(Written by me for a daily newspaper)

By Rick Laney
September 21, 2007

Blount County Circuit Court Judge W. Dale Young appears to be the subject of a judicial conduct review by the Tennessee Court of the Judiciary.

On Wednesday, Jim LaRue, an investigator for the Tennessee Court of the Judiciary, was in Maryville conducting interviews focused on Young’s behavior on Sept. 7 during an order of protection hearing.

Judge Dale Young

David Byrne, assistant general counsel for the administrative office of the Tennessee Supreme Court, confirmed that LaRue is an investigator working on an investigation in Blount County.

Last week, The Daily Times reported that Anna Calixto, a legal immigrant from Nicaragua who lives and works in Blount County, went to Judge Young seeking an order of protection from her estranged husband, Fernando Calixto. Anna said she has filed domestic violence charges against her husband in the past.

Anna and other witnesses said the judge asked the Calixtos if they were in the United States legally, told them they had no rights in court and instructed them to go back where they came from. He then dismissed her request for an order of protection.

When Anna Calixto asked the judge what that would do to her two children — both legal U.S. citizens — the judge reportedly told her there were Americans here in this country who can take care of her children.

Anna Calixto has been in the United States legally since 1994 when she came here to attend school and work. She met her husband, an immigrant from Mexico, in the United States and the couple has a U.S. marriage license issued by the state of Virginia.

The Calixtos have been separated for nine months and are currently in the process of getting a divorce.

Anna Calixto maintains that she has kept her “temporary protected status” filings with immigration services up-to-date while she has been in the United States. Her most recent filing with immigration services and the Department of Homeland Security was dated Aug. 8, 2007, and is reportedly valid for 18 months.

Although Anna Calixto is a legal immigrant, law experts say immigration and residency status is irrelevant in a U.S. court.

“People need to read the U.S. Constitution,” said Linda Rose, an adjunct law professor at Vanderbilt University Law School — one of the top-rated law schools in the nation — and managing member of the Rose Immigration Law Firm, PLC in Nashville.

“The U.S. Constitution says all people — legal or illegal, citizen or noncitizen — have a right to fundamental due process if they are on U.S. soil.

“There are other areas of the Constitution that reference rights of citizens, and those rights are exclusive to U.S. citizens. But due process is a right all people are entitled to, according to the U.S. Constitution.”

According to the state legislature, which created the Court of the Judiciary, the Tennessee Court of the Judiciary was established “to provide an orderly and efficient method for making inquiry into the physical, mental and moral fitness of any Tennessee judge and determine whether a judge committed judicial misconduct.”

The Court of the Judiciary is charged with providing a process by which sanctions can be imposed against a judge and, when necessary, provide procedures for the removal of a judge.

The Tennessee Court of the Judiciary is composed of 16 members: 10 judges, three attorneys and three lay people who — after investigations and hearings — may recommend removal, suspension or other disciplinary action against a judge. It has jurisdiction over all Tennessee state judges.

The Daily Times’ calls to Judge Young on Thursday afternoon were not returned.

Rose said judges in Tennessee are increasingly being investigated for courtroom conduct involving immigrants.

“Even administrative law judges who review actual immigration cases are now being reviewed for acting inappropriately on the bench,” Rose said. “I don’t think this is an isolated instance — but cases like this aren’t usually exposed the way The Daily Times exposed this one.”

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UPDATE:  This story ultimately won Rick Laney a Golden Press Club Award for investigative journalism.

© 2007, The Daily Times
 

(Written by me for a daily newspaper)

By Rick Laney
Sept. 12, 2007

Anna Calixto went to court Friday seeking an order of protection from her husband, Fernando Calixto. Instead, she was told to go back to her native country of Nicaragua by Blount County Circuit Court Judge W. Dale Young, according to witnesses.

Anna Calixto and witnesses said the judge asked Fernando Calixto — who came to the United States from Mexico — if he was in the United States legally. The judge told him if he wasn’t here legally, he had “no rights in court.”

The judge then asked the same question of Anna Calixto.

Anna Calixto

“When the judge asked if I was here legally,” Anna Calixto said, “I told him I have my temporary worker permit and I have the documentation showing it from the immigration service.

“The judge shrugged his shoulders like he didn’t care — then he told me to go back to Nicaragua.

“I told him I have two children and asked what I was supposed to do about my children. The judge said there were Americans here in this country who could take care of my children.”

After the brief discussion, Young reportedly threw Anna Calixto’s request for an order of protection across his desk. Young’s secretary, Amanda Nolan, told The Daily Times Monday that the judge had dismissed Calixto’s request.

Numerous calls to Young’s office and home regarding the Calixto case were not returned.

Calixto moved to the United States from Nicaragua in 1994 to go to school and work. She and Fernando Calixto met in the United States and were later married. They have a U.S. marriage license issued by the state of Virginia, where they lived at the time.

The Calixtos’ children, a 9-year-old daughter and 4-year-old son, are U.S. citizens.

Nine months ago the couple separated, and in May Fernando Calixto filed for divorce. Anna Calixto said she wanted an order of protection because her husband has been harassing her, calling her and regularly showing up at her home trying to get visitation with their two children. Calixsto said her husband had also made unauthorized charges to her bank account with a debit card.

Hedy Weinberg, executive director of the American Civil Liberties Union (ACLU) Tennessee, said the charges raised by Calixto are alarming. “We start with the premise that a judge is not an immigration officer,” Weinberg said. “The court is where people go to seek justice. To throw out a request for an order of protection based on ethnicity is just wrong.

