In the midst of real greatness

I was in the midst of greatness last month. There is no question about that.

Sports writing pays my bills and over the years I have been in venues ranging from quirky old high school gyms to locker rooms in the National Football League and Major League Baseball.

I have talked with the latest hot shot high school player all the way up to Hall of Famers.

I've even gotten some chances to interview entertainers, politicians and business people. I've talked with those content to make a name locally and those who are known around the world.

But real greatness hit me back on Oct. 5.

“No, you are our guest. We wouldn't have it any other way,” Paul Ryan said as I offered to pay for my meal.

To me, Mr. Ryan is THE Paul Ryan. The guy who ran for Vice-President in 2012? I like him. But he's just a member of Congress.

Col. Paul Ryan and my mother.

The Paul Ryan I know personally is Col. Ryan to me. He had traveled from his home in western Kentucky to join a group of veterans and their families for the annual gathering of retirees from the United States Property and Fiscal Office of the Kentucky National Guard.

It's a part of the state headquarters in Frankfort and is where my father spent most of his 35-year career serving our country. Col. Ryan was younger than my father but was his commanding officer for much of his career.

When I took my mom to the reunion, I knew only a handful of the people there. However, I recognized Col. Ryan immediately. His hair was much grayer than the last time I had seen him but otherwise, he hadn't changed a bit.

He was wearing a Kentucky Wildcat sweatshirt, which caused me to remember how he talked with me about my heroes, Louie Dampier, Dan Issel and other Wildcats, when I would visit my dad's office.

“Your father was a good man,” Col. Ryan said of my dad, CW4 Allen Herndon, who died in 1985. Col. Ryan was one of his pall bearers.

“We had a lot of good people here.”

Indeed. I never really knew what my father did. He never said much about his job. I just knew he was proud of what he did – he was a full-time member of the Guard – and that he would miss church one Sunday a month to take part in what we referred to as “drill.”

And I remembered he was gone a lot when riots broke out in Louisville in the late 1960s and again on the University of Kentucky campus following the Kent State shootings in 1970. “There were times when it was just your father and me here at state headquarters,” Col. Ryan remembered.

It wasn't the kind of military job that would have prompted a John Wayne movie, but the older I get, the more I realize how important it was too.
Several years ago, I read “The Sons of Bardstown” by Jim Wilson. It tells how Bardstown, Ky., in the next county over from where I live and grew up, was affected by the Vietnam War. The Amazon preview says, “This is a moving, superbly reported profile of one small Kentucky town and the disproportionately high number of young men it sacrificed to the American cause in Vietnam, including five as the result of a single, brief, militarily meaningless battle.”

My father made that 'militarily meaningless battle' mean something to a young person grappling with how he viewed a world shaped by that war. I was only 10 years old when members of a Bardstown-based National Guard unit were overrun by the Viet Cong and five lost their lives. Yet I still remember my dad talking about that night.

“Oh, yes, we knew some of those guys,” Col. Ryan told me. “We were sending things to that unit all the time.”

Col. Ryan explained how the system worked and how people my father knew gave the ultimate sacrifice.

But there was one thing neither Col. Ryan or anyone else in that meeting of greatness had to explain that day: Their service was, and is, important.

And they are proud of that service.

They should be.

Thanks, dad. Thanks, Col. Ryan.

And thanks to all who have personified what real greatness is.

Proud of my wife and Christian teachers like her

(Note: A column I wrote for the Oct. 8, 2014 edition of The Anderson News.)

I probably don’t tell her enough, but I am beyond-words proud of the lady that looked me in the eye on that July afternoon and said, “I do.”

She’s a teacher.

She’s a public school teacher at that. And she is part of the most under-appreciated, misunderstood and wrongly maligned profession in the world today.

Obviously, there are some people working in classrooms who probably should be doing something else. That’s true with any profession. But don’t lump the vast majority in the basket with the bad apples.

My wife, Stephanie Herndon, has been teaching in the Shelby County school system for 17 years and I never cease to be amazed at the regularity a trip to a store or restaurant is interrupted by someone calling her name, then running over to hug her. I no longer have to ask who it was as the answer most likely will be, “That is one of my former students.”

I’m proud of her and have grown weary about the bad rap so many teachers get.

I learned first-hand just what kind of influence a teacher could have. My aunt, Myrtle Perry, taught 42 years and for much of her career, she led Alton School as its principal in addition to teaching a class. In her day, she’d find out which kids didn’t go to church and invite them to attend Corinth Christian with her. Then, she’d load up her car on Sunday morning.

But may Heaven help you if you crossed her during the week. Suffice it to say, she knew how to put a whuppin’ on someone who back-talked or didn’t follow the rules.

The good ol’ days, you know.

Today, my wife and the countless others who simply want to change lives can’t do those things my aunt did. The politically correct crowd would have a cow if teachers did that today, but they can still make a difference.

