UUFEC Church, with logo and sign

The Porch Swing

Ron Allaire’s Contribution

Wednesday, April 24th, 2002

April 2002

Ron Allaire’s Contribution

It is nearly ten years ago that our fellowship moved from a three bedroom house on Carmel Drive to our present location on Bayshore Drive and John Simms Parkway. We may not have been able to move had it not been for Ron Allaire. This quiet man with sparkling eyes and a winning smile, bought our previous building so we could move into our present building without a worry about the down payment.

Sy Shwiller and Mike Coirin (who has moved to Virginia) discovered this empty building (vacated by the Mormon church for seven years) with a for sale sign in the front yard. Mike diligently compiled a development plan which the congregation adopted for purchasing the building. The next step was to sell our Carmel Drive building. We thought the Korean church was about to purchase it when something came up and the deal did not materialize.

To help us keep on track with our present building purchase, Ron offered to buy the building and rent it to a day care center. The day care center has grown and expanded and has become an important part of the Carmel Drive community. Meanwhile, our building has been renovated and our church family has grown to almost double our size before the move. We later heard that if we had delayed one week to buy our building, we could have lost it to a local restaurant. Next time you see Ron, thank him for helping to make our fellowship dream come true.

This month marks the 35th anniversary of membership for Ron.

Karen Lauer

 

We are What We Believe, and Believe In

Sunday, February 24th, 2002

February 2002


We Are What We Believe, and Believe In
(and we all believe in something, even if it is nothing!)

By Sy Shwiller


We are given just so much time in our life budget. It is up to us to decide how to use it. (This I learned as a Presbyterian).

 

Three years ago I came close to checking out of the “Here & Now” because of an illness. When people tell me I’m living on borrowed time I set them straight. I did not borrow any time from anyone. I almost lost what I had left, but it was reclaimed for me by the great medical staff at Walter Reed Army Medical Center, AND MY ATTITUDE!


ATTITUDE
The longer I live, the more I realize the impact of attitude on life. Attitude, to me, is more important than facts. It is more important than the past, than education, than money, then circumstances, than failures, than successes, than what other people think, say, or do. It is more important than appearance, giftedness, or skill. It will make or break a company, a church, a home. The remarkable thing is we have a choice every day regarding the attitude we will embrace for that day. 
We cannot change our past. We cannot change the fact that people will act in a certain way. We cannot change the inevitable. The only thing we can do is play on the one string we have, and that is our attitude. I am convinced that life is 10% what happens to me and 90% how I react to it. I am in charge of my attitude. And so are you! 
(Author Unknown) 
 

The Kingdom of the Emerald Shore

Tuesday, January 1st, 2002

JANUARY 2002

A STORY FOR ALL AGES
THE KINGDOM OF THE EMERALD SHORE
By Don Roberts


Two annum’s ago, during the reign of Sir Richard, the stout-hearted Hoffert, (not to be confused with the mythical Hobbit of burglary fame), it came to pass that the giant wizard, known as Harold the Kind, laid down his sword, long raised in defense of the good folk of the Emerald Shore Kingdom. The Kingdom was uncertain and fearful as to what to do without a wizard, until out of the northern mists rode the much smaller, but very active wizard, by name– Roy, the Cunning. Now the speech and manners of Sir Roy were at first strange and confusing to the Knights and Ladies of the Kingdom and the times became unsettled with new and threatening spells and incantations. The good folk of the Kingdom became weary from having to go about in full body armor all the time; but gradually, the armor began to fall away and then the most amazing and wonderful things began to happen: Each citizen of the Kingdom, of course, carried a shield; some large, some small, some shiny, some old and rusty. But gradually, on each shield, appeared a sign or word—such as: ‘Integrity’, ‘Candor’, ‘Trust’, ‘Honor’, ‘Faith’, ‘Loyalty’, ‘Responsibility’, ‘Sharing’ and many with ‘Love’ and also many with ‘Patience’. It was as if each shield reflected the nature of its bearer and all together they conveyed a great message and statement.


