A Fffailure To Cccommunicate

Some of the most uncomfortable moments for me is when I see a person struggle with stuttering. Most people don't know the horror if they themselves haven't been stuck in a verbal loop with onlookers waiting for a complete sentence to make it out of their mouths. I was a stutterer for many years, as was my dad's brother, Uncle Jack. I guess we never fully heal from the social scourge of stuttering. We are like alcoholics: recovering on a daily basis.

Mel Tillis is known for his stuttering as much as his singing. Moses was said to have had the defect, and relied on his brother Aaron to communicate for him. Aesop (of fable fame), the emperor Claudius, and the orator Demosthenes, were all strapped with the stutter affliction. Most children who stutter usually outgrow it by their teens. Some, however, carry the speech defect into adulthood.

Stutterers, because they are verbally quick on their feet, are rather resourceful. Their survival depends on finding other ways to say the same thing to avoid the dreaded stammer. Consonants, those pesky varmints, are what we stutterers avoid at all costs--anything in the language that stops the flow such as the T, D, P and K sounds-- serious sentence killers! Vowels are our friend. If we had only vowels in the English language there would be no stuttering.

Some say singing your words is a cure. That can be true. But have you ever experienced someone singing their sentences to you in a conversation? That's just weird and probably more awkward than stuttering. The biggest help for me is to just slow down. If we record ourselves talking slow enough to get the words out, and listen back, it sounds fairly normal. Many times we think that people are less patient in conversation than they actually are. If I take a deep breath, relax, and form each syllable, usually I can speak as though no verbal challenge even existed. Isn't it ironic that all the famous folks aforementioned were(or are) renowned communicators?

The next time you experience a stutterer, just be patient and don't try to finish their sentences for them. They might be only a consonant away from uttering, "Hey, look out for that poisonous snake!"

Back to the Grill

I was reminded of my son Joshua's baby blanket recently. The last time we saw it several years ago, it was in tatters. By the time Brenda cut the worn areas away back in the day, Blankie was probably 4 square inches in size. It still did the trick for a toddler who's main intention was to feel the softness of the cotton and the synthetic silk edging against his face while he sucked his thumb. Now married and far removed from his security blanket, Josh has little or no memory of Blankie.

Some of us haven't moved on from the security we find in our comfort zones. Everyone has them. From out-dated hair styles to the fear of changing careers, we scamper to the nearest handle bar that we have created for ourselves. We hold on tight to that which we know and trust to come through with the familiar results that our comfort zones have always provided. A friend of mine often says that when his management position at a restaurant caused frustrations, he always found himself going back to the grill--back to the part of his job that he knew he was good at doing. His new job as manager took him into new areas of the hospitality business that were very challenging. "Back to the grill" has become a catch-phrase for me when I do the same thing in my own life. The "grill" can be replaced by any "security blanket" to which we cling. Fear of failure is the monster that usually forces us to retreat.

The problem with safety zones (the exceptions being wisely respecting red traffic lights and refraining from sticking one's hand into a lion's cage, as well as many more of the like...) is that we usually run backward to find them. They are mileposts in life that we trust but are, nevertheless, in the past. When we keep moving forward in life we will continually face resistance. Pushing through challenges can be painful and exhausting. But when we do come out on the other side, we are better for it.

I have made some tough life-decisions in the past year including losing weight and getting healthy; to stop biting my nails; to do a CD of new songs with my buddy Gary Sadler; delving even deeper into my desire to serve our church through the gifts God has given me. These things might seem rather simple to some. But the decisions were made knowing that resistance stood in the way of their accomplishment. I am not saying that I have conquered fear, but I am rejoicing in the new vistas that are before me these days. Brenda's happy, too.

Meek or Weak?

My idea of "tough guy" has changed over the years. I used to envy the kid at school who had everybody's respect by pushing them around and being a bully. The word sissy comes to mind for anyone who would not respond to his provocations. Now as an adult, I am learning the skill of restraint as Jesus taught when He referred to Himself as "meek and lowly" in Matthew 11:28, 29:

"Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am gentle and humble in heart (meek & lowly), and you will find rest for your souls."