“The allegations against this judge are serious — and he should be more concerned with justice than where someone was born.”

Weinberg said courts are required to treat everyone equally regardless of race, sex or ethnicity.

Alice Blevins has worked with Anna Calixto for the past three years in Blount County and accompanied Calixto to court on Friday. She said Calixto is a dependable, hardworking employee and has never had any trouble or problem at work.

“I know many Hispanic workers,” Blevins said, “and I always tell them about America. People have rights here — and I convey that to these workers. After what happened in that courtroom, I’m starting to think maybe I was wrong.”

Young is a lifelong Blount County resident and has been a Blount County Circuit Court Judge since 1984.

No transcript

According to Young’s office, there was no clerk or court reporter present during the Calixtos’ hearing and there is no transcript, recording or documentation of what was said.

Kathy Martin, the Blount County deputy clerk since 1999, said it is not uncommon in Blount County for a circuit judge to hear a case without a court reporter or clerk present. Martin said that while the requested order of protection had been dismissed by Young, the couple’s original divorce papers were still showing Tuesday afternoon as having no orders filed by the judge.

In Knox County, all domestic cases are heard by the 4th Circuit Court. Debbie Sewell, the supervisor of Knox County’s 4th Circuit Court for the past 31 years, said it is extremely rare in Knox County for a case to be heard with only a judge, attorneys and clients present.

“It would almost never happen here,” Sewell said. “If there’s no actual court reporter, we almost always have a clerk in the courtroom taking notes. That would be very unusual for us — our clerks almost always have documentation of what happens in the courtroom.”

Census data compiled by the Migration Policy Institute ranks Tennessee sixth in the nation for the fastest-growing immigrant population.

Between 1990 and 2000, Tennessee’s foreign-born population increased 169 percent. The Hispanic population in Tennessee grew by 278 percent (from 32,741 in 1990 to 123,838 in 2000), the fourth-highest rate of Hispanic growth in the nation.
“I left court on Friday feeling lonely and devastated,” Anna Calixto said. “I was crying — my husband was crying too. I felt totally humiliated.

“I just don’t know what I’m going to do if a judge won’t even look at my request. I wanted to talk to him more, but after the way he talked to me, I was afraid to say anything to him.

“If he’s a judge, I thought he was supposed to be fair and look after people. Even if I’m not American, I am still a human being.”

###

UPDATE: Rick Laney and Jessica Stith sweep 2007 ETSPJ Investigative Reporting Awards: The East Tennessee Society of Professional Journalists has recognized Jessica Stith and Rick Laney for outstanding investigative reporting with the following Golden Press Club Awards:

• First Place: Rick Laney/Jessica Stith for continuing coverage of bogus diplomas in Blount County Government

• Second Place: Rick Laney for coverage of Anna Calixto and Judge W. Dale Young stories

© 2007, The Daily Times
 

(A story I wrote for a hiking magazine in 2007) — Bert Emmerson is a serious hiker. The 59-year-old Maryville resident is chasing hiking’s “Triple Crown,” which includes the Appalachian Trail, the Pacific Crest Trail and the Continental Divide Trail. With more than 7,000 miles logged and two of the three trails finished, Emmerson is less than 200 miles from achieving his goal — but his plans were put on hold this week in a remote area of southwest New Mexico.

On Monday afternoon, Emmerson knocked on the door of a complete stranger in Gila, N.M., and asked for help. His lips were black, and he couldn’t feel his hands. The toes on both of his feet were frostbitten, and he was running low on food after being caught above 10,000 feet in a four-day snowstorm. Temperatures were 10- to 20-degrees below zero and, as he tried to hike, the snow was nearly to his waist.

“It started snowing on Saturday, Dec. 8, and continued for the next four days,” Emmerson said during a telephone interview from New Mexico.

Bert Emmerson

“I’m 5 feet 10 inches tall, and it got to where the tips of my mittens were dragging in the snow while I was walking.

“When my toes started to get numb, I got in my tent and crawled into my sleeping bag. My socks were frozen to my toes, and I knew I was in big trouble.

“The next morning, my toes were black — so I tried to follow a route down through the Gila Wilderness Area to a road that I planned to hike out on.”

The Continental Divide

The route Emmerson was taking on the Continental Divide Trail is 2,567 miles long and stretches through Montana, Idaho, Wyoming, Colorado and New Mexico.

Emmerson started his journey at Glacier National Park on June 15 and has been hiking ever since. His plan was to reach the Mexico border and be home with his wife, Becky Emmerson, by Christmas.

The Continental Divide Trail climbs and descends the peaks of the Rocky Mountains from Canada to Mexico, traversing mountainside meadows, granite peaks and high-desert saddles. Through five states, 25 National Forests, 20 Wilderness areas, three National Parks, one National Monument and eight Bureau of Land Management Resource areas, the trail travels along the “backbone of America” through dramatic and wild backcountry.

Although he started his trek with a small group of other hikers, Emmerson had been hiking solo since he left the trail for a while at the beginning of September to attend his son’s wedding in New Hampshire.

“I had resupplied in Pie Town, N.M., on Dec. 3 and had about one week’s worth of food with me,” Emmerson said.

“I had planned to make it to a place called Doc Campbell’s in about nine days but, when it started snowing, I decided to do a road walk rather than risk getting lost on the trail.

“The road was 39 miles straight to the west — and as I walked, the snow just kept getting deeper and deeper.

“By the time I made it to the house in Gila, I had been out for two entire weeks.”

Back home in Maryville, Becky Emmerson was hours away from asking the New Mexico Police to launch a full-scale search and rescue mission.

