"Memories of my
Mother, Anita Legare Bellinger Fishburne, And some of her family and friends"
October
16, 1879 - November, 1937
by Charles Carroll Fishburne Jr., son
Mother was born October
16, 1879, in Texas; the daughter of Eustace
de St. Pierre and Adelaide Bellinger. Her older sister was Carrie Adelaide;
her younger brothers were Eustace Lehman and William Carnot. The Bellingers
of Texas had migrated from South Carolina many years ago. Mother and Daddy became
acquainted, evidently, when Mother visited with the Bellingers of South Carolina
around 1900. Daddy made a trip or two to Texas to visit her, I guess, and while
driving her about in a buggy, he told her that his mother would surely like
to have her come and live in South Carolina. Just in case she said that she
would like to please his mother by coming to live in South Carolina, he had
a ring handy. (The diamond that was in Mother's engagement ring is now in my
wedding band.) They were married October 12, 1903. He lived in South Carolina,
where he worked for the Southern Railway Company, so Mother's marriage to him
necessitated the leaving of her family in Texas and living quite a distance
away.
I don't know much
about Mother's early life, but we have a couple of note books of hers, in which
she recorded letters and poems she had written. Evidently she was quite poetic,
and read her poems at school activities. One of these was "Rooster Shall
Not Crow Tonight" - a take-off on "Curfew Shall Not Ring Tonight"
- and a very touching one: "Annie's and Willie's Prayer", which she
read at a school program, resulting in "…hardly a dry eye in the audience."
as recorded in a local publication. Mother's parents died in Texas, while she
was living in South Carolina.
2820 Blossom Street
was the house I was brought home to, in Columbia, SC. In the back yard was a
large Chinaberry tree which provided excellent climbing. Mother had many concerns
about our falling out of this great play place, but the only injury associated
with it that I remember involved a drop I took off of a lower limb, onto the
times of a yard rake. The timing of this trick was very good because Daddy's
brother Skottowe, a doctor, was observing. Mother and Daddy had provided us
with a nice variety of play apparatus, which the 24 or so kids who lived on
our block appreciated, as well as Francis, my next older brother, and me. The
crowd in our backyard got so bad one summer, that Mother had to declare martial
law, stating that from 12:00 noon until 2:00 pm there would be no kids allowed
in the back yard. Francis and I observed nap time (supposedly) or at least quiet
time after lunch until 2:00 pm. So, about 1:30 the kids began lining up at our
backyard gate, making all kinds of noise, hoping they'd be allowed in before
2:00 pm, so Mother had another problem!
Mother had the
help of a maid occasionally, during those Columbia days. Hot, steamy weather
was the rule of the summer. One day the colored lady who was helping was persuaded
that Mother had special pull in God's presence. The day had been a scorcher,
and eggs were being fried on the streets downtown, to demonstrate the temperature.
Mother said something like, "Oh, if the Lord would just bring us rain."
Well, almost before she stopped speaking, there was a flash of lightening, followed
quickly by a heavy shower. The colored lady glanced at Mother out of the corner
of her eye. Mother once gave the maid the recipe for boiled okra, which she
had seen us enjoy. Later when Mother asked her if she had used the recipe, she
said that she had, but probably wouldn't use it again. She said, "Miz Fishpun,
I don' like to put nuttin' in my mouf dat slid down my thoat fo' I can chew
it up."
Those days seemed
to me (less than six years old) to be happy days for everyone. We
visited friends and relatives often, several of whom lived on farms. These people
seemed to be the greatest and friendliest on earth. Great were the times Francis
and I had, especially at the Green's dairy farm and at Uncle Roots' cotton farm.
At Uncle Roots' place there were several Mulberry trees which Francis and I
would raid, in season, because the berries were quite tasty. On one such occasion,
we climbed into one of the trees and enjoyed a feast, the crop being so plentiful
that we also took handfuls of the berries to Mother. We had noticed that this
year the berries seemed to have a slightly grey color, which didn't seem to
affect the flavor noticeably. Upon the careful scrutiny common to mothers, however,
the grey color turned out to be many tiny bugs on each berry. We didn't tell
her how many of them we had eaten right off the tree, but time proved that what
we had ingested was not lethal.
