When I served as an assistant principal at Hermitage High School in Henrico County, Anthony Romanello was one of our students.
By the time Anthony was a senior, the faculty, staff, and his peers knew there was something special about him.
They also sensed no matter where Anthony’s future took him that he was going to have an impact in a positive way.
In 2025, Anthony announced that he would be leaving his job as Henrico County’s leader for economic development.
Truthfully, I was a bit sad by this announcement. I thought Anthony might become county manager in Henrico some day.
No matter the cities and counties where Anthony has served in Virginia, he has made a difference.
In his two books, “Random Thoughts: Reflections of Public Service, Fatherhood, and Middle Age” and “The Girl Who Lived on the Third Floor,” we learn about Anthony’s most reliable asset—his heart.
Starting with “Random Thoughts: Reflections on Public Service, Fatherhood, and Middle Age,” readers experience an up close look at Anthony’s leadership heart in action.
His heart reveals the importance of building relationships, listening, visioning, hard work, teamwork, empathy, loyalty, and two simple words—thank you.
With “The Girl Who Lived on the Third Floor,” the focus shifts to Anthony’s daily interactions with his wife, Diane, and their children. This book is based upon the commitment Anthony and Diane made as foster parents.
(Photo Bill Pike)
In 2016, with four of their own children, Anthony and Diane made a decision to adopt an eleven day old baby girl into their family.
From this adoption, we see Anthony’s heart from a different angle— an angle that reveals how his successful management skills can be impactful in a family setting too.
I believe those attributes and his compassion for people will continue to allow Anthony to grow in his new role as a managing partner for a local consulting firm.
But what I really hope is no matter how difficult the decisions might be that local leaders make, it is important for them to listen to their hearts.
When leaders disregard their hearts in making decisions, the people they serve lose.
Luckily for the people in the communities where Anthony Romanello has served, he has humbly listened to his heart.
It has been a year since wildfires devastated parts of Los Angeles, California. Recently, I have read and listened to follow-up reports about these deadly and destructive fires.
From the NPR show Fresh Air, I listened to host Tonya Moseley’s interview with journalist, Jacob Soboroff, about his new book “Firestorm: The Great Los Angeles Fires And America’s New Age Of Disaster.” Soboroff interviewed one firefighter who said, “there’s no fire season, it’s fire year.”
In truth, I feel that way about America at this time. I sense America is in a firestorm. From “sea to shining sea” and beyond our borders we are a raging hot spot.
We are burning out of control. There is no immunity. Every state and country has kindling ready to ignite.
(Photo Bill Pike)
ICE shootings in Minnesota and Oregon.
Another mass shooting in Clay County, Mississippi with six people dead. The victims range in age from 7 to 67.
A arson fire in Mississippi that burned through a historic synagogue destroying its library. In 1967, the same synagogue endured a bombing by the Ku Klux Klan.
Beyond our borders, America’s foreign policy has intense flames in Venezuela, the Ukraine-Russia war, the unrest in Iran, and the always volatile Middle East.
And despite these hot spots, the hottest, most intense fire burns in our nation’s capital.
The mentality of our leadership is fueled by greed, disrespect, incivility, selfishness, abusive power, vindictiveness, and a complete disregard for the truth.
As badly as we might want 2026 to be a better year, it is already “a fire year.”
In 1962, James Baldwin wrote in an essay for the New York Times: “Not everything that is faced can be changed; but nothing can be changed until it is faced.”
America we are overdue to face ourselves.
Author’s note: This piece was submitted to the Richmond Times-Dispatch as a letter to the editor on January 13, 2026. To the best of my knowledge, it was rejected.
I’m not sure about where you live, but here in Richmond, Virginia since Sunday, January 18, the pending winter storm has been pounding incessantly through all forms of media.
The relentless, repeating blabber is as bad as back to school and political ads.
Even my wife, my commander supreme, from the jabbering of a local television weather forecaster has asked me where the shutoff valve is for our water line.
Grocery and hardware stores are elated.
Milk, eggs, bread, snow shovels, snow melt, and batteries are gone. Gleeful managers admire their empty shelves as they scramble to restock before the monster storm arrives.
The state’s highway department is already treating road surfaces with a spray concoction of chemicals designed to melt snow, sleet, and freezing rain. The road surfaces are left streaked with wobbly white lines of the drying chemicals.