I know. A large portion of my job deals with high school coaches. The successful ones aren’t nearly as concerned with the winning percentage as they are with the grade point average. The all-staters might get the accolades, but the ones who make themselves successful in life often conjure up the fondest memories.

In the same way, the teacher that looks at a child as an asset for test scoring purposes probably won’t last. I can guarantee you that in the long run that teacher won’t be as successful.

That’s not to say we don’t have problems in our schools. We do.

And I thought of that last Tuesday. I thought of my wife. I thought of relatives and friends who work in public school classrooms.

My Twitter feed was going haywire with the news of a shooting at Fern Creek High School in Jefferson County. I happened to be home for a few minutes anyway, so I tuned in to one of the Louisville television stations and simply started shaking my head.

Thankfully, only one person was hurt and the alleged shooter, who somehow got a gun inside the school, was captured in less than three hours.

Years ago, the problems in schools were things like chewing gum in class, cutting line and the like. Sure there were unruly kids, but those kids often got to meet what we called, “The Board of Education.”

I’m not referring to a group of people elected to a position, either.

Yet, when my Aunt Myrtle passed away, so many successful people, some of them along in years themselves, stood at the casket and told me something like, “She made me what I am today.”

Crisis management? That was me having to explain a bad grade to my parents.

Times have changed. My wife, and the many Christian teachers like her, would not be able to go through the school inviting kids to church like my aunt did. But they can still make a difference.

And teachers today not only have to know their subject matter and classroom discipline, but are usually trained in real crisis management.

In reading about the Fern Creek incident in last Wednesday’s Courier-Journal, I found a quote from the school principal, Nathan Meyer, very interesting. The Louisville newspaper said Meyer praised his teachers for following the school’s safety procedures “exactly as we have drilled and students and teacher behaved admirably under the circumstances.”

It would be foolish to think that public schools are perfect. But maybe, just maybe, it’s time to thank those men and women who buy supplies out of their own pockets and who don’t see their rewards in the form of a paycheck.

I know from experience that a “thank you” or a hug would mean a lot more.

Football really did mean something after Sept. 11

 Like nearly everyone who was in the United States on Sept. 11, 2001, I remember where I was when 

I learned of the attack on the World Trade Center.

I was in the insurance business – writing was still a paid hobby at the time – and was attending a meeting in Lexington, Kentucky that Tuesday morning. I'm not sure how much time had elapsed after the buildings had been hit before we had a break and saw things unfold on the lobby television. Both towers had been hit by that time, but while we were on break, the reports started coming in that another plane hit the Pentagon.

While everyone there knew the world had changed that morning, I don't think any of us really comprehended how much things were changing that morning.

A few minutes after we returned to the meeting, someone burst into the room saying, “One of the towers just collapsed.”

Needless to say, there was very little insurance business discussed the rest of the day. Most of us stayed in the lobby to watch things unfold.

I thought of my family. I thought of how America had been so blessed to have not had a war on its soil for 150-plus years, yet we'd just been attacked.

Like most other Americans, I was simultaneously scared and angry.

By the end of the week, I had learned just how important some of the simple pleasures we know as Americans really are.

Anderson County was scheduled to play Western Hills in a high school football game the Friday following the attacks. If you remember, President George Bush asked to address the nation that night, so most high schools postponed their Friday games to Saturday night. The colleges and pros canceled for the weekend.

I believe the high schools had it right, though.

That Saturday night, Anderson and Western Hills, two winless football teams, took the field at Anderson's Warford Stadium. That the Bearcats took a 50-6 win was not the real story. It turned out to the the only game Anderson County would win that year, although Lexington Catholic later forfeited another.

The packed house was the story back on Sept. 15, 2001.

The fans participated in a moving patriotic service before the game. They cheered on their teams, both of which played with emotion. And, if anything, that game, and many others like it that day, was our way of fighting back.

We might not have carried a gun or fly a plane, but in a small way, we were saying, “You can bruise us, but you can't keep us down.”

That night provided one of the most memorable post-game interviews I have ever conducted. Anderson's coach at the time, Jimmy Joe Jackson, one of the all-time nice guys, was mighty happy about the win. A very good social studies teacher for his main job, he was even more proud of what those few hours had meant.

We'd seen the towers collapse. We'd seen the carnage at the Pentagon.

We'd started learning about the passengers thwarting a fourth attack, perhaps on the Capitol or the White House.

We were bruised and hurt.

But that Saturday night, the flag was flying high. Little by little, the United States was fighting back.

And Jackson could have spoken for millions of Americans when he said, “Osama Bin Laden is not going to stop us from playing football.”

Or stop us from doing anything else.