I didn't realize
the strain my Mother lived with, occasioned by the knowledge that Daddy had
cancer, also with the care of her sister, Carrie, who was an invalid and lived
with them. Mother realized that Aunt Carrie might be her life-long responsibility.
Mother made several trips with Daddy to hospitals away from home, concerning
the cancer problem. During WWI, a little before my time, they went to New York
City for an operation, which kept him from speaking for several days. They took
many walks together, one of which led them across the Brooklyn Bridge which
during that time was under heavy Army guard. Daddy's necessity of communicating
with Mother via a writing pad looked suspicious to the soldiers on watch, so
they were halted without apology. After several minutes of explaining, however,
they were able to persuade the troops that the comments on the writing pad were
not military secrets, and they were allowed to proceed. One such hospital trip
which I remember in small part was to Chattanooga. The part I remember is the
daring run up and down Lookout Mountain, on the Incline Railroad. This excursion
was made by Daddy and me only; with Mother electing to enjoy it from the less-stressful
waiting area. Another of these trips was to Richmond. While Daddy was in the
hospital there, one evening Mother took me to an evangelistic meeting which
was held in a large temporary building. During the song service, Mother said
that I kept standing up on the bench and looking to the rear. Finally, she realized
that the words being sung were "There's a stranger at the door, let him
in…He has been there oft' before, let him in!" and I kept looking back,
wondering why the poor fellow wasn't let in.
Daddy
developed a sharp memory from years of ticket taking as train conductor. He
told Mother that he had to be able to take tickets from hundreds of passengers,
through a train of ten or twelve cars, and then be able to retrace his steps
and remember the destination of each passenger. This memory exercise resulted
in him becoming a checker player, and later founding the Southern Checker Association.
There followed extra travel for him, to various checker meets, which travel
put an extra burden on Mother. One type of championship play in checkers is
"blindfold" games, wherein the player does not observe the board,
but must keep a mental picture of the board, including the position of all the
checkers. Sometimes, a player will even engage in several "blindfold"
games simultaneously, having to keep in mind the positions of all checkers on
each of the boards involved. Daddy did quite a bit of this "blindfold"
play on exhibition, and one day played 12 worthy opponents at one time, one
move by his opponent being made, and then his move, on each board in rotation.
Mother told us that he beat seven of the other players and drew (tied) the remaining
five.
As I mentioned
before, the trips to checker meets which Daddy was involved with, were a concern
to Mother. She didn't enjoy being left for days at a time with the total care
of the family. Because of his ability in checkers, associates pressured him
to spend time in England learning the game of chess. This opportunity he turned
down in favor of the family needs, much to Mother's relief.
Daddy didn't speak
much of spiritual matters, and Mother wasn't real sure of his relationship with
the Lord Jesus. On one of his trips through Missouri, however, he wrote her
that his train had traveled beside a clear stream, which reminded him of the
account in the Book of Acts regarding the evangelist Phillip and the man from
Ethiopia. So he wrote to Mother his thoughts - "Here is water. What hindereth
me to be baptized?", as the Ethiopian had asked Phillip. Mother took courage
from this that he knew the Savior, as she did. Such a pity that he didn't let
her know just how he stood regarding salvation and take away her concern. Mother
never failed to let others know of her faith in the Lord Jesus for her salvation,
and her daily trust in our Heavenly Father. Truly He sustained her through many
trials; not delivering her from them all, but giving her the strength to carry
on, day by day.
Daddy reacted very
strongly to a blow received from an insurance company. Soon after the diagnosis
of cancer and the first hospital bills were paid by his insurance carrier, the
company cancelled the policy. In those days the insurance regulations did not
prevent such action by a company. Daddy was so shocked at this deceit, that
he cancelled all policies that he held, including life insurance. No doubt he
felt that those policies, too, were in jeopardy. The result of this, of course,
was that at his death, Mother had very little cash on which to live.