She wasn’t sure where her husband was, but she knew it was desolate, steep and remote. The Gila Wilderness Area covers 3.3 million acres of forest and rangeland and is the sixth largest National Forest in the United States. There are six peaks in the Mogollon Mountains — where Emmerson was at the time of the snow storm — with elevations between 10,000 and 11,000 feet. He had described the area during the couple’s last phone call as being “in the middle of nowhere.”

“I hadn’t talked to him for almost two weeks and I was starting to get worried,” Becky said. “There really aren’t many good maps of that area — and the Continental Divide Trail has so many alternate routes.

“I had been talking to the police and forest service people in New Mexico. The police were helpful, but they said it was a 7,000-square-mile area and you can’t really search it.

“Then I ended up talking to another through-hiker who acted really concerned after hearing about Bert. That made me even more worried.

“When I found out that Bert hadn’t picked up one of his packages that he should have already had, I decided we were going to have to do something.”

Ghost town

Just as Becky was making plans to contact authorities in New Mexico, the phone rang and it was Bert. After hiking out of the Gila Wilderness Area, he came to the ghost town of Mogollon, N.M. — an abandoned mining town from the early 1900s that now boasts “five or six” residents.

Emmerson knocked on virtually every door in town, but most of the buildings were vacant. Finally, he reached Dan Ostler’s place.

Ostler, who said people die every year in the mountains around Mogollon, said Emmerson was a hero.

“Geronimo spent part of a winter up there,” Ostler said, “but he was in a cabin. Geronimo also had canned food — Emmerson had neither.

“Very few people walk out of there — actually only two in the last 17 years that I can recall. The first one who walked out had no snow, Emmerson had plenty of snow. I suspect two or three feet had accumulated before he got out.

“It really surprised me when he knocked on my door. There are so few people here, that you don’t really expect anyone to show up.”

Jokingly, Ostler said he expects to find a phone booth up in the mountains next spring when it warms up — because he knows Emmerson has a cape and superhero costume hidden somewhere.

“Very few human beings could survive up there in that,” Ostler said. “They find one to three bodies up there just about every year.

“Emmerson is a remarkable individual — a really good guy.”

No typical retirement

Four years ago, Emmerson retired from the Tennessee Farmers’ Co-Op in Rockford where he was a plant manager for 13 years. Originally from Kansas, he moved to East Tennessee in 1978 while working for ConAgra Foods.

During his first year of retirement, Emmerson hiked the 2,175-mile Appalachian Trail from Georgia to Maine. The next year, he hiked the 2,650-mile Pacific Crest Trail. He didn’t schedule any long-distance hikes for 2006, but started planning his Continental Divide Trail trek for 2007. On average, less than two dozen hikers attempt the six-month journey on the Continental Divide Trail each year.

Emmerson said, “Last year, when Becky wanted me to stay home and act normal, I worked at Little River Trading Company in Maryville part-time. I’m planning to go back to them — it’s a great store and I recommend Little River’s products to everyone. Most of my equipment is from Little River Trading Company.”

Emmerson was examined by a doctor on Wednesday and planned to return to Maryville today. According to Emmerson, the doctor said he wouldn’t lose his toes to the frostbite if he is careful with them in coming weeks.

“I was never really worried about being lost,” Emmerson said. “I knew where I was — within a mile or so — the whole time.

“I did get a little concerned about the Mexican grey wolves that were reintroduced into the wilderness area near Snow Lake, N.M. They can be aggressive toward humans.

“I had the black bears, the mountain lions, the coyote, the Mexican grey wolves and the creatures from outer space to contend with (a reference to the UFO conspiracy theories about Area 51 in Nevada) — but I wasn’t lost.”

Emmerson plans to go back to New Mexico next year and finish the Continental Divide Trail in April or May. He stressed that he would do this “after the weather breaks.”

To learn more about Emmerson’s hiking adventures and view photos from his trek, visit his online hiking journal at www.trailjournals.com/wildcat.

 

(This is an article I did for the April 2006 issue of Mopar Muscle Magazine (PRIMEDIA PUBLICATIONS).  The subject of this article was a relative and close friend to my father.  I spent many weekends at the race track watching him as a child.)

Rotating the Earth a quarter-mile at a time

Drag racing changed drastically in the early 1970s.  One driver whose career mirrored those changes was the late Don Carlton.  He successfully drove for both Sox & Martin and Rod Shop, but Carlton will always be remembered as the pilot of the legendary Motown Missile and Mopar Missile Pro Stock cars.

Carlton’s racing career started like the careers of many drivers – in his spare time.  But the hobby for average guys who labored over their cars after putting in eight hours at work quickly evolved into a mainstream sporting event with sizable corporate sponsorships and previously unthinkable amounts of money.

Even though drag racing existed since the 1930s, when racers gathered in California’s Mojave Desert to test their mechanical and driving skills, it didn’t get organized until the 1950s.  When the first drag strip opened at an old airfield in California in 1950, modern day drag racing was born.  During the 1950s and 60s, it was still viewed more as a “pastime” than a “sport.”

The top photo is Don Carlton launching the Motown Missile Pro Stock car, one of his most popular and successful. I'm pictured in the middle photo (far left) next to another one of Don's race cars. The bottom photo is Don after winning his last national title in 1976.

Carlton’s racing career began while he was still working in the furniture factories near his home in Lenoir, NC.  Like many drag racers of that era, he put in long hours at the factory before going home to work well into the night on his cars.  Weekends for Carlton could include as many as four races, many of which were hundreds of miles from home.