Lasting Legacy

(Over my career in sports journalism, I have met so many wonderful people who give of their time, but most importantly, live the faith they claim. One such person was Tracy Briscoe. I knew Tracy well, but I would not characterize us as close friends. We often talked on the sidelines as we were working football games in differing capacities. Tracy passed away far too young at 48. This is my column, which appeared in the Sept. 3 edition of The Anderson News.)

 Someone was missing from the sideline when Anderson County opened the home football season Friday night.

As I thought about that fact as the game wore on, little did I realize the eerie coincidence that the night the Bearcats opened what they hope will be another great season would be the final night of Tracy Briscoe's life.

Even though Tracy, a local physical therapist who offered his services at Anderson games, had missed a few over the last few years, my knowing that he had been seriously ill over the last few weeks made that fact so difficult to fathom.

As I exchanged pleasantries with acquaintances from other media outlets working the contest, I could not help but think about the many times Tracy Briscoe and I carried on conversations lasting an entire game.

Through football, Tracy Briscoe became a friend, yet I can't say we were close. I can't even remember having a cup of coffee together somewhere along the way. But we talked.

And talked a lot over the last few years.

You see, working the sidelines as a member of the media can actually be a lonely place. There is action going on in front of you but precious few to chat with between then plays.

Tracy Briscoe and I changed the world several times under the Friday Night Lights.

I came to really respect this young man over time as it was obvious he had a deep knowledge of the game. While I probably did not see him play over two or three times – he finished his Anderson career before I started writing – fans recognized his ability when he was named one of the Best of the Bearcats team The Anderson News sponsored in 2007.

Suffice it to say his vote totals were very strong in his favor.

Over time, I came to realize why that was the case and why I respected him so. There is no doubt Tracy was an outstanding end and linebacker, but he was even a better person, one that was truly loved and respected by many in his hometown.

I am sure there are many photos of Tracy playing football or basketball during his years at Anderson County High School. Those memories will always be strong.

But I am also sure of this: Tracy will be remembered more for who he was. As acute myeloid leukemia drained life from this vibrant young man, I saw Facebook posts from those closest to him saying things like “Trace is ready.”

Only 48 years old, lots of life supposed to be in front of him, but friends simply saying, “Trace is ready.”

It is fitting that the last time I remember talking with Tracy Briscoe was not on the sideline of an Anderson County football game, but at his home church, Sand Spring Baptist.

His uncle, Larry Briscoe, had invited me to attend the church's Christmas Homecoming celebration last December. Jeff Stice, a renowned gospel pianist, would be part of the program as would several local singers.

Tracy Briscoe was one of those performers. His faith was radiant as he presented his message in song that night.

Sunday, one of Tracy's best friends, Anderson County Assistant Superintendent of Schools Derek Shouse, posted on his Facebook account, “When we first talked with him two weeks ago about his prognosis, he very emphatically told us he was ready. He knew his relationship with the Savior and had no reason to fear. He said, 'There is NO fear, when you KNOW Christ.' That's the message I am compelled to share from my friend, teammate, and indeed brother in Christ.”

And for that, more than any touchdown he ever scored, Tracy Briscoe's legacy will live on.

Why I have seen the Oak Ridge Boys in concert 27 times … and counting

It's been almost three weeks since I stood on the turf of creaky old Cardinal Stadium, holding an umbrella over my head and praying any downpours would stay away.

The Oak Ridge Boys were playing at the Kentucky State Fair for the 39th year. They've become as much a fixture in late August as funnel cakes, corn dogs and Freddy Farm Bureau.

Actually, they have been there a lot longer than the current Freddy, who replaced the original several years back, but if you are from Kentucky, you get my drift. When it's time for the Kentucky State Fair, you know the Oaks are going to be in the concert lineup.

I don't know how much longer that is going to be the case. Three of the four singers have passed their 70th birthday. Even though their concerts have more energy than many groups whose members are half their age, time really doesn't stand still.

The Oak Ridge Boys just make it seem to.

Back on Aug. 17, the rain poured for a while, but when the sun started peeking through about two hours before the show, it looked like the weather would hold off. But, as someone with cochlear implants, I made sure I would be close to cover, just in case the clouds opened again, which they did. Instead of staying in some prime seats, my daughter and I strolled to the side of seating layout, then stood and watched another incredible evening with some of the giants of the music business.

Hey, seats close to the front are cool, but I wanted to be able to hear on Monday morning. Suffice it to say that rain and electronic artificial ears do not match.

But back to why I will go far and near to attend a concert by a group that has not had a Top 10 hit in over 20 years.

What I witnessed on Aug. 17, just like I had back in August, 1973 and 25 times in between was a group of ultimate professionals.

The first time I saw the Oaks, only a handful of people had filed into a high school auditorium in Lexington. I am not exaggerating when I say no more than 150 people were there. 

