Marshall Ramsey

Fatigue gestured to the traveler, pulling him toward it and a certain death. Thank goodness for the road’s rumble strips, he thought or he would have left the road and hit a tree.  He needed to find a hotel and quick. But the rural Pennsylvania countryside offered nothing but darkness and trees.

The traveler had rolled down the windows and blasted the radio in a vain attempt to stay awake.  Cold air did battle with a certain death. Sleep would be so easy now. So comfortable. Yet, so final.

It was Christmas Eve and he was trying to make his way home. His final flight from Philadelphia had been cancelled due a sudden snowstorm and he had rented the last car in the airport. The traveler had fought the blizzard for nearly 60 miles until he finally made it to the outskirts of Bethlehem, Pennsylvania.  Making it the last 50 miles home seemed like an impossibility.  Ice and fatigue were fighting in tandem to stop him.  He so wanted to see his boys wake up to find Santa had come. No, he wanted his sons to wake up and find he had arrived.  The snow had tapered and the roads were fairly clear now.  The traveler pressed on but knew he needed to sleep.

Now he was just praying for a motel so he could rest his weary head.

Fatigue tugged at him again as his car left the road. The traveler woke up just in time to miss a bridge support. He was awake now. And fear was his co-pilot and was screaming in his ear.

“God, I need a miracle.”

When he finished his prayer, he saw a glow in the distance.  The traveler sped toward it and saw a sign for a cheap motel. It beckoned to him like a flame would to a moth. Salvation was on the horizon.

The traveler pulled his small rental Ford into the motel parking lot.  It was full. This was worrisome, he  thought.  He remembered a recent trip across Texas where all the motels all across West Texas had no vacancy. He had ended up driving through the night before making El Paso. Not tonight.  He couldn’t go another mile further. “God, please let there be a room.”

An elderly man with sat at the counter, reading an old Sports Illustrated and fighting sleep himself. The traveler carried his bag and  announced, “Gotta room?”

The innkeeper, who was hired more for his willingness to work the night shift than his sterling personality, grunted, “One. You’re in luck.”

The traveler was relieved. It was his own personal Christmas miracle.  He had cheated fatigue for most of the night and now had made it safely to a bed. His credit card made a smart snap as he plunked it down on the counter.

Just then, the doors to the hotel flew open.  A man and a very pregnant woman burst through them, carrying two bags. The woman was crying and the man was trying to comfort her by saying, “I’m sure they have a room, honey. I’m sure. If not, we can sleep in the barn behind the hotel.”

The traveler stood, looking at the couple and gripping his key.  Maybe he could slip out of sight and they wouldn’t see him. He did make it there first after all. And he was so tired. Very tired. But as he heard the woman sob louder, he looked at her and sighed. “Oh alright,” he mumbled as he walked back to the counter.

“You can have my room,” he said to the young man as he handed him his key, “My treat.” The young man looked at the traveler and said, “thank  you, sir.”

The traveler grabbed a pillow and a blanket and as he headed back out to his car, he said, “Merry Christmas.”  He’d catch a quick snooze and then head on back home in time for Christmas morning.

As he got as comfortable as he could in a rented Ford, the traveler thought about the young couple and smiled.  Sleep’s angel wrapped her arms safely around him as a bright star illuminated the traveler of Bethlehem.

In honor of December 7th and the sacrifices made by all those who were there that horrible day, I’ve reposted a story from my book Fried Chicken & Wine. As time now does what the Japanese couldn’t, God bless all those who are slipping silently into the night. 

A light mist shrouded Pearl Harbor, Hawaii.  The normally bright blue water was more of a dull gray, matching the U.S. Navy ships that slipped in and out of its protected waters.  A black Lincoln Towncar slowly pulled up to the battleship and stopped.  The driver got out, walked around to the passenger side rear door and opened it. A shaky foot emerged.

Capt. John Franklin, U.S. Navy (Ret.), slowly got out of the car and looked up at the mighty ship.  His eyes immediately began to water as tears and memories flooded forth.  The driver popped the trunk, got out a walker and helped the old man to his feet.  The driver paused, saluted and waited by the car.  Capt. Franklin slowly made his way to the gangplank.

As he pushed the walker up the walkway he noticed a strange thing beginning to happen: His legs were getting stronger.  About halfway up, he threw the walker aside, “I hated the dam’ thing anyway,” the old sailor growled.  He paused, looked up at the mighty guns and the colorful flags.  The fog swirled around the superstructure and the steel guns.  He continued on his journey.

He got to the top and took a deep breath. The smell of fresh paint, oil and wood tickled his senses, unleashing memories he had not thought about in 70 years.  He stuck out his chest and said, “Capt. Franklin reporting for duty. Permission to come aboard?”  The faceless officer said, “Permission granted, sir.”

