“Faith.”

 

To: Sun Automotive and Hope Community Church,

It is something to learn to live with a new HC one that is very socially isolating, and if you by chance find some where you fit in and are accepted the minuet you step across the door step, well that is something. It was Mothers Day when I first met every one at Hope Community Church and Pastor Bill White, his Wife Judy, their daughter Paylin in services. Everybody knew each other here, and they as a team made the Pre-School and Church run. Everybody took time into giving what they could in way of help, if they could, and I wanted to be a part, I gladly would volunteer my service when help of any form was needed. One day I walked up to Bill and Judy and said, “God said for me to put all my energy here for a while. If that was okay with them” Soon I was a part of it all, creating an on-line presence with pictures, videos tours, weekly sermons, graduation, and daily working on the garden. I made appointments with SCORE and we compared notes on marketing strategy, and everyday I get to do something, mean some thing to be a part using my talents, in video, marketing strategies, and writing. Meanwhile I’m often falling, having spasms, pacing, a twitching we shall go, to say it lightly, dealing with 911 calls as usual, but I was working a few hours every day. I had to move suddenly and was thrown into turmoil about what to do about the work I had started with marketing the Pre-School. I had got us a pic in Springfield Times paper with by-line during the yard sale we had; I baked too many cookies, but found a Chef swinging a pies back and forth sells. I wanted to make some grand gesture to Hope Community Pre-school for what they had put back in my life, dignity of self. It was then I saw your commercial and just said to my self. “I’m going to win Bill that Sun Automotive van.”  giving the Pre-School & Church a much needed van & free media exposure. I set out and believed, I had seen something coming in the church a few days before when I found out we were in the top ten and vocalized as such “We are going to win.” And then referring to an scripture “Faith is the substance of things hoped for the evidence of things not seen.”

We won, Hope Community Pre-School & Church won, Bill White won, Sun Automotive won for a few seconds on KMTR everyone in Eugene & Springfield saw a winner not just Bill White, everyone involved, at some point it becomes like the stone in the water, and the ripples of “Hope” outward ever increasing wave of good. This “Hope” now lay in the reality of a group of people many who are suffering, fighting for a better life, a homeless mom, and her kids living out of a parked camper, or anyone within the walls of Hope Community Church, hope and faith had become tangible.  I kind got the feeling this resides also in Sun Automotive in Springfield and the guys put the hands in the job and the owners who made it happen. In this writer’s opinion it kind of meant the world to him, and was honored to be a part.

 

Thank you,

Chef John Ernst

“The Making of a Serial Killer”

I have had so many nightmares that I can remember even as a child the world of my unconscious lay in turmoil, nightmares, lay quieter than now. Now and over the last 13 years they have evolved. Into something like an experience in terror, where I am a part not just watching. No bit of distortion like the dream state, nightmare I am there. I find a true nightmare has a twist beyond this unconscious state one that truly lay in raw horror.

 

 

We were down by the back of the house; the other agents surrounded the building waiting for the signal to move. I could see into the back window lighting all around it a gentle golden light skipping across the back yard shedding shadows of the trees and other things laying about in the late autumn. It was dark were I was behind the bushes on the back of the property, I could barely see my partner agent Simmons, and she had to reach out to steady her self against my side as she slide into place hunkering down like I was and lay silent. It was so quiet except for a song, sung by three voices, a man leading the words as they went round and round, a child, and a strained voice, a voice filled with a noise like nails on a board, like the scream of raccoons fighting, like the voice of terror attempting to cripple the very singing it invoked. We waited. The idea was to take the house without harming the ten year old boy, and the latest victim. It had taken 6 months of hard work to finally find “The Chopper” as he was referred to by the FBI task force working on the case. They called him “The Chopper’ because all his victims were missing parts cut from their bodies, why we did not know yet. The song drifted eerily across the night, it echoed in my ears, over and over the same course was sung, “This is how we wash the dishes, wash the dishes, wash the dishes. This is how we wash the dishes, early in the evening.” I had taken down many murders in my career, but this moment felt different, like the darkness reached into my very soul carrying that song along like a funeral dirge. It kept going, over and over, as they sang.