Well, as Sir Roy rode west to joust with the great desert kingdoms, a wonderful magical transformation started in the Kingdom of the Emerald Shore. Water suddenly sprouted from the ground and the fields turned from brown to green. The weather in the Kingdom changed from its damp and musty nature to one more conducive to the health and industry of the good citizens. Princesses and Princes came forth to lead the committee guilds in the affairs of the Kingdom. People began going from cottage to cottage to inquire as to the well-being of their neighbors and to lend support when needed. And the great castle on the hill that had suffered the ravages of time, under the benevolent attention of Lady Susan and Sir Doug began to shine and gleam to the amazed delight and joy of the good citizens.


As the inhabitants of the Emerald Shore Kingdom reflected on the nature of wizards and wizardry in general, they came to a great understanding: and that was that each person has within the power of wizardry and that it is foolish and unwise to attribute and give all the wizard powers to any one person. The citizens decided that in the future, they would seek a head wizard who would live among them and would share the wizardry work with all the folk in the Kingdom.


Now, as with all great stories, the future is unknown. But that is how the Kingdom of the Emerald Shore looks to Sir Don, the Wiser, as he departs the Round Table and returns to the fields of the Kingdom of the Emerald Shore. 
 

He has too much on his plate

Monday, October 1st, 2001

October 2001

He has too much on his plate

In the September Verbal Chalice Fred Boyer remembered Randy Williams. Randy brought Kinzo Yamamoto into our Fellowship. He was the speaker at a Lion’s Club meeting and his speaking of his past aroused Randy’s interest. Randy invited Kinzo to speak at our Fellowship, then located on Carmel Drive in Ft. Walton Beach.

Kinzo, a Ph.D. sociologist, found a welcoming home. During WWlI Kinzo’s Japanese-American family, living in California along with similar Americans, was rounded up, displaced and relocated in a western desert area camp surrounded by barbed wire and armed guards. This act constituted a severe blemish on the part of our government acting out of fear caused by the debacle of Pearl Harbor.

Kinzo’s father, a wise man, told his young sons to hold no anger blaming it on a young America still becoming. Kinzo’s retelling of this episode brought him to the Fellowship.

Kinzo and I worked together on the Finance Committee and the Board. In the good o1′ days most of our meetings were held on Sunday morning before church services. Kinzo and I would ride together discussing either finance or other items. As chairman of the Finance Committee he put together an excellent perspective on our Fellowship which he presented to three banks in an effort to secure a loan or to change our loan. First National Bank accepted our request and Kinzo negotiated the loan.

Then there was Kinzo, the craftsman. When we bought our present building he brought all his wood working tools to the church, set them up in the now Piper Room and with Sy Shwiller, completely redid our kitchen, raising and repairing shelves and cabinets. He raised the podium we now use so that our taller speakers didn’t look so awkward bending over it. Kinzo said it was a temporary fix, which he would upgrade later on. We lost him before this could be done. He bought a fancy knife-sharpening machine and sharpened the knives of practically every member. Fran is still impressed at how those knives remain so sharp.

And there was Kinzo, the gourmet. Being invited to his and Jan’s home for a meal was a heavenly treat. Everything was supreme and particularly remembered his fried shrimp.

One of the prizes for doing something for the Fellowship was a Kinzo-prepared Japanese meal. Jan graciously surrendered her kitchen at these times.

Kinzo was also a gardener. Camellias, monkey grass and whatever else found its way from my garden to his. He took camellia plants that had not survived my grafting and returned them back to become beautiful bushes.

His father, after incarceration, moved to Pennsylvania and became a successful truck farmer, developing several varieties of tomatoes.

Living in Destin and being a craftsman, it was only natural that he become one of the foremost experts in turning an ordinary fishing rod into a thing of exquisite beauty with very intricate thread wrapping. A fisherman also who spent many hours with Kinzo was Bill Bryant looking for and landing the big ones.

Of all his virtues the one most remembered was his human kindness. Never saying an unkind word about anyone, his favorite saying was “He has too much on his plate”.

Good health was unfortunately not to be for him. His stocky body became a constant source of pain and did not respond to treatment. He began to wear braces and the “Godzilla” pills did not help. His breathing at night while asleep had to be reinforced with an air pump. His spirit and humor prevailed.