Captain John Franklin walked to aft of the ship and approached a 5-inch gun. He put his hand on the warm steel, climbed a ladder and sat inside.  He was now manning his position on the U.S.S. Arizona. He had rejoined his shipmates who had perished 70 years ago while he was ashore on leave.  Smiling, he waved at the driver on the dock below.  The driver saluted back and drove away.

The Captain was home.  He looked out at the shore and everything looked just like it had early on the morning of December 7, 1941.  Suddenly the sun broke through the mist at Pearl Harbor. And when the sunbeam hit the ghost battleship, it disappeared.

At that moment, alarms went off in room BB39 of the Naval hospital.  ”We’re losing him!” the nurse screamed.  A team of nurses and doctors scrambled like ants and tried to save him but with no luck.  Captain John Franklin, U.S. Navy (Ret.), survivor of the day that will live in infamy,  faded into history.

I hope you’ve had a chance to catch my “new” radio show Now You’re Talking With Marshall Ramsey on Mississippi Public Broadcasting Think Radio and airs on Monday’s at 10 a.m.  I love it — partly because I work with a fantastic producer named Cherita Brent and the amazing Mississippians I’m allowed to interview each week. (If you’ve missed it, you can listen to it online by clicking on this link. )

I originally pitched the idea for the show because I believe in Mississippians. I know so many who’ve done amazing things — world-class things — and overcome some pretty steep obstacles while achieving them.  But they’ve done it with a smile on their face and love in their hearts. They had a dream and pursued it.  And I feel like that they need to be given the spotlight.  I want you to listen  and think. “I can do that, too.”

So after five months, I’ve discovered a few golden threads running through my guests.

1. They have a strong influence in their life early on — usually an amazing mom.  Wyatt and Joel Waters have an amazing mom. So did Coach Antonio Wright. Keith Thibodeaux had the love of his family in Lousiana to keep him grounded during his time in Hollywood. Whitney Miller still bumps elbows with her mom in the kitchen.  Kimberly Morgan and Kennitra Thompson’s family supported their pageant dreams.  Paul Lacoste has a very strong family and the love of a lost brother burns inside him to this day. Mac McAnally’s mom made sure he took piano lessons and was surrounded by music. A strong support system counts when you are pursing a dream.

2. My guests saw a need bigger than themselves and pursued it. Paul Lacoste saw an obesity crisis in his beloved home state and vowed to fix it one legislator and teacher at a time. Dr. Bev Smallwood saw a need to heal others after her own personal crisis. Christy Henderson took her newfound love of riding horses and started a way to help kids with physical and mental challenges.  Christy Dunaway took her “handicap” and made it an advantage by helping others overcome their disabilities.  True success comes when you help others get what they need.

3. My guests have amazing faith.  I’ve heard story after story from my guests where they’ve beaten the odds because of the powerful belief in their hearts. Regenia Sulton, Jean Jones, and Paul Ott all beat breast cancer (and complications from surgery). And all talked how their faith in God got them through the crisis. Kennitra Thompson, recent Miss Mississippi contestant and Stevens Johnson Syndrome survivor, not only beat the odds of survival but has gone on inspire others. Joel Waters survived third-degree burns and now inspires people with his faith on a daily basis. Keith Thibodeaux talks about how being born again literally saved his life from drugs and depression. Faith is the rock their dreams are built on.

4. My guests love what they do.  Rick Cleveland, Matthew Guinn and Jerry Mitchell bring the world to life with their amazing ability to write. Chris Gill’s love of music allowed him to overcome a brutal car crash and its debilitating effects. Whitney Miller travels the world cooking. Dr. Bev Smallwood’s passion glows when she’s on stage speaking and helping others. Grady Champion’s passion is intoxicating and has driven him to the top of the Blues world.  When you’re passionate about what you do, it makes hard work seem like play. 

5. My guests have a positive attitude. Antonio Wright went from promising athlete back to promising athlete. He inspires others from his wheel chair. Joel Waters’ faith lifts those around him. Paul Lacoste’s enthusiasm for fitness is hard to escape. Kennitra Thompson inspires.  Adjutant General of Mississippi Leon Collins has risen through the ranks because his attitude inspires his troops. A positive attitude is like bacon. It makes everything better.

When the “On Air” light goes off every Monday, I shake my guest’s hand and thank them for coming in. And then I’m darn thankful I’ve met them. The hour I spend with them changes me. It makes me want to be a better man. And getting to know them a little bit better gives me a template for true success.

Bonus Question: What do you think is the key to success?