For those of you that keep track of the Cash stories, you'll recall my oldest brother Cole is a retired Methodist minister living in Colorado. In his youth James Dean could not hold a candle to Cole when it came to the raw '50s American juvenile delinquent persona. Cole wrote the book on it. And as hard as it may be to believe, he really could "Fonzy" a pop machine with one smack an pull out a free Coca-Cola. Really. In his late teens Cole did an "about face" and found a calling to do the Lord's Work. We were all there and watched it. It was a good thing; if he hadn't have altered his trajectory in life I think he was looking at 2 to 10 for grand theft: auto. And I have always wondered what pivotal series of events led Cole to his life's work. He had never really talked about it until now.
Being Thanksgiving today I had to give Cole a call to wish him a happy turkey-day and check on his golf game. He's fine, but his golf game apparently still sucks. And as it does so often, our conversation turned to days past. I had to ask him point blank, "When did you know you were meant to be a preacher?" I really expect him to dodge the question in his typical "big brother" way, but that didn't happen this time. And the story he told me was worthy of anything I have ever told about the Cash boys. It is such a bizarre tale I've got to share it with you all.
Cole had taken up the duties as an adjunct "youth minister" at the Pilgrim Congregational Church which was the center of the Cash family's spiritual connection. There were two reasons Cole took on the duties: for one, working around the church was a kind of "community service" enforced by the law on Cole for some minor social misbehavior. And secondly, Cole had always played on the boys softball team but the team had fallen apart due to disinterest by the elders and Cole wanted to revive the team. But at the time Cole was not really "sold" on religion. However the longer he worked around the church the more satisfaction he felt. He told me he could see it was an "all or nothing" kind of commitment. A big step for a young man, I'm sure. And Cole said he was leaving the decision up to God. If it was to be, God would surely send him a sign from Heaven and then he would know.
All of the Cash boys earned our pocket money pumping gas and fixing flats at Bill's 66. Bill was the owner; a short and wiry fella of Irish descent with the liver to prove it. Although Holden and I worked the drive, Cole was the only one whom Bill trusted with the keys to the place...and the keys to the old 1946 wrecker that had stayed beside the station for longer than I had been alive. Cole took care of the wrecker and due to Bill's daily imbibery probably drove it more than Bill.
Cole had found an old box of Christmas lights in the back room at the station. We all figured Bill had hidden them there to keep his wife from wanting him to decorate his house. This made sense because we were all well aware that ladders and drunk micks are a toxic mixture. Cole had also found a box of 6 volt automotive bulbs and another box of universal bulb sockets. Most cars by then were running 12 volt systems with the 6 volt bulbs and sockets sitting unused. It was closing in on the holiday season and Cole decided to modify a string of Christmas lights with the 6 volt bulbs and sockets. And with the help of several little bottles of our sister Sharon's fingernail lacquer for the bulbs the old 1946 wrecker was going to be lit up like a Christmas tree.
It probably took several rolls of black electrical tape but Cole finally had a long string of lights that lit up beautifully when he touched the wires to the trucks battery. He stayed late into the night getting them strung up on the wrecker. He also wired them into a toggle switch he had stuck through a hole in the truck's dash board. But after he had everything in place, the lights wouldn't work. Cole was frustrated and thought he could figure it out the next day. It was late so he parked the truck next to the garage, locked up the place and went home.....
Although it might not have seemed like it, the early sixties were still full of people that had endured World War II. Some had not only endured the war, some suffered in that War and some gave their lives too. We had a neighbor lady, Mrs. Bishop, that had lost her 'husband' in the War. She was from a little town out in western Oklahoma and had moved to town after the war to raise her son, Gary, her only child born before the war broke out. Now Mrs. Bishop and Gary's father weren't ever actually married. But Gary bore his father's last name McKinsey. Apparently Mr. McKinsey had been lost in the war and Mrs. Bishop moved away from her small town to avoid the social stigma of having a child out of wedlock. And due to the fact her and Gary's father were never married, his GI benefits and records weren't available to her.
