October 2025 – might be baloney

Part I: Back To New Orleans

October 31, 2025 Bill PikeLeave a comment

I know nothing about the planning for the June of 1958 road trip to New Orleans.

My father was a member of the Civitan Club. The Civitans were having a convention in that famous city.

Founded in 1917, the Civitans are an international organization “of volunteer service clubs, dedicated to helping people in their own communities.”

This convention was the reason for the road trip. By car, we traveled with another couple from Burlington, Melvin and Tula Wilson. The Wilsons were a delightful older couple who also were a part of the congregation of Davis Street Methodist Church where my parents attended.

As far as the road trip, I remember a stop somewhere on a beach along the Gulf of Mexico. I also recall a long ride over a bridge. I assume this was across Lake Pontchartrain.

Once in New Orleans, there was a bus tour of the city. The tour guide referenced a swimming pool we passed. He said it was filled with muddy water from the Mississippi River.

Another memory was a cafeteria that had fresh watermelon on the serving line.

My mother tracked down her father who deserted her mother and her siblings early in their Mississippi lives.

For some reason, we took the train back to North Carolina. I recall a kind porter who made me a ham sandwich. I think one of my father’s brothers picked us up at the train station in Greensboro and drove us home to Burlington.

And thanks to my parents, I was decked out as a five year old tourist.

What a sport (Photo courtesy of the Pike family)

Now 66 years later, on Wednesday, May 8, 2024, my wife and I are traveling back to New Orleans. This isn’t a road trip to a Civitan convention. No, my main purpose is to visit the National World War II Museum.

Luckily for me, I benefit from the detailed trip planning from my wife, the Commander Supreme. No one is better at trip planning.

We left Richmond on a Boeing 757-200(HD) with a stop in Atlanta. On this first leg, I continued my reading of Isabel Wilkerson’s book The Warmth of Other Suns. From Atlanta to Richmond, there was lots of cloud cover. I watched part of a documentary about Jimmy Carter.

As we approached New Orleans, the visibility improved, and I saw lots of brown water.

Once we landed, the driver of the jetway had a tough time connecting to the front exit door of the plane. Eventually, the mechanical gods cooperated. This was followed by the rush of passengers exiting the plane.

New Orleans has a very nice airport.

Through our son’s in-laws, we had a driver ready to pick us up. The driver drove us into the business district and dropped us at the Magnolia Hotel. This hotel gave us good access to the places we wanted to visit in the city. With the exception of a street car ride, we walked everywhere.

Our feet wasted no time in immersing us into the city.

In the French Quarter, we enjoyed lunch at Landry’s Seafood.

We walked into Jackson Square. We were immediately taken by the St. Louis Cathedral.

With its ties to the King of France, this stunning building dates back to 1720. Lots of adjectives have been used to recount the exterior and interior beauty of the building.

From Jackson Square, we were able to catch our first views of the mighty Mississippi River. With an assist from Mark Twain, the Mississippi might reveal the soul of America.

We made the predictable tourist stops at the Cafe Du Monde and Pat O’Brien’s. For some reason, the famous Hurricane drink reminded me of drinking Kool-Aid as a kid.

As we worked our way back to the hotel, no matter where our eyes scanned, the architecture of the buildings and homes held us captive. Brick work, wrought iron, flowers, and a palette of just right paint shades were in every direction.

After a quick refresh at the hotel, we mapped out our walk to our dinner restaurant—Herbsaint. Located on St. Charles Avenue, we enjoyed our exceptional food and service at an outside table on this pretty May evening.

From our early start in Richmond, our day had been long, but our first afternoon in New Orleans was enjoyable.

Despite the treasured prettiness of New Orleans, I noted that the city isn’t immune from what I see back home.

Struggles that are small and large—missing street signs, sidewalks in need of repair, impatient beeps, a mix of aromas some pleasant, some unpleasant, and the homeless.

No matter these challenges, New Orleans has a soul. A soul that still draws people to it. A soul that continues to survive no matter what comes its way.

With a good night of rest, I hope to learn more about the city’s perseverance on Thursday.

re· ject· ed

October 28, 2025 Bill PikeLeave a comment

Another School Shooting

Sadly, on August 27, 2025, the Washington Post reported on another school shooting. This one at Annunciation Catholic School in Minneapolis, Minnesota killed two students and injured seventeen.