The typical drag racer of the late 1960s spent a considerable amount of his own money building and rebuilding his car, only to spend more of his money taking that car to the track.  Every now and then, he might have won a race and recovered a small portion of what he had invested.  It was not a sport that made people wealthy.

According to Don Carlton’s son, Donny Carlton, things started to change during the 1967 and 1968 racing seasons.  “Before that time, a guy working out of his own basement or garage could show up and be competitive,” Donny said.  “By 1970, it was very difficult for the weekend guys to compete with the full-time racing teams.”

The changes in drag racing were obvious to fans and racers alike.  Racing events that had been sponsored by small, locally owned businesses (primarily auto dealerships) were now being sponsored by large national corporations.  Team sponsorship was following suit, and cars that once had “Ernie’s Garage” on the side were now sporting beer logos.  It didn’t take the major auto manufacturers long to recognize the potential.

With a major sponsor of his own, Chrysler, Don Carlton left his job at the furniture factory and became a full-time drag racer.  He was now able to implement many of the things he wanted to try with his cars, but couldn’t afford in the past.  The relationship with the factory allowed access to professional automotive engineers from Chrysler’s racing and testing programs.  With a new team, new cars and corporate funding behind him, Carlton was winning championships, setting records and making a living doing what he loved to do.

Joe Pappas worked directly for Carlton from January of 1973 until the end of 1974.  Pappas explained that while Chrysler provided many of the engineers and technical experts on the Motown Missile and Mopar Missile programs, Carlton – as a contractor to Chrysler – also hired many of the team members personally.

“In the early days,” Pappas said, “the drag racers were just out there developing as much horse power as they could by the seat of their pants.  After 1970, it became both a business and a science – and it changed the sport dramatically.”

When large companies invest huge amounts of money in something, it is always with the expectation that there will be a return on that investment.  If wins, championships and record-breaking runs were the measuring sticks, the Motown Missile and Mopar Missile programs were blue-chip investments for the folks at Chrysler.

Before his death in 1977, Carlton had won six major NHRA events and had earned at least one major title – including national championships – each year for five consecutive years.  Following a particularly dominant season, one well-known magazine reported “the earth rotates a quarter-mile every time Don Carlton drops the hammer.”

Dick Oldfield, who was also a key part of the legendary Motown Missile and Mopar Missile programs, said the team relied heavily on data to ensure consistent performance.  “Our instrumentation included a variety of sensors and transmitters in the car,” Oldfield explained.

“We had the ability to see everything that happened in the car sequentially, from the launch through the finish line.  That was 35 years ago and I don’t think most of the teams can do that even today,” said Oldfield.

Other tests the team conducted involved taping small pieces of string all over the car to monitor airflow and resistance.  Oldfield was often tasked with taking pictures while hanging out the window of a car driving alongside the Motown Missile and Mopar Missile.

The innovative Motown Missile and Mopar Missile programs are widely recognized for being among the earliest to use computers.  The team also did extensive development and testing with ClutchFlite transmissions and worked on both two- and six-speed configurations.  The infamous “Don Carlton Wire Car” utilized titanium and magnesium components from the suspension and axle tubes down to the nuts, bolts and pins.  Because the chassis ended at the rear wheel housing, the rear end of the Wire Car was literally held together with wires.  Much of what they did was considered light years ahead of its time.

The team’s technical philosophy was simple; eliminate all variables.  By knowing the oil pressure, temperature, airflow, RPMs and everything else that could possibly be monitored by computer, the crew could easily determine the best configuration for the car at any given time.  Testing and re-testing was the foundation of the entire program.  Although the program focused on gathering information about the cars, the team also relied heavily on Carlton’s skill in the driver’s seat.

“My dad was never boastful,” Donny explained.  “He would have quickly pointed out that there were ten or twelve other drivers out there in the early 1970s – guys like Ronnie Sox and Dick Landy – who were all equally talented.  Dad never thought he was doing anything new or different from behind the wheel.

“He was confident in his driving – but he knew he could beat those guys with technology.  Dad always believed it was the technology that won races.”

Joe Pappas agreed with Donny Carlton’s assessment of his father, but was quick to point out that Don’s skill behind the wheel was a significant factor in winning races.  “I watched a lot of drivers and I worked with a lot of drivers,” said Pappas.  “Don Carlton was by far the best driver I ever saw – ever.”

“He believed in the technology – and that was very important,” Pappas continued.  “But as we worked to eliminate variables, we knew the one place most racing teams had huge variables was in the cockpit.  Not us.  When Don Carlton was behind the wheel, he was so methodical, we knew we’d get exactly what we asked for from him.”

According to Pappas, Don Carlton had the unique ability to duplicate a run flawlessly many times in a row, a critical part of the team’s testing program.  If the engineers asked Carlton to shift to third gear at very specific RPM, Carlton would shift at precisely that RPM without any variation, and – according to Pappas – Carlton could do that all afternoon.

“For every one run we did at the track on race day, we did 50 test runs in the weeks leading up to the race,” Pappas said.  “We were always well-prepared and we always knew what we had to do before we ever got to the track.  Knowing what Don was going to do was as important to the plan as knowing how the engine would perform.  Fortunately, we always knew how Don would perform.”

Because Don Carlton believed races were won and lost before a car was ever staged, his pit operations were noticeably different than most racing teams.  Don and his team were more like a surgical staff than a pit crew.  Cursing, yelling and throwing damaged components – all commonplace with many racing teams – was not part of what they did. If it weren’t for the abundance of grease and the absence of surgical masks, an engine overhaul could have easily been mistaken for a delicate surgery.