Rest for my soul sounds like a great goal to achieve in this crazy, stress-filled world. Jesus' pathway to rest seems like it would lead to strife instead. But Jesus always provoked His audience with truth--many times through the use of opposites. He usually preached what was unexpected. That was especially true in the political climate of His day where the "logical" conclusion to the difficulties strapped upon the Jewish population by the Roman government was to retaliate. Jesus challenged His listeners to rethink their response through the message of the Sermon on the Mount, found in Matthew, chapters 5 through 7.

Matthew 5:5 is where we find Jesus' statement from the Beatitudes, "Blessed are the meek, for they will inherit the earth." The Greek word for meek is praus. Many mistakenly presume that to be meek is to be a push-over. The opposite is true. There is one definition from a study of the word that , to me, stands out the most. It is the image of a rancher and his broken colt. A colt is wild and not useful to his owner until it is brought under control. The taming of a wild stallion is a stronger picture. If being meek is like a reigned-in stallion, then the actual conclusion can be made that: he who is meek represents power under control.

The opposite of meek is weak. I am useful to God when my life is reigned-in and under His control. Jesus was the greatest example of power under control. When He could have retaliated against His aggressors, He chose to restrain Himself in favor of a higher purpose. I am continuing to discover new insights into this rebel, Jesus. His message to the world usually confounds the wise. But I will continue to learn from Him because His teaching brings rest to my weary soul.

Virtue

At 50 years old, I'm still learning to follow Jesus like a kindergartner. There are things in life that keep popping up. And like most lessons, I don't enjoy the process. I realized this week that, through some personal struggles that have bogged me down lately, emotion isn't a very reliable leader. Wisdom must lead and emotions will follow.

I have made some spiritual decisions lately that defy any earthly sense I have. When in a quandary as to what to do or how to turn, I know that the greatest wisdom lies in God's view point of the situation. He sees from the advantage of being the Alpha and Omega, the Beginning and the End. He has love and concern for me and a greater purpose and plan for my life. I am reminded that I have been placed here at this time, in this hemisphere, with a set of skills that are unique and a specific calling and duty to fulfill as a team player for His greater eternal initiative.

I have always understood virtue, in the classical Greek definition, as the true purpose or design for an object (In other words, a hammer is for hammering nails and a screw driver is for setting screws, etc. Using them for other purposes defies the designer's deliberate intention). If I operate within His purpose and design for me, then I am virtuous in the truest sense of the word. When I am virtuous, I am fulfilling my God-assignment-- in the right place, at the right time, for His bidding.

My problem is that my flesh wants to run from where I know He's leading me. God doesn't concern Himself with time or my propensity to get restless. I have to believe, as I said earlier, that emotion is a poor leader. His wisdom is telling me to hang on. He also assured me that there is a reward in store. But obedience toward His Word defies everything that my earthly eyes perceive. Even so, I know I need to follow His truth and wisdom. I've seen it over and over again: after I set my direction and follow Him, the feelings follow. But Lord, don't make me wait too long!

The Need For Tweed

I watched a documentary last night about Jimi Hendrix. He was playing a Fender Stratocaster. George Harrison of the Beatles played one, too. Buddy Holly made the Strat iconic and stirred the hearts of future guitar-slingers to one day get their own. Buck Owens and Don Rich, the twang masters from Bakersfield, both played the Stratocaster's big brother, the Telecaster. Fender guitars in the golden era were dreamed up, assembled and shipped out to the world from a factory in my home town of Fullerton, California, by a guy who also grew up there--Leo Fender.

Electric guitars are out front, strapped to the shoulders of their players, there for all to see. But the little box that makes the electric guitar sing is often hidden in the back line, away from the eyes of the audience. These little noise makers, called amplifiers, were actually the first thing Leo Fender, inventor and proprietor of Fender Musical Instruments until 1965, took an interest in. He didn't invent the guitar amplifier but certainly brought them to a new level when electric and steel guitarists came into Leo's Fullerton shop to see if he, a radio repair guy, could fix them. The placement of the electronics many times made the amps very difficult to service. He then decided to create his own amps that would incorporate his client's tonal preferences with accessibility for future maintenance. Preferring the solitude of his work bench, he wandered out of the shop on occasion to see musicians in action and pick their brains as to what they desired in an instrument and amplifier. He was even known to walk on stage during a performance and adjust an amp while the guitarist was playing! The functionality of classic Fender designs were brought about through collaboration between Leo, his associates, and many working musicians.