But Gary was a good kid. He was a few years older than Cole and went to the local academy to become a police officer. It was cool to have someone you knew who was a cop. He ran the local beat and would sometimes hang out at Bill's Service Station and drink a cold pop. We all knew and liked him.
Unknown to Gary and his mother Mr. McKinsey had not actually been killed in the war. He was one of almost 75,000 American and Philippine troops captured by the Japanese Imperial Forces in the Philippines in 1942. The prisoners were scourged and marched on foot 65 miles to prison camps in what became known as the Bataan Death March. The death toll was tremendous and most that survived crippled for life. After being freed by American forces, Mr. McKinsey was hospitalized for a long time in California. By the time he could make it back to Oklahoma his family had moved away and he lost all trace of them. And with a twist of fate the U.S. Army had him enlisted as "Mackenzie" instead of "McKinsey". All his discharge papers were in that name and he adopted the spelling. And although she had made several attempts, Mrs. Bishop was unable to find out anything about a soldier named McKinsey. He eventually made a life somewhere in Texas, but never gave up looking for his family.
And it just so happened back then he had found some trace of evidence they might be living around our little 'hood. He had spent years saving his money and visiting places where he might find his boy and her mother. He had been here in town a few days with no luck, had run out of money, packed up and left his room at the Airline Motel on Highway 66 to get back to Texas. He left his motel room hours before sunup. And his was probably the only car on the road that early as he started to drive by Bill's Service Station.
Cole swore up and down he had chocked the wheel on the old wrecker, but it somehow began to roll slowly toward the street. And just before Mr. Mackenzie began to drive past, it came down off the curb. The jolt was enough to flip the toggle switch Cole had installed and the bang apparently was enough to complete the ground that Cole had missed. Mr. Mackenzie looked up in front of him and there was a 1946 wrecker with blazing Christmas lights strung all over it...sitting sideways in the road directly in front of him. He slammed on his brakes to miss it, left the road and punched a power pole.
Shook up but not hurt he first called the police from the pay phone outside the gas station and then called the "Night Emergency" phone number painted on Bill's door. Bill's wife answered and knew her drunk husband wouldn't be any good so she called Cole and asked him to get down to the station to see what was going on.
And in the final twist of fate the usual night shift police officer had taken some time off and Gary was taking his place. He and his squad car were radioed to investigate the accident in the wee hours of the morning. When he arrived Mr. Mackenzie noticed the odd spelling of Officer McKinsey's name on his name tag. A short conversation between the two men solved an almost twenty year old mystery. When Cole finally made it there he found the two with tear swollen eyes, happily chatting away while sitting on the bench in front of Bill's Station. Cole said it took the men a half hour to get him to understand what was going on. Cole was able to get both vehicles back up out of the road and promised to get Mr. Mackenzie's car fixed as soon as the sun came up.
Mr. Mackenzie was happily reunited with his long lost family. He eventually moved to town and picked up the pieces of his lost life with his family. Officer McKinsey and his dad were regulars at the station and soon made good friends with Cole. Mr. Mackenzie had also decided to ask Mrs. Bishop, his long lost "girlfriend" to be his bride. Their son knew Cole's connection with the Church and they all wanted the ceremony there.
But the story's not over. Reverend Bradshaw at the Pilgrim Congregational Church had attempted to convince Cole to obtain his "Associate Pastor" paperwork through the Church. Cole resisted due to his indecision about things. Unknown to Cole Reverend Bradshaw had faked Cole's signature on the application and the approved paperwork sat in the Reverend's desk. When Cole asked Reverend Bradshaw about having the wedding at the church, the Reverend produced Cole's paperwork and told him, "You can perform the services yourself!"
And that was Cole's "sign from above". He could not imagine how all of those things coming together could be a coincidence.
He said the twenty bucks he charged was good also. I asked him why he kept the money instead of giving it to the church. He never answered me and changed the subject. Although a good Christian soldier, he was still Cole Cash...my big brother.
paden cash, post: 400999, member: 20 wrote: For those of you that keep track of the Cash stories, you'll recall my oldest brother Cole is a retired Methodist minister living in Colorado. In his youth James Dean could not hold a candle to Cole when it came to the raw '50s American juvenile delinquent persona. Cole wrote the book on it. And as hard as it may be to believe, he really could "Fonzy" a pop machine with one smack an pull out a free Coca-Cola. Really. In his late teens Cole did an "about face" and found a calling to do the Lord's Work. We were all there and watched it. It was a good thing; if he hadn't have altered his trajectory in life I think he was looking at 2 to 10 for grand theft: auto. And I have always wondered what pivotal series of events led Cole to his life's work. He had never really talked about it until now.