Then one day the terrible phone call, “Hank, you have lost your friend.”

We planted a Japanese maple tree in the Fellowship yard to honor him. The tree fought an almost losing battle with the lack of rain but now is watered by our new sprinkler system.

Many people pass through our lives but only a few remain with us forever. My friend, Kinzo, was such a person. On the marker by his tree are the words, “Kinzo Yamamoto, A Man for All Seasons”.

Hank Boudolf

Remembering Randy

Saturday, September 1st, 2001

September 2001

Remembering Randy

by Fred Boyer

Randy and I had an immediate affinity for each other. Not surprising, since we shared identical middle names, beaming smiles, great personalities, and a membership in the finicky fraternity of AF navigators. When we met, though Randy was long retired, I was still one of perhaps 14,000 navigators on active duty. Later, we commiserated over the loss of better than half of that number to GPS. We found comfort in the knowledge that we aviators not burdened with “radiator wings” had provided more than just a positioning system: we understood the responsibility of keeping Uncle Sam’s planes on track and outside the charted areas marked “R” (ask Denny and Rich).

Randy was a fascinating character. He had an incredible record, serving in three separate branches of the military. He enlisted in the USN during the big war, was discharged, and somehow later got funneled into a Marine Corps OCS program. Inexplicably, about the time he met Millie, he received his USAF commission and the aforementioned navigator wings.

In 1951, Randy and Millie were married in the UU church of Louisville, Kentucky. While he served in Korea (I think on B-26’s) and knew accomplishment, frustration and courage, Millie found herself stranded in places like Louisville and Newport News.

America’s next war, Vietnam–one to which I could relate—continued Randy’s “Terry and the Pirates” adventures in foreign lands. He loved the service and was a dynamic, outspoken patriot. A WWII leather aviator jacket with squadron patches was his favorite garb when winds kicked up and the temperature dipped. He refused to sell it to me though I insisted a medium would actually fit. (It wouldn’t.)

Randy’s other love was a 1952 MG-TD. It was meticulously maintained, yet didn’t always provide reliable transportation. On days that it did, we often debated the clues and itinerary of his latest road rally. Having sponsored exactly one such event for my Nav class (64-13) in Waco, Texas, I considered myself an expert on this most mobile of social encounters. Randy, indeed, was the real expert. One of my life regrets is not having participated in one of his rallies.

My memory of our UU Fellowship at Carmel Drive is superimposed on my friendship and regard for Lt. Colonel Clarence Randall Williams, USAF (RET.) The sweet gum along our Bayshore Drive sidewalk, donated by the Bonsai Society of FWB, is a living reminder of our quite memorable warrior, our unforgettable friend. I miss him, and I am not alone.

Cam Caley a Moonie?

Sunday, July 1st, 2001
July 2001

Cam Caley a Moonie?

I was working for the State HRS when the fellowship moved to the house on Carmel Dr., and put up the sign, “Unitarian Universalist Fellowship” in the front yard. A few weeks later, one of the approximately 60 people at the office got brave enough to ask me the question that ‘everyone wanted to know.’ “We’ve seen your car at that new church on Carmel. Are you a ‘Moonie’?” That was when the Rev. Sun Myung Moon, The Unification Church, was conducting mass weddings between strangers, recruiting so many young people, who were soliciting (begging) all over town. I got a good laugh out of it (still do), and an opportunity to educate a few people about the UU ‘faith’, as I understood it.

How Do I Love Thee? Romance back on Carmel

Friday, June 1st, 2001
June 2001

How Do I Love Thee?  Romance back on Carmel

Bill Mallory moved to Fort Walton in 1988 and began attending the fellowship that same year. And all the singles were all in luck: he wanted a date!  No, we were not in luck because he wanted a harem or something of the sort; we were in luck because Bill had a notion about the best way to go about finding a suitable date, and since the “best way” didn’t already exist in our area, he turned his considerable energies and drive into creating it: he established a singles group known as “Group Interaction,” based on one he had attended in Dayton, Ohio. Interactions, as we called it for short, was the perfect singles group for a bunch of UU’s because it was, well, “UU-ish.” Instead of men trying to impress women with clever pick-up lines, or vice versa, the group was designed to help people really know each other. We discussed topics like “What do I say when I meet someone?”, or “My favorite thing to do on a ‘date’ is….” ,or “What do I want you to know about me (or me about you)?” that helped us to know each other’s interests, habits, and values.

