Singing Friends Memories, Part 3

Long story here. Get a cup of something and join me on a trip.

Close to ten years ago, we were scheduled to sing at a Presbyterian church. The one and only time we ever sang in one of those. The way that all came about was that the church had decided to have a concert, and not knowing who to call, called the local SG music association, and they called us and set everything up.

This was one of the largest churches we ever sang in. Beautiful church, Cambridge, OH.

About ten minutes before the concert was to start, the pastor walked up to me, big smile on his face, and thanked me profusely for being there. Then, he said, "I am sorry, but I am not going to be here tonight. My family and I are going out to eat. Have a good time." He walked out the front door.

That was on Saturday evening. By Sunday morning, we were to sing in Princeton, WV. Somewhere around 300 miles. Now, to get from Cambridge to Princeton, there is only one route. Only one. Interstate 77. Until you get to Charleston, WV, it is not a bad stretch of road. Then, it all goes down hill. And up hill, and around the hills. All at the same time.

I 77 south of Charleston has been named one of the most dangerous highways in the US. I agree. It is nasty. I know of people that will drive a few hundred miles out of their way just to avoid it. Count me among that crowd.

That night, as we drove south out of Charleston, it started to mist. And sleet, and snow a little. And then it got foggy. Really foggy, all while it snowed, misted, and sleeted. (Is "sleeted" a word?????)I'll be honest, I was scared to death. 45 MPH, and I had a death grip on the steering wheel of that bus.

I 77 is a toll road south of Charleston. At the first toll booth, I paid my toll, and the guy in the toll booth asked me if I saw the straight truck pulled to the side of the road about 50 feet in front of us. I did, of course. I am driving, therefore I better not be blind.

"Pull up behind that straight truck. He wants to give you some doughnuts."

"He wants to WHAT!?!?!?"

"He wants to give you some doughnuts."

"Am I safe?"

"Do you mean is he an ax murderer or something?"

"Yeah, something like that!"

"No, he's fine. He just wants to give you some doughnuts."

So, I pull up behind said straight truck. As I parked the bus, the driver of the truck was rummaging around in the back. I jumped out the door of the bus, and asked the guy, "Can I help you?"

"You're a Southern Gospel group, aren't you?"

Well, let's see, did the old bus give us away?

"Yes, we are."

"Well, I want to give you some doughnuts."

"If you don't mind me asking, why?"

"Oh, I do this for a lot of SG groups. The McKammeys, the Isaacs, the Easter's. Lot's of 'em."

At this point, he handed me 3 FLATS of doughnuts. Large flats. Very Large.

I told him, "Man, there are only four of us on the bus."

That was fine, he just wanted to help us out.

Seems he drove this route seven nights a week, delivering doughnuts. He said that most of these doughnuts had come out of the oven at 11:00 that evening. It is now 1:00 am, Sunday morning. Fresh doughnuts. Sticky buns, honey buns, glazed, filled, chocolate, chocolate covered. Every kind imaginable.

He asked me where we were headed. Exit 9, Princeton. "That's my exit, follow me."

So we did, in the sleet, and the snow, and the fog, and the mist. At 70 MPH. At times I could just barely make out his tail lights. So, with a honey bun in one hand, the steering wheel in the other, and a lot of prayer, we made it to Exit 9.

We both pulled off the side of the interstate, and we gave him one of every cd we had with us.

We ended up getting to the church at about 3 am. We slept in the bus. The last time we had been to this church, they had had the best meal we had ever been served at a church carry-in. Very good. I figured that they would do that again.

There were about 200 in attendance that morning. 5 minutes after the final Amen, there was only one person left. He was to lock up, and even he was in a hurry. I assume that they all were trying to beat the Baptists to the local Golden Corral.

So, here we are, 400 miles from home. No Sunday dinner. Just 500 or so fresh doughnuts. However, if I were to eat only doughnuts, I would get very sick.

So, we stopped at Brother King's house to eat. Do you know him? His first name is Burger.

That night, we sang in the Portsmouth, Ohio, area. The only thing memorable about that church was the sign on the doors in the church that led to the sanctuary. It said, "Women in pants not ALLOWED!"

One man from the church proudly told me how many women the pastor had sent home because of the pants they had on.

My thought was, "And God cried."

Last, but not least, we hired and fired a bass guitar player. All in one weekend.

And you all thought that singing was glamorous.