"Slim, we got a problem"

“Slim, we got a problem.” Not words you want to hear from the pilot of the plane you are riding in 6000 feet in the air!

It was a lovely summer day, somewhere over the wooded hills of Kentucky when my pilot friend, Jerry, (tan jacket in photo) broke the news to me over the intercom. His homebuilt RV-4 aircraft is a tandem-seat, bright yellow hotrod of a plane he fabricated and assembled himself in his garage. He even overhauled the used engine himself. We were on the way home from a day trip to Ashville, NC and I was riding back seat. That’s the good seat--all the fun and no responsibilities.

“What is our problem?” I cautiously inquired, looking out the canopy and down at the thick forest of trees that would make any attempt for an emergency landing pure suicide.

“Well, the cable came off the right rudder pedal.”

Continuing to fly straight and level would be no problem. But this meant no ground steering upon landing, no right rudder and no right brake! In other words….NOTHING WAS GOING RIGHT! It was all going south!

I was thinking, “Ya know, we’ve got enough gas to be up here for a couple more hours. It would really be good, I mean REALLY GOOD, if we can think of a way to fix our problem while we’re up here. But how?

The pilot, Jerry, was also the builder of the plane, so he knew every piece of it very well. The problem was not about the knowing. It was about not being able to reach the rudder pedal to work on it. Jerry is 6 feet 4 inches tall. In this tiny cockpit, and with the flight control stick between his knees, there was no way he could get to the cable that needed to be reattached.

“I can’t reach it. I don’t know what to do, Slim.” (I’ve had the nickname “Slim” from Jerry for thirty-some years.)

That wasn’t what I wanted to hear him say. Why didn’t he say, “I’ll have her fixed in a jiffy, Slim….don’t worry.”

What he did say was, “I can see the nut that fell off.”

“Jeepers,” I’m thinking, “That’s not much consolation when these two nuts riding in the airplane may die in just a little while. “DON’T’ JUST LOOK AT IT, GET THE NUT! PUT IT BACK ON, JERRY!”

“Hey, Slim, I’m going to try something.”

I was thinking, “Well I sure hope that “something” is more of a sure-fire fix than some kind of airborne “experiment!”

“I’m going to try to remove the control stick. Take it out. You can fly from back there until I see what I can do.”

Huh? Did I hear him right? Take the airplane apart in mid-air? Yup, I heard right.

“Take over”, he called through the intercom.

“I got it,” I confirmed, gripping my backseat control stick with a little more care than normal. And on we flew—trees still thick as ever below.

Jerry’s head almost disappeared from in front of me as he twisted the nut off the bolt holding his control stick to the control cable mechanism. The cockpit was so tight he could hardly find a space big enough to lay it while he squirmed to get his arms far enough under the dash to reach the cable.

Can a person pray anywhere? Oh yeah! Can you fly a plane, wish you were on the ground, wonder if you’re gonna die soon, and pray, all at the same time. “Roger, roger.” I mean....., “Jesus, Jesus!” And I wasn’t taking His name in vain. I was as respectful and sincere as ever---the trees……they’re still down there!

Believe it or not, in a few minutes, Jerry’s head popped up and he reported the problem fixed. One rudder cable nut had just saved two flying nuts.

Oops, almost forgot. Now we had to put the plane back together! Whew, that went OK too.

Sometimes people ask me if I am afraid to fly in a plane that was built by hand in somebody’s garage. Are you kidding? I want to say, “Oh sure, I would much rather fly on the FAA certified commercial aircraft like Aloha Airlines flight 243, where a third of the fuselage was ripped off, sucking out a flight attendant over the Pacific. Or, maybe good old Southwest Airlines, that offers a new “scenic” fare, featuring five foot skylights, offering fresh air instead of the normal stuffy economy class.

No—let me fly with the guy who built the plane in the first place. He knows how to fix it—even at 6000 feet!

NO THANKS!