Power companies are monitoring the developing storm with deep concern as forecasts shift from snow to sleet to the most dreaded—freezing rain.
Parents with school age children are trying to figure out how they will survive if this demon storm shuts down school systems for multiple days.
And then we have the robins.
A robin on frost bitten grass on a January afternoon. (Photo Bill Pike)
Long thought of as a sign of the return of spring, I’ve seen robins darting around our neighborhood since early January. Sorry, but there is no spring in this predicted winter storm. I hope the robins survive.
Speaking of survival, I wonder how the homeless will survive? The predicted low temperature for Monday night, January 26 is 3 degrees. That doesn’t include wind chill.
If we are the greatest country in the world, why are we unable to permanently solve this longstanding problem?
My love for winter precipitation is gone. I’m too old. That love for a snowflake has been passed on to our four grandchildren.
I hope we all survive the ferocity of this predicted winter storm.
As mighty as man pretends to be in out smarting the weather gods, I’m not sure we will ever out think a riled up mother nature.
In the post-storm days, there will be lines at car washes. Auto body shops will be giving non-stop estimates for repairs, and the noise of chainsaws and wood chippers will cascade in neighborhoods where trees have taken a tumble.
Those responsible for clearing parking lots will build mountains of snow that are piled high in out of the way corners of the lot. Like school children, these snow clearers quietly pray for another winter storm to help their seasonal bank accounts.
In the back parking lot of the Village Shopping Center, I’ve been keeping my eye on a shrinking mountain of snow. Tucked away in the back corner of the lot, this mound is leftover from our two December 2025 snowstorms.
The pure white color of the snow is gone. Its icy surface is now a dark charcoal gray with a layer of fallen leaves on top. I wonder what that graying, the darkening of the snow really tells us about ourselves and how we treat our world.
Polluted snow mound (Photo Bill Pike)
This time last year, we were in Marathon Key, Florida. If we had opted to return this January, we would have missed this winter madness.
And despite my curmudgeon whine against winter weather, I do find beauty in this season.
I love how the still water in the creek bed frames the reflection of the sky and the surrounding vegetation.
When driving on a country road, I admire how winter opens up the landscape. My eyes can peer deeply into roadside farms and stands of bare trees.
The stark bareness of those trees, lets me see the sculpting of their limbs contrast against an early morning sky.
Bare tree towers against the sky (Photo Bill Pike)
I appreciate the tenacity of a youngster shooting hoops on a nippy winter afternoon.
On the campus of the University of Richmond, in the Westhampton Lake, brazen ducks go for an early morning swim in water too frigid for me.
Brave ducks (Photo Bill Pike)
At the Trinity UMC Preschool, I’m captured by the wintry artwork of the students.
Student art work Trinity UMC Preschool (Photo Bill Pike)
And late in the afternoon, there is nothing like the colors found in a sunset as the sun closes out another winter day.
Colors of a winter sunset (Photo Bill Pike)
Perhaps in your boo to the harshness of winter, you too can find a bit of its beauty.
And who knows, maybe that will help you endure this latest round of winter weather.
My connection to Chicago comes from my wife’s family and our oldest daughter. She lived and worked in Chicago for 14 years. We always enjoyed our visits to Chicago to see our daughter.
I never had the privilege of attending a game at Soldier Field, but I have a question for Chicago: After the electrifying win over the Packers on Saturday evening, why would anyone in their right mind even consider leaving this cherished stadium for another site?
Watching the game at home on television, I could feel the electricity of the crowd surging through the screen. That intensity was powerful. The stadium’s design, location and loyalty of its fans are legendary.
Ponder these questions about other similar athletic venues.
Do you think the Red Sox will leave Fenway, the Dodgers Chavez Ravine or the Cubs Wrigley? No.
Will Butler University leave Hinkle Fieldhouse or Duke leave Cameron Indoor Stadium? No.
Will the Packers leave Lambeau? No.
Soldier Field, just like these venues, is a classic. Da Bears deserve to play in no other stadium.
A move to another location in Chicago would be an insult. That could cause Carl Sandburg’s “City of the Big Shoulders” to shrink. We can’t have that.
