -- every last beam, girder, bolt, rivet, concrete structure, electrical and plumbing systems, and that damnable fiberglass.  I made a large set of calipers with which I could gauge the thickness of the fiberglass every few inches with an accuracy of a few thousandths of an inch.  I worked in rain, wind, outrageous cold, sleet, and snow because I wanted to get the job done.  

The drawings were interesting because the structure was unlike anything I'd ever drawn before.  The steel towers were easy.  A plan view and a couple of elevations were usually sufficient to describe those structures, supplemented by some fastening details.  But the fiberglass structure was so free form, it was a real challenge.  I finally did a plan (overhead) view and then did a side view (elevation) as if the whole thing had been stretched out into a straight line.  In addition, I did cross-sections of the fiberglass channel every foot of its length, as well as details of the flanges that joined all the fiberglass components.  Completing the drawings took several weeks because I was completing other construction projects at the time.

Ultimately, I finished the job, the necessary permits were issued, and the facility was opened to the public.  Within a couple of years the entire park had closed for good.  The last I saw of the water slide, it had been sold to someone in Guntersville and was being stored out in the open behind a chain link fence.  I don't know if it ever was assembled again.

Walter W. "Chip" Squire... Not Forgotten

Courtesy of the Palm Valley American Legion Post 233
in Ponta Vedra Beach, Florida

In 1972, I accepted a job offer at the Ingalls Shipbuilding Division of Litton Industries in Pascagoula, MS.  The shipyard had grown very rapidly as a result of two huge contract wins – the design and construction of 9 amphibious assault ships, so-called LHAs, and thirty Spruance-class destroyers, the DD-963 program.  Each of these programs had an initial value of over $2 Billion!  Hiring for the shipyard was very aggressive.  I ended up having to commute from Biloxi, as that was the closest place I could find decent rental housing.  I lived in a small house on Pinewood Drive, off of Beauvoir Road, only a couple blocks from the beach.  The house belonged to an Air Force non-commissioned officer stationed at Keesler Air Force Base.

A few months after I began working at Ingalls, my organization, the Integrated Logistics Directorate, under the leadership of retired Navy Captain Ken Beyer, hired another gentleman named Walter Squire, who went by the name “Chip.”  Chip had been living and working in Jacksonville, FL, was about my age, was a navy veteran, and needed a temporary home.  I told him I had a couple spare bedrooms and that he was more than welcome to move in with me and share expenses.  We were soon roommates.  We lived together for several months while he looked for a more permanent housing arrangement.  Eventually, Chip commissioned a home to be built by the talented Carroll Ishee, but that’s a subject for another blog entry.

Chip made friends very quickly, and soon he was in a close social circle that included Clayton and Nettie Coffey as well as Ivan and Phyllis Foster.  Clay and Ivan worked very closely with Chip as Logistics liaison with the Navy customer.  The Navy customers seemed to warm up to Chip quite readily.  He was a very social creature, an active golfer, and made friends instantly.  I seem to recall that he focused primarily on the Destroyer program.  He was a terrific asset to Ingalls in maintaining favorable relations with the Navy.

Even though we were roommates and close friends, Chip was fairly close-mouthed with regard to part of his Navy experience.  Although he had not made the Navy his career, he had stayed on active duty longer than his initial obligated service.  His first tour of duty was as a riverine boat commander in Viet Nam, an assignment that was a very high risk endeavor.  After his tour ended (and he had some amazing stories!), he returned to the continental U.S., but he refused to tell me about the remaining couple of years, simply saying it was something he didn’t want to talk about.

Then one evening, after a few drinks, I guess Chip felt like sharing, and he wove the most amazing tale.  He described how after Viet Nam, he had advised the Bureau of Personnel that he wanted to continue in small craft, if possible.  He liked the intimacy of a small crew, the variety of duties required of all hands, and the informality of small craft duty.  He received orders to report to a certain hotel room in Miami on a certain day, wearing civilian attire.  When he knocked on the door, he was invited in, and was greeted by a gentleman at a desk.  An interview ensued during which Chip was asked if he had any problem working for “The Company.”  He realized that this was a reference to the CIA, and indicated that he had no issues working for them.