Daddy's death in
November 1925 was a terrible blow to Mother. I'm sure it seemed that her world
had come to an end. About this time, Aunt Carrie moved to Asheville, upon her
doctor's advice. A year or so after Daddy's death, Mother decided to move us
to Asheville, also; 'us' being Mother, Francis, and me. The move there must
have been another of her many burdens though, because it meant leaving wonderful
friends and relatives who she could depend on, and with whom she had wonderful
spiritual fellowship. Asheville seemed to me to be the 'pits'; we had been used
to well-planned neighborhoods, and homes where folks took pride in the way things
looked, but Asheville seemed to have little of that, and besides, the people
there couldn't speak 'American', as we were taught. I'm sure these things discouraged
Mother as much as us, but I feel that she made the sacrifice of leaving Columbia
in order to be near and help her sister. We all seemed to be at Aunt Carrie's
service whenever needed. Francis and I spend many hours working in her candy
shop, which she operated in her home on Wellington St. In fact, I'm surprised
that either of us came through that time of candy store clerking with any teeth
left! No doubt we both suffered from this later in the dentist's chair. When
Francis, and later I, were at Hall Fletcher Jr. High School, it was an everyday
routine to be at her store - one block away - before the lunch crowd of kids
hit, to dole out "a pack o' buns an' a coke" to almost every boy that
came through the door.
Francis was always
the thinker, and any occasion could prompt his serious study. In those days,
"prize candy" was a popular item in stores, and Aunt Carrie always
kept several boxes to tempt the customers. This product usually involved one-cent
candy patties which, when broken open, showed a winner or not by the color of
the inside. One day she put on display a box of prize candy which contained
five-cent candy bars instead of one-cent patties. The bars were wrapped in printed
paper. Francis began studying the wrapping paper and found slight differences
between the wrapper of the winning bars and that of the nonwinners. So he and
I pooled our resources and bought practically all of the winners, leaving almost
all nonwinners in the box, and no prized to attract other customers. We weren't
quite smart enough to figure that the whole thing looked rather shady, so we
were surprised to find that before we reached home on our bicycles that day,
word had arrived by phone that brought serious questions from Mother. Of course,
we had to purchase the balance of the box of nonwinners, paid for by about four
days of work. Too soon old, too late smart.
Then came the depression,
and with it a loss of income from most of the property which Daddy had left
to Mother. Living a good many miles from these properties, Mother was not able
to manage them properly. This resulted in having to sell most of them at a loss,
and left her with scant income to pay for our house in Asheville and put food
on the table. Our neighbors sensed the problem and more than once we found bags
of groceries on the front porch. We were saved from losing our home by the Home
Owners Loan Corp. which was activated about 1933. Our loan was refinanced through
this agency, and Mother was able to scrape together the $8.30 per month payment,
so we kept our house.
After moving to
Asheville, we made a trip to Columbia every summer practically, free of cost,
because our travel was by train on passes which Mother was given by the Southern
Railway Co; a benefit from Daddy's years of work there. In Columbia we always
lodged with either friends or relatives - visits which Francis and I really
liked. Especially we liked to stay at Uncle Roots' farm, and also at the farm
of the Greens. Mr. Green was a brother of Aunt Marion, our Uncle Skottowe's
wife. He operated a one-man dairy farm, taking care of about a dozen cows. There
was plenty to do helping him and he would let us go on his milk route early
in the morning, if we could get up in time. Mrs. Green was Mother's dearest
friend, and with whom she enjoyed many hours of encouraging Christian fellowship.
Mr. Green always called Francis 'Nut' because he asked so many questions. He
used to kid us about all the family names, and how they were used over and over
again in subsequent generations. He'd say "Bellinger Fishburne and Fishburne
Bellinger, and Fishburne Bishop and Bishburne Fishop, and Bellinger Davis and
Davis Fishburne, and Skottowe Bellinger and Bellinger Skottowe…" and on
and on. He was a wonderful, tenderhearted man. One morning when I was helping
him on the milk route, a little girl - nine or ten - came out to the wagon to
get the milk. As she was going toward her house, Mr. Green called her back and
whispered something to her. She thanked him and skipped back toward her porch.
As we pulled away, he said to me, "I thought she might be embarrassed if
you heard, so I whispered that her slip was showing."
Mother had to take
me in hand once at Uncle Roots' place because of my trying to maximize the profits
on a deal I had with Aunt Carrie (Uncle Roots' wife, not Mother's sister). I
was swatting flies in the house for a penny per hundred. After I had bagged
a few hundred and the quarry was beginning to get scarce, I found that if I
propped open the back screen door, there would be more flies to work with. Mother
soon got wise to this mode of operation, and I had to forfeit several pennies.