Soldier Field has been loyal to the Chicago Bears. Now, the Chicago Bears and Chicago must be loyal to Soldier Field.
Put on your thinking caps and figure this out. Take all options minus one off the planning table.
The only viable option worthy of consideration — Da Bears play at Soldier Field forever.
— Bill Pike, Richmond, Virginia
Note from author: I was honored to have this Letter To The Editor published in the Wednesday, January 14, 2026 edition of the Chicago Tribune.
Our grandson in his Chicago Bears uniform (Photo courtesy of his mom)
The sanctuary of our church looks different today.
The same volunteers who in late November decorated it for Christmas have removed and packed away those decorations.
Window candles, garland, the Advent wreath, the Chrismon tree, live poinsettias, and what were once living branches from evergreen trees that formed pretty wreaths are gone.
To me, the poinsettias and the wreaths are the saddest departure.
Even though they are patiently watered, the poinsettias take a beating from interior temperature fluctuations. Their pretty red and green leaves dry out. They crumple just like the fallen brown leaves on church grounds.
The most brutal change is the drying evergreen wreaths. Snug in their metal circular frames, those woven branches become brittle. Hundreds of needles fall when they are removed from lighting fixtures.
I wonder what I have learned from my seventy second Christmas?
I wonder what I will carry with me into 2026?
What in this timeworn Christmas story will stay with me?
What will flicker inside of me as the pace of a new year picks up?
To tell you the truth, I’m not sure.
No matter where my faltering eyes peer, this weary world is in turbulent turmoil.
I fear this turmoil is our end.
Yet, I continue to grasp what might be the Bible’s best scripture— “The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it.”
On the evening of Friday, January 2, 2026, my wife and I visited the Lewis Ginter Botanical Garden.
Our purpose for this trip was to view the Dominion Energy GardenFest of Lights.
This annual trek didn’t disappoint.
No matter where our footsteps took us, we like children were captured by the colorful and creative displays of lights.
GardenFest at Lewis Ginter Botanical Garden (Photo Bill Pike)
If you are a follower or occasional reader of my blog, Might Be Baloney, you know by now that I’m a pretty good whiner.
I try to whine for what I believe to be good reasons. I’ll let you figure out if the whines are on target.
Rightly or wrongly, I sometimes send a Letter To The Editor to newspapers across America. Quite often, my letters are rejected.
Though I’m disappointed from the rejections, I also try to see these rejections as an opportunity to learn. And no matter if a letter is accepted or rejected, our voices need to be heard.
I recently sent letters to the Chicago Tribune and the Washington Post.
I’m sharing these letters with you today.
As you will see, the frame of both letters is identical.
The letters were changed to meet word count requirements. All newspapers have word count requirements for a Letter To The Editor. Those word counts can range from 150 to 400.
Either way, the point in both letters is this— if we truly want to change our world, we must figure out how to love.
That love must be more than a pretty sign.
I leave you with both letters, and a hope and prayer that 2026 will be a gentle year for you and your loved ones.
Be safe, love, Bill Pike
Sent to the Chicago Tribune December 17, 2025
In the song “The Christmas Waltz” written by Sammy Kahn and Jule Styne is this lyric: “It’s that time of year when the world falls in love.”
While that optimism might be true for individuals who find the right person to fall in love with, it appears to me that our world is incapable of loving one another.
Where is our love for each other in these headlines:
Stockton, California at a birthday party, four people shot, killed, three of those were children, and thirteen injured.
In Palmyra, Syria, two U.S. military personnel and a civilian working as an interpreter were ambushed, killed, three others injured.
At Brown University in Rhode Island, two killed and nine injured at a shooting.
Sydney, Australia at Bondi Beach at least fifteen killed at a Hanukkah gathering.
Commenting after the attack on the U.S. military personnel in Syria, President Trump stated there will be: “a very serious retaliation.”
As an imperfect American who loves my country, but who doesn’t always understand my country, I want to know when are we going to take “a very serious retaliation” against ourselves.
By retaliation, I mean when will we fully commit to unraveling our mental illness and our dependency for solving any personal problem by shooting people.
It is disgraceful that we are politically unwilling to find the middle ground and backbone to discover a practical solution.
Why do we constantly fail to see what we are doing to ourselves?