I will never forget my friend, Lt. Santos Escobar

We are born. We die. And in between, we have that window of life. We touch others lives, and we are touched. Life gives us experience after experience that we process together—together with friends.

This week I lost a friend. Lieutenant Santos Escobar of the La Ceiba Fire Department, with whom I served as a volunteer for eight years, died, leaving behind his wife, Yadira.

Santos was my friend. He was jolly and was always up for a great belly laugh. We fought fires together, played volleyball together, and studied God’s word together.

Allow me to share a memory.

On a hot, sunny day, I was the assigned driver for unit #521, the tanker shown in the photo. On any fire department run, the officer in charge of the mission always rode in the right seat to give orders to the crew. We were returning to the station after a call.

As we neared the La Ceiba shipping dock, where boats from the Bay Islands came and went daily, I saw a middle-aged man standing near the right curb. To my shock, as the heavy tanker, with a full load of water got near the man, he lunged in front of us, throwing himself toward the front wheels! I slammed on the air brakes and we ground to a halt. Santos jumped from the right seat to check the suicidal man’s condition. Thankfully, I had gotten the unit stopped in time and the man was OK, but obviously very intoxicated.

Santos patiently and kindly led the man to the sidewalk, gently sat him down there, then hopped back in the truck. I threw the shift lever into first gear and we started rolling. Again, the man jumped from the curb and threw himself in front of the huge, dual rear wheels. I freaked, slamming on the brakes again.

Santos shook his head in disbelief and, once again, climbed down out of the truck to lead the man to the safety. This time Santos scolded the man and told him to stay put. Santos’ trying to talk mean to this poor man was somewhat comical since we all knew this seasoned firefighter to be gentle and unusually kind to everyone. Nevertheless, he shook his finger and told him not to move.

Wouldn’t you know it, as soon as the wheels began to turn again, it was the same scene all over. This guy just wouldn’t give up.

But my friend and supervising officer, Santos had a plan. As he pulled the man to the curb a third time, and while still physically holding him down, Santos waved for me to put the unit in motion.

“Go, go, go,” he yelled, motioning with his hand.

I started forward, keeping a close eye on the rearview mirrors. As I reached about 8 mph, and the unit was several feet away from the intoxicated man, Santos let go of him and came running fast, hopping onto the rolling tanker. It was a risky move, but it worked. It was unfortunate that the man was drunk--but fortunately, because he was drunk, he couldn’t get back up in time to get himself under the wheels again.

The suicidal man lived on, and Santos was back in the “shotgun” seat. It was a risk that my friend Santos was willing to take to save a desperate man from taking his own life.

Now the life that saved that life, is gone. But I remember when Santos prayed for Christ to come into his heart. My good friend and missionary colleague, Larry Burke, discipled Santos and his wife, Yadira.

Our missionary assignments have taken us away from Honduras, and I have not seen Santos for many years. I don’t know where Santos was spiritually when the end came, but I do know…..I will never forget my friend, Santos Escobar. Rest in peace, buddy.

THE EASTER JESUS GOT SAVED!

As a pastor and missionary I believe in our youth. Don’t give me that stuff that says, “youth are the church of tomorrow.” Sorry, they are very much the church of today.

In the late 90’s, while living in Honduras, my wife Lydia and I were chosen to plant a new church in an upper-middle class area of La Ceiba. I chose a young aspiring Honduran pastor, Vicente, (Photo to the right) to work on the team me. He led our youth.

Although our small upstart had begun with only 5 people in January, by Holy Week it had grown to 35. We were gearing up for the big day—Easter. The youth were to prepare a drama. We had no church building as yet, and since our tiny rented house would hold only a few, we decided to meet outdoors in the side yard. We strung up lights, set up chairs on the grass--and prayed it would not rain!

To our amazement 64 people came that first Easter! And when it came time in the service for the youth drama, they did a super job presenting the story of the raising of Jairus’ daughter from the dead—a true and fitting resurrection story. Fourteen-year-old Gloria played the dead daughter of Jairus. Vicente played Jairus, weeping over his loss. And Jorge, 16, played the part of Jesus. The youth had worked very hard and when it came time to perform, they were at their best. Applause rang out as the once-dead daughter hugged her daddy.