Being Thanksgiving today I had to give Cole a call to wish him a happy turkey-day and check on his golf game. He's fine, but his golf game apparently still sucks. And as it does so often, our conversation turned to days past. I had to ask him point blank, "When did you know you were meant to be a preacher?" I really expect him to dodge the question in his typical "big brother" way, but that didn't happen this time. And the story he told me was worthy of anything I have ever told about the Cash boys. It is such a bizarre tale I've got to share it with you all.
Cole had taken up the duties as an adjunct "youth minister" at the Pilgrim Congregational Church which was the center of the Cash family's spiritual connection. There were two reasons Cole took on the duties: for one, working around the church was a kind of "community service" enforced by the law on Cole for some minor social misbehavior. And secondly, Cole had always played on the boys softball team but the team had fallen apart due to disinterest by the elders and Cole wanted to revive the team. But at the time Cole was not really "sold" on religion. However the longer he worked around the church the more satisfaction he felt. He told me he could see it was an "all or nothing" kind of commitment. A big step for a young man, I'm sure. And Cole said he was leaving the decision up to God. If it was to be, God would surely send him a sign from Heaven and then he would know.
All of the Cash boys earned our pocket money pumping gas and fixing flats at Bill's 66. Bill was the owner; a short and wiry fella of Irish descent with the liver to prove it. Although Holden and I worked the drive, Cole was the only one whom Bill trusted with the keys to the place...and the keys to the old 1946 wrecker that had stayed beside the station for longer than I had been alive. Cole took care of the wrecker and due to Bill's daily imbibery probably drove it more than Bill.
Cole had found an old box of Christmas lights in the back room at the station. We all figured Bill had hidden them there to keep his wife from wanting him to decorate his house. This made sense because we were all well aware that ladders and drunk micks are a toxic mixture. Cole had also found a box of 6 volt automotive bulbs and another box of universal bulb sockets. Most cars by then were running 12 volt systems with the 6 volt bulbs and sockets sitting unused. It was closing in on the holiday season and Cole decided to modify a string of Christmas lights with the 6 volt bulbs and sockets. And with the help of several little bottles of our sister Sharon's fingernail lacquer for the bulbs the old 1946 wrecker was going to be lit up like a Christmas tree.
It probably took several rolls of black electrical tape but Cole finally had a long string of lights that lit up beautifully when he touched the wires to the trucks battery. He stayed late into the night getting them strung up on the wrecker. He also wired them into a toggle switch he had stuck through a hole in the truck's dash board. But after he had everything in place, the lights wouldn't work. Cole was frustrated and thought he could figure it out the next day. It was late so he parked the truck next to the garage, locked up the place and went home.....
Although it might not have seemed like it, the early sixties were still full of people that had endured World War II. Some had not only endured the war, some suffered in that War and some gave their lives too. We had a neighbor lady, Mrs. Bishop, that had lost her 'husband' in the War. She was from a little town out in western Oklahoma and had moved to town after the war to raise her son, Gary, her only child born before the war broke out. Now Mrs. Bishop and Gary's father weren't ever actually married. But Gary bore his father's last name McKinsey. Apparently Mr. McKinsey had been lost in the war and Mrs. Bishop moved away from her small town to avoid the social stigma of having a child out of wedlock. And due to the fact her and Gary's father were never married, his GI benefits and records weren't available to her.
But Gary was a good kid. He was a few years older than Cole and went to the local academy to become a police officer. It was cool to have someone you knew who was a cop. He ran the local beat and would sometimes hang out at Bill's Service Station and drink a cold pop. We all knew and liked him.