Everyday across America, families send their daughters and sons to school. Those families trust that their cherished daughters and sons will come back home.

Too frequently in America, that trust is violated. Children aren’t supposed to come home in a body bag.

There is something wrong with a country whose innocent school students continue to be murdered in alleged safe settings.

No matter our legislation, school rules, intruder drills, and school security officers, we are unsuccessful in preventing school shootings.

I spent over thirty-one years working in education. In my career, I had experience working in public, private, and department of correction schools.

As different as those school environments were, none were immune from disruptive behaviors from students. In those unique school settings, I kept coming back to a recurring concern—the erosion of our families.

In 2019, the Pew Research Center reported that “America has the world’s highest rate of children living in single-parent households.”

A 2022 report by the Annie E. Casey Foundation found that more than 23 million children live in single-parent homes in America.

To be clear in my career, I worked with many competent single parents.

Yet, I believe for too many years, we have failed to understand the impact on students in our school environments when the parent or family is dysfunctional in providing the support a child needs in school.

That instability makes me wonder how many of our school shooters came from unstable homes? Regrettably, I wonder how many more might come from those stressful settings?

In James H. Cone’s book, The Cross And The Lynching Tree, he quotes Dr. Martin Luther King, and a comment he made after the assassination of John F. Kennedy. Dr. King told his wife: “This is what is going to happen to me also. I keep telling you this is such a sick society.”

Dr. King was correct—we are a sick society.

Our mental sickness has left its blood stains on every school shooting that America has endured.

America is overdue to cure our sickness.

This is urgent.

Failing to solve guarantees more school shootings.

Haven’t we had enough?

Written by Bill Pike submitted to the Washington Post on August 28, 2025.

Dismissal of Virginia Tech Football Coach

I have no allegiance to Virginia Tech football. Our oldest daughter is a Hokie. From this connection, I have quietly pulled for the Hokies. In life or death losses, the extreme pain of Hokie friends has eluded me.

Contrary to some Atlantic Coast Conference(ACC) fans I was not opposed to the expansion that brought Virginia Tech into the ACC. Academically and geographically, this invitation made sense to me.

In today’s college athletics, not much makes sense. The transfer portal and Name, Image, and Likeness (NIL) have completely changed how conferences and coaches function.

I’ve never met Brent Pry who was relieved of his coaching duties at Virginia Tech on Sunday afternoon. Yet, I have no idea why anyone wants to coach college football.

The internal and external pressure to win is relentless. Getting those wins means a coach puts his life in the hands of young men who are 18-21 years old.

Recruitment of players can be ruthless. Despite a coach putting his heart and soul into signing a player that doesn’t mean the player will be loyal and play all four years for that coach.

Loyalty and patience are dead in college athletics. Money is the sole driver.

With Virginia Tech’s three losses, no one from Tech’s President, the Athletic Director, or alumni were willing to be patient— might Coach Pry turn the season around?

The humiliating loss to ODU on Saturday night in Lane Stadium was too disgraceful. Impatience exploded.

In President Sands announcement to the Hokie Nation, he has essentially given his blessing to a task force that in short order must: “develop a financial, organizational, and leadership plan that will rapidly position the Virginia Tech football program to be competitive with the best in the ACC.”

Too bad the charge for those Virginia Tech leaders can’t be to return common sense to college athletics, with an emphasis on financial saneness, and a realistic strategic plan that molds an athletic department into an equitable portion of the university— not an isolated empire.

Written by Bill Pike submitted to the Roanoke Times on September 17, 2025.

Author’s note: No matter how passionate the writer, submitting letters to the editor of a newspaper is never a guaranteed acceptance. Yet, I think I will continue my writing whine until my last breath.

October finger-tippers

October 15, 2025 Bill PikeLeave a comment

Even though I know that the dew covering the windows on my car will soon become frost, October, I’m glad you’re back.

You are my favorite month.

I don’t want you to leave.

I know when you depart, November moves me one step closer to winter.

Mentally, I fight winter.

While I still respect winter, I’ve lost my constant school boy hope and prayer for snow.

At 72, my old brain doesn’t revere snow anymore. That wish for snow is for our grandchildren and school teachers.

So October, I’m going to cherish you.

The last few days the harvest moon has been like a spotlight in the predawn western sky. Its brightness teasing as it hovers by church steeples and plays hide and seek descending behind tree lines.