But even with the small crowd, The Oaks of 1973 gave an incredible show that day. I was all of 15 years old, but what that show taught me has been branded in my thinking ever since: If a job is worth doing, it is worth doing right, no matter who is there or how many can see your work.

I don't remember a lot about that concert, other than talking with Willie Wynn, the group's tenor at the time, in the lobby and buying some 8-track tapes – remember them? – from him. I can't say how long that afternoon concert lasted, but I would bet our cows got a late supper that evening.

Forty-one years later, the cast had changed considerably. Duane Allen and Richard Sterban are still around. The clean-shaven Bill Golden, who had styled dark hair back in 1973, is now William Lee Golden. His gray beard has been growing for over 30 years and is easily one of the most recognizable faces in the music business even today.

The four-piece band of that day has grown to six instruments and none of the musicians were with the Oaks that first day I saw them.

But the group still has that same professionalism. On Aug. 17, Joe Bonsall, who replaced Wynn a few months after my first Oaks concert, thanked the crowd for braving the elements and said, “We will sing as long as it's safe.”

And like every other Oaks show I have attended, people of all ages were having a blast. Near me, an usher was boogeyin' as Golden sang The Allman Brothers classic, “Ramblin' Man.” Just to my right a group of 20-somethings were dancing to their hearts content during “Roll, Tennessee River” and “Elvira.”

But there are plenty of great acts out there. What makes the Oak Ridge Boys STILL play to packed houses nearly everywhere they go?

I believe it is the messages of their songs.

When my personal Concert No. 1 got underway, Duane Allen stepped to the mike singing, “Jesus is the universal language and love is the key to brotherhood, peace and understanding and living in harmony. … I believe in Jesus, I believe in love.”

It was a gospel version of Mac Davis’ mega-hit, “I Believe in Music.”

I can remember that moment simply because I had learned to play Davis’ song on my guitar about the same time. Funny how certain things stick with you.

Forty-one years ago, the Oaks were a progressive gospel quartet. With a full band behind them, I just thought they were cool.

Today, these guys are still cool, and while their music is classified “Country” now, the positive message of family values and faith are still there.

“Reach out and touch a hand, make a friend if you can.”

“Every day, I want to shake somebody’s hand.

Every day, I want to make somebody know that they can.”

And, every concert I have attended, even after the crossover, has looked back at those gospel roots, whether it be rousing “Heaven Bound” or classics like “Have a little talk with Jesus” and the a cappella “Amazing Grace” encore.

In a world where bad news and pessimism abounds, this positive outlook is like a breath of fresh air.

Yep, I am a fan, a huge fan, of The Oaks.

And I am looking forward to Concert No. 28 and beyond.

A Farmboy until he dies

(Note: I have to admit I only became familiar with J.D. Shelburne in the last year or so. A friend told me about his music so I looked him up on the Internet, listened and immediately identified with a guy who grew up the next county over from me. Then, another good friend told me about Shelburne's dad being a former basketball player and coach, one who I had seen play the game when I was a kid. I also realized I knew some of Shelburne's family through my work as a sports writer. I contacted J.D. and he graciously consented to a one-on-one interview. I found one of the nicest young men I have had the privilege of meeting and a guy who shared my love of farm life, basketball and the Kentucky Wildcats. Here is that interview, which appeared as a column in the July 23 edition of The Anderson News.)

I had driven through the backroads to meet up with J.D. Shelburne.

He'd done the same to catch up with a writer he knew little about.

But that wasn't really that unusual. I'm a sports writer who's just as comfortable talking about cattle as baseball. Shelburne could fill the nets from 3-point land at Spencer County High School but is now working his way up the ladder in Nashville.

We're talking Music City. And the base rung of that ladder has to be his biggest single to date, “Farmboy” which tells the story of how he grew up. That signature line of his biggest hit says all you need to know:  I'm a farmboy 'til the day that I die.

I had meandered down Highway 44 through Taylorsville, where the video for his hit was filmed on the family farm. He'd taken time out between shows to meet in the parking lot at Bullitt East High School, where Shelburne's father, David, had at one time coached basketball.

J.D. Shelburne might be chasing his dream picking a guitar but it's easy to see why opposing coaches, including Anderson County's Glen Drury, worried about the 6-foot-5-inch shooting guard's touch from 3-point land from 1998-2001.

J.D. Shelburne performs at Louisville Slugger Field.

“We made plenty of trips to Anderson County,” Shelburne chuckles. “Man, their fans were rough!

“Some of my greatest memories are growing up and playing sports around the Eighth Region. It was great growing up in a small town. Everybody knew me and everybody knew my dad.”

Opposing coaches knew him too. According to the KHSAA website, Shelburne – he's listed as John D. – hit better than two 3-pointers a game. He was one of the state's top shooters and at one point, sank 33 straight free throws.

He looks like he could still make some, ahem, string music.