My preaching time focused on the question, “What will you do with Jesus?” I picked up my guitar at the end of the message and began to sing the chorus, “I have decided to follow Jesus.” The invitation went out to those who had not yet received Jesus in their hearts, but would like to that night.

And who was the very first to respond? To my surprise, walking toward the platform to make his public confession of faith—IT WAS JESUS! Yes, I said JESUS! Jorge, who just minutes before, had so passionately portrayed Christ in the drama was the very first one.

Others followed, and we finished that first Easter service at Villa Mary Church with a great celebration of the risen Christ. I just call it—THE EASTER JESUS GOT SAVED!

MORE THAN JUST MEETING

"SAM THE SHAM"

In 1992, I was in San Pedro Sula, Honduras watching the Desi Awards show on TV(something like the Grammy’s for Latinos). Sam Zamudio—Sam the Sham of Wooly Bully fame, was awarded the humanitarian award for his work in Memphis prisons. Being a 60’s music freak, it grabbed my attention. Who could forget the pulsating organ and yells of “watch it, now, watch it”!? As Sam’s picture was shown on the screen I noticed a Bible under his arm. That, too, got my attention.

Cheech Marin was hosting the show and announced Sam the Sham and the Pharaohs onto the stage. Sam came out with his turban and all the get up. Cheech had announced they would play Wooly Bully. Sam walked onto the stage and looked straight into the camera and said these words, “Before I sing, I want to thank my Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ for lifting me out of the pit of sin and setting my feet on the Solid Rock.” What? A 60’s star testifying of faith in Christ? Insane! The organ blasted out and the sax blared the up-and-down melody of the intro. “Hattie told Matty, about a thing she saw….” Sam was in his glory.

I was working in a prison while doing missionary work in Honduras. I just couldn’t resist trying to call Sam on the phone. But where does one begin to track down a 60’s rock and roll star by phone—from Honduras?! Johnny Rivers’ lyrics “Long distance information give me Memphis Tennessee….” popped into my mind and that’s exactly what I did.

I asked for a Sam Zamudio.

The operator said, “I have a Domingo but no Sam.”

“Give me the Domingo…that’s probably his dad,” I said.

I dialed the number and a raspy voice said ‘Hello” Stabbing in the dark, I said, “Um, I’m looking for a Sam Zamudio”

“This is he speaking,” Sam said. What? ME talking on the phone with a 60’s star? Insane!

I identified myself as a missionary working in Honduras and that I had seen him on the Desi Awards. He burst into a 45-miniute, almost non-stop chain of stories and anecdotes that made it clear he was still the same ole Sam the Sham with that crazy sense of humor and love for life. (He ran up my phone bill too—at $2.50 a minute! And it was worth every penny!

I couldn’t believe it. I had learned that Sam was of Latino descent and that he had actually worked in some of the prisons in Honduras.

A few years went by and I had the crazy urge to meet Sam in person. I called him and asked to come see him in Memphis. Although we had never met and it had been a few years since I talked to him on the phone, he acted like we were old friends. “Sure, come on down,” he said.

A friend of mine flew me down to Memphis in his little plane and Sam met us at the airport. What? A 60’s star picking ME up at the airport? Insane!

No fluff, no guff with Sam. He’s as down to earth as they come. We climbed into his old Chevy pick-up and headed in town for some great Memphis barbeque. What? The 60’s star taking ME to dinner? Insane!

What an amazing story Sam has. We talked and talked. I said to him, “OK, tell me. Who is Hattie and who is Matty? (referring to the names in Wooly Bully. “I don’t know,” he laughed.

About that time Sam asked, “Where are you guys staying tonight?”

“I don’t know…some hotel,” I replied.