After 1965, when Fender was sold to the entertainment company, CBS, the Fender name remained but the quality began to suffer dramatically over the years. The amplifiers created during Leo's tenure are passionately sought after today for their tone and collectible value. My first amp was a Fender, as was my first "real" guitar. I have an affinity for single-coil pickups (Fenders are known for single-coils as Gibsons are famous for humbucker pickups). The designs of those "tweed" amps of the 50's were so well made they are still being played today on stages and in studios around the world--some operating with their original parts.

My desire to have an actual Fender Tweed Deluxe was met last week...well, sort of. Fender has put out re-creations of their tweed amps in the past, to mixed reviews. But Victoria Amp Company, an Illinois manufacturer, has lovingly re-created a painstakingly-accurate Fender Deluxe with the 5E3-type circuit as a part of their Tribute Tweed Amp series. So, I will enjoy a little piece of home with my new Victoria 20112. She will sit next to her new friend, the Dr. Z Maz 18 Jr., in my studio. I guess the Deluxe and I have some things in common: we were both conceived in Fullerton, born to play guitar, and are deeply proud of our heritage.



Left: My new Victoria 20112 with a Telecaster

Below: Leo Fender

Position Of The Sun

I love the fall--it seems to be teasing me these days. In less than a week it we be here. The summer is stubborn and won't give in to the cooler weather that I am longing for. As the air gets crisper and the grass and leaves start to lose moisture, the sun takes on a more orange hue. You can look right into it's face during autumn as opposed to the summer sun, where your eyes seem to melt with the quickest glance.

Music, like smell, can jar memories and create soundtracks for reflection. Some songs have a distinct fall character. Fall songs have a more somber feel. It is at this time of year that I, as younger person, made the evaluation whether or not my summer (and life) was successful. It always meant that I had to wait for another year to get that chance for the girl, or the car, or the guitar. Today, as the summer is coming to an end, I make the customary evaluation and feel blessed and thankful that I have seen my greatest dreams fulfilled.

The comedian Kevin Nealon expresses my state-of-mind best when discussing one of his favorite songs, Life In A Northern Town. "There's something about this song that evokes memories of my travels through Europe in my early twenties, finding my way and making new friends. In a weird way, it has to do with the position of the sun...I know, crazy."

When Movie Stars Look Their Age

Lord, help us! I just saw a photo montage on a popular website that had the heading: When Movie Stars Lose Their Looks. Clicking through the pictures, I realized that I was older than many of the stars on the list. Brenda says women have always been aware that, when in public, someone is always watching and, God forbid, may be wielding a camera. So, as she asserts, if you don't wanna get caught looking like a frump, go out in public with your makeup on.

I have been known to drag the trash cans to the curb in my pajamas. There is something acceptable about it (to me anyway...). I make it a rule, though, to never drive my car in night clothes because wearing them beyond the front yard is "trailer park" in my rule book. I am always amused to see ladies with curlers bouncing and slippers scraping the floor when I go to the store. Where does their radius of concern begin: 5 miles from home; 10 miles? I mean, how far into the public do some folks wander before they see the need to put on actual clothes?

Looking at the star photos, I am elated. Without makeup, fancy clothes and Photoshop, these people look pretty average. Some of these high-profile fame junkies need a rest, too. They think a big floppy hat and Jackie O sunglasses hide the real deal--giving them a few seconds out of their 15 minutes of fame to look skanky. Even if they try with all their might, their hands will tell the truth. It is tough to hide our real age from that part of our bodies (I like to look for women with the proverbial, Seinfeld-labeled "man hands." You can pull your face back over your skull and tie it in a knot with plastic surgery, but it's hard to fake youth when reality is right there, staring at you, on the top-side your weathered hands).

There, I have vented this morning's frustration. I am glad to know that to be human is to be imperfect. We all have blemishes--some more than others. It's comforting to know that some of the most glamorous movie stars, away from all the smoke and mirrors, haven't actually lost their looks, they just look their age.

The Delivery

A box was leaning against my front door the other day. It was a UPS delivery, reminding me that, even though I thought I was the unlucky Harvill brother, maybe my fortunes have turned.