“I will lace up the old basketball shoes and play at the Brentwood (Tenn.) YMCA from time to time,” Shelburne says. “It's a great way to stay in shape these days.”

And it's not surprising that a guy who grew up loving the Cincinnati Reds of Chris Sabo and Barry Larkin always remembers the day he and his younger brother, Tommy, went deep. “I think we were playing Shelby County and both of us hit home runs in the same game. That was the coolest thing ever.”

To music and basketball lovers, though, Shelburne's ascent rivals that feat on the coolness scale.

It all started in the summer of 2002, between Shelburne's freshman and sophomore years at the University of Kentucky.

“My grandmother passed away. She went to sleep one night and never woke up. It was kind of a shock for our family,” he says. “It really took its toll on the family. We would go to her house that summer and box up stuff and the antiques.

“In the back of a closet, I found an acoustic guitar that I never knew was there. … I just thought it would be something fun to do. I was retiring from sports and moving on to the next phase in my life.

“When I went back to Lexington for the fall semester in '02, I took the guitar with me. Over the course of the next six months, I would get on Google and just try to start figuring out where to put my fingers on the guitar. The case had a chord book in it that told where to put my fingers and I would just play to what was playing on the radio.”

Eventually, he literally sang for his supper.

J.D. Shelburne and bassist Hank Rose at Louisville Slugger Field.

“I got to where I was halfway decent and would go down the street to this place where I would sing for a chicken sandwich,” he laughs.

He started playing coffee shops, churches and retirement parties. He even played for tips near Freddy Farm Bureau at the Kentucky State Fair one year.

“I made about three bucks in two hours,” Shelburne laughs.

It was all part of the dream that had moved from Riverfront Stadium to the Grand Ole Opry.

“Anything I could do to get out and be seen. Anything with a P.A., I would go play it,” he says with a laugh. “I have played in nursing homes where every patient was asleep. I have literally done it all. We have done it the old-fashioned way. I tell people we have done it Loretta Lynn-style.”

Lynn famously visited radio stations trying to get them to play “Honky Tonk Girl” before her career took off. Shelburne plays anytime, anywhere he can, but has the modern twist of Twitter and Facebook

And that is where his love of Kentucky basketball and country music came together.

It all came together on March 30 when the Wildcats earned a berth in the Final Four at AT&T Stadium in Arlington, Texas. Freshman reserve Marcus Lee was the surprise scoring 10 points and grabbing eight rebounds.

“I was watching the game and we beat Michigan to go to the Final Four. Lee went crazy, and as the game ended, I was sitting in the recliner and my heart was pounding. I said, 'I am gonna have to write a song about this.'”

He decided on re-wording the Alabama hit, “If You're Gonna Play in Texas, You've Gotta Have a Fiddle in the Band.”

In 10 minutes, Shelburne had come up with, “If You're Gonna Play in Texas, You've Gotta have Lee in the Game.” He loaded on his Facebook page, thinking little about it.

“I did it as a joke, hoping to get some tickets to the game,” he chuckles. “My dad called me and said that was a good song on Facebook and I had some comments on it. About three hours later, I had about 5,000 views and 3,000 shares. The next day, it was like 200,000 likes. It went viral.”

At last count, over the quickly-made “joke” has turned in serious numbers to the tune of over 450,000 views in various ways.

Ironically, Shelburne says he has been able to play more events around the University of Louisville – “Tom Jurich is a fan,” he says of the Cardinals' athletic director – than his alma mater.

And, it was in the former home of Cardinal football that Shelburne saw another of his dreams come true last year. His gigs at the Kentucky State Fair had evolved from that day he stood near Freddy Farm Bureau to playing one of the country music tents. Last spring, the call came to open for fellow Kentuckians Montgomery Gentry at Cardinal Stadium during the fair.

The place was packed and rocking.

J.D. Shelburne, right, hams it up with me.

“I remember one year walking back to my car and seeing (Christian group) Mercy Me playing and I said, 'I want to play here some day. Sure enough, six years later, I was doing it.”

The dream is still big, but Shelburne is still climbing. By day, he works as a Workman's Compensation adjuster. By night and on weekends, he's traveling to play.

Even though he has opened for 44 national acts, Shelburne longs to play the Opry – another Kentuckian, singer Steve Wariner, has written a letter of recommendation for him – and open for some other big names, including the Oak Ridge Boys, a favorite of Shelburne's parents and the writer he spent part of a Saturday afternoon in a small town talking about sports and being farm boys.

“You make so many friends along the way playing sports, from grade school to high school, that I still keep in contact with,” Shelburne says. “I learned so much about being humble, learning to play with a positive mind frame, never giving up on dreams and always give 110 percent effort. Coach (Mike) Appelman always taught us to leave it all out on the floor and I use that same mind frame today when I perform shows. I leave it all on the stage at the end of the night.