Everything the team did was deliberate and precise.  Under normal circumstances, the crew rarely did more than minor adjustments once they arrived at the track – all of the major work had been done days, weeks and months before during the design and testing stages of their comprehensive preparation.  Carlton’s team was different, and it was easy to recognize what they were doing was entirely unique at the time.

The ultra high-tech Motown Missile and Mopar Missile programs relied on a large number of specialists.  The team, at various times, included Joe Pappas, Dick Oldfield, Clyde Hodges, Ted Spehar, Tom Hoover, Mike Koran, Tom Coddington, Al Adams, Len Bartush and Ron Killen.  Each contributed a special expertise, and the results were consistently successful.

While Don Carlton recognized the value the trained engineers brought to his team, he also treasured the “roll-up-your-sleeves” approach of his long-time friend, Clyde Hodges, who had been with Carlton from the beginning.  Also a Lenoir, NC native, Hodges was a self-taught mechanic who knew his way around an engine and could be relied upon for ideas that the “educated” mechanics were quick to dismiss.

“There were many times that my dad and Clyde were told something simply would not work,” Donny recalled.  “Some of the things they wanted to do looked impossible on paper – but they did those things anyhow.  Sometimes the engineers were right, but many times those ideas worked, and they worked well.”  Hodges passed away in 2004.

In keeping with the “eliminate all variables” technological philosophy, the Motown and Mopar Missile programs also relied on sciences not normally associated with drag racing.  At a time when many racing teams could barely afford a trailer to haul their car to the track, Carlton’s race-day equipment included a fully equipped weather van.

“We had this cargo van full of weather monitoring equipment,” said Pappas.  “It was a full-scale weather station and it told us how much moisture was in the air, what the track temperature was and, basically, what the weather was going to do to the car’s performance that day.  No one else was doing that kind of thing in the 1970s.”

The introduction of fully staffed racing teams, a never-ending supply of components and large-scale testing programs forever changed the daily routine for professional drivers.  While he no longer juggled his time between a furniture factory and the garage, and the Chrysler sponsorship put significant money behind the program, there were some aspects of drag racing that never changed at all for Don Carlton.

“As the money came into drag racing, it started to change some of the drivers and racing teams,” Donny Carlton said.  “Some of the guys were really concerned about who had the biggest trailer and the prettiest paint job – many of the teams went Hollywood.

“My dad was never into all of that.  He couldn’t have cared less about the politics, the huge trailers and the fancy jackets.  To him, it was all about being the fastest, and a lot of people loved him for that.”

Although Carlton never viewed drag racing as a popularity contest, he was a track celebrity by the mid-1970s.  Recognized as both a mechanical genius and a top-notch driver, he consistently won national titles and set the standard for speed and elapsed time in the Pro Stock category.  His match-ups with Bill “Grumpy” Jenkins and Don “Dyno Don” Nicholson were the stuff of drag racing legends.

In 1977, following a few seasons competing in (and completely dominating) the Comp Eliminator and Sportsman categories because of rule changes and uncertainty about the Chrysler Racing Program, Carlton was back at the top of his beloved Pro Stock game.  Coming off a 1976 national title win at Indianapolis, the team was busy fine-tuning a 1976 Dodge Colt that looked like the ticket to another dominant season.

“We had just come off about four or five days of intense testing in Milan, Michigan – about an hour outside of Detroit,” Oldfield recalled.  “It was Tuesday afternoon, July 5, 1977.  We’d been running that Colt all day with the temperature well above 90-degrees for about the fourth day in a row.

“It was a normal test run.  Don launched the car and everything looked perfect until it sounded like his foot came off the pedal – the car just started coasting.  Then it started to swerve and it dug in.  The car rolled and he sustained a serious head injury.”

Don Carlton, who was only 36 years old, never regained consciousness following the crash.  A thorough investigation of the car he was driving did not identify any mechanical problems that would have contributed to the crash.  Crewmembers who were at the track that day believe Don Carlton simply passed out from dehydration and the stifling heat.  Following the investigation, the wrecked 1976 Dodge Colt was buried in a landfill.

At the time of his death, Carlton was so far ahead in the lead for the Grace Cup, the points program that determined the NHRA’s Champion, his lead stood for months before it was overtaken.

Today, Donny Carlton runs a machine shop out of the building that was his father’s garage in Lenoir and has partnered with Gary Olliver (formerly of Tri-City Buggy) to build racing chassis for weekend racers.  So far, the chassis business has sold more than 1,700 racing chassis.

Now 43 years old and the father of three, Donny has a trophy case in his office (built by his grandfather, Dewey Carlton) with a large collection of national championship trophies and awards bearing his dad’s name.  Donny’s son, Don Allen Carlton, now ten years old, is a huge racing fan and plans to someday be the third generation to stand in a winner’s circle.   Donny’s sister Robin also lives nearby with her three children.

“Dad was a one-of-a-kind,” Donny said.  “He was so good at what he did but he always stayed very humble about it.

“He absolutely loved racing and he would have told you that he was lucky to have been able to make a comfortable living doing what he loved.  I know that he would still be racing every weekend — even if he had never made a dime at it.”

Donny Carlton raced stock cars for a few years, but has not been involved in drag racing since his father’s death.  “They have a Don Carlton Memorial Race every year at the Wilkesboro track here in North Carolina,” Donny said.  “I’d like to go to it sometime, but it’s just not the same going to the races without my dad.”

Most drag racing fans from the 1970s would agree with Donny Carlton – going to the races just isn’t the same without his dad.