 

Dad would be sitting there with this special smile, the one for occasions, and I would smile back. It was supper, and we had a guest. It was a brown haired one, this time, and a lady. Dad said, “You got to have a woman. One way or another you got to have a woman as a man boy. That is how I got you”, and that how is was so I could tell for he had brought women a lot more than men. Tonight was a fresh cut, my Dad said it had a name “Table side Chateaubriand”. I got hit a lot learning that, with the stick, and I would learn, he said, “I had to learn all these things.” Supper was very proper, and Dad made me sit very still when we had guests, he said than can be dangerous when I was small, then things were different, but now I was at the table. I sat and watched. Dad was good at what he did, and he carved a piece of her right there at the table, and set it to flame. She twisted and turned as usual but Dad was good and got a got piece. I set back for Dad used to tell of the old day when he and his brother were young playing a game of base ball, or when star gazed or some other made up story of what nothing he did. Dad didn’t do nothing he said, but he said a good made up story, made it better, and we could have fun, at our special dinners or even better trips. Our guest the lady besides the new wound, which Dad was wrapping now, in case she was nice, and song the song, to or he wanted to make the grunting noises later, I had to see that to, he said. He said they have to sing, and it is so beautiful. I liked the singing to. It made for fun, and I could even laugh when dad did.  Special dinners were birthdays and holidays, cause dad said people had holidays. He said, “One day when you grow up I’ll take you on trip, but first you got to learn.” Dad finished and pushed the lady to the table, and she sat still quiet from all the fighting and noise she made before. Dad said the noise is what can mess up a good job and then dinner, so I had to learn at first with the guest un-gagged while they screamed. It was loud at first but Dad said I was good and didn’t jump. Dad was good at what he did, best them all. The guest never was allowed to eat, but had to talk and be nice or Dad would get mad, and the talking would not be allowed. Some never talked, they were no fun. Dinner was quiet most times except Dad telling his story, and then the song. We were finishing dinner and cleaning up the table when Dad announced the song, and began to sing, “This is how we wash the dishes, wash the dishes, wash the dishs” I told the lady “Sing. We got to sing now.” and began singing with Dad. Dad stopped at the sink filling it with water, “early in the evening….” He turned and looked at the guest, and said, “You sing now” and turned back around. I looked at the lady and nodded as I started walking around the table back over Dad to do the dishes. It all happened so fast. Dad said it happened sometimes in the past. “The killers the police would arrive.” He learn me what to do if that ever happened to long ago. I watched as my Dad reach for his gun, and shot the lady, then turned to shoot, the police, and I watched as Dad got shot several times, and fell.  

I was first in on point as we charged the house crashing the back door, an elderly man in his white hair and bent frame of age was washing dishes and singing. That is what saved me, the song. It’s ironic he never herd me because here was singing, He was fast reached a gun went of killing a woman in a dress at the table. I fired on the man as the adrenaline hit, the pure savagery of his act. My fury in essence…

Dad had taught me well. I talked the right talk to the police. Dad was smart he had it all planned locks were everywhere. I was just a kid. I would go to a home and grow to be a man, like my Dad, like all my brothers, and sisters, cause Dad said he made a lot for me to see on trips when he was young, his brother, and grandpa who died before Dad made me that’s what trips were to see the family and to take guests, but Dad said one day all had to go once they was learnt, to see the new people so they to could learn them, that’s how it was done but I was still to young still, but Dad said I was smart and quiet. I was going to learn good, so my family would be proud. I would.  I missed Dad and the song, most of all, we were so happy when we sung, “This is how we wash the dishes, wash the dishes, wash the dishes, early in the evening.” as our voices would spill into the dish water making bubbles as they had for so many years, when I had learnt good, was ready, and the guest they sung to.   

I tried to run out of bed awaking with the song still in my head, it was one of those nightmares, where I had to get up and pace for a while, one of those wake ups that didn’t take for a few minuets, exhaustion, sleep driving my legs back and forth, and the song calling me back to sleep, echoing in the little hall of horror, visual fogs releasing vivid images, “This is how we wash the dishes, wash the dishes, wash the dishs” a little boys voice repeated in my head.

Thor

 

 

“By My Side”

 

I have awoken, finally if you call it that. I had finally stopped the repetitive process of stretching, sleeping until the pain was too much. It was bad, tormenting bad, more than usual a lot more, the back, the arms, the head wanting to stretch the legs, confusion and pain for the time it took me to lay back on the couch stand, smoke a little, cat got out gone to top it off, I had left the door open, I walked for awhile in a stupor. Until a few sparks of life jumped into my mind realizing I was in a very bad place, over all and this needed to be addressed so I wrote a text, I can’t even remember all what it said but it was a cry, a plea for help, and it went to 10 people. Dad, sis, friends, associates, others, I would have to look. I think most by now know that I go through spells, times when things are just very bad, very bad. I reach out. I imply drastic measures of the who I am, but it is only a glimpse, a skip in time, a very real skip but a skip none the less, the true measure had not fallen. It was Sunday and Jeff had called about church the night before I declined do to illness, yet this morning I changed my mind and called back. I forgot the camera, but I would have missed the ride.