Isn’t the carnage in schools, houses of worship, shopping centers, and other public settings enough?
How many more lives must we lose in America and other countries to violence from firearms?
Will our disrespect of our hard fought and blood stained freedoms bring America to our demise?
No matter the magnificence of America’s accomplishments, those achievements mean nothing if we can’t resolve the on-going erosion of our human infrastructure.
That erosion has emptied our hearts of compassion and courage.
Incivility, selfishness, division, and disregard for the truth have refilled our hearts.
What kind of America have we become to allow our leaders and ourselves to showcase such contempt?
Blink, and December 2026 arrives.
In that blink, we must embrace this wisdom from Martin Luther King, Jr. : “I know that love is ultimately the only answer to mankind’s problems.”
If we hope to change our headlines, we must love.
Sent to the Washington Post December 17, 2025
As reported by the Washington Post, Stockton, California, Palmyra, Syria, Brown University, and Sydney, Australia have unfortunately joined an elite club—communities where mass shooting have occurred.
This time of year, holiday songs like the “Christmas Waltz” suggest—“it’s that time of year when the world falls in love.”
In those heartbreaking headlines, no world is falling in love.
After the attack on U.S. military personnel in Syria, President Trump stated there will be: “a very serious retaliation.”
As an imperfect American who loves my country, I want to know are we ever going to take “a very serious retaliation” against ourselves?
By retaliation, I mean unraveling the source of our mental illness to understand our dependency to solve personal problems by shooting people.
It is a disgrace that our political backbones are unwilling to work cooperatively to solve this sickness.
Why do we constantly fail to see our shortcomings?
Isn’t the slaughter in schools, houses of worship, shopping centers, and other public settings enough?
How many more lives must we lose to firearms?
Our earned freedoms were hard fought and blood stained. Will our disrespect of these rights be America’s demise?
No matter the magnificence of America’s accomplishments, those achievements mean nothing if we can’t resolve the on-going erosion of our human infrastructure.
That erosion has emptied our hearts of compassion.
Incivility, selfishness, division, and disregard for the truth have refilled those hearts.
What kind of America have we become to allow our leaders and ourselves to showcase such contempt?
Blink, and December 2026 arrives.
In that blink, we must act upon this wisdom from Martin Luther King, Jr. : “I know that love is ultimately the only answer to mankind’s problems.”
Any hope to change those headlines means we must learn to love.
Pretty sign from GardenFest at Lewis Ginter Botanical Garden (Photo Bill Pike)
A long time ago when I was a public school student in Burlington, North Carolina, I prayed for snow. Now as a rapidly aging, grumpy, geezer, snow has lost my affection. That endearment to snow has been shifted to our four school age grandchildren.
Even with my 31 years of work in public education, I watched faculty and staff members do their chants, dances, and prayers for a snow day. There is something about a snow day that is good for morale and a weary teacher’s mental health.
The challenge with snow is that it disrupts our regular routines. For parents with school age children that means being able to adjust those routines so that the daily needs of the children are met. Not every family has the built-in luxury of having grandparents who can pinch-hit when a snowstorm upsets those routines.
For school superintendents closing school due to inclement weather is never an easy decision. No matter the choice made by the superintendent that decision is always under the scrutiny of the public.
Thus far in the Richmond area, two storms have disrupted the routine for local school systems. It is easy to second guess those decisions.
For example, I wonder if the mild winter storm that closed schools in the Richmond area on December 5 could have merited a delayed opening?
With the December 8 storm, the snowflakes really didn’t start to accumulate on road surfaces until late morning. Could schools have opened and then closed early in the afternoon?
I know superintendents and their staffs do not take weather related closings of school lightly. In making that decision they carefully review the forecast, consult with local police and road departments about street conditions, and depend upon personnel in pupil transportation to make real time assessments.
Despite every effort to carefully make the right decision, a superintendent can’t please everyone.
I experienced this when I served as an assistant principal at Hermitage High School. Several days after a significant winter storm schools reopened.
With that reopening, a phone call came in from an upset mother. While driving to school that morning, her son had been involved in an accident. She was angry at the school system for reopening. Nothing I said calmed the mother’s fury.