For some time before
Daddy died, my oldest brother, Bellinger (Skottowe Bellinger), must have been
living away from home. Inasmuch as he was 14 years my senior, I remember little
of him before he was married, about 1928. These early memories of him were:
1) Once he must have owned a motorcycle, which was very loud. When we kids would
hear this thing coming down the street, we would take to the trees or any other
place which seemed to offer safety from otherwise certain loss of life or limb.
2) He could play a variety of musical instruments - banjo, guitar, drums, mouth
organ, saxophone, piano, xylophone, and probably others. He joined a dance band,
learning to play their numbers while sitting in the back row, and went with
the band to Florida. He became so fascinated with the Florida boom that he told
Daddy and Mother to hurry on down there and get rich quick. Daddy told him,
however, that he hadn't lost a thing in Florida and that things were going quite
well in Columbia. 3) One time he and Mother made hundreds of peanut butter crackers
in the kitchen there at 2820 Blossom St. These were then wrapped in waxed paper
and sold at the local county fair. 4) He had some interest, briefly, in a unique
Model T Ford, which had a front end facing each direction.
God favored Bellinger
greatly in giving him a wonderful wife - Dorothy Allen, who was always a patient
and loving companion. After marriage, they settled in Wichita, Kansas and we
saw them rarely thereafter. He and Dot thought they did Mother a favor, later,
by sending Dot's mother to live with us when Mother's health began to fail.
Such was not the case, however, because she and Mother were complete opposites,
and her attitude and actions (including powerful snoring) grated us continually.
No matter how rude she was to Mother or us, Mother would never permit us to
say a word to her. She stayed with us for several months.
No doubt Francis
and I tried Mother's patience to the limit on many occasions. Several times
when he and I were home alone, which was rare, we would engage in a squabble
and proceed into a water fight. Upon her return, this would bring Mother to
tears, making Francis and I feel lower that a snake's shirt buttons. Seldom
did Mother have to discipline us harshly, although we probably deserved it.
The punishment of realizing that we had hurt her was usually sufficient correction.
I recall few lectures from her, regarding right and wrong. We loved and respected
her completely, and we knew by her example and by our daily reading of Scriptures
what was proper and what was out of line. When mechanical punishment was in
order, however, she tried to make it fit the crime. If we made a mess, we cleaned
it up; if we damaged something or obtained it improperly, we replaced it at
our expense or effort, for instance the prize candy escapade at Aunt Carrie's
store, which I mentioned before. Then once when another kid and I, with our
slingshots, caused several of a neighbor's lush tulips to suffer an untimely
death, I had to go alone to her and apologize. The tulips could not be replaced,
but I'd rather have taken a thrashing than to face this austere lady.
The switch and
restrictions were employed occasionally, however, as when Francis and I served
chocolate-coated soap to a neighbor girl - Dorothy Goforth. After she ate it
and got sick, her mother let our mother know that we were getting into deep
trouble. Of course, Mother took action which we didn't soon forget. On another
occasion, Mrs. Goforth had to report on one of Mother's errant sons. I carelessly
shot a nail-tipped arrow straight up at a phone line which hung across the Goforth's
yard. One of the several kids playing in the yard was James Goforth, whom we
all affectionately called 'Goofy", because of his expertise in cartoon
drawing. When the arrow began its descent, James yelled "heads up",
covered his head with his hands, and stooped over just enough for the arrow
to penetrate his rear, just below the belt. Soon after James raced up their
front steps with the embedded arrow waving wildly back at the rest of us kids,
we could hear his response when Mrs. Goforth poured on the iodine. Of course,
Mother's phone rang shortly thereafter. It was quite some time before I used
my bow again.
A pleasant memory
of my younger years is that of swinging in the porch swing with Mother while
she dewaxed my ears. With my head in her lap, she would probe gently in my ear
with a hair pin. It always felt so good. Of course, this procedure is frowned
upon by the medical profession, but Mother had the touch to get the job done.
We did a lot of
walking in those days, living at 12 Dallas Street, West Asheville. We had no
car while Mother was living, so trips to the store and to church were most often
made on foot. Saturday was the day for going to the store for the week's groceries.
It was common for me to go along with Mother pulling my red wagon, to an A&P
store on Haywood Road, to haul back the supply of staples. (Would you believe
there were three A&P stores in a two-block stretch along Haywood Road at
that time?) My reward for this trip was a nickel, which then caused much agonizing,
to wit - would it be a Nehi drink or one-cent candy bars, and which candy bars!