“I worked on a farm all my life. We raised tobacco. I put in hay. A lot of people don't realize I am a farm boy. I have my hair slicked back, wear tight blue jeans and cowboy boots, but I was born and raised on the farm. I was driving a truck on the back road when I was eight years old.”

I'm a farmboy until the day that I die.

Original song, original sound, age old dream

(Note: Every now and then, I run into someone who just amazes me for various reasons.  I recently had the privilege of interviewing Rayna Warford and her sister, Ramsey Edington. They have dreams of making it in the music business but know the odds are stacked against them.  But they are still having loads of fun and love every minute of their journey. I am reposting the story, which appeared in the July 16 edition of The Anderson News.)

 The journey started with only a tiny bit of fanfare in Anderson County. If the dream comes true, it will make it all the way to Nashville.

And beyond.

“My first performance was at Western School,” Rayna Warford says with a big smile. “I was five years old and it was a talent contest. I was the youngest contestant there, but I won.”

Twenty-two years and a slew of gigs later, Rayna is still singing, but now she’s usually joined on stage by her younger sister, Ramsey Edington, putting together a unique neo-traditional country sound that is becoming more well-known around central Kentucky.

But the ambition is much bigger than the Bluegrass Region.

“We are country with a bluegrass influence,” Rayna says with a sparkle in her eye.

When asked to give just a taste of any current act that might have a similar sound, Rayna offers The Secret Sisters as an example, but quickly adds, “I say we have the R and R sound.”

That sound is tight family harmony with powerful voices, backed by their own acoustic accompaniment. Ramsey started teaching herself the mandolin at age 16 and is now learning the ukelele. Rayna started learning the piano when she was 8, but switched to the guitar after getting one as a Christmas gift in 2006.

“We had a gig scheduled for February and I said I was going to play that guitar on stage,” Rayna laughs.

That drive fuels a dream that is not likely to ever die.

The Anderson County sisters long for that break elusive break that could take them from playing at local festivals, churches and small-town country shows like the Bardstown Opry and the Kentucky Jamboree to the big time in Nashville.

Along the way, R and R have been asked to sing the national anthem at various events around central Kentucky, including a date at a Lexington Legends’ minor league baseball game.

They’ve also recorded two CDs with another in the works.

It’s all part of the journey that actually began before Rayna Edington won that talent show at Western School.

“Our mom made us listen to all kinds of music,” Ramsey says with a laugh. “She introduced us to all kinds of music.”

That has been apparent even as the sisters have chased their dreams. Rayna saw that during a six-month stint as a backup singer at the now-closed Junction Jamboree in Lebanon Junction several years ago.

Ramsey, who now works as a pharmacy technician at the Lawrenceburg Kroger, joined the Lebanon Junction show once, but found the trip very difficult with her work schedule.

“That was just such a long drive each week,” says Rayna, whose day job is with the Kentucky Department of Agriculture in Frankfort.

“When we sang at Lebanon Junction, there were few songs I didn’t know. We listened to so much Michael Bolton growing up. Then I went through that stage where everything was Britney Spears,” Rayna says. “Now we sing everything from the Dixie Chicks to Loretta Lynn’s ‘Blue Kentucky Girl.’”

The pair has even written a song, simply titled “Our Original Song,” about that influence. Their mom, Regina Edington, even helped with the composition.

One verse includes the lines, “Our mom would make us listen to Loretta and ZZ Top. She’d pull out those old 45s but we’d rather listen to pop. She’d tell us both the story of how music’s supposed to be. Mom was right all along about those old songs and what’s best for you and me.”

But that love of music is even deeper. Not only did Regina Edington constantly play music as her daughters were growing up, but the influence of their chorus teacher at Anderson County High School, Sue Lou Smith, cannot be understated.

“She taught us so much and she comes to everything,” Ramsey says.

That includes gigs as far away as Lebanon Junction to the rare opportunities R and R have to sing in their hometown.

Friday, the sisters will play at Rising Sons Winery for an that is open to the anyone 21 and older. “Seating will be limited so it is suggested people bring lawn chairs,” Rayna said.

Sunday, R and R will be presenting some of their gospel music during the morning worship service at First Christian Church.

They will head back to Rising Sons on Aug. 8 during the 127 Yard Sale for another public event.
“We love to perform here in Lawrenceburg. This IS our hometown,” says Rayna, who acts as the duet’s manager.

In addition to the traditional small-town country venues, R and R nave played at the Fort Harrod Beef Festival, the Daniel Boone Festival in Winchester and at the Franklin County Fair.

“We love to play the festival setting,” Rayna says. “You can get your music to a lot of people there.”
And, Rayna says, the duo never turns down a reasonable invitation to sing. “Personally, I think it is always worth it,” Rayna says. “You never know who is going to be there.”

It’s just the price of the dream.