Interactions was held at the fellowship on Carmel, and since that fellowship building was actually a house, the attendees would divide up into small groups and go into separate rooms to discuss a given topic. The group, which was advertised in the local newspaper, came to be very popular not only with single UU’s, but with “UU-ish” kind of folk in the area. We spent many wonderful evenings in those rooms (some of which, like the R.E. room, were very small!) sitting on cushions on the floor or perched on chairs, enthusiastically discussing our topic for the evening. We argued with each other, supported each other, and laughed—–a lot!

There were many memorable evenings spent there, but one, in particular, stands out in my mind—but NOT because it was typical of the group! I don’t remember the topic for that night, but I do remember the room in which my particular sub-group met: the first room one entered after coming into the fellowship building. It was was a TINY room, a room conducive to intimacy. And we were destined to REALLY get to know each other better that night!

A man who had never attended Interactions before (and never did again!) told us the sad story of his first marriage and his recalcitrant wife, who would just not take out the trash. A vexing problem, no? But he was a man of great resolve, and he told us, bending forward to make his point, how he solved THAT intolerable problem: “I beat the crap out of that woman, and when I was through, made her kiss the bottom of my shoe! AND SHE TOOK OUT THAT TRASH!” After the telling, he settled back into his chair with a look of deep pride and satisfaction on his face.

I do think, if a camera could have panned the faces of the other occupants of that room after he finished his story, you would have a perfect visual definition of the phrase “mouth agape.” No one said anything for several long seconds. I have my doubts anyone remembered to breathe! This man may have been TOTALLY CLUELESS (remember, he was there supposedly to get a date!) but I think he got the idea when a pretty woman named Sandy (not a UU) leaned slightly forward, looked him straight in the eye, and said softly: “If that had been me, you would be dead!” The man shifted slightly in his chair, his gaze
shifted somewhere up near the ceiling, and he muttered: “Maybe so.” I don’t remember that he said too much after that.

Well, that astonishing night ended, time passed, and our luck ran out: Bill remembered (realized?) he was in love with his former girlfriend, Jo. Having
remembered, he turned his considerable energies and drive to courting and winning her back. Without his leadership, Interactions eventually faded away,
and all our delightful discussions, with their agreements, disagreements, laughter, and sometimes choked-back tears were no more. We were left with only our memories, and our one unanimous area of agreement: NO ONE would pick or recommend Bachelor Number 666!
 

Denise Wong (with a little help from Bill Mallory!)

Joys, Sorrows, and Concerns: Our Children Back on Carmel

Tuesday, May 1st, 2001
May 2001

Joys, Sorrows, and Concerns:  Our Children Back on Carmel

One day as we were exiting the fellowship after a Sunday service, my son Chris and I launched into a full-fledged war of words just as we were passing through the front door onto the porch. Chris was between eight and ten at the time. As we bickered heatedly, I suddenly heard Bill White’s cool voice query behind me: “So WHEN did you lose control of him?” Make no mistake: I was angry at Bill, but I also had to admit the truth implied in his question. So I muttered between clenched teeth: “The day he was born!” Chris and I took our argument elsewhere.

On another Sunday years later, on that very same front porch, I intervened in an escalating-into-physical-violence argument between two young brothers I had been teaching earlier that morning in R.E. As I broke up the battle, Gertrude Oakman remarked in a low aside: “It’s about time SOMEONE crocodiled those kids!” I laughed heartily to myself about the term “crocodiled,” but if I was tempted to feel a bit smug about my accomplishment, Bill’s voice suddenly drifted back to haunt me: “So WHEN did you lose control of him?”