His assignment was to work as a tennis pro at a club in the Fort Lauderdale area.  He appeared to be a young, fairly wealthy individual who, in addition to being a very good tennis player, also had an affinity for ocean boat racing.  In fact, he had a Donzi cigarette boat moored at the club’s docks.  Not too many miles away, according to Chip, was a secret boat house with an identical Donzi, identical down to the last serial number, except equipped with machine guns, rockets, and grenade launchers.  That was his boat for special assignments.  He ferried members of the Cuban exile forces in and out of Cuba.  That was the “Navy” duty that he had been so reluctant to talk about.

I think that the years of working under pressure had taken a toll on Chip.  He was extremely high strung.  He was hyperactive and had noticeable tremors much of the time.  He was, like myself at the time, a heavy drinker.  He never dated anyone during the time I knew him.  He was a loner, but extremely loyal to those colleagues whom he befriended.

A few years after I left the coast, I had returned for a visit and heard that Chip had died.  He had come to work one day, said he wasn’t feeling well when he went home at lunch, and didn’t come back in the afternoon.  Clay Coffey, a close friend, had gone to check on him and found him dead of a heart attack.  He was 47 years old -- way too young to be gone so suddenly.

A recent search of the Internet for any trace of Chip yields very little.  Before moving to Pascagoula, he had been the President of the Palm Valley American Legion Post 233 in Ponta Vedra Beach, Florida, not too far south of Jacksonville.  I also found a record of his burial in the Crestlawn Memorial Park in East Ocean Springs, MS, where his marker simply reads, “Walter W. Squire  1936 to 3-3-1983.”

And there was a tantalizing bit of information -- incorporation information on a company called Logistic Management Service, Incorporated.  The company was formed on 12 January, 1983, less than two months before Chip’s death.  The other participants in the corporation were the agent, Harry B. Kelly, and a Thomas L. Stennis (the same name as an attorney currently practicing in Ocean Springs, MS).  I seem to recall a Harry Kelly who worked with Chip at the shipyard.  One can only wonder what this company might have become had Chip not passed away.

Robert "Bob" Alfred Rutledge (May 23, 1925 - September 16, 2015)

A few weeks ago, the following notice appeared on the Obituary pages of several Alabama newspapers: “Robert A. "Bob" Rutledge, 90, Huntsville, passed away on Wednesday, September 16, 2015.Mr. Rutledge was a retired Major, U.S. Army. He served as a combat engineer in the South Pacific during WWII, an infantryman during the Korean War, and as an Ordnance Missile Officer from 1956 to 1966. He was a mental health worker in Huntsville and retired from Crestwood Hospital. Bob was a faithful member of First Christian Church in Huntsville. He was preceded in death by his wife, Bobbie Rutledge and a son, R. Michael Rutledge. He is survived by his daughters, Theresa Kay Furnas of St. Petersburg, FL and Melody R. Arrington of Fayetteville, TN; two granddaughters, Callie Rachel Arrington of Murfreesboro, TN and Olivia Grace Arrington of Fayetteville, TN. Bob was a devoted and loving husband and father. He spent his life serving and helping others, throughout his military and mental health careers. He is deeply missed by many. The family will receive friends Sunday, October 25th from 2:00 - 4:00 p.m. at Berryhill Funeral Home followed by a 4:00 memorial service. In lieu of flowers, memorial donations may be made to First Christian Church. Berryhill Funeral Home is assisting the family.”

There were no pictures, no fancy embellishments, just a simple notice.  What the notice didn’t inform its readers was the nature of Mr. Rutledge’s “mental health” career.  I knew Bob Rutledge as an alcohol and drug counselor in the special A&D unit at Crestwood Hospital in Huntsville, AL.  I first met him the day I was admitted to a 28-day treatment program in early August, 1983.  And I didn’t particularly care for him at that time.

Bob would describe himself as a “recovering drunk and dope fiend.”  He didn’t mince words.  He had 28 days to convince the people under his care that they had a serious problem but that there was a solution.  He had been a hopeless chronic drunk and dope addict whose life had been transformed by a simple program of recovery built around twelve simple steps.  Bob’s way of communicating this crucial message was to be absolutely, brutally frank.  He never danced around the facts.  Any patient in that unit who tried to make excuses for his behavior or minimize the notion of being dependent on their drug of choice was instantly confronted with Bob Rutledge’s reality lesson.  He was a relentless bearer of truth and a powerful example for all of us “drunks and dope fiends.”

Bob became my friend and counselor during that 28-day stay.  Later, I would occasionally run into him at various AA meetings around town and sometimes at church.  He always had a kind word and the demeanor of a man at total peace with himself.  His life, in spite of some turbulence in his early years, became a life very well spent indeed.  Bob, I’ll see you at the Meeting in the Sky, my friend.

