Charlie Perry

My hero.

Taught me to roller skate in his driveway.  I must've been 6 or 7.  He held my hand and taught me to go slow until I was sure of myself.  Caught me when I fell.

Watching him, without even realizing I was watching him, I learned the importance of service.  Serve he did.  He served by putting around the Campgrounds in his little overalls, fixing whatever needed to be fixed.  He served by sitting at the Tape Ministry booth in Bro. T. W. Barnes' church in Minden, Louisiana.  He served by helping my dad build a new house.  He served by mowing lawns, driving grandchildren around, chaperoning Superintendents, and doing just absolutely whatever needed doing.  Maybe I'm wrong.  Maybe I subconsciously choose to idolize him after he passed away and choose to block out the imperfections, but I just don't recall ever hearing him complain.

Except when it came to laziness or waste.  As a kid, I remember seeing him go to each of his nine grandchildren, asking which one of them left a half-full can of Coke on the table.  When none confessed, he grumbled for a while about the importance of money and the sin of wastefulness (remnants of the Great Depression Era?).  In a gentle, caring, grandfatherly sort of way.  To this day, I think of him every time I see a half-full can of Coke abandoned.

My Papaw would sit in his rocking chair after a long day of work, waiting for a beebopping little rugrat to scurry by, and he would bribe us with a quarter if we stopped long enough to sit on his lap and gave him a hug.  I would give every penny I have ever made if I could go back for another one of those hugs.

I remember fussing because he would let us ride in the back of his truck, but he would never go over 25 miles per hour.  BORING!  Couldn't even get a good breeze in the hot, humid, Louisiana summers unless you were at least going 40!

But we were all safe, and we were all cared for, and we all knew it.

I see a lot of my Papaw in my dad.  And in my brother.  Not much in myself, but I pray there is still hope for me.

I was so proud when Bro. T. F. Tenney made a donation in memory of my grandfather at Camp Meeting last night.  Of all the wonderful people he could have honored, he chose Charlie Perry.  Out of respect for Papaw's dedication and service.

If I remember the history correctly, Papaw drove the then-Superintendent of the Louisiana District of the United Pentecostal Church to view the site of what is now the Campgrounds in Tioga.  My Papaw and Mamaw spent every single one of their vacations at the Campgrounds.  By the time I was not-quite-old-enough to enroll in Youth Camp, my grandparents were regular fixtures, Papaw in his overalls, working on electric poles, Mamaw sitting in the office answering phones.  All of us Perry grandkids had "special privileges" at Youth Camps.  We just thought we were really something when we could sneak in to the tabernacle to get front-row seats when everyone else waited in line outside in the heat!

Well, we WERE special.  We were Perry grandkids!  Even before we realized how blessed we were, we could sense it.

We buried my grandfather the day my daughter turned 18 months old.  I felt a deep loss over the fact that Angelyn will never know Charlie Perry the way I knew Charlie Perry.  But I was wrong.  She will know him.  Through my memories.  Memorabilia.  Pictures.  Stories.

And through my dad.  My other hero, who lives to serve others, and who now putts around on the Ol' Campgrounds, fixing whatever needs to be fixed.

Long Live the Spirit of Charlie Perry, Dedicated Servant.



Coming Soon:  "Renaissance Man, Howard Kesler"
                      a tribute to my other grandfather
                                    my other hero