There are little videos of them in my mind: tiny Erica Lindegren being carried into the fellowship hall on her father’s arm, looking as if she were floating on the gauzy cloud of crinolines encircling her waist; Kim Lauer and my son, both small children then, shrieking with excitement as they take off for a ride with Randy Williams in his pale-yellow, open air, “old-fashioned” car; William Vaughn singing solemnly, his face touched with candlelight, at the “medieval-style” Christmas service his dad, Stan, put together for the fellowship; the various foster children Chris Larsen brought to the fellowship from time to time, including one little boy whose legs were hopelessly twisted and useless; little Lexie Vaugh shyly entering the fellowship hall in the pretty smocked dress her mother, Pam, had bought or made for her; Nate Judd looking up from an art project he was working on to tell me: “You act like Mary Poppins!” I replied to him with deep conviction: “I AM Mary Poppins!” He seemed to half believe me.

And then there was the child I never knew. One day as a group of us were emerging from the newly finished “Piper Room” up to the children’s tiny R.E. room, and up again to the main level of the fellowship, a man I didn’t know well (a bit curmudgeonly, it seemed to me) remarked in a tone that grabbed my attention: “I miss my son.” The moment is frozen in time for me: the pain in his voice, his foot raised to step up into the kitchen, his head slightly bowed. Something about his tone of voice made me sure his son wasn’t just away at college, or something of the sort. I asked a friend where the man’s son was. My friend told me the boy had killed himself.

Our children. Nothing else so important to us. The most precious things in our lives, and they are delivered to us without instruction manuals. God/Spirit/Love (fill in with the name of your Higher Power!) please help them and us!

Denise Wong

 

My First “Close Encounter” with Unitarian Universalism

Sunday, April 1st, 2001
April 2001

My First “Close Encounter” with Unitarian Universalism

When I first moved to Florida, in 1986, my subdivision was still in the process of being built. The lot to the right of my house was still wooded, mostly with scrub oaks that were strangely twisted to one side, as if they had grown from seedlings in the relentless blast of a strong wind. That lot, with streaks of white sand visible in places, allowed me to imagine I was living on the beach. That fantasy didn’t last long. The bulldozers came and razed. A house was erected. And new neighbors moved in. The first time I saw Brenda Donaldson, she was out at her mailbox collecting her mail at the same time I had walked out to get mine. The main thing I remember from that meeting was her enormous, lonely-looking eyes, hoping for a friend. Having spent time traveling around as a military wife, I understood those eyes. I became her friend.

Brenda somehow heard of these people, “Unitarian Universalists.” And she started bugging me to attend one of their services with her. I was skeptical of the idea: what the heck was a “Unitarian Universalist?” I was even more skeptical when I went in search of their church. It was no church: it was a house! A house with the front blinds askew. I looked dubiously at the building and started composing “No way!” speeches in my mind to deliver to Brenda. But she was persistent. And when she found out that these Unitarian Universalists were having a Saturday night get-together in which the minister would be giving lessons in Cajun dancing, I allowed myself to be dragged along.

When we entered the building we found we were almost the first ones to arrive. So we sat in the little front room and waited, and I, for one, was a bit nervous. There was one couple waiting also, and they must have sensed and seen my nervousness, for the tall man with the mischievous, twinkling eyes; thinning gray hair; and cheery red suspenders began making jokes that increased my nervousness, while the pretty, somehow artistically-dressed woman at his side giggled. Brenda and I exchanged glances out of the corners of our eyes, and I wondered if a quiet night at home would not be a better idea.

But then the door opened, repeatedly. Laughing, cheerful people flooded through, spilling past me and Brenda down to a large, sunken living-room. There was color, there was gaiety. Suddenly, something inside me said: “Party!” And that quickly became very easy to do! A riot of zydeco music filled the air, and there was this person people SAID was the minister whirling his partner in a dance performance the likes of which I’d never seen outside the movies! Then he went around, held out his hands, and drew others into the fun. And then, suddenly, there he was, holding his hands out to me! Well, when Brenda asked me as we drove home that night if I wanted to attend the church service the next day, she certainly didn’t get any argument out of me! That first beautiful service was a “flower service,” a UU version of an Easter service. And a UU was joyfully born!

Denise Wong