On the afternoon of Tuesday, July 21, 2026, rain poured from a dark sky.
In truth, I wasn’t surprised because it felt like the air was beyond heavy with moisture.
A body knew that at some point the sky was going to burst wide open, and it did.
At Trinity, I always worry about Eaton Hall, the original social hall of the church.
It is a basement below the Sanctuary.
Over time, I have figured out its bad habits.
This old room doesn’t like cloudbursts.
Keeping the drain clear at the base of the exterior stairs is critical. Keep that drain clear, and less water intrudes.
This afternoon, the challenge wasn’t that drain. No, the challenge came from the window wells that surround Eaton Hall.
The window well drains couldn’t handle the deluge. A few of the wells filled like a bucket under a spigot.
I learned a long time ago that water has a mind of its own. Some water from the window wells did come into Eaton Hall, but I could manage it.
When the storm passed, I checked the window wells from the outside. I saw the problem— lots of tree debris.
The next afternoon, I had a date with the window wells.
One of the window wells (Photo Bill Pike)
To get into the window well requires lifting up the heavy duty wire grate that covers the well.
The grate must be precisely angled across the top of the window well.
This prevents it from tumbling back over me.
Next, I use a broom to clear spider webs and other crawling creatures.
Then I position a short step ladder into the well, and I crawl over the three sided railing.
I step gingerly on to the ladder and get into the well.
I use a small rake, a bucket, and my gloves to clean up the debris.
In the first well there had been a lot of debris and water.
As I worked, I noticed a sluggish, water logged toad was in the well. He didn’t offer much resistance as I scooped him up with both hands.
I was able to place him on some wood chips outside the window well.
My water logged friend (Photo Bill Pike)
With that well clean and clear of debris, I climbed out and checked on my friend.
A cleaned out window well (Photo Bill Pike)
It would take several minutes for the toad to acclimate. His eyes seemed to be carefully studying me.
Finally, I nudged him toward the grass where he continued to rest. I checked on him one more time, and then he was gone.
During the course of the afternoon, I made two more rescues of small slippery frogs that had fallen into the window wells. They appeared to be less water logged than my toad friend.
In the Richmond area this summer, we lost two young men by drowning in local pools.
A couple of weeks ago when were enjoying the beach of Surf City on Topsail Island, North Carolina, we learned that a man was pulled from the ocean in distress. Attempts to revive him were unsuccessful.
I’m not a strong swimmer. I do not take chances in any body of water.
In the Bible, Noah and God took their chances with each other.
I wonder what God saw in Noah who is described as a righteous man.
God must have had a hunch that Noah, despite his age could build the ark, collect the creatures, and explain to his family what God was doing.
God was displeased with how things were going on Earth. The words corruption and violence were used to describe how we humans were making their way through the world.
Sadly, corruption and violence are still at work today.
At times this summer with the extreme temperatures and humidity, I wondered if God was trying to bake us into being better people.
With the heavy rainfall on Tuesday afternoon, I wondered if God was returning to his forty days of rain to flood out the world again.
I was happy when the last window well had been cleared of debris.
My guess is that God would be happier with us if we made the commitment to solve the troubling debris in our lives that divides us.
We appear to have the will to do lots of things, but I’m not sure we have the will to solve our troubling debris.
Why is that?
Dietrich Bonhoeffer wrote: “The will of God to which the law gives expression is that men should defeat their enemies by loving them.”
I did not love crawling down into those window wells.
Yet, I knew if that debris wasn’t removed, only more severe problems for Eaton Hall would develop.
Within the window wells of our lives isn’t it time that we crawl down inside and work to remove the debris—the division, the incivility, the disrespect that is hurting us?
Are these the enemies within our souls that are preventing us from being the people that God’s heart needs us to be?
I was up early this morning. Rarely, rarely am I not up early. My body’s internal clock must be locked to civil twilight.
Initially, I didn’t see the sunrise. I saw the power of its early predawn light casting shades of orange and pink into scattered clouds.
Predawn colors starting to show (Photo Bill Pike)
Over the next fifteen minutes, the sun kept slowly rising, and gradually, the familiar orange ball peered over the Atlantic Ocean.
The sun appears (Photo Bill Pike)
As the sun is waking, I do some exploring on the beach.
I notice the lightweight pattern of a bird’s feet or a crab’s scrabble leaving an imprint on the sand.
Someone has been here. (Photo Bill Pike)
With help of the wind, in some sections, the sand is shaped and rippled.
Pretty swells of sand (Photo Bill Pike)
And there is nothing better than discovering a protected location for a sea turtle nest.
A well marked sea turtle nest (Photo Bill Pike)
Since our rental house was close to the center of Surf City, I opted to go for a run—a run that would take me across the massive Surf City Bridge.
I don’t know how much longer my old body will take me out for a morning run, but I secretly hope— forever.