At times this decision took several minutes, and perhaps a bit of prodding by
Mother. My wagon and I made trips to the ice house a bit farther down Haywood
Road to haul back a 25# block of ice. Later, Mother was able to buy a "Lift
Top" electric refrigerator of about three cubic feet capacity (that's right
- three cubic feet). Man, what a deal! No more ice to haul, no more ice-water
pans to empty, no more water to mop up when we let the ice-water pan run over.
We had arrived!
Our church building
was a good half hour walk from home. Many times we walked it, being joined quite
often for the last five minutes of the trek by Mrs. Annie Varner and her four
small children - Josephine, Eunice, Lois, and Harry. Mother was a good pianist
and she also had a fine singing voice. The weekly communion service at our church
was conducted without the use of a piano, putting the burden on someone, normally
a man, to pitch and start the hymns used. Since note of the men attending were
much at singing, let alone starting a hymn, Mr. Smith, the preacher, did almost
the unpardonable by asking Mother to be the starter. As soon as she would give
the first note, he would pick up the tune with a strong voice. This was a strange
procedure, considering the traditions of our church, but it surely took care
of the need.
Mother
never spoke evil of anyone that I remember. In fact, I can't recall her speaking
negatively about anyone. It was easy for us kids to form the opinion that the
Christians attending our little church were close to perfect. Later, of course,
we realized that they were human like the rest of us. It is certainly to her
credit that Mother realized the voicing of her disappointments to us kids would
serve no good purpose.
One of many events
that tried Mother's faith happened when I was about eleven years old. Francis
and I were eating peanuts one Saturday morning, having a good time and laughing
a lot. My merriment stopped, though when I choked on one of the goobers. After
much coughing, Mother thought I was OK and dispatched us on the mile and a half
walk to our church to do the weekly cleaning of the place. While there, I had
a rough time breathing and wanted nothing but to get home as quickly as possible.
We left the cleaning job unfinished and headed back home. After more coughing,
the peanut which I had inhaled must have moved from my windpipe into my lung,
and the breathing became easier. Mother was really troubled, not knowing what
my problem was nor what to do about it. A call to a local doctor resulted in
a trip to a hospital, several x-rays, and a diagnosis of "He just has tuberculosis.
Take him home and take care of him." This didn't satisfy Mother, so she
called Uncle Skottowe in Columbia and described the symptoms. He said that I
must have a peanut in the lung, and that he would contact a doctor he had met
two weeks earlier. So Mother sat and prayed. How can a peanut be removed from
a lung?
Soon Uncle Skottowe
called and said he had found the doctor on Saturday evening, told him the story,
and we were to report to his office at the University of Pennsylvania Hospital
in Philadelphia as soon as possible. With virtually no money, how does one (or
two) get to Philadelphia in a hurry? We could get passes for rail travel, of
course, but it was Saturday! One of our neighbors who was an engineer for the
Southern Railroad went to work on the telephone. By that evening he had passes
in hand for us to travel as far as Washington, DC. We were to check at the information
booth there the next morning for passes which should take us on to Philadelphia.
We boarded the train in Asheville that Sunday afternoon and no doubt Mother
wondered just what might await us in DC the next morning. The Scripture tells
the Christian "My God shall supply all your needs according to His riches
in glory by Christ Jesus." We saw this carried out in so many ways on this
trip. The passes for the other railroad were waiting for us.
There were several
railroads on which to travel from Washington to Philadelphia, arriving at various
stations there. The passes Mother was given by arrangement from Southern Railroad
were for the B&O RR, which station was the closest of any to our destination,
the hospital! We were directed to take a street car which would take us to the
vicinity of the hospital. Several of the streetcar runs would do that, but the
first one that came by was the one that discharged us right at one end of the
building! The month was January and each breath of cold air I took caused much
wheezing and coughing, so that any reduction of this outside exposure was truly
a blessing. Now we were in the hospital, as were several thousand other people
and the building was at least half a mile long. How would be find the office
of Dr. Gabriel Tucker, Mother wondered as we entered the long hall. That didn't
take long, though, because the name lettered on the first door on the right
was "Dr. Gabriel Tucker"! Truly, the Lord was going before us.