“You’re welcome to stay at my house if you want,” he offered, in a low-key voice. What? A 60’s star inviting ME to stay at HIS house? Insane!

I looked at my pilot friend and tried to hide my excitement. “That would be great,” I said.

We hopped back into his rusty pick-up and headed to his country home. Once there, we met his family and he took us up to our room. We actually stayed in Sam’s music room which had a guitar and keyboard—and a bed.

My pilot friend plays fiddle and he pulled it out of the case. Sam listened as my the mellow notes flowed from the violin. Next, Sam handed me his guitar. What? ME playing for a 60’s star? Insane! I began to play a familiar song. Sam cheered us on.

When heading up the steps to load CD’s in his player, Sam yelled out with that scratchy Wooly Bully voice, “Watch it now, watch it!” Until the late night hours we sat in Sam’s living room and listened to his CD’s of the original music he has been doing since he disbanded Sam the Sham and Pharaohs. With almost every song there was a long story about what had inspired it.

As the night grew late, Sam told stories of surviving years of hard living and wild partying, I asked him how he came to know Christ. Without a second of hesitation Sam said, “I had an Aunt Grace who never quit praying for me.”

We headed up to bed. Next morning we were to fly on to Alabama. I invited Sam to go to breakfast with us. What? ME inviting a 60’s star to a meal? Insane? Sam drove us to…McDonalds. Three Egg McMuffins and three cups of coffee later we were on our way to the airport.

The weather was iffy. We were not IFR equipped. Sam walked us out to the plane. We popped the canopy of Jerry's homebuilt RV-4 and began loading our gear.

“Hey, before you go, let me pray for you!” Sam offered. What? A 60’s star PRAYING for ME? Super-insane!!! We joined hands in a circle beside the plane and Sam prayed a heartfelt prayer for our safety.

As we fired up the engine Sam yelled, “Hey be careful! And if y’all get into trouble with the weather come on back—you can stay another night or two.” We thanked him one more time and took off.

Sam’s prayer was answered. We arrived safely in Alabama. But far more importantly, Sam's Aunt Grace's prayer was answered--and now Sam's no sham--he's the real thing!

Sixties rock star to Christian artist! What? Insane—but true!

Ecuador is the beautiful country where I live. Been here a year and a half now. It has three distinct topographical areas: 1) the Pacific Coast 2) the highlands (Andes Mountains) and the Amazon.

A few weeks ago I traveled to the Amazon area with my wife and son. We flew several miles into the jungle and landed on the grass at the Waodani village of Damointaro. The people seemed to be happy to see us as they ran to the plane.

Talking to Niwa, he told me in his broken Spanish that we would dance, then "play". The tribal dance was so fun! The "play" Niwa was talking about turned out to be learning to throw a long wooden spear at a banana plant trunk. It was fun when we hit the target, but it was even "funner" when we missed, and the laughter exploded!

The lady in the picture danced for us with the womens group. She had a beautiful headdress that I wanted really bad. I try not to covet what belongs to others, but I blew it on this one.

Of course, this little village was no stranger to capitalism. After the dance and the "play" came the souvenir woven bags, spears and blow guns. I pointed to her headdress and said, "I want one of those." She walked away. I was about to give up, when she came up to me with a shy smile and handed me the beautiful bird-feather headband. I took it with a smile, then said, "Thank you." Then she took my five bucks! Did she say "thank you"? I dunno. How do you say that in Woadani?

Hello world! It's the 60's! No, not the 1860's, or the 1960's. No, not 60's music either. I, Tom Hines, am in my 60's! Who cares?--you might ask. Well, more than anybody, I suspect I do! (You know what I mean.) My good friend Marcy inspired me to start a blog and tell some stories from my 60 years on the planet. Isn't it funny how old(er) people think everybody is interested in what they did 40 years ago. Well, I share these stories....ehem, so I don't forget them! If you can enjoy a few of them I will be pleased. No required reading here folks--it's ALL FYI!

In MY 60'S>>>>>>>>>>>>>>In THE 60'S