In working my way toward the bridge, the road is flat and straight as it parallels the beach front. Earlier this morning, our son had run across the bridge. He gave me a few pointers for accessing it.
Careful to abide by pedestrian crosswalks, and early morning traffic merging into the roundabout, I found my way to the bridge.
The flatness of the road surface disappeared. Eventually, my legs were working me up an incline were the arch of the bridge construction peaks. This incline is gradual as the bridge sits 65 feet above the water.
Planners were thoughtful with the design. The bridge not only features stunning views of the tidal areas along the Intracoastal Waterway, but a bike lane and a wide walkway for walkers and runners. I have ample room to run, but I am mindful of other runners, walkers, and bicycle riders. We all appear to be mindful of each other.
The view no matter where I look is remarkable.
I can only begin to imagine what accessing the island was like before any type of bridge was in place. My guess is that Topsail Island enjoyed its solitude.
I know this—I will cherish this 36:59 run for many years.
By midday, our oldest daughter and her family had arrived. Unfortunately due to work commitments, our son-in-law would only be with us until Wednesday.
The energy level in the house picked up as our four grandchildren enjoyed their beach time and an assortment in-house activities.
In the pre-trip planning, a meal schedule was worked out. Culinary skills would be showcased and tested, but this was no Food Network contest. Nope, just an opportunity to feed twelve hungry beach lovers at the end of the day.
After dinner, the four cousins converge on the deck. They watch storm clouds starting to roll in over the ocean.
Cousins checking out the weather (Photo Elizabeth Cates)
My mind thinks back to our ride through the tiny coastal plain communities we saw yesterday. That apparent poverty is such a contrast to the real estate wealth on the island.
We design and build a $54 million dollar bridge, but we appear to be incapable solving our poverty in America.
Why is that?
If we have the will to build a $54 million dollar bridge, shouldn’t we have the will to solve poverty?
More importantly, what am I doing with my will toward helping to solve that poverty?
I haven’t forgotten my first visit to Virginia Tech.
In the late 1970s, on a beautiful fall afternoon, a friend, a Tech graduate, with whom I taught at Martinsville Jr. High School, took me to a football game.
Even then, I sensed there was something unique about this outstanding university. Years later, that admiration continued. Our oldest daughter is a successful graduate and diehard Hokie.
As an old North Carolina boy, I cheered when Tech entered the Atlantic Coast Conference. Academically and geographically, this was a win for the conference.
Photo of my Virginia Tech hat (Bill Pike)
Despite this affection for a university that has impacted the world beyond Blacksburg’s town limits, I do not understand the school’s relentless pursuit of becoming a dominant player in college athletics.
The recent anonymous gift of $75 million dollars to the school is an example of this quest. I appreciate the donor’s twofold focus with the gift benefiting the school’s athletic department and honors program.
However, there are no guarantees that using these millions to buy the best players, coaches, and building state of the art athletic facilities equals automatic national championships.
Founded as a “land-grant” university in 1872, I wonder how many of Virginia Tech’s “land-grant” peers are consumed by this same push for athletic prominence?
My guess is Virginia Tech’s new football coach, James Franklin, is publicly thrilled with this financial gift.
However, I can only begin to imagine the pressure he must feel to quickly develop his team into a national powerhouse.
Speaking of pressure, does the university’s leadership feel any of that stress to succeed?
If Virginia Tech’s athletic department squanders this investment, other than a coach, who will be held accountable?
Where does that accountability apply to the $95 million in debt that the athletic department already has?
The world was less complicated on my first visit to Virginia Tech.
And yet, I suspect the “lunch pail” in Lane Stadium knows this wisdom from Seneca: “It is not the man who has too little, but the man who craves more, that is poor.”
Hokies, I hope your craving works out.
Bill Pike, Richmond
Note from author: I am always honored when a piece I submit to a newspaper is published. This letter to the editor was published in the Sunday, July 19, 2026 edition of the Roanoke Times. I have many dear friends who are graduates from Virginia Tech. I apologize if the letter offends you. My goal was not to offend. The goal was to ponder one more example of how money continues to rule college sports.
Sadly, I was not able to attend your May 28 and 29 concerts at the Sierra Nevada Brewing Company Amphitheater in Mill River, North Carolina.
I had a tiny distraction to deal with here in Richmond, Virginia. Our youngest daughter’s wedding was scheduled for Saturday, May 30.
No matter what I tried, neither my wife nor daughter could be persuaded to let me attend either show. Even though, I was just the lowly father of the bride, I guess from a distance or up close the optics didn’t look good for such an escape. Maybe next year.
Congratulations on the release of your new album—Next Act.
I’m one of those old guys who hasn’t returned to vinyl. I prefer having a CD in my hands as opposed to all that digital downloading stuff.