Father George Mathis, Artist…

The Website of the Glenmary Home Missioners includes a page dedicated to Glenmarian George Mathis.  It includes the following tribute, “CINCINNATI (August 29, 2012)—Father George Mathis, 84, a native of Euclid, Ohio, and a Glenmary Home Missioner for 61 years, died peacefully Aug. 26 in Kingsport, Tenn. Father Mathis was ordained in 1955. He served in a wide range of roles as a Glenmarian—including pastor of Georgia, Tennessee and Kentucky missions; council member; department director; and liturgical environment artist, designer and consultant.

"Father Mathis was a deeply spiritual, faithful and artistically talented man who never hesitated to share his gifts with others," said Father Chet Artysiewicz, Glenmary's president. "He was a brother to us all and will be sorely missed."

He grew up during the Depression in a financially struggling family, the third of four brothers. "My parish church provided something very important, good and beautiful in my life," he said in a 1977 interview. He said he always had an appreciation for and desire to bring out the inherent beauty in people and things—and discovered he had innate talents in these areas.

"Ministry and priesthood are easy and natural ways to respond to the fractures and brokenness in people," Father Mathis reflected in that interview. "Through ministry I can help others discover or uncover their own forgotten or doubted beauty and value."

Following his ordination, he served as an associate pastor at missions in Franklin and Guthrie, Ky., and Swainsboro, Ga., before moving on to his first pastorate in Claxton, Ga., where he ministered from 1960 to 1965.

Father Mathis served in leadership roles in Glenmary for the next 13 years—as a council member, promotion and mission office director, and formation director—before pastoring missions in Pulaski and Fayetteville, Tenn. (1979-83). Following these assignments, he was appointed Glenmary's personnel director (1983-87) before returning to mission areas to pastor two more Kentucky missions—Vanceburg (1987-88) and Grayson (1988-93).

Even as a young associate pastor and pastor, Father Mathis also used his art and design skills to enhance the liturgical settings where his Catholic communities worshiped, as well as advising other missions on design. His talent enabled him to carry out these efforts with no formal training.

However, during a one-year period of renewal from 1978 to 1979, he took courses and worked in various art media, developing and refining skills that would eventually change the course of his ministry. To cap off the year, he learned stained-glass art and design from a master craftsman in Assisi, Italy—and found out he loved it.

Providentially, as pastor of the Fayetteville, Tenn., mission (1979-83), he was able to put his skills to work in helping design a new church building. He also helped create 10 stained-glass windows and introduced a collaborative process he later used at many other times and places.

First he created the designs and then trained mission volunteers to cut glass and assemble the windows. This method, he said, allowed the financially strapped congregation "to bring color, beauty and inspiration into their worship space" for about 10 percent of what a professional studio would have charged. Most important, he realized "the windows were only a byproduct. What we were building was community between mission members."

Father George at a drafting table designing a panel

In 1993, Father Mathis requested and received Glenmary senior-member status at age 65 so he could have more time for his art and design work. "God gave me these talents, too," he said, "and I wanted more time to use and share them." As a senior member, he also served as a sacramental minister for Glenmary and diocesan congregations near his Kingsport home.

Before his death, Father Mathis completed 15-20 stained-glass projects—at Glenmary missions, other Catholic churches, a Christian church, and more. He employed the group method on the majority of jobs, an approach that, to his knowledge, no one else was using. In addition, he served as a liturgical design consultant for a number of Glenmary missions and other rural parishes with very limited budgets.

"I feel very blessed," Father Mathis said in 2010, "that with the support of the Glenmary community, I've been able to do pastoral ministry and be a spiritual leader, as well as having the opportunity to use some of my other talents to serve God and other people."

Father Mathis is survived by nephews, nieces, fellow Glenmary missioners and friends.

Memorials may be made to Glenmary Home Missioners, PO Box 465618, Cincinnati, OH, 45246.”

I first met the man I knew as “Father George” in 1981 when I first moved to Lincoln County, Tennessee.  At that time, there was no separate Catholic church building in the county.  A unique Christian community had taken root that was a cooperative venture between the Presbyterians in the Parks City area, and the county’s Catholics.  The sign in front of the church read, “St. John’s Presbyterian Church – St. Raphael Catholic Church – Christians Cooperating.”  Each Sunday, Father George would celebrate Catholic Mass at 8:30 AM.  At 10:00, we would have a joint Sunday school with both Catholic and Presbyterian leaders.  Then, at 11:15, the Presbyterian congregation would hold their Sunday service.  It was a remarkable relationship that had resulted in a truly wonderful worship environment.