Following an examination,
Dr. Tucker told Mother that he was sure I had a 'foreign' object in the lung,
but that he could remove it the next morning with a bronchoscope, a device which
he had invented and developed a few years earlier. I was admitted and the procedure
was scheduled for Tuesday morning. Mother had no money for lodging, but someone
had told her about the home of a preacher, Mr. Sam Keller, in Philadelphia where
she might stay. A call to his home revealed that his wife was expecting Mother
to stay there, which she did most thankfully.
After I had been
in the hospital bed for a while, I asked Mother why all those nurses kept crowding
around my bed. I knew that I didn't have any charming traits. She said, "I
guess they have never before heard a kid speak real 'Carolinian'."
Next morning, during
a grueling nine-minute session on the table without anesthesia, the peanut was
removed. Mother, who was in my room when I was returned there, said that I was
red as a beet and she could count the handprints of the five assistants that
had restrained me during the procedure. One more night in the hospital and a
night with Mother at the Keller's and we were on our way back to Asheville with
hearts ever so thankful for the outcome and for the hundreds who had taken our
needs to God in prayer.
A comical event
came out of this episode a few months later. One Sunday a visiting preacher
and I were passing the time in the porch swing, waiting for Mother to call us
to dinner. After we had chatted for a few minutes, he stepped back into the
kitchen and asked Mother if I had fully recovered form the 'peanut problem'.
Mother told him that she thought I had and asked him about his concern. He said,
"Well, I hate to say this, but his breath is terrible!" Mother thought
for a second, then broke into a laugh. She then told him that my good friend,
Everett, who lived next door, had German parents who kept garlic cloves on hand.
Everett and I occasionally sampled these.
Mother had a less
that happy life in her last 14-15 years, especially after Daddy died. Three
events she hoped she would never have to face were 1) finding an intruder in
her house, 2) having to appear in court, and 3) having major surgery. God eventually
allowed all three of these to take place, yet he sustained her through them
all.
We usually didn't
lock our doors when we were away from the house but still in the neighborhood.
One day, upon returning from next door before time for Francis and me to be
home from school, she heard a noise in our sleeping-porch workshop. Investigating,
she found a stranger sitting on our stool, holding a baseball bat. She thought
he might be a friend of Francis' inasmuch as anyone who would listen to him
was a friend of his. He didn't have reasonable answers to Mother's questions
however, so she realized that he didn't belong there. She backed out of the
room and out of the house and called the police from next door. Soon the guy
came out of our house and was picked up by an officer. Two weeks later she was
called to testify in court.
The third of her
fears began to loom ahead when it was found that she needed to have surgery
for a breast lump. This was done at Norburn Hospital on Montford Avenue, about
1936. She thought the problem was taken care of, but shortly after when we were
in Columbia, Uncle Skottowe (Dr.) had to tell her that more extensive surgery
was required. What a blow this was to her. She and I were at the Green's home
and I recall Mrs. Green, that wonderful lady, trying to comfort her. What a
trial to go through without one's lifetime companion! The second surgery was
performed in Columbia, but this didn't stop the cancer either. She went down
hill steadily. Next were a hipbone crumbling and a return to the hospital. From
there she went to be with the Lord in November 1937. There was a memorial service
in Asheville, the train trip back to Columbia, and a service there. Internment
took place at Elmwood Cemetery where Daddy is also buried. It seems that our
parents died so young: Daddy at age 52 and Mother at 57, yet they both left
great legacies.
As I gaze at the
diamond in my wedding band, I pray that I will wear it as honorably as she did
for 34 years.
I'm sure 'the half
hath not been told', but this account is a starter, anyway. She was a wonderful
lady and mother, dedicated to raising us boys and treating everyone that she
contacted with the love and consideration shown to us in God's Word.
Charles C. Fishburne,
Sr. 11/1991
Epilogue
My parents, Charles
C. Fishburne, Sr. and Virginia Holton Fishburne, have been married 51½
years. Dad's desire to wear his mother's diamond as honorably as she did has
definitely come true. Dad and Mom have shown my brother and sister and me what
it means to be a true Christian gentleman and lady. They both learned from their
mothers the valuable lesson of speaking only good of others and have maintained
that practice as long as I can remember. I thank the Lord for the godly parents
with which he has blessed me and pray that I will be the same example to my
son and my 8 nieces and nephews. Thank you Lord.
Ginna Fishburne
Patterson 09/2001
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