When we were kids, Rob, Jon and I spent a few Saturdays at the Fox Fullerton theater, watching matinees. On one particular Saturday, dad drove us downtown to the theater to see a series of cartoon features. We were encouraged to put our names in for several prizes to be given away that afternoon. When we left the theater after the festivities ended, both Jon and Rob exited with toys under their arms. Unfortunately, I left empty-handed. It's silly, but I think I took that experience with me into adulthood. I felt rejection, in a way, that day. A time or two since, I considered bad luck was the reason for not getting what I desired.

A few weeks ago, I was checking out a website dedicated to 70's classic rock artists. On a side panel, I noticed an invitation to enter a drawing for a free electric guitar. The only requirement was to leave an email address and answer a seemingly simple classic rock trivia question about the singer, Meatloaf. The guitar was to be autographed by him. It was so easy--I thought it was a joke (everyone has seen The Rocky Horror Picture Show at a midnight showing as a teenager, right?).

I was surprised to receive an email a few weeks later stating that I answered the question correctly (I already knew that!), and then requested I confirm my address so they could ship me the Fender electric guitar I won. Quickly, my doubts kicked in and I thought this must be a scam. I realized after a quick visit back to the website that I wasn't being hustled, and proceeded to confirm my address to procure my winnings. I kind of forgot about it all until Brenda saw the box at the door. I knew it was the Strat, sitting there waiting for me!

Even though the guitar isn't worth very much, autograph notwithstanding, I received a wink from heaven that brought warmth to my heart. The Lord was letting me know that luck doesn't exist. He reminded me that His goodness and mercy have followed me all the days of my life--that I am a blessed man. Just look at the proof in my life that God has given me so much. He was telling me that day, "Enjoy, Jamie!"

Rockview Dairy

After I moved away from my hometown back in 1980, the memories slowly faded over the years into romantic watercolor pictures, replacing many of the stark realities that drew me away from there. Though I love my life in Tennessee, I have a fondness for my Orange County upbringing. There is a group on Facebook I visit every so often called Fullerton Memories. I can search for information there about my hometown, reading idyllic posts of others who once called it home. As an adult, things seem smaller than they did as a kid. Everything seemed so much bigger then. Sometimes our adult eyes spoil the charm of our recollections. Still, there are bigger-than-life memories that never change. We had this drive-thru grocery store, not even a quarter-mile from my home. To visit there was a treat, and a wonderful adventure for a kid like me.

Rockview Dairy was a staple for those too lazy to actually get out of the car for milk, bread or cigarettes. The idea was novel and basically preceded the burger eat-on-the-run phenomenon we take for granted today. The Rockview guy would greet you from the driver-side door at the opening of the enclosed breezeway to take your order. On the passenger-side you could watch the workers through a window filling clear glass bottles with milk, held neatly together in quads by metal wire carriers (The dairy also made deliveries to homes--but for some reason, the Harvills always journeyed out to procure our dairy needs). After the items were gathered, the bell on the manual cash register signaled the final heat of the adventure. After cash and coin were exchanged, we headed out of the breezeway, into the sun. On days when dad took us to the beach, leaving mom to a quiet house, we drove through Rockview for a gallon of their delectable fruit punch and a pound of frosted animal cookies.

One day, several years ago, I took a trip to visit my old neighborhood. As I drove down Orangethorpe, I noticed something missing on the left side of the street, across from where Owl Rexall used to be. I realized that Rockview Dairy was a vacant lot. It was gone...and nobody asked for my permission to tear it down. I guess some new project was more important to the property owner than the dairy. I will miss that old place. The concept of drive-thru grocery shopping still seems cutting edge to me. Maybe someone will resurrect the idea, serve the lazy masses, and create wonder in the eyes of children from a new generation.

Rockview Dairy on Orangethorpe in Fullerton, CA.
This photo was the last time I saw it in 2000.

What Would ______ Do?

Sometimes life brings on challenges that are not easily understood. We go back through the check list and try to find something that we left undone, causing the situation we are in. Other times, life can throw a sucker punch, leaving us reeling and trying to regain balance. In any event, life can overwhelm us to the point of despair. Sometimes we don't always know how to respond with grace. Brenda and I, when confronted with certain things that come down the pike, look at each other and usually say, "What would ______ do?" Our response to difficulties show what we are really made of.