Bill White, Pastor Bill White cranked up the organ and it was on, song, I listened, not having the to-do or where with all to engage. I even declined communion, but that is not why I was there. I was there to listen, I made it that far. Bill started off by saying something about different sermon or one he had prepared. I still wasn’t zeroed in. I wasn’t until I felt he was talking to me, us, we all needed this message, well I sure did. I’m not afraid to say so, for I had already stood and spoke of how I felt, and asked for help. Now, that is something I never do ask for help. I never ask for prayer, I just do with my lot knowing it is pretty screwed up, and this is what I got. I got a sermon a word, and that is what I needed, just an idea, a whisper in my ear that everything is going to be alright everything is going to be Okay. I had to drive away that doom that for shadowed my mind. Service was quickly over and Bill wasn’t even over before our closing song which everyone sung, even my self then Bill stood shaking my hand. A great infectious smile upon his face; for I was smiling back full steam. Don’t know where that came from.

            Today was pot luck and I ran out side to tend the garden. This was the first time I had been able to, water and deal with the plants, except for when I hunted down the snails when I first arrived; I set to water the parking lot and go eat dinner. I actually ate, a sister came by and said “All I can do is pray for you.” And well in fine I took such a gesture. I felt pretty good surprisingly after the meal even though I took a fall, I fixed the light, and rode home. Dad called and we made a plan. I felt calmer, I herd Freya “Scream!” She was out front and in a fight. I found her on the other side of the fence, attacking, see Freya is all I got to say. Then she went up a tree…? Freya has never had to back down a tree and I had to teach it to her over the fence,,,, It took a while she was about 20+ feet up in a tangle of branches that looked extra bushy, to climb down back wards when you go up a tree. A neighbor came out and helped. Freya was down but just lying there on the other side of the fence, not listening to me any longer. I began to talk to the neighbor and Freya walked out, from a car. I looked down and said, “Freya if you come to me I will not punish you.” Her head bobbed down and she came right to my hand. I carefully picked her up. The neighbor was amazed, and exclaimed in breath as a person might when started by and incident. I did many other things today, how well things worked out, even enough so I could speak deep truth to my little sister, and hopefully lighten others. I think you learn a whole lot from suffering, it makes you want to listen, teach, grow, and at the end everything is okay.

Thor     

Sun Automotive. Duck my ride contest.

 

Pastor Bill White, that’s how I‘m starting this. I met the White family, Judy and their daughter Paylin, of “Hope Community Center” Pre-School and Church at 1212 South A Street, and just stayed. Bill White holds it all together, he is the corner stone of this pre-school and church; He once said, “Our work should be here in two miles from this church as he stretched his hand out in 97477. I thought that admirable, he wanted to help the section of town that needed it most, and I looked on a map and found the pre-school is the only one in South Springfield. Bill is like that; an easy conversation with him will reveal he had his own T.V. and radio shows. “I put a lot of famous faces on my shows or events.” as Bill by passed the question about Paylin the director of the Pre-school who has a Masters in Education from the NCU being the God daughter of the legendary Pat Boone?

All I got was a “Yep.”

Bill is very unassuming man humble man, and very busy keeping things going 6 days a week with the pre-school every week day and church Sunday. A month ago their van died. The finances were just keeping the pre-school and church running, “We have small church these days about forty, and barley enough students now, but we can take on several more” he replied in a marketing meeting at “SCORE” when asked by a Bill a man who worked with Ray Crock owner of McDonalds as a marketing tactician. I had to ask about a picture I saw of him in an old news clipping years ago describing his show with an “ex-convict” change and giving back. I said I heard of that name, his was a big time mobster way back, famous too?

“Yep” he replied to that question.

 One of the fellowship allowed Bill to use a car for a few days; a teenager of all people gave up his car, until another of his flock bought him an old putter to get around town.

 “I had no idea” Bill said to me referring to the surprise, “and they don’t make a lot of money.” He was amazed. I was not so much as he, you see there is something deeper that keeps this group together as Judy his wife says, “We are the house of misfit toys.” “We are all broken separately but, together we work things out.” she said with a smile, and what misfit meant was that many of us have been and are fighting medical issues this writer included. I could go on about how Hope Community Center pre-school needs a safe new ride to pick up kids after kindergarten, or how they lost all their money losing a son who battled Leukemia years ago and a return to the Willamette Valley and family, to keep his work going…

I will end it with a Sun Automotive at 255 South A street, and a conversation while asking for the form on “Duck my Ride’ contest. I had been talking to Bill about a Saturday free BBQ event I was thinking of doing at the Hope Community Center and he said he won’t be able to attend any benefits during the fall on Saturdays. I asked why? He replied, “I get to do one thing this year and is a season ticket to watch the Ducks.” He had a big smile on his face. “Got to have my Ducks”

“Yep” I got say Bill is a solid life long Duck fan.

 

Chef John