To my west, cold fronts hurtle their northwest winds over the Blue Ridge Mountains. Rushing east toward Richmond, these winds paint your sky with the clearest, bluest blue my eyes have ever seen. I want to daydream into that blue forever.

Although I dread my annual battle with your fallen leaves, I adore the palette of colors found in the bright sun against that blue sky backdrop.

Even though, my affection for today’s baseball is gone, October brings the world series. I remember sneaking my transistor radio and earplug into Miss Avery’s sixth grade class at Hillcrest Elementary School. She figured out that I was trying to listen to the world series. For some reason, she didn’t kill me.

And just to be fair, I can grumble about October too.

I whine about the retailers who thrust Christmas on us way too early. I couldn’t believe that even our neighborhood hardware store had a Christmas Sale display today.

And to continue the fairness, I will confess that I do not understand our increased fondness for Halloween. Yards throughout our neighborhood are transformed with all kinds of displays. I’m surprised someone hasn’t come up with a tacky Halloween tour like we have for tacky Christmas lights.

On a recent morning run, I turned off Horsepen Road and made a right on Devon. A few yards down the street two houses across from each other are decked out in Halloween gear. What caught my attention were the skeletons.

Each yard has an array of skeletons. Yet, my eyes were drawn to the high wire that stretches across the street from a tree in each yard. Skeletons in a variety of positions dangle from that high wire.

In particular, there is one skeleton that I really focused on. High above the yard, this skeleton is hanging by its fingertips. I wonder how many people I encounter on a daily basis who are hanging on by his or her fingertips?

I worry about those finger-tippers.

Unless we are completely oblivious, day to day living in this challenging world is tough.There is a tension that makes people more fragile, more vulnerable.

What really worries me about those finger-tippers is I might never know how close they are to letting go.

The constant barrage of discouraging news headlines makes me a pessimist at heart. I wonder when are we going to wake up? Perhaps that’s what keeps a bit of optimism—a bit of hope in my old heart. Hope that we will find our hearts again.

Maybe those finger-tippers can find some hope in October.

Maybe finding hope requires us to strip away the layers of hurt in our hearts like stripping layers of paint off on an old battered door.

Maybe that hope is in the October bloom of a camellia shrub.

Maybe that hope is the shiny red berries from a dogwood tree.

Maybe that hope is early morning sunlight coming through window shutters as it cast a pattern of light against a sanctuary wall.

Maybe that hope is you, me, we, us realizing that a finger-tipper is in close proximity.

Maybe that hope is you, me, we, us starting a conversation with the finger-tipper.

Bruce Springsteen said: “At the end of every hard day, people find some reason to believe.”

Maybe for finger-tippers, you, me, we, us, and October can become a reason to believe at the end of their hard day.

After all, 1 Thessalonians 4:18 states: “Therefore, encourage one another with these words.”

Help from a stranger at the Stop, Drop, and Roll 5K

October 8, 2025 Bill PikeLeave a comment

Wearing rain gear, participants walk to the start line. (Photo Bill Pike)

Saturday morning, September 27, I found myself in a place I did not expect to be. Along with 99 other runners and walkers, I was inside the Summerfield, North Carolina fire station. We were patiently waiting for the ninth running of the Stop, Drop, and Roll 5K.

My wife and I were in town from Richmond, Virginia. By chance, I learned of the 5K from our oldest daughter who lives in Summerfield. Just after lunch on Friday, I registered for the 5K. Late that afternoon, I picked up my race packet at the fire station.

With a gentle rain falling over Summerfield, inside the station where shiny red firetrucks are normally parked was a good place to be. Participants wandered around the large open space. Some stretched, most chatted, and a few firefighter chefs watched over the last moments of cooking their famous chili. The chili was to be a post-race treat.

At 8:45, there was a kids fun run —a hundred yard dash around the fire station. With their youthful energy and spirit, it didn’t take long for for these sprinters to cross the finish line.

Old man that I’ve become, I made sure my bladder was content before heading toward the start line. After the playing of the national anthem, the race director gave the participants our final instructions.

With a blast from an airhorn, we were off. We made a right turn out of the fire station and headed toward the driveway in front of Summerfield Elementary School.

Past the school, we made a left turn and worked our way to the entrance of Summerfield Community Park. We followed an asphalt trail.

Peppered with wet fall leaves, the splotching of this surface reminded me of kindergarten students gluing seasonal fall colors to the frame of a paper tree.