Honestly, at the heart of closing a school system for winter weather, you will find an attorney. Attorneys are thinking about safety from multiple angles. They ask lots of questions all related to reducing the potential for liability:
Can school system maintenance personnel properly clear parking lots and sidewalks?
Can bus drivers safely maneuver their buses through less traveled neighborhood streets?
Can faculty and staffs, student drivers, and parents who are responsible for transporting their children arrive at school safely?
No one associated with the school system wants any injuries from slippery sidewalks, fender benders in high school parking lots, or a school bus accident.
Perhaps, the greatest pressure is on school bus drivers. Driving a school bus under normal conditions is challenging enough. Mix in frozen winter precipitation with impatient civilian drivers who believe they are invincible with their all wheel drive vehicles, and the potential for accidents rises.
Recently, another phenomena has occurred in the decision to close schools related to winter weather. More frequently, superintendents are closing schools before the first snowflake has fallen.
I suppose this early announcement helps families to better implement their alternative plans for a snow day. However, I can only imagine what a superintendent will endure if that forecast fails to materialize.
As difficult as it is to close schools, making the decision to reopen can be challenging too. Depending how much instructional time has been missed, superintendents must also figure out how to recoup the missed time.
Perhaps, these questions are worth reviewing:
Do superintendents know of alternatives beyond the traditional make up days or extending the hours of the school day for regaining instructional time?
Might developing a year round school calendar reduce winter weather interruptions?
Could attorneys find a year round school calendar more compatible for reducing potential liability?
Do superintendents solicit post-winter storm feedback from students, parents, teachers, bus drivers, and maintenance personnel as a means for helping to shape future weather closing decisions?
And of course, there is always the insights of our friends and neighbors from other parts of America who rarely close their schools for winter weather. What might Southern superintendents learn from these “no fear of snow” superintendents?
As we waddle our way through the remainder of winter, maybe the weather gods will be kind to us with no more snow days. While that might disappoint students, superintendents will sleep better.
Note from the author: This rejected Op-Ed piece was sent to the Richmond Times-Dispatch in response to December 2025 school system closures from wintry weather. Bill Pike Richmond, Virginia
School bus with snow along its roof line (Photo Bill Pike)
I read with interest the opinion piece: Want Children To Learn? Ban Smartphones from the Chicago Tribune that appeared in the Sunday, November 30, 2025 edition of the Richmond Times-Dispatch.
In the spring of 2025, Illinois Governor, J.B. Pritkzer, attempted to rally support for a bill that would have banned cellphones from classrooms. The bill failed, but Governor Pritkzer intends to try again. I admire his tenacity.
In my thirty one years of working in the public schools of Virginia, I once worked with a principal who reminded his faculty and staff frequently that “children take their signals from adults.”
I wonder how many Illinois legislators during the sessions for the proposed banning of cellphones were actually using their cellphones for communication not related to the bill?
Ask yourself, how many times have you been in public meetings where the adults in attendance were asked politely to silence their cellphones? Despite this gentle reminder, a cellphone usually rings.
Crafting a ban on cellphones for students must also have a standard for school personnel too.
A phone free learning environment policy is now in place in the school system where I once worked. The core of this policy is that cellphones must be stored and silenced during class time. That approach seems reasonable. Time will tell if the policy is having an impact.
And of course, it is easy to blame cellphones when students struggle to find success on state tests that measure math and reading skills. As your piece points out there are “other factors” that have possibly contributed to these test score declines.
Personally, I don’t think we work hard enough at understanding those “other factors” that impact learning.
How much of the decline in test scores comes from our inability to break vicious generational cycles related to substandard housing, inadequate mental and physical health care, inconsistent nutrition, trauma related to unstable families, and deteriorating school buildings with low student and faculty morale.
I wish Governor Pritkzer the best of luck in his pursuit of a cellphone ban.
If the bill fails for a second year, I hope the Governor will redirect his energy toward “other factors” that impact student performance.
Those “other factors” have been around before cellphones.
We are overdue to address their impact too.
Note from the author: This rejected letter was sent to the Chicago Tribune in response to an Op-Ed piece from the Chicago Tribune that appeared in the Richmond Times-Dispatch on November 30, 2025. Bill Pike, Richmond, Virginia
By now you know, I don’t have a theological brain.