I made a short drive into Richmond to my usually reliable independent record store to purchase Next Act.
Sadly, they did not even have a bin divider with Steep Canyon Rangers printed on it.
In the bin labeled S, much to my dismay they did not have a copy of your new album. They did have a copy of your excellent live album—Live At Greenfield Lake. I already own a copy of this album.
I made another check through the S bin, and rechecked the latest releases section at the front of the store, but no Next Act was present. I questioned an employee about the album, and he simply said, “we can order it for you.”
The Eddie Haskel in me, or maybe that should be the Ernest T. Bass in me wanted to say: “ I can order it too, but I was trying to support your store, you know my local independent record store.”
So, I thought I would try our local Barnes and Noble. They have a small section featuring recordings.
At Barnes and Noble, a nice young lady checked to see if Next Act was in the store, and of course, it wasn’t. And she too said, “we can order it for you.” By that time, the Eddie Haskell and Ernest T. Bass had died in me—no snarky comment.
A few days later, I ordered the CD from The Steep Canyon Rangers’ website. It arrived in the US Mail on Thursday, June 11.
At our church on Friday, June 12, while setting up Trinity Hall for a Saturday evening event, I listened to Next Act.
In some of the preliminary reading I did about the album, I read that instrumentally the recording marked a return to the band’s bluegrass roots. No drum set for Mike Ashworth, and no banjo-caster for Graham Sharp on this recording.
This back to the basics has happened with other bands too.
While mostly overlooked, the Beach Boys attempted to move away from the complexities of Pet Sounds and Smile with their Wild Honey album.
The Beatles made a similar push with the Get Back sessions. This was a significant step away from the legendary Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band and to some extent The White Album. However, the shelved Get Back sessions did eventually birth the magnificent Abbey Road.
For the Steep Canyon Rangers, I think Next Act is a winner. There are no clunker songs on the album. I know this because the songs from this recording stuck what’s left of my memory bank.
This album pivots off of the the band’s multiple strengths.
No doubt they are gifted players, masters of their instruments. Their playing can be fiery hot, or deftly simple and pretty.
Mandolin player and harmony singer, Mike Guggino, is an example of this. At times on these recordings, his fingers sear the fretboard of his mandolin.
I’ve always loved their harmonies. But a extra dimension is added to the band with four lead vocalist in Aaron, Graham, Barrett, and Mike. Barrett and Mike are at their best with “Some Days” and “Babylon Stone.” I continue to be impressed with the band’s songwriters. Aaron Burdett and Graham Sharp are good storytellers. They have a gift for weaving the past and the present into their lyrics. Their stories reflect what feels like real people, real lives—people that you might encounter in any town in America. I like what I hear in the realness of these heartfelt words.
Edie Brickell and Steve Martin lend support on a couple songs. Both performers easily blend into the structure of each song. That’s not surprising considering Miss Brickell and Mr. Martin have histories with the band.
Perhaps not a first, but the Ranger’s gifted fiddle player, Nicky Sanders, puts in some nice piano playing on “Hard Luck Kid.”
Even though I miss his creative and well-timed drum work, Mike Ashworth contributes dobro, guitar, banjo, and some quiet percussion to the recording along with vocals. He is also credited in sharing production work with the group. This is a testament to his talent.
Despite my frustration in securing a copy of the album, my only other complaint is there is no photo of the band anywhere on the CD packaging. Perhaps, the record label, Yep Roc, was saving pennies.
I would like to see the Steep Canyon Rangers in concert again. I’m curious to see if Mike Ashworth will be set up behind a drum kit.
While bluegrass purists are probably dismayed about the drums being a part of the Steep Canyon Rangers, I think Mr. Ashworth’s drumming added a nice punch and texture to the band.
Hope your summer tour goes well.
Thanks for recording and releasing Next Act.
I know this was your fifteenth studio album, and I hope there are fifteen more in the future.
For my rapidly aging, non-musician ears, you gentlemen, the Steep Canyon Rangers, are required listening.
The sound I could hear coming from the Trinity Hall Mechanical Room wasn’t a happy one.
For sure, circulating pumps make noise when they are working. But these sounds were beyond the normal whirring of a motor that was working properly.
I could hear metal vibrating and bearings that were thinking to themselves—“I’ve grown weary of this same predictable redundancy day after day, I’m ready to check out.”
Eventually, the I’m not happy sound was annoying staff members who could hear something, but they weren’t quite sure what that sound was.
Our associate pastor asked, “What is that sound?”
I responded, “A pump in need of its last rites.”
So, I asked our HVAC company to stop by to offer an assessment of the ailing pump.
Their assessment was bleak.
The pump needed to be placed in mechanical hospice.
This highly reliable and well-built pump had been circulating chilled water during the often brutal Richmond summers since July 1987. The pump kept people in the Trinity Hall wing of the building from melting on those unbearable summer days.