Antique that I am, I slowed my already slug pace on the downhill stretches. Coming out of the park, we were on a road that ran behind the elementary school. Eventually it took us through a neighborhood of homes before we hit a turn around spot where there was a water stop.

Along the way, orange traffic cones and volunteers marshaled the course. Some were students who were members of the Civil Air Patrol.

A few of these students were energetic with their encouragement as they blasted away on their kazoos and shouted out “you got this!”Proceeds from the 5K are going to help this organization.

Running close to me was a young mother who was pushing a stroller with her daughter tucked away from the raindrops. Sometimes, she would pass me, and sometimes I would pass her.

As we prepared to re-enter the park, I veered to the next left turn too soon. This kindhearted lady noted my mistake, and cordially shouted out to me “wrong way!” I quickly corrected my steps.

From past experiences, I know events like this don’t happen without volunteers. Working my way back to the finish line, I called out to the volunteers thanking them for being out on the course.

Summerfield Fire Department volunteers (Photo Bill Pike)

Heading out of the park, walkers and runners are greeted with one final challenge—a steep hill. With steady determination, I chugged up the incline.

Back at the elementary school driveway, the three mile sign marker came into view. Now, I had one tenth of a mile to go. Like a horse sensing the closeness of the barn, my old body picked up the pace, and I crossed the finish line.

While the chili cast a tempting aroma, I opted for a bottle of water and some orange wedges.

I sought out the mother with the stroller who corrected my turn. I thanked her. She gave me a high five, and said your welcome.

In America today, a person will make a wrong turn. For some that turn might become a tragedy.

On Sunday, September 28, Americans received more devastating news.

Late on Saturday evening, in Southport, North Carolina, a man killed three people and wounded five in an attack on a popular waterfront restaurant.

Then on Sunday, a gunman killed four and injured eight on an attack of a church in Grand Blanc, Michigan.

In these too frequent American tragedies, I always wonder what pushes the attacker to make such a devastating choice? I want to know if someone could have changed the attacker’s decision to harm innocent people?

The book, “Somebody Told Me,” is a collection of newspaper stories written by Rick Bragg. In writing about the 1995 Oklahoma City bombing, Bragg hears these words from people he interviewed: “This doesn’t happen here.”

America, we have work to do.

Our challenge is to help people from making those wrong turns.

“This doesn’t happen here,” must become a reality.

Old American who needs to get to work. (Photo Betsy Pike)

Evil is eroding America. Will this be our requiem?

October 2, 2025 Bill Pike2 Comments

RICHMOND TIMES-DISPATCH THURSDAY, OCTOBER 2, 2025|A6

OPINION

Evil is eroding America. Will this be our requiem?

LETTERS TO THE EDITOR

In Earl Swift’s book, “Chesapeake Requiem,” he writes about the watermen of Tangier Island, and their shrinking precious land. On Jan. 8, 1964, Tangierman Asbury Pruitt started to measure the disappearance of his beloved island.

Every Jan. 8, Mr. Pruitt returned to the same spot on the island and took a measurement to learn how much of the shoreline disappeared each year. From his first seven years of recording the measurements, Mr. Pruitt learned that “the Chesapeake tore away, on average, twelve feet of shoreline.”

I am an imperfect American. For many years, I have felt America has been slowly eroding just like Tangier Island. However, this erosion is different from the relentless pounding of America’s shorelines from the Atlantic and Pacific oceans.

No, this internal erosion is of our own doing. It is as if we are afflicted with an internal cancer. A cancer so vile and divisive that we are unable to find a cure.

No matter how horrific the loss of life is from gun violence, we point accusatory fingers of blame at each other. In that wasteful burn of energy, we are unable and unwilling to find any common ground that might lead to a solution.

Our cancer thrives on incivility, disrespect, selfishness and discrediting the truth.

Immunity from this cancer appears to favor those who are loyal to its incivility, disrespect, selfishness and discrediting the truth.

Even though it’s been 33 years, I still despise the cancer that robbed my mother’s life.

Yet, I detest even more this internal evil cancer that is eroding and robbing America because it has seized our hearts.

William Shakespeare wrote: “My tongue will tell the anger of my heart, or else my heart concealing it will break.”

America, do we really want this to be our requiem?

Bill Pike Henrico

Note from the author: I’m honored that my letter to the editor was published today in the Thursday, October 2 edition of the Richmond Times-Dispatch.