Scott Douglas Vaughan

This is a story from April 1983. I was 24 years old, single, living alone in Jesup, GA - about an hour from Jekyll Island and the Georgia coast. Every other weekend, I traveled north - about a five-hour drive - to see Vicki. As I've mentioned in other posts, we either met at her grandparent's house in West Point, GA., in my hometown of Cumming, GA, or in Athens, where she was in school at the University of Georgia. At the time, I drove a 1973, two-door Chevrolet Chevelle, dark green with a black hardtop. It leaked water in the back seat during heavy rainstorms. I once threw down some dirt and Kentucky 31 and actually grew fescue back there. That Chevelle had no air-conditioning. When I bought it in 1976 it only had an AM radio, but I had since put in an AM/FM with Cassette. My friend Steve Taylor made me a mixed tape when I moved to south Georgia. That tape contained everything from Zeppelin to ELP to the Beatles. You need to buy and read my book, The Beauty Queen & The Rep

"Beans, Beans, Good For Your Heart The More You Eat Them, The More You Fart" ~ The Beans Song Once upon a time before mega-churches, rock and roll churches, blue jeans in worship, and when we all sang out of hymnals, there was such a thing as the "covered dish" lunch. That's when the good brethren got up early on Sunday - or went by KFC if your town had one - and prepared food for a big communal picnic after the Sunday morning worship service. Food was transported in Tupperware or Corning Ware with masking tape on the bottom so people didn't borrow or steal one another's containers. All this food was brought to big tables in the churchyard or in the fellowship hall. The lucky few prepared the serving lines rather than attend worship. (That's my own childhood recollection). Admittedly, some churches still have these lunches and I'm jealous. The "covered dish" lunch fare almost always included brown rice, macaroni and cheese, green beans,

I have spent a night in jail. Here's the story, but first some background. In 1983, I was working at The Press-Sentinel, a twice-weekly newspaper in Jesup, GA, a great community in southeast Georgia. Vicki was a student at the University of Georgia, but her parents lived in Austin, Texas. Her grandparents lived in West Point, GA, on Georgia's western border with Alabama. Vicki often spent weekends and long breaks with her grandparents, and I would drive to West Point so I could see her. The map, pictured, shows the 5-hour drive along two-lane roads from Jesup to West Point. ( Five hours is a dang long way any way you slice it .) During the early 80s, West Point was pretty dead. I lovingly referred to it as "Fun City" because I kept hoping fun would break out somewhere. Visiting there, and going on a date, Vicki and I would have to drive exactly one mile across the state line to Lanett, Alabama, where there was a one-screen theater (not so uncommon in those days). It&#

Dear Daddy: The tomatoes have been good - no great - this season. Thank you for giving me your green thumb. I planted four Better Boy plants on Good Friday, and by the end of June, those spring blooms had turned to ripe tomatoes. Vicki and I have enjoyed four loaves of bread worth of bacon, lettuce, and tomato sandwiches, and simple tomato sandwiches. I have made tomato sauce over cheese tortellini twice. I made tomato pie on two occasions - both times as a side dish to thick "ribeye" pork chops. I have given away tomatoes to my neighbors, to my friends, and even gave permission to some just to come by and pick one as needed. Daddy, when I tell you those four tomato plants have yielded an unbelievable harvest it is no understatement. And, about now I can hear you say . . . "Huh, Well, that's great. Did you just pick one off the vine and eat it right there?"  Yes, I did that, too. No, I didn't wash it.  The tomato patch has not been this fruit-bearing since 2

Vicki and I stood in the back of the big auditorium - about the size of a larger high school gymnasium. The house lights were down, the stage lights were up, and hundreds of young people were singing along with a band on the stage. They were standing in the chairs, singing and waving their arms. Many were hugging one another. There were tears. A tall, gangly boy with a baseball cap turned backward walked up to three younger boys, standing in their chairs, about three rows in front of Vicki and me. He looked at one of the boys and said, "Jesus loves you." That young boy burst into tears and fell into his peer's arms. One teenager introducing another teenager to Jesus. I cried and Vicki handed me a fast-food napkin from her purse. For a reported 41 years, South Carolina Baptists owned and operated White Oak Conference Center, near Winnsboro, SC, about 40 miles north of Columbia. According to The Baptist Courier , in April 2016, the convention's Executive Board voted to

I've done my fair share of public speaking across North America - preaching, teaching, story-telling . . . and, on occasion, half-truthing. No matter how far away from home I go, I try my best to get home as quickly as possible so I can sleep in my own bed. That's led to late-night and really early flights, and insane driving - sometimes 8 or 10 hours to get home. A few years ago, on a Thursday, I was just outside Gettysburg, PA, teaching an all-day conference for United Methodist church leaders. The event was over at 3 p.m. and I briefly thought about spending the night, but then just optioned to drive it - all 9 hours and 11 minutes. My ETA, I told my Vicki, was going to be about 1 a.m. give or take an hour for stops at a Cracker Barrel and rest areas. I've never met a Cracker Barrel or a rest area that I didn't like. I decided to avoid the fifth level of hell known as I-95 through DC and Richmond. Instead, I decided to take the I-81 South route down to I-77 to Charlo