The estimated cost for the pump’s funeral was close to $13,800. The pump alone was nearly $8,000.
I protested the high cost of that funeral to the estimator. I asked him to sharpen his pencil. He obliged this request. The price reduced almost a thousand dollars.
There was no way that our current budget could afford the funeral cost for a new pump. The harsh winter had been rough on our HVAC systems and budget.
I pushed back.
I thought to myself.
I appreciate the almost forty years of loyalty from this pump.
In this fast-paced, every changing world, I sense that loyalty is becoming a scarce commodity.
I asked if the loyal pump could be rebuilt?
Our lead HVAC technician said that was a possibility.
So with a bit more investigation, we determined that we could shutdown the pump and still keep that section of the building cool.
Late on Thursday afternoon, I pulled down on the arm of the singular circuit for that pump. In a matter of seconds the pump was quiet.
On Friday morning, another technician stopped by to remove the pump. This was no easy task. The pump is bulky, heavy, and in a tight location. Eventually, the technician won.
The pump was transported to Roy’s Electric. For over seventy five years, Roy’s has developed a reliable reputation for assessing old pumps and determining if they are salvageable and able to be rebuilt. This $90.00 assessment will hopefully give us a positive answer to rebuild the pump.
If the pump can be rebuilt with new parts and quality hands on assembly, the cost to bring it back to life is $3,000.
My fingers are crossed that the pump can be rebuilt. Our church budget will appreciate the difference in price.
Keeping an eye on the daily workings of a church is not much different from keeping a daily eye on the workings of our own bodies. Just as mechanical rooms are complicated—so are our human bodies.
We never know when our bodies might opt to have a difficult conversation with us.
I’m sure God and Jesus hear difficult prayers everyday from people around the world.
These people are reaching out because a loved one might be nearing the end.
Clearly, human beings are a lot different from mechanical room HVAC pumps. A pump can be replaced, or maybe rebuilt.
That’s not always the case for human beings. Sometimes, doctors with lots of dignity, grace, and respect must tell families— I’m sorry, but we have no other options.
If I’m lucky before the end of June, I’ll turn seventy-three.
I think how fortunate I’ve been. I wonder how many more birthdays I might have in me?
Despite my efforts to take care of myself, I wonder when will my luck run out?
Today at church, I had a long conversation with a friend who had lost his wife to cancer. Despite this devastating loss, he found comfort in a recent research breakthrough for the type of cancer she battled. That breakthrough was a ray of hope for the future.
Isaiah 41:10 states: “Don’t be afraid, for I am with you. Don’t be discouraged, for I am your God. I will strengthen you and help you. I will hold you up with My victorious right hand.”
In her book, “The Wings of Hope: Survivor,” Lailah Gifty Akita wrote: “Hope is hanging on to the promises of God.”
Doesn’t matter if you’re dealing with a weary old HVAC pump, or the frailty of human life, sometimes, the only hope we have is “hanging on to the promises of God.”
Before, I start, how about this weather. Since Thursday, we’ve had spectacular weather.
I was told to keep this short, no goofy humor, no preachiness, and above all don’t embarrass us.
Nice try.
I’d like to start by thanking everyone for being here this evening.
Over the last few days, we had family and friends arrive from London, England, Hawaii, California, Texas, Tennessee, Illinois, Georgia, Massachusetts, New York, Maryland, North Carolina, and Virginia.
We are honored to have you with us.
But in truth, my most heartfelt thanks goes to those who opted not to attend—bless your hearts.
We are deeply appreciative of our friends, Bill and Cabell Longan for helping Elizabeth and Jackson reserve the Commonwealth Club.
Thanks for every staff member at the Commonwealth Club and our wedding coordinators.
Appreciate the staff and volunteers at Trinity United Methodist Church for their help too.
Thanks to those “dangerous” steel magnolias who hosted bridal showers in North Carolina and Virginia, and the bridal luncheon yesterday.
We also want to thank the Cates and Phipps families for their gracious hospitality at the rehearsal dinner.
The whole evening was delightful—delicious food, connecting conversations, and heartfelt toasts to honor Jackson and Elizabeth.
We look forward to being with you at more family gatherings in the future.
That thanks goes also to some special heavenly guests Ken and Liz, Bill and Louise, Susan and Larry, and two of my uncles Harry and Ralph who adored Elizabeth.
I’ve been thinking about this day for a long time.
I have determined that weddings are not about fathers.
Weddings are all about the mother of the bride or groom.
Our family has been exceptionally lucky to have my wife to be our leader for these events.
Her command center was the kitchen table. All of the lists, notes, and orders were developed there.
Betsy, I love and thank you for all of this.
The words—“Just Chill William” are engrained in what remains of my gnat size brain.