During Advent, Christmas, this holy season, I think about Luke Chapter 2 verses 8-10:
“And there were shepherds living out in the fields nearby, keeping watch over their flocks at night. An angel of the Lord appeared to them, and the glory of the Lord shone around them, and they were terrified. But the angel said to them, “Do not be afraid. I bring you good news that will cause great joy for all the people.”
Ok, I’m a shepherd.
It’s dark, cold. I’m in the middle of nowhere.
I pray that a coyote, fox, or wolf will not disrupt the stillness and try to steal one of my flock.
In my years of being a shepherd, I’ve been lucky. I’ve always been able to scare off those prowlers.
But tonight, a light appeared on the horizon.
That light kept moving toward us.
The light traveled quickly across the sky becoming brighter and brighter, until finally the light was right on top of us.
I cowered. I tried to make myself smaller, but the light was too bright. Fear shivered down my weakening spine.
And then the fear shook me more. The light spoke.
The light said, “do not be afraid.”
“Do not be afraid”— are you kidding me? How ridiculous.
Listen you wing flapping angel, I’m tempted to take my sling shot and hurl a stone at you.
If I’m lucky enough to make it up to heaven some day, I’m liable to track you down.
And when you least expect it, I’m going to get even, and scare the feathers off your wings.
Let’s be honest here.
Even though the angel did convey the good news of Jesus’ birth, the delivery carried a fearful tone.
Let’s continue the honesty, Joseph and Mary, the bewildered parents of Jesus, experienced fear too.
Start with this puzzling intrusion of their engagement by God.
When it is time for Mary to give birth, fear hovered around the young couple. With this census taking place, rooms were difficult to secure. So a stable, with all the amenities—a manager, hay, gentle animals, and swaddling cloths came together quickly from a generous innkeeper.
Today, fear is rarely absent in our lives.
From the beginning of time, I suspect has been one of our most reliable pests.
Truthfully, I think fear is always rambling in the background of Advent with questions like this:
What happens if I can’t find the perfect gift?
What will I do if I overcook this batch of cookies?
When will I loose patience in the beauty of this season and snap at a loved one?
Why should I fear offering assistance to the apparent homeless person in the median of a busy intersection?
What drives me in my work to try and make every person happy? Why do I fear saying no, I can’t make that happen?
Earlier in December, at Trinity, the church where I work, I had an especially trying stretch of busy days.
On a Friday afternoon, the internal workings of a toilet sent a profanity alert to heaven.
No matter what I tried a valve and a flapper did not want to align properly. The good Lord must have tired of my poor choice of words.
He nudged me one more time. My eyes found my two installation errors. I exclaimed, “God still lives.”
While riding my exercise bike on the morning of Tuesday, December 22, I listened to an interview on the NPR show, Fresh Air. Host Terry Gross, interviewed Vanity Fair writer, Chris Whipple.
Mr. Whipple had conducted eleven interviews with Susie Wiles to write an article for the magazine. Miss Wiles is the White House Chief of Staff for President Trump.
During the course of the interview with Terry Gross, Mr. Whipple reported that Miss Wiles believes in what she calls “disruptors.”
I’m certain that Miss Wiles and I would clash over the “disruptors” that surround her.
But I wonder if we could agree that Jesus was a “disruptor?”
For lots of different reasons, I have an affection for the movie, Steel Magnolias.
I’m particularly drawn to the character, Ouiser, portrayed by the actor, Shirley MacLaine.
In a scene where Ouiser is hustling to a pedicure appointment, she is gently confronted by Shelby, the daughter of a friend.
Shelby has met a former flame of Ouiser’s. Shelby presses Ouiser to see if she might have any interest in seeing this gentleman again.
Ouiser, with no hesitation, asks Shelby, “does this story have a point?”
Every Christmas, I ask myself the same confounding internal question about the birth of Jesus—“does this story have a point?”
And despite whatever doubts I might wrestle, I think the birth of Jesus does have a point.
Jesus is a disruptor.
He disrupts darkness, John 1 verse 5: “The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it.”
Maybe where you live, tacky Christmas lights are popular. In our neighborhood, there are a couple of homes that have made the tacky light tour.
During the holiday season tour buses, vans, and special limousines drive by these homes. At each home, the drivers of the vehicles pause so their passengers can gawk and stare at the tacky displays.