All text and photos property of RBL.  All rights reserved 2006.

 

Originally written by me for a magazine in Spring 2006) — My wife decided that my 40th birthday was cause for celebration.  She quietly made plans to meet our friends from Columbus, OH for a surprise weekend birthday bash.  For weeks she worked out the details of a camping and bicycling adventure in the Mt. Rogers National Recreation Area of Virginia.  We would drive to Virginia from our home in Knoxville, TN to meet our friends on Thursday evening, and then spend the weekend camping and biking the Virginia Creeper Trail.

Between our two families, there are six children from twelve months to 15-years of age.  When I was told on Wednesday, the day before our scheduled departure, that my birthday party included a camping trip and a long biking excursion in the mountains, I was not convinced the children were up to the challenge.  The plan was to camp out near the Virginia Creeper Trail and bike the 17-mile section between Whitetop Station and Damascus.

The first day, Friday, we would set up camp and explore the nearby hiking trails with the kids.  This, according to the plan, would give the children time to “rest up and prepare” for our long ride Saturday on the bike trail.  We would camp at the Creeper Trail Campground near the entrance to the trail at Whitetop Station.  This area is the highest elevation on the trail at about 3,500 ft. – the trail drops down to 1,900 ft. in Damascus.

Over the years, our family has camped, hiked, kayaked or bicycled most of the mountainous areas of East Tennessee, Western North Carolina and Southern Virginia.  Living only 20 miles from the Great Smoky Mountains National Park, our children are accustomed to outdoor activities.  We discovered as they grew older that taking along friends their age, or adding a new activity to the equation, was an easy way to keep the outdoors fun and exciting.

I thought it made sense to take a quick look at the weather forecast before rounding up and packing our huge collection of camping gear.  After two picture-perfect weeks of summer weather, the forecast called for severe thunderstorms beginning Thursday afternoon and continuing through Friday night.  One thing I’ve learned the hard way; children, tents, lightening and high winds do not add up to fun.

We move to the proverbial “Plan B.”  After a lengthy discussion with our friends in Ohio, we decide to revise the birthday plans.  We would forget the camping aspect of the weekend altogether and trade sleeping bags and tents for the comforts of a nice, dry hotel room.  Our friends would drive to Knoxville and stay with us, then we would bike the Creeper Trail and stay in a hotel over the weekend.  If the weather forecast was correct, the storms would be gone by then.

After overhearing our discussions about severe thunderstorms, our children were thrilled with the revised plans.  My 15-year old son believes “roughing it” is staying at a hotel without an indoor pool.  While it’s understood that he would rather be home playing video games, staying in a hotel and going on a long bicycle trip beats staying in a tent during a thunderstorm and still going on a long bicycle trip.

When our friends pulled into our driveway on Thursday evening, with all their camping supplies still strapped to their roof, it was evident we hadn’t communicated the revised plans clearly.  My friend Kris, who I’ve known for 20 years, does not give up easily.  He had planned on camping and, even though we already had two hotel rooms booked in Virginia, was not ready to give up on the original plans just yet.

Friday was spent hiking in the Smoky Mountains (the weather wasn’t as bad in our area as it was in Southeastern Virginia).  We took our friends to one of our favorite hiking spots near Ramsey’s Cascades – a beautiful and quiet area cherished by locals because the million or so tourists who come to the Smoky Mountains every summer rarely find it.  Even though Kris hasn’t given up on the idea of camping, he doesn’t mind finishing off the day with Thai food and a visit to a used record store in Knoxville (Kris loves hard-to-find music, a nice way of saying “music not many people listen to”).

Early Saturday morning, with one mini-van full of girls and one Land Rover filled with guys, we set out on the two-hour drive to The Creeper Trail.  We navigate the sharp turns and narrow passes of US-58 East as the sun rises on a magnificent, cloudless day with no storms or rain in sight.  Everyone in our group is in good spirits, well rested and ready to hit the trail.

While most bikers park their vehicles in Damascus and use a shuttle service to rent bicycles and get to the top of the mountain, we decided to do the opposite.  We drove to the top with our own bicycles and planned to get a shuttle back to the parking area after we rode the trail.  We knew the shuttle services operated until 4 p.m. and we were getting an early start, so we would be finished by early afternoon.

In the parking area at the top of the mountain near Whitetop, we take the bikes off the racks and usher children to the restrooms.  As we’re checking bicycles and helmets, Kris realizes his two-seat child trailer has a flat – even though he checked it before they left Columbus two days earlier.  Never the quitter, Kris temporarily fixes the flat using duct tape, hopeful it will get us to the first of many small bicycle shops along the trail.

The Virginia Creeper Trail is a cinder and crushed-gravel bike path stretching between Abingdon, VA and the North Carolina state line near Whitetop, VA.  While the entire trail is 34 miles in length, the section we were doing – between Whitetop and Damascus – was roughly half that distance.  What I didn’t know at the time, but was thrilled to discover later, is that this particular section of the Virginia Creeper Trail is almost entirely down hill.

The trail was originally a Native-American footpath before becoming part of the Virginia-Carolina Railroad around 1907.  European pioneers and explorers, including Daniel Boone, reportedly used the trail to navigate the area’s rough terrain.  Once trains started using the line, it became known as the “Creeper Trail” because the early steam locomotives struggled slowly up the railroad’s steep grades.

Because of its railroad origins, there are approximately 100 trestles and bridges along the Creeper Trail, many of them high above rushing rivers and streams.  The trail twists and turns through beautiful farmland, small towns and along mountainsides.  In many places, the forest opens to reveal scenic panoramas of Southeastern Virginia’s most beautiful mountain ranges.