Perhaps that might make a good two-sided t-shirt. On the front “Just Chill William” and on the back a rendering of William in a block of ice with the words “William Is Frozen.”
For a wedding, fathers lose their “Miranda” rights.
George Banks played by Steve Martin in the remake of the movie Father of the Bride showed us that.
I will spare you my George Banks inspired “flipping out” grievances.
Relatives and friends offered me advice related to the wedding.
My sister-in-law, Abby, told me to stock up my basement office with survival supplies and stay down there until a couple days before the wedding.
At one point, I told my college pal, Dan Callow, I’d like to pull a Forrest Gump, and start running away. But in true Dan wisdom, he told me that would be too easy.
So, Jackson, every father prays that his daughter will not end up with Mr. Wrong.
I guess the good Lord was listening, because I think for Elizabeth you are Mr. Right.
I say that for lots of reasons. But over these last couple of years, I’ve seen and admired your quiet endurance and resilience.
And in the ups and downs of that endurance and resilience, I’ve witnessed your love and respect for Elizabeth.
Jackson, we love you and welcome you to our family.
Elizabeth, where do I start?
Quite honestly, I thought at one point during your senior year of high school that I would be faced with two options.
At that time, you and your mother “loved” each other so much that I thought I’d be visiting one of you in prison and the other at the cemetery.
I’m thankful that eventually “love” intervened and persevered.
Jackson, I’m sorry, but the shopping gene that Elizabeth possesses is from the Cloud side of the family.
That is countered by her stubbornness which has long been linked to an unmuted gene from the Pike family.
Elizabeth, I want you to know that I love your endurance and resilience too. I’ve seen that at work in your personal and professional life, and I’ve seen this with your love and respect for Jackson.
The March 2026 issue of Southern Living Magazine has an article titled “She’s Got Game.” The article focuses on six Southern women who have impacted women’s basketball “both on and off the court.”
One of those women is Kara Lawson. She is the coach of Duke University women’s team.
A 2022 video of Coach Lawson talking to her Duke players gained much attention through social media.
Here is part of what Coach Lawson said to her players:
“We all wait in life for things to get easier. Most people think that it’s going to get easier. Life is gonna get easier, basketball’s gonna get easier, school is gonna get easier—it never gets easier. What happens is you become someone that handles hard stuff better.”
Elizabeth and Jackson, I know you know that marriage isn’t easy, but through your experiences with each other you will learn to handle the hard stuff better.
Handling that hard stuff better is grounded in what might be a dying word—loyalty.
Your love and loyalty to each other won’t make life easier.
But your love and loyalty for each other can carry a marriage for a long, long, long time.
Years ago, at Lakeside Elementary School, one of the young teachers on our faculty was engaged.
From her wedding invitation, I cut out and saved these words from the Song of Solomon Chapter 3 verse 4: “I found the one who loves my soul.”
To Elizabeth and Jackson, it is clear to me and everyone here that you “found and love each others souls.”
We pray that love will sustain you and your souls for forever.
All the best!
Note from the author: A few minutes after 4:30 p.m. on Saturday, May 30, 2026, I had the honor and privilege of walking our youngest daughter down the church aisle and to the altar for the wedding ceremony. On behalf of her mother and me, I handed her over to Jackson. Long may they endure.
Richmond Times-Dispatch Thursday, May 21, 2026 OPINIONS LETTERS TO THE EDITOR SOL testing still vexes Virginia
Twenty years ago, I retired from public education, and yet Virginia’s Standards of Learning Tests (SOLs) have not retired from making front page headlines. The May 10 edition of the Times-Dispatch confirms this with Anna Bryson’s article, “Students will face tougher tests in 2027.”
In 1998, when the testing was initiated, we thought the tests were tough. I was serving as principal at Lakeside Elementary School in Henrico County. Our first-year results were dismal.
From that point on, a relentless pressure was always present to improve and earn accreditation.
Now, I read that the tests will be tougher. I have no problem with toughness. And yes, I think it is wise to push back the testing dates to allow for more instructional time. However, in all this jabbering about the SOLs, how often do our school and community leaders consider the factors that can limit student success?
In the 28 years since the Standards of Learning Tests were implemented, how has the Commonwealth of Virginia scored in combatting critical factors that impact student performance?
Have our governors and legislators made any progress countering malignant generational cycles related to poverty, homelessness, substandard housing, unemployment, family instability and access to mental and physical health care?
Every day in classrooms across Virginia, teachers struggle to meet the needs of these students who are trapped in these brutal cycles. If we want better results on tougher tests, then we must address those challenges.
Margot Lee Shetterly, author of “Hidden Figures,” makes this point: “You don’t get the good without the bad, but you really do have to see it all in order to make progress.”
Until we address the “all” of the generational cycles that derail student learning, we will continue to struggle with SOL testing.