I’m happy for the people who enjoy the tacky light tours.
But during Christmas, I search out less obvious seasonal lights.
Two streets over from our home, I’m drawn to a singular light of a pretty star dangling beneath the limbs of pine trees in a backyard.
My favorite star (Photo Bill Pike)
On some late winter afternoons, from the intersection of Stuart Hall and Sweetbriar Roads, I look west into the spectacular colors of a sunset.
One of our stunning sunsets (Photo Bill Pike)
In my daily ramblings around Trinity, I come across the intrusion of sunlight in our sanctuary.
I love how the golden light of a rising sun cast upon a window pane.
Early morning golden sunrise (Photo Bill Pike)
Over in the Preschool, I see the star of light atop a Christmas tree in artwork created by children who are eager for Christmas to arrive.
Pretty artwork from Preschool students (Photo Bill Pike)
On December 17, the Trinity staff took a lunch break at the studio of our music director, Ben Miller. In close proximity to the VCU campus, this section of Cary Street has seen a rebirth.
As we were leaving, I read these words artfully displayed on a fence: “find your light and grow towards it.”
(Photo Bill Pike)
That disruptor, the Bethlehem Bundle, needs us to find his light.
He needs us to disrupt the lurking darkness found in every corner of this old world.
He needs us to disrupt with hope and love.
When we become disruptors with hope and love, our story will have a point.
Today, Sunday, December 21 is the anniversary of Carl Wilson’s birth date. Born in 1946, had he beaten back the cancer that took his life, Carl would have turned 79 today.
Ultimately, Carl’s passing broke up the group, the Beach Boys, that he helped found.
The Beach Boys continued to perform and record after the passing of drummer, Dennis Wilson in 1983.
But with Carl’s death, the remaining members— cousins Brian Wilson and Mike Love, Al Jardine, and Bruce Johnston fractured and split like a California vault line. This seismic shift resulted in multiple business disagreements and countless lawsuits.
Of course in 2012, those remaining members put aside their differences for a new album and a world tour in honor of their 50th anniversary.
Still, I will always wonder what the Beach Boys would have been like if Carl had lived, and that applies to his brother, Dennis, a bit too.
Author Kent Crowley’s book, Long Promised Road, takes us into the ups and downs of the Beach Boys. There is a lot of coastline to cover in Carl’s life with and without the Beach Boys. Crowley attempts to capture this journey.
I can only begin to think what it must have been like for Carl as the youngest brother to Brian and Dennis. Their mother, Audree, must have had her hands full raising these distinct personalities.
Her husband, Murry, by all accounts could be challenging too. Yet, the love of music in the Wilson household was linked to Murry, a businessman, and a frustrated songwriter.
Early on, the oldest son, Brian showed promise in music. Most documented writings about the Beach Boys reference a story when Brian requests that his mother make Carl sing with him rather than allowing Carl to join in a neighborhood baseball game.
Mothers tend to have an intuitive sense about their children. According to longtime Beach Boys’ historian, David Leaf, Audree Wilson noted this about her youngest son: “Carl was born 30.”
In 1961, when the Beach Boys first started finding traction around Los Angeles, Carl was their 15 year old lead guitarist.
Three years later in December 1964, Carl’s maturity would steady the band on the concert road when Brian experienced his first nervous breakdown.
With the exception of a period time in the spring and summer of 1981, Carl led the Beach Boys when they toured. Carl departed in 1981 to tour as a solo artist in support of his first solo album.
He opted to return to continue his work with the Beach Boys, but with this mandate to his bandmates—1981 must mean as much as 1961 once did. With that ultimatum Carl set out to reinvigorate the groups’ live performances.
One of my favorite periods for the Beach Boys was from 1970 through 1973. Carl was at the heart of this productive period for the group in the studio and on the road.
Four strong studio albums released by Warner Brothers/Reprise/Brother Records: Sunflower(1970), Surf’s Up(1971), Carl and the Passions “So Tough”(1972), Holland(1973), and The Beach Boys In Concert(1973), found favor with their fan base and music critics too.
Always strong live performers, through the mid-70s, the Beach Boys became a top concert draw again. Their trademark harmonies and musicianship led the way.