After snapping a few photographs, our group of ten finally hits the trail just before noon.  Kris has successfully fixed the flat tire on the bicycle trailer his two youngest children are comfortably riding in.  Helmets are adjusted, backpacks loaded and the ride is finally underway.  About ten minutes into the ride, it occurs to me that I haven’t had to pedal once.  This is definitely the perfect bike trip for a not-as-fit-as-he-used-to-be 40-year old.

 

(Originally written by me for a magazine in Spring 2006) – We cruise through the first section of the trail and stop at the actual “Whitetop Station” the town is named after.  Whitetop Station is a replica of the original train station from the early 1900s and houses historical displays about the area, the railroad and the people of Whitetop.  It also has a small general store selling candy, snacks and drinks – they do not however sell bicycle inner tubes that fit Kris’ trailer.

Unloading the Laney's bike trailer

Back on the trail, we continue to coast easily downhill for another five or six miles.  Periodically, we pass bikers heading the other direction.  These hardy individuals start at the bottom and ride the entire trail up the mountain.  With sweat pouring over their bright red faces, they do not appear to be having as much fun as our group.  Some are moments away from complete and utter collapse.  In spite of their anguish, many of the hard-core uphill bikers pause to point out that Kris has a flat tire on his trailer.

About 30 minutes into our trip, we come to a small creek-side store with a sign advertising bike supplies.  Kris goes inside to search for a new inner tube while the rest of us enjoy snacks and a cold drink.  Fortunately, they have one that fits and within five minutes, Kris has changed the tire.  The kids enjoy pushing their bicycles over a hanging bridge suspended over the creek behind the store to get back onto the trail.

Most of the Virginia Creeper Trail is on public land nestled between the Cherokee National Forrest and the Mount Rogers National Recreation Area in the Jefferson National Forrest.  The trail does however cross onto private land periodically.  When crossing onto private property, which is mostly through pastures and farmland, bikers must stop to open and close gates.

As we cruise through a heavily shaded area of the trail, down a long straight through dense woods, I see Kris pulling to the side of the trail ahead of me.  As I approach, I can see the chain from his bike dragging the ground and hanging limply from the sprocket.  Not a good sign.  All children are deployed to the trail in search of the missing master link that holds Kris’ chain together.  Unfortunately, the small black gravel on this portion of the trail provides perfect camouflage for the small black master link.

The children are troopers and continue looking for the next 45 minutes.  We pause every 15 seconds or so to examine a small rock one of the kids has found that looks like a master link to a six year-old.  We find countless pieces of metal, but none are the missing master link.

“Maybe we can hold the chain together with something else,” Kris proclaims, as people begin to abandon the search.  We start looking at the small loop earrings my wife is wearing.  Never the quitter, Kris decides they “just might work.”

The earrings didn’t work, but the key chain Kris had in his pocket provided just the right piece once Kris dismantled it with pliers.  He carefully guides the small piece of keychain through the bicycle chain and twists it into place.  With the chain back in one piece, Kris puts his bike back together and it appears we are back in business.  None of us are concerned about the loud popping noise we hear each time the small piece of keychain passes through the rear derailleur that guides the chain through the gears.

By noon, we have crossed the halfway point and are slowly but surely making our way to Damascus.  We stop often so the children can snack, have drinks, explore and stretch their legs.  The kids are having a ball and the adults are breathing a sigh of relief that the flat tires and broken chains will simply be something to laugh about this evening.

As we pass through the small town of Taylors Valley, we miss the trail signs and accidentally travel down a long gravel drive toward a private residence.  Realizing our error, we turn back on the heavily rutted driveway.  While racing my eleven year-old son Brendan, I hear a loud noise behind me coming from Kris’ direction.

As Kris pedaled his bicycle, the twisted piece of keychain was catching on his derailleur.  As he pushed his way through the holes and dips in the driveway, the pressure literally exploded his derailleur.  Fixing a broken chain was a minor inconvenience compared to reassembling a shattered, but altogether vital component.  We knew earrings and keychains were not going to get us out of this one.

Fortunately, we were not out in the middle of the national forest when the explosion occurred, and the town of Taylors Valley is home to the Creeper Trail Café which we had passed just moments earlier.  Our gang pushes the bicycle motorcade back to the café so Kris can have a better look.  While Kris and I examine the derailleur, the wives and children descend on the café snack bar.

Things aren’t looking good, but Kris is convinced he can fix it if only he had the right tools.  He goes inside the café and borrows a tool kit (we’re obviously not the first bikers to experience mechanical difficulties along the Creeper Trail).  Time passes and Kris appears to be making some slow-but-sure progress.

About 90 minutes later, my eldest son suggests we call it a day.  In his exasperated-teenager voice, Bryant says, “Come on dad … gosh.  He’s never going to fix that thing.  Call a shuttle.”

Honestly, I didn’t believe Kris was going to fix it either.  On the other hand, I’ve known Kris a long time and I knew his never-say-die attitude was getting the best of him.  I pulled Bryant aside and suggested, strongly, that now was not a good time to voice his opinions.  Having intentionally raised three highly opinionated children, I recognized Bryant’s need to let his feelings be known, but feared Kris would eventually end up doing the same.

Without divulging the gory details, that’s exactly what happened about a half-hour later.  While Kris still feverishly worked to rebuild the derailleur, my firstborn once again felt compelled to let Kris know that his efforts were getting us nowhere fast.  By this time, everyone in our party acknowledged this fact, and wished that Kris were more of a quitter.  Kris in turn let Bryant know how he felt about complaining 15-year olds.