Bill Pike Tuckahoe
From the author: Honored to have a Letter To The Editor published in the May 21, 2026 edition of the Richmond Times-Dispatch.
Old photo of the entrance to Lakeside Elementary School (Bill Pike)
Some day, our luck at the Osher Institute Of Lifelong Learning at the University of Richmond is going to run out.
We’ll submit a proposal, a topic for teaching a class, and we’ll be rejected.
And that will be ok, as it will be part of life’s learning curve for two rapidly aging geezers.
But so far, we’ve been lucky. We just completed our ninth collaborative class.
The we is my lifelong friend, Joe Vanderford, and me.
We grew up in Burlington, North Carolina.
Our original bonding came from church, church softball teams, and in our teenage years—a love for music.
On some Sunday mornings, we’d sneak out of the balcony of the sanctuary at Davis Street United Methodist Church and go to Central News. Central News sold magazines and newspapers. We’d be searching for the latest issue of Rolling Stone, Crawdaddy, or Creem. These periodicals covered rock and roll in America.
If we knew, a favorite artist had released a new album, we’d drive down North Carolina Highway 54 to Chapel Hill. In Chapel Hill, we had two stops, the Record and Tape Center or the Record Bar. In either of those record shops, we’d find the new album we were looking to purchase.
But that love of reading about music and listening to music never left us. It is still part of our lives. Thankfully for Joe and me, our wives support our annual collaboration for developing a class.
I don’t remember the precise moment when we decided to develop our ninth class on Leon Russell, but I can tell you this—neither Joe nor I will ever, ever forget our class on Mr. Russell.
When we started working on this class, Joe and I knew the basic information about Mr. Russell. However, we had no idea, I mean no idea how wide, long, and deep his career spanned in American music.
His career was like staring forever into the the Grand Canyon. No matter where you look into the vastness of the Canyon, Leon’s career could fill it. Not only fill it, but the colors, tones, shades, shapes, and moods of his music could match those found in the Canyon too.
It seems almost inconceivable that a kid from Lawton, Oklahoma would have such an impact as a band leader, session musician, arranger, producer, multi-instrumentalist, songwriter, singer, and performer, but he did.
His family called him Russell. His mother noted that young Russell was slow to speak, but according to family stories, his first words were, “What’s the matter, little birdie, you cry?”
By the age of four, Russell had started playing piano by ear. His mother recognizing the potential talent connected him with the best piano teacher in the area.
A birth injury impacted his left hand, but Russell figured out how to compensate with his piano playing.
Later in life, he described his piano playing: “My chops have always been sort of weak, because the right side of my body was paralyzed a little bit. I have damaged nerve endings on the right side, so my piano style comes from designing stuff I can play with my right hand.” (Bill Janovitz page 7)
In our prep for a class, we have two essentials—a worthwhile book about the artist and a documentary that captures the artist at work.
For this class, we had an unbelievable book, Leon Russell The Master of Space and Time’s Journey Through Rock and Roll History. This book written by Bill Janovitz is as good as any book I’ve ever read about a musician. In a Herculean effort, Mr. Janovitz captures all of Mr. Russell’s life.
To showcase Leon at work, we had three documentaries to consider—Mad Dogs and Englishmen, The Concert For Bangla Desh, and an obscure film made in 1970s A Poem Is A Naked Person.
We opted for Mad Dogs and Englishmen.
Our two part class on April 13 and 14, 2026 opened with a late Monday afternoon screening of Mad Dogs and Englishmen.
On Tuesday, we put our hearts and souls into covering as much of the essentials of Mr. Russell’s work as we could. From his early bands in Tulsa, Oklahoma, the road to Los Angeles, session work, arranging and production work for a who’s who’s list of artist, the quiet development of his own songwriting skills, how Mad Dogs and Englishmen came together, his first solo album, and how he in a short period of time became a top concert draw.
To tell this story we used recordings, assorted videos of performances, and a wide range of interviews with other artists and Mr. Russell to capture a sampling of his work and the admiration that other musicians had for him.
Leon’s sound and piano style were unique. Plus, he didn’t limit himself to rock and roll. His recording and live performances reflect an ability to play any style of music.
And despite all of his talent and success, his lows were at times as devastating as a tornado ravaging across Oklahoma. Some substance abuse, struggles with his personal health, multiple marriages, unwise investments, and poor management choices severely countered his triumphs.
Those troublesome decisions forced him to tour out of necessity for much of his later life.
In 2010, his friend, Elton John, a long time admirer of Mr. Russell’s piano playing reconnected with him. The result was a collaborative album, The Union, and a tour to support the album.
During the 2011 induction of Mr. Russell into the Rock and Roll Hall Of Fame, he spoke these heartfelt words about Elton’s rescue: “About a year ago, Elton found me in a ditch at the side of the highway of life and took me up to the high stages with big audiences, and treated me like a king.”