And that dream might get a little closer to reality on August 30. Last week, R and R accepted an offer to play at Loretta Lynn’s Hurricane Mills Ranch just outside Nashville. “We are going to be performing with our friend, Roger Riggs, who is a Conway Twitty impersonator, and our friend Allen Hilbert, who is a George Jones impersonator.

“The best part is that Loretta is doing a concert at the ranch that night, so this is an incredible honor.”
Still, Rayna and Ramsey know that only a handful of the big dreamers ever see them come true.

“If it doesn’t happen, I don’t think we would be disappointed,” Rayna says. “We are doing what we love to do.”

And that love makes the dream grow bigger before Rayna Warford’s and Ramsey Edington’s eyes. Rayna knew that when she and her husband, Adam, took a trip to Nashville in April.

“We went to the Ryman,” Rayna said of the auditorium that long housed the Grand Ole Opry. “When we walked in, I said, ‘Wow!’ I literally burst into tears.

“We did the backstage tour and I got up on the stage to stand in that circle. I might never stand there again, but I will cherish that moment forever.


Our Original Song
By Rayna Warford, Ramsey Edigton and Regina Edington

They say you can’t go nowhere

In the music world today

If you don’t write, practice every night

And play gigs for little pay…

Sometimes it sure ain’t easy

‘Cause money don’t go far—

You miss your home, you’re all alone

And your best friend’s a guitar

So we’ve come up with some lyrics

And they might not be the best

Stayed up all night, had a real big fight

But then we got some rest

We tried to be creative

Feel free to sing along—

Here we are, we’re R&R

And this-is-our original song

Our mom would make us listen

To Loretta and ZZ Top

She’d pull out those old 45’s

But we’d rather listen to pop

She’d tell us both the story

Of how music’s supposed to be

Mom was right all along about those old songs

And what’s best for you and me

Chorus:

It might not take us to the Opry

Or be a YouTube hit

Buy us fancy clothes or shiny cars

But we don’t give a lick

We’ve tried so hard to please you

By writing our own tune

We’re radio bound—hope you like our sound

Because you’re gonna hear us soon!

(Chorus)

We tried to be creative

And we hope you sang along

‘Cause here we are, we’re R&R

And this-is-our original song!

Singing for His blessings, not searching for His will

As I woke up this Fourth of July morning, the sun was shining brightly on my new Kentucky home. There's not a cloud in the sky, the air is crisp and rather than the normal muggy days of summer, the temperature seems more like early fall.

I could not help but think of the way I have been personally blessed over the last few months: My wife and I were able to move to a new house – I can't help but love the creek that runs through our back yard! – in what we believe is a beautiful neighborhood. She has been granted a professional opportunity that she has been pursuing several years, as well.

My youngest daughter received the 110 Percent Award for her classwork in her old school, Shelby East, and is excited about a new band opportunity she will be having at her new one, Anderson County.

I have also been inspired in other ways, not the least of which was someone sharing that knowing my struggle with hearing loss and the wonder of cochlear implants has been a blessing to them. That one really was a bit of a surprise.

There have been so many blessings that serve to remind me how wonderful it is to live in the United States of America. I really wonder if most, if any, of the things I have just listed would be possible anywhere else on the earth.

At the same time, though, I am troubled by the direction of our country.

And troubled is really an understatement.

Last night, I had the privilege to attend a Minor League Baseball game at Louisville Slugger Field. The hometown Bats were taking on the Indianapolis Indians in another installment of the rivalry they have had for over 30 years. It kind of mirrors the one their parent clubs, the Cincinnati Reds and Pittsburgh Pirates had when I was growing up in the 1970s and has resurfaced in the last few seasons.

The game got out of hand and the Indians went on to an easy victory. And speaking of “out of hand” I was quite upset with myself as I did not haul in a foul ball I should have caught.

But as I was waiting for the game to mercifully end and the fireworks to begin, I started thinking about some of the ironies of the July 4 holiday tradition.

In the middle of the seventh inning, in what has become a diamond tradition since Sept. 11, 2001, the public address announcer asked for all to rise during the singing of “God Bless America.”

To say the sell-out crowd sang with gusto is major understatement.

But a review of recent news says our country's actions are even louder and more forceful than anything Kate Smith could have ever sung.

Consider the Supreme Court's ruling on employer-funded medical insurance. It's probably not possible to not know about this one. The craft store Hobby Lobby and another corporation argued that the mandate to provide birth control with prescription drugs that have been linked to causing abortions violated their deeply-held Christian values. The corporation did not challenge providing the 16 actual contraceptives as mandated by the Affordable Care Act.

While the 5-4 court decision was a victory, I am troubled that we even got to the point in our country when someone could be violating a law – as the executives of the corporations named in the case would be doing – by holding fast to their faith.