Knowing the shuttles stopped operating at 4 p.m., and that it was a long uphill walk back to the parking lot at Whitetop Station, Kris reluctantly threw in the towel at 3:30 p.m. and we called The Bike Station in Damascus.  Rather than sending a van for just Kris and me, the owner offered to give us a ride in his own pickup truck once he closed up shop.  Not only did he know a shortcut back up the mountain, his truck had a cooler in back fully stocked with ice-cold beverages.  Kris was apparently praying while working on the derailleur.

In spite of the trail trials we experienced, everyone had dinner and enjoyed a fun evening in the pool – even if it was outside.  The next morning, before our friends departed for Columbus and we started back to Knoxville, Kris declared he would be back to complete the Virginia Creeper Trail.

This article is the property of Richard Laney.  All rights reserved 2006

 

(Originally written by me for a newspaper in April 2006) — The Second Chance movie uses familiar elements to make a unique and powerful point.  In Hollywood, it’s known as a “Black and White Buddy Movie.”  The formula is simple; a black actor and white actor work out their differences and become friends.  But The Second Chance is not a typical Hollywood formula film.  Released in theaters nationwide last February, the DVD is scheduled for release in early July.

The Second Chance authentically tells the story of how a rebellious son and a street-smart pastor struggle to bridge the gap between their respective cultures. More importantly, at its core, the movie is about taking action and getting involved.

“We took a well-worn path,” writer/producer Steve Taylor said.  “The black guy and white guy struggling story has been told a million times – but we put it in a different context.  Something familiar can be powerful when the story is compelling and well-told.”

Five years ago, Taylor developed the concept for The Second Chance.  Shot entirely in Nashville, the story focuses on a large, suburban mega-church and the inner-city ministry it funds and supports.  Rev. Jeremiah Jenkins (played by veteran actor J. Don Ferguson) started both ministries, but each church approaches the community in a different way.

In the 1980s and 90s, Taylor was a successful recording artist.  He sold over one million records and earned multiple Billboard, Dove and Grammy awards and nominations.  In 1997, Taylor launched Squint Entertainment, a Nashville-based record label.  At Squint, he produced the platinum-certified group Sixpence None the Richer and gold-certified Newsboys.

Although Taylor’s music had a blatantly Christian message, he earned mainstream success as both a solo artist and as lead singer for the group Chagall Guevara with intelligent, thought provoking songs.  His work received recurring airplay on major music networks including MTV and VH1.

“I never set out to make a ‘Christian’ film,” Taylor said in an interview with The Daily Times this week.  “In the past, Christian entertainment has been overly simplistic.  There was a tendency to talk down to the audience.

“Complex issues don’t usually have simple answers.  This movie lets the people in the audience come to their own decisions.”

In the movie, Rev. Jenkins’ son Ethan is an associate pastor being groomed to take over when his father retires.  When Ethan (played by musician Michael W. Smith) gets caught up in the affluence and show-business aspect of running a large, successful church, the church board sends him on a sabbatical to the inner city.

Ethan is assigned to work with Jake Sanders (Jeff Obafemi Carr), the Pastor of Second Chance Church in the city.  Although both men are devoted to the same cause, their lives – and their congregations – are worlds apart.

Ethan tries to fit in at Second Chance, but his best efforts end in frustration and failure. Forced to work side by side with Jake, he discovers there is no boundary between the streets and the sanctuary.  When the youth pastor from Second Chance Church takes a beating so a young man can leave a gang, Ethan questions his own courage and the depth of his convictions.

Jake and Ethan struggle to find common ground as they face street gangs, their own shortcomings, and people using the community church for political gain.  Although they share a common faith, the prejudices dividing them threaten to destroy what they worked to build.

“The themes in this movie came directly from my own heart,” Taylor explained.  “I know in my own life, when I hear of a problem and I want to help, I write checks.  That’s what we do – we throw money at problems.

“But we’re all called to take a more hands-on approach.  We need to get involved – that’s real ministry.”

In the movie, Jake quotes the first chapter of James from the Bible.  “We are to be doers of the word, not just hearers only,” he tells the congregation.  Like the characters in the film, Taylor is actively involved in outreach programs.  He traveled to Africa many times with U2’s lead singer, Bono, in an effort to combat AIDS.

“There were polls taken that showed Evangelical Christians would not jump into the fight against AIDS,” Taylor said.  “Today, the church is the leading contributor to this fight.  Most of the effort, the organization, the people on the ground and funding comes from the church.”

On one such trip, Taylor and his wife came home with more than the satisfaction of serving.  “We were in Uganda and we ended up adopting a little girl.  It wasn’t something we went there thinking about.

“After twenty years of marriage and no children, you could say it was an unplanned adoption.”

The Taylors brought their new daughter home to Nashville, where they have lived the past 15 years.  He points out that most of the money, production crew and cast of The Second Chance comes from Tennessee.

The Lindsley Avenue Church of Christ in Nashville served as the inner city “Second Chance Church” for the movie.  The church, built in 1894, provides a stark contrast to the Brentwood Baptist Church, which is used as the suburban mega-church.  Nashville residents were cast as church members, people on the streets and as extras during production.

Unlike past movies labeled “Christian entertainment,” The Second Chance is a professionally produced, well-told story that provides more than stereotypical, cartoon-like characters.  For this reason, the movie should appeal to a wide audience, regardless of their religious beliefs.

“We need to get out of our comfort zone, Taylor said.  “We should be out in our communities serving.  That was the message we wanted to convey.”

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