That resurgence was good for Leon and Elton.
One of the best things about the Osher program is that they survey the students who attended both sessions of our class.
Joe and I learn from that feedback.
This year, our documentary choice was criticized.
Before the screening, Joe always writes an introduction about the film for the students. Joe’s instincts as a writer are to provide a broad brush stroke of opinions related to the film. This included referencing the negative review from the Washington Post critic, Tom Zito.
Mr. Zito said: “Forget the film and try the record,” explaining, “What emerges from all this is roughly two hours of footage that looks terrible on the screen and sounds almost as bad. The film is projected in an annoying square format, except for the moments when the screen area is broken up into some poorly coordinated split-screen effects. The camerawork is often sloppy … the whole thing winds up looking and sounding like a cheap, imitation (indoor) ‘Woodstock.’”
Much of the feedback we received about the film from our students agreed with Mr. Zito’s assessment.
For the presentation that Joe and I wove together about Mr. Russell, the students were kinder. They offered good suggestions for how we could have shortened the videos we used as a way for including more content about Mr. Russell.
I’m not sure why, but for some reason, in working on this project, I was drawn to the first stanza of the Beatles’ song “Come Together”:
“Here come old flat-top, he come grooving up slowly. He got ju-ju eyeball, he one holy roller. He got hair down to his knee, got to be a joker, he just do what he please.”
Here comes Leon Russell off of the Oklahoma “flat-top”, a slow moving, groovy musician. Whose eyes according to the women in his life could see right through them. His church music upbringing made him in some respects a “holy roller.” By 1970 his hair was heading toward his knees, a quiet joker who had just been biding his time to do what he pleased with his first solo album.
Mr. Russell’s first solo album confirmed what fellow musicians, including arrangers and producers knew about him—he was exceptionally gifted.
Perhaps, the opening song from the album “A Song For You” supports this testimony from his peers. “A Song For You” has been recorded by 200 artists.
My teaching pal, Joe, who knows much more about the intricacies and structure of music than I do believes this album is an underrated piece of Americana. A recording that should always be recognized as a classic piece of our musical heritage.
I agree.
I have no idea if we will come up with a proposal for a class in the Spring of 2027.
Leon’s life and his body of work pushed us to our limits.
But, I don’t think either of us would trade anything for how we wove the class together. Joe was at his best in developing the flow of the script.
On November 13, 2016, we lost Leon Russell. He died in his sleep.
Two memorial services were held—one in Mt. Juliet, Tennessee where he resided, and the other in Tulsa, Oklahoma where his career in music was launched.
At those memorial services, I wonder if anyone thought of those early words from young Claude Russell Bridges—“What’s the matter, little birdie, you cry?”
Clearly at both services, there were lots of “little birdies” from performers to speakers, and the audience who were in tears.
One of those speakers, Steve Ripley, fought through his tears to share this text from Leon: “The reason for connection is food, music, friendship, and tape machines. The strong stuff is just the facts of life and death; you either laugh or cry.”
I’m thankful for the friendship and connection that music has given to Joe and me. With every class we have laughed and cried.
And Joe and I are deeply thankful to the Osher members, and the Osher staff—Peggy, Nell, Romney, and Amy. Without them, there is no Osher program, and no class from us.
For days after the class, songs that we had featured from Gary Lewis and the Playboys, Delaney and Bonnie, Joe Cocker, and Bob Dylan rolled through my old brain. Mr. Russell’s unmistakable touch as a session musician, arranger, and producer were on those songs.
During his life and even today, Mr. Russell’s gift of music touched lots of “little birdies.” I for one am thankful that he shared this gift with us.
Yearbook photo of Claude Russell Bridges aka Leon Russell (multiple internet sources)
During March and April of 2026, I read articles reported in the Henrico Citizen Newspaper about bickering between the Henrico County Board of Supervisors and the Henrico County School Board.
The focus was about the budget and human resource requests from the school board.
Henrico County’s Board of Supervisors eventually approved a nearly two billion dollar budget.
For lots of reasons, I worry about public bickering between the two boards.
My calendar never allowed me to sign up to speak at a Board of Supervisor’s meeting. So, on the evening of Thursday, April 30, I was on the agenda to speak in person during the Public Forum.
In the Public Forum, speakers are allowed three minutes. Here are my comments:
Mr. Chairman, members of the Board, Dr. Cashwell, all school board employees, and the Henrico school community, my name is Bill Pike, a retired educator.
In the opening scene of the movie, Mr. Holland’s Opus, Principal Helen Jacobs, is talking with her new band director, Glenn Holland. It is Mr. Holland’s first day on the job.
Mr. Holland tells his principal that he never expected to be teaching in a high school. He confesses that he only earned his teaching certificate to have something to fall back on.