Unfortunately for that cooperative community, the Catholic population of the county was expanding rapidly and needed its own facilities.  It fell to George Mathis to lead the construction of a new building on land that the congregation had acquired years earlier.  As is told on the Website of that congregation, “In 1968 the parish purchased a small lot on Wilson Parkway, which was to be a potential site for a new parish location.  …As a group, the parish worked diligently to raise sufficient money to purchase land and to commence construction on the church building itself. Foundations, funds, and individuals were solicited for contributions. During the fund raising phase a woman contacted the church, and offered a very large donation, to be granted anonymously, provided that the new church was named for St. Anthony. Her wish was granted in June 1982, and the change of the parish name to St. Anthony was approved. In June 1982, the parish purchased approximately five acres on the Huntsville Highway, subject to the approval of Bishop James D. Niedergeses. The property included a small frame house that would provide a residence for the pastor, and a four-car garage to use as a work and storage area, and provide meeting space for gathering after Mass. The parish sold the property on Wilson Parkway, and on Sunday, August 8, 1982, ground was broken for the new church, the first Catholic Church ever built in Lincoln County. The next month the Parish Council voted to include a new rectory in the building program. In the meantime, renovation of half of the garage area was being done by volunteer labor to provide a space for meetings and small socials.”

"Prayer Rising as Incense" and "Pentecost"
Windows at St. Anthony of Padua, Fayetteville, TN
Image courtesy of Flick River: SouthernBreeze

Father George worked closely with the new building’s architect.  He reminded him that the Hebrews were a nomadic people, and that their original places of worship would have been tents.  He wanted the building to have that “feel.”  And so the building became a structure of large flat planes, like those of a tent, and appeared to be anchored at its corners.  And in ten locations throughout the sanctuary, provision was made for stained glass windows.  George informed the Parish Council that he was planning to use parish volunteers to build these beautiful windows!

He had been hatching this idea since he had studied stained glass art in Italy.  He felt certain that he could instruct the volunteers in the craft of cutting and mounting the individual colored panes.  He would perform as designer and adviser.  What could possibly go wrong?

George began by submitting several sets of ideas for themes that he had sketched out on paper, showing all ten panels in miniature.  The parish council selected one set as their favorite, and Father George then rendered each of these ten selected panels in full scale on large sheets of craft paper.  These would serve as our life-size patterns.  We set up a couple of large work tables in an old, drafty, dirt-floored garage that existed on the property, adjacent to the site where the church was already taking shape.  A group of volunteers was assembled to receive training from George.  We proceeded with the windows in the order that they would be needed in the building.  One of the workers who contributed most was Joe Bonin.  He was married to one of the members of the church and had gotten recruited.  He was the only member of the crew with any experience!  George even recruited his brother Bill to come to Fayetteville for a few weeks to help out.

A beautiful window George designed
for Holy Trinity Church in
Swainsboro, Georgia

Within a few weeks, the windows were completed.  They were spectacular and remain so to this day.  And they remain to this day a tribute to the artistry of their author, George Mathis.  The subjects, Prayer Rising as Incense, Pentecost, Holy Spirit, the Elements of Communion, are all intended to inspire and enhance the worship experience.  George knew exactly what he was doing.  We were all especially blessed to have known him.

Not long after we had completed the church’s construction, I was beginning to come to terms with my alcoholism.  Margo and I went to talk to Father George and we met privately in the new sanctuary.  When I shared that I thought I might have a problem with alcohol, George told me that I had a sickness and then he surprised me by anointing me with Holy Chrism, a ceremony of healing.  He then told me I was in luck.  It seems that he served two churches, the one in Fayetteville and the Immaculate Conception Church in Pulaski, Tennessee.  And in Pulaski, he was assisted by an ordained Catholic deacon named Art.  And Art just happened to be a recovering alcoholic with over 35 years’ sobriety.  And by the way, Art was in his office that day and would be happy to talk to me.

I went and talked to Art that day.  It would be a few more months until I finally established my own sobriety date, but the events of that day were very much part of my recovery story.  Thanks, George, for life itself.  Rest in peace, my artist friend.

The God of My Understanding...

...is an abstract impressionist.