The standard "fill in the blank" would be, as you might guess, Jesus. But not always. Sometimes it is someone who we admire--an imperfect human who has shown grace under fire. Their response to an accusation or a difficult situation exposed an inward calm and class that turned adversity into a display of courage and private dignity. In this age of Jerry Springer, and the myriad of characters who insist on displaying their dirty laundry for the world to see, there seems to be a decreasing measure of propriety when responding to a hostile world. In Proverbs 17:28, the Bible says, "Even a fool is thought wise if he keeps silent, and discerning if he holds his tongue." The folks who show restraint are the ones I admire.

A few of the greatest examples of character from recent history for me to emulate are Jacqueline Kennedy, Coretta Scott King, Rev. Billy Graham and Ronald Reagan. In the case of Graham, I have watched his responses to sharp religious criticism on TV interviews with the dexterity of a well-trained athlete. We may not agree with everything these people have said or done, but one thing is clear: they have all displayed a sense of refinement when the glaring spotlight was upon them. The reason that I'm such an avid reader of history is so I can glean wisdom from lives well lived. We may get off the starting block a little shaky, but the important thing is that, in the end, we triumph.

When Leaders Disappoint

On a weekly grocery shopping trip to Alpha Beta with my mom back in the late 60's, I remember seeing my teacher there and being confused, wondering why she wasn't at school in my class room. She was my teacher, not a regular person! My little mind surmised that she lived in my school room and never came out except for lunch or recess. My concept of authority was being shaped since birth, and it goes something like this: leaders are important; they have a great responsibility to enforce the rules--therefore, they are purveyors of what is right and what is wrong; they are our models of decency and honor. What does that have to do with my teacher, Alpha Beta and my high standard of what a leader should be? It is a great disappointment when our leaders fail to live up to our expectations, the ones they taught us to aspire to.

I have been reading a book, Hellhound On His Trail, about the assassination of Martin Luther King Jr.and the subsequent hunt for his killer. In it, Hampton Sides exposes the human failings of many leaders caught up in the surrounding drama, especially MLK. Not to sound naive, but I really was disappointed with the gaping character flaws that were evident in King. Of course he was imperfect. But he was a preacher, for goodness sake! He was married with kids at home--their pillar of strength. My notions of a perfect leader have been daily dashed, with disappointment littering the path, leading away from my moral training since birth. It all falls apart. Humans fail--miserably.

Even though I want to find a Jimmy Stewart, or a Frank Capra-like standard in my society to lead me, and to charge ahead into the uncertainty of the future, I am afraid that it doesn't exist and never has. It is therefore up to me, a husband, father, Christian, citizen and leader to make wise choices. I may fail, but I have a standard--and it's not just any man, it is Jesus Christ. Other than my Savior, there is no perfect person. Politics, religion, education and journalism are riddled with characters who have no other goal than to pad their own lifestyles with ill-gotten gain. My simple role is to just keep my head down, trusting that God is my agent, walking in faith and in the light of His Word, making wise choices and taking the heat from the inevitable criticism that will follow. My family is counting on me.

September of My Years

Aramis cologne, black and white TV, Jobim's Bossa Nova beat, starched white shirts with black skinny ties and Sinatra's September of My Years. These are memories of my childhood. My dad would sing along with these songs while they were playing on the stereo in our living room. The wisdom of the lyrics in each masterfully composed and arranged song hit home with me now, especially since I am 50 years old--the same age Sinatra was when he recorded this record back in '65. To think that I grew up less than an hour away from where these records were made blows my mind. It is usually after the fact that we realize what a golden moment really is. Thankfully, I can carry those moments as memories with me when I listen to this record.

I am grateful for music downloading technology as it allows me to easily find and collect re-mastered, re-released albums from my childhood. If there was ever an artist that made an impression on me it was Sinatra. My dad still is a fanatic. As I surfed Amazon Mp3 today, I rediscovered this jewel. I recommend it to any songwriter and singer out there as essential listening.

Whenever I hear this record, it takes me back to summer evenings in Fullerton as the open sliding glass door allowed cool breezes to blow in from the back yard--the sound of fireworks from Disneyland popping in the sky. Those were very good years.