Mrs. Jacobs states to Mr. Holland, “I don’t think of teaching as a fall back position. I grow nervous around people who do.”
Knowing myself as a confirmed worrier, and whiner, I grow nervous when I read in the Henrico Citizen about the budget bickering between our Henrico County School Board and Board of Supervisors.
Experience tells me public posturing like that rarely has a positive impact for either board. Those moments of frustration can actually sow negative seeds which might just hinder future dialogue between both boards at a critical time.
Yes, advocating for fully funded budgets and meeting personnel requests is important to that process.
But, do you realize, how many school boards in Virginia would sell their souls to the devil for a $971 million dollar budget?
Our world has changed. It is more complicated.
I saw that first hand on April 16 when I attended the Faith-Based Leaders luncheon on the campus of Virginia Randolph.
I learned more about the needs of our schools and how relationships in our diverse communities are being established to meet those needs.
At the end of the day, bickering and whining between the school board and board of supervisors isn’t going to address the needs of our students and teachers.
However, building relationships will.
Think about this quote from Abraham Lincoln:
“Am I not destroying my enemies when I make friends of them?”
Thanks for your time, your leadership, and for listening to a rapidly aging, grumpy geezer. Good luck the last month of this school year.
The invitation came to read a book to Mrs. Cotterill’s second grade class on February 23, 2026.
We agreed on Friday, March 20 at 1 p.m. as the date to read.
The invitation excited me, but there was some selfishness too. Our grandson is a student in Mrs. Cotterill’s class at Summerfield Elementary School in the Guilford County school system.
Friday, March 20, my wife and I drove from Richmond, Virginia to Summerfield Elementary School. Our drive was uneventful. We arrived with time to spare.
We were warmly greeted by the office staff. Additionally, we met the principal and assistant principal.
My wife and I know a bit about schools. We spent our careers working with students, parents, and teachers in Virginia’s public schools.
I grew up in Burlington, North Carolina. Little did I know that I would become part of the 4 R’s saying: ‘reedin’, ‘riting’, ‘rithmetic’, and the ‘road to Richmond’.
My success in Virginia as a teacher and administrator was always connected to my teachers in the Alamance-Burlington School System and the professors who instructed me at Greensboro College.
I had read books to elementary students in Virginia, but this reading made me nervous. I didn’t want to embarrass our grandson.
With our grandson after reading the book (Photo Lauren Reinking)
The walk to the classroom took a couple of minutes, but I could feel the pulse of the school. Some classes were outside for recess or physical education. The school has nice outside learning stations. Every classroom we passed, students and their teachers were hard at work.
In prepping to read, Mrs. Cotterill and I planned to use technology to project the book on to a monitor. This allowed all students to follow along while getting a full view of the book’s illustrations.
We tested the technology, and luckily, the technology gods were playing nice this afternoon.
Mrs. Cotterill gave me a kind introduction. I spent a few quick minutes telling the students a bit more about me and the book we would be reading—“The Principal’s Pink Tutu Run.” Full disclosure, I’m the author of the book.
I wrote it about a real experience I had working as an elementary school principal. As we started, my pace was anxious and rushed, but I settled down. I was impressed with the students. They were attentive and quiet. As I read, I appreciated their chuckles. Before I knew it, we were on the final page.
We had a few minutes for questions. The students asked some good ones. I took great pleasure in letting the students know that everyone has the ability to write a book. Writing a book is really about will power and continuously pushing yourself.
I will never forget my time with this class. That is because of the work of their teacher, Mrs. Cotterill, her students, and their parents. Students have a better chance to find success in school when teachers, students, and parents work together.
Working in schools, I felt from the time a child comes into this world until his/her first day in kindergarten are the critical formative years. Family stability, parameters in place for the child, and taking the time to read to this child are vital to their finding success.
Tacked on to those essentials are helping parents understand how important they are in working to support and build relationships with their sons and daughters teachers.
I was lucky— my family was stable, my parents were supportive of my teachers and me, and my grandmother always read to me when she visited.
It’s a tough world out there.
However, I left Summerfield Elementary School feeling hopeful about those clear-eyed, good listening, and inquisitive second grade students.
That’s why it is so important for all of us to work together to make sure these students and thousands like them across North Carolina have every opportunity to find success in their schools and communities.
Author’s note: I submitted this as an op-ed piece to the Greensboro News and Record on March 23, 2026. The word count was 772. On March 24, I received an email from the editor stating that he would like to use the piece. He asked that I shrink the word count to 650. I did that. I sent the piece back at 647 words. He confirmed receiving it. I reached back out to the editor on April 4, asking if he had been able to run the piece. Here we are on April 17, and to the best of my knowledge the piece never ran in the Greensboro News and Record. Disappointing, but that’s ok. That Friday afternoon with our grandson’s class is one I will never forget. Bill Pike
might be baloney 