Recording engineer, Stephen Desper, a visionary manager, Jack Rieley, and Carl’s steadiness in working with each member of the band in the studio and on the road helped to facilitate this turnaround.
That surge pushed into 1975, when Capitol Records released the Beach Boys’ album Endless Summer. This double album introduced a new generation of fans to the groups’ deep catalog of hit records.
Endless Summer was a huge commercial success. That success translated to even more people attending their concerts at larger venues across America.
Ironically, the triumph of Endless Summer actually brought an end to that early 1970s stretch of songwriting creativity from the Beach Boys.
For the remainder of their careers when the Beach Boys performed live, they became an oldies act. Sure, they did the obligatory promotional performances of new singles from their latest studio albums, and on occasion, a setlist included a rarely performed nugget, but by and large, they became a jukebox with the old hit songs dominating the show.
Through all of these changes, Carl Wilson endured. He led the group on stage ensuring that the singing and playing met his high expectations.
I have no idea how many times I saw the Beach Boys in concert, but Carl’s singing and playing were always a treat for me. His voice rang true whether singing lead or blending into the harmonies.
No matter if Carl’s lead was a tender love song like “Only With You”(from the Holland album), or a rocker like “Darlin’”(from the Wild Honey album), or a fan favorite like “God Only Knows” from the Pet Sounds album, his voice was unmistakeable.
From the Sunflower album, early in the song “Cool Water,” there is a marvelous section of interplay with the background vocals from Carl and his brother, Brian. I’m sure glad that Audree made Carl sing with Brian when they were growing up. Examples like this capture the chemistry of their vocal cords that only brothers could have.
With his guitar playing, Carl had all of the required chops and more.
Whether playing a solo or supporting the structure of a song, he knew the sound he needed to capture for live performances. Carl was competent on six string acoustic or electric, and twelve string as well.
During his career, Carl played guitars made by Fender, Gibson, Epiphone, and Rickenbacker. In 2000, Rickenbacker guitars released a new signature model guitar named after Carl.
In October of 1989, I was able to meet Carl Wilson. This is a longer story that I will document some day. But, he could not have been kinder to me.
Cancer continues to be one of the most rotten things on earth. I absolutely despise it. I don’t know why cancer had to destroy such a gifted musician. But again, I do know why cancer robbed us of Carl—cancer doesn’t care who it invades.
Although I play no musical instrument, nor can I carry a tune, I have a deep admiration for musicians.
There is something special about music and its capacity to touch our souls.
I think Carl Wilson’s gift of music touched many souls.
For some reason, Psalm 32:7 makes me think about Carl: “You are my hiding place, you will protect me from trouble and surround me with songs of deliverance.”
I think music can be a hiding place. A place where the troubles of the world can be soothed by songs that can transport us ever so briefly from the tough realities of the moment.
Sometimes, that is all we need—the strength of a song to buffer us through the challenge before us.
Like me, Carl Wilson was an imperfect human being.
Yet, I admired his endurance with the musical contributions he made to the Beach Boys.
I also appreciated the spirit of his battle to beat back the cancer that took him.
Yes, I miss Carl Wilson.
I’m certain his family misses him too.
But at the very least, I can still listen to the music he made with and without the Beach Boys.
And on those days when I need a distraction, one of those songs for a few minutes will humbly touch my sagging, old heart.
In that joyful sound, I will appreciate God’s gift to Carl.
After his death in 2000, the album Like A Brother was released. This album was a collaborative effort featuring Gerry Beckley from America, Robert Lamm from Chicago, and Carl Wilson from the Beach Boys.
The album features the songwriting, singing, and musicianship from each of these gifted musicians who had been friends for many years.
From this recording, one of Carl’s songs “I Wish For You” has been a favorite. Carl collaborated with Robert White Johnson and Phil Galdston on this effort.
The song features a pretty lead vocal from Carl and heartfelt lyrics.
With Christmas a few days away sharing these two lines from the song seem appropriate:
“I wish you hope through your share of tears, I wish you peace all your living years.”
At this very moment, no matter where you are in your life, I wish and your families hope and peace this Christmas and in 2026.
Good Lord knows we need it.
Love you all, be safe.
Original photo courtesy of my friend, Jeff Aaron, via the Appalachian State University yearbook staff November 1972.
might be baloney 