Unknown to Gary and his mother Mr. McKinsey had not actually been killed in the war. He was one of almost 75,000 American and Philippine troops captured by the Japanese Imperial Forces in the Philippines in 1942. The prisoners were scourged and marched on foot 65 miles to prison camps in what became known as the Bataan Death March. The death toll was tremendous and most that survived crippled for life. After being freed by American forces, Mr. McKinsey was hospitalized for a long time in California. By the time he could make it back to Oklahoma his family had moved away and he lost all trace of them. And with a twist of fate the U.S. Army had him enlisted as "Mackenzie" instead of "McKinsey". All his discharge papers were in that name and he adopted the spelling. And although she had made several attempts, Mrs. Bishop was unable to find out anything about a soldier named McKinsey. He eventually made a life somewhere in Texas, but never gave up looking for his family.
And it just so happened back then he had found some trace of evidence they might be living around our little 'hood. He had spent years saving his money and visiting places where he might find his boy and her mother. He had been here in town a few days with no luck, had run out of money, packed up and left his room at the Airline Motel on Highway 66 to get back to Texas. He left his motel room hours before sunup. And his was probably the only car on the road that early as he started to drive by Bill's Service Station.
Cole swore up and down he had chocked the wheel on the old wrecker, but it somehow began to roll slowly toward the street. And just before Mr. Mackenzie began to drive past, it came down off the curb. The jolt was enough to flip the toggle switch Cole had installed and the bang apparently was enough to complete the ground that Cole had missed. Mr. Mackenzie looked up in front of him and there was a 1946 wrecker with blazing Christmas lights strung all over it...sitting sideways in the road directly in front of him. He slammed on his brakes to miss it, left the road and punched a power pole.
Shook up but not hurt he first called the police from the pay phone outside the gas station and then called the "Night Emergency" phone number painted on Bill's door. Bill's wife answered and knew her drunk husband wouldn't be any good so she called Cole and asked him to get down to the station to see what was going on.
And in the final twist of fate the usual night shift police officer had taken some time off and Gary was taking his place. He and his squad car were radioed to investigate the accident in the wee hours of the morning. When he arrived Mr. Mackenzie noticed the odd spelling of Officer McKinsey's name on his name tag. A short conversation between the two men solved an almost twenty year old mystery. When Cole finally made it there he found the two with tear swollen eyes, happily chatting away while sitting on the bench in front of Bill's Station. Cole said it took the men a half hour to get him to understand what was going on. Cole was able to get both vehicles back up out of the road and promised to get Mr. Mackenzie's car fixed as soon as the sun came up. Cole never could figure out how the truck got out of gear, or how the lights started working.
Mr. Mackenzie was happily reunited with his long lost family. He eventually moved to town and picked up the pieces of his lost life with his family. Officer McKinsey and his dad were regulars at the station and soon made good friends with Cole. Mr. Mackenzie had also decided to ask Mrs. Bishop, his long lost "girlfriend" to be his bride. Their son knew Cole's connection with the Church and they all wanted the ceremony there.
But the story's not over. Reverend Bradshaw at the Pilgrim Congregational Church had attempted to convince Cole to obtain his "Associate Pastor" paperwork through the Church. Cole resisted due to his indecision about things. Unknown to Cole Reverend Bradshaw had faked Cole's signature on the application and the approved paperwork sat in the Reverend's desk. When Cole asked Reverend Bradshaw about having the wedding at the church, the Reverend produced Cole's paperwork and told him, "You can perform the services yourself!"
And that was Cole's "sign from above". He could not imagine how all of those things coming together could be a coincidence.He said the twenty bucks he charged was good also. I asked him why he kept the money instead of giving it to the church. He never answered me and changed the subject. Although a good Christian soldier, he was still Cole Cash...my big brother.
Wonderful, heartwarming story, Paden. Affirms what many know is true - There are no coincidences in God's economy.
Hope you and all the others who frequent RPLS today had a great Thanksgiving.
Thanks so much for sharing this at a time when we all are taking some time to think of family and the many things we are thankful for.
Wow!
Paden, there is no one in the world that I would rather have a beer with than you. Thank you, as always you are inspirational.
I think I can safely skip church on Sunday after that.