For that matter, how did we get to a point where abortion – taking the life of a baby, no matter how you look at it – is considered a contraceptive and a choice in reproductive health. Just because the Supreme Court ruled that abortion should be legal in 1973 doesn't make it right or moral.

Of course there are many saying the ruling in favor of Hobby Lobby limits a woman's choice. Wrong.

All the ruling says is that the closely-held corporation does not have to provide the government-mandated benefits if they violate the owner's religious beliefs.

It does not say that someone cannot have an abortion. It's just not incumbent on the employer to pay for it. It's called personal responsibility.

The next day, a judge struck down a judge struck down Kentucky's ban on gay marriage. It's not that we didn't see this coming. I have believed for many years the pro-gay marriage forces would eventually win in the courts.

What is troubling is that we have gotten away from biblical values, which clearly teach that such a lifestyle is sin. Of course, the Bible also says that lying, drunkenness and divorce, which I have gone through, are also sins.

I believe that Jesus' admonition to a woman who had been married five times is pertinent when he said, “Neither do I condemn you. Go and sin no more.”

In other words, loving and respecting a person does not equal condoning behavior.

But back to baseball and the Fourth of July.

We sing God Bless America loudly, but do we really mean it? Does America ask for God's blessings without submitting to his will?

I think the answer is obvious. And I wonder how much longer He will continue to show His favor on our country.

Loving the right team most of all

I am writing this during the 2014 NCAA basketball tournament. As I sit at my desk, I am wearing some fan gear telling the world about my allegiance to the University of Kentucky Wildcats. It's in my blood.

By the time I was eight years old, I knew that Cawood Ledford, the voice of the Wildcats, was the greatest play-by-play announcer of all time. I soon learned the only way to watch one of those rare games on TV was to turn the sound down and let Cawood call it.

I learned that fandom from my mother and my aunt, both of whom loved the Wildcats and made sure they could listen to or watch every game that was on the air.

Before television started making out the schedules to ensure those in the Eastern and Central time zones would see games at somewhat reasonable hours, I actually set my alarm to get up in time to watch the Wildcats play the championship game of the Great Alaska Shootout at 2 a.m.

Repeat, 2 a.m.

Crazy. I know.

A few hours after I write this, my beloved Wildcats will be taking on, for fans at least, the most bitter rival of them all, the Louisville Cardinals, for the right to advance in the tournament.

As much as I love the Wildcats, my wife, who I love very deeply, has an affection for the Cardinals. Today, as we were out and about tending to some errands accompanying an impending move, she proudly wore a Louisville wind shirt while I sported some Kentucky attire.

We had a few funny looks. Some people jokingly asked questions or made comments.

It was all in fun, but there are some who take it very seriously. Too seriously.

I have read accounts of people forking over more than a thousand dollars for a seat close to the floor in Lucas Oil Stadium in Indianapolis. Kentucky coach John Calipari noted that those whose team loses will grieve until the next time the teams play and the winners will celebrate.

He's right.

And it is all over a basketball game. A big game, no doubt, but still a game.

I have made my living writing about sports full time for 12 years. Before that, I put in about 17 years typing away as a paid hobby. Yet, over that time, I have become much more keenly aware of the extremes some fans go to.

And I have wondered, “What would the world be like if we cared as much about the work of Jesus Christ as we do about what the Wildcats, Cardinals or any other team do on or off the playing field?”

I have seen people who somehow can't find the time to worship drive hundreds of miles to see a game. What about the person who is so tired and can't take sitting at church somehow find the energy to not only make it to the game but actively cheer their team and pointedly berate the officials at the game.

What if we were as enthused to worship as we are to cheer our favorite team?

As I saw so many people wearing Kentucky or Louisville gear – and surprisingly a few Michigan fans in central Kentucky – I could not help but think of Paul's words in Galatians 3:26-27, “So in Christ Jesus you are all children of God through faith, for all of you who were baptized into Christ have clothed yourself with Christ.”

What if we were as concerned about those who are lost without Jesus Christ as we are about where a great high school athlete decides to attend college or what pro team will draft the college star?

I think we all know the answer.

There's really nothing wrong with cheering a team on. When we have diversions from the pressures of every day life, it can be good. If there were little interest in sports, I would not have a job at which I have achieved some success.

Even the apostle Paul refers to the Christian life as a race (Hebrews 12, I Cor. 9) and uses the analogy of a boxer (I Cor. 9). These are among many instances of Paul using athletic metaphors in the New Testament.

If he were writing today, he could perhaps find a spiritual truth in the quest for The Final Four. Who knows?

It's not the sport that is the problem. Nor is there a problem with a healthy fandom that recognizes we are watching games. But when those games become our obsession – and for some they are no doubt more important than their relationship with the Lord – they have become a god.

Sports should be fun, and, in their right place, they are. Someday, however, the trophies will tarnish and the banners will fall.

One's relationship with God is eternal. That should be our number one focus.