Uva Uvam Vivendo Varia Fit
A grape changes color when it sees another grape
You use steel to sharpen steel, and one friend sharpens another. (Proverbs 27:17)
The Lonesome Dove miniseries is remembered for many things — outstanding theatrical roles portrayed by big name actors and actresses, the vastness and beauty of the American West, and interwoven stories of love gained and lost, then gained and lost again.
But my recollection of Lonesome Dove includes all those elements plus the fact that I watched it on the couch of my childhood home, sick with the flu.
It was the spring semester of Gardner-Webb College’s 1988/89 academic year. I had been asked to preach at the school’s revival by the on-campus ministerial alliance. As a student (and member of the alliance) I was honored to be invited and excited (as well as petrified) to speak in front of all the students at the convocation event, which was a required “class” at the time.
Unfortunately, as I visited my family the weekend before the service on Tuesday, I began to feel ill. That ill feeling evolved into fever and chills and the “achy all over” symptom that accompanies such an illness. It was the flu’s fault I didn’t get to preach the spring revival, but I did get to watch all of Lonesome Dove, and in the process learn something about friendship and death.
Little did I know at the time that some of the characters in the novel Lonesome Dove (written by Larry McMurtry) were a tip of the hat to real life individuals from history. Of particular interest were the main characters Captain Woodrow F. Call and Captain Augustus “Gus” McCrae, who sound a lot like Charles Goodnight and Oliver Loving. In something straight out of the “truth is stranger than fiction” category, Loving was indeed mortally wounded in a battle with Commanche warriors. This event happened as he and Goodnight were driving cattle northwest from Texas.
Loving made his way to Fort Sumner in New Mexico, where his arrow-wounded leg gave way to gangrene. Loving’s cattle company business partner (Goodnight) arrived to stay with him until his death. During the bedside vigil, Loving made Goodnight promise he would take Loving home for burial. And in the movie, this act of dedication is portrayed as Call (the Goodnight character) transports the body of Gus (the Loving character) back to Texas to be interred.
To be honest, we should not be too surprised by this amazing feat of friendship. From the beginning, we have been in on the “real” theme of this story (in my opinion) as the signage for the Hat Creek Cattle Co. not only includes the names of the proprietors and employees (and what they will and won’t sale or rent), it also includes the Latin phrase Uva Uvam Vivendo Varia Fit.
Although there is disagreement on precisely how this phrase is to be translated, it can loosely be understood as “a grape changes color (ripens) when it sees another grape.” In other words, the people we encounter leave an indelible mark on us.
Perhaps that is the meaning of the proverbial “iron sharpens iron.” Friends make us who we are.
Part II
Donald Wayne Durham and I became friends while students at Gardner-Webb in the late 1980s. I was a “returning” student, having taken a two-year hiatus to work, rodeo, rock climb and generally try to get my life together. I had long-ish hair, a full beard and drove a Toyota four-wheel drive pickup. I recently had been a summer counselor at the Royal Ambassador camp in North Carolina, Camp Caraway. And I felt called to ministry.
Don had been working at North Carolina’s Baptist summer youth camp at Fort Caswell. As camp lifeguard, Don spent most of his days on the beach or in the ocean, swimming or riding his surfboard. He was tan, blond and drove an old Camaro. He had short (styled) hair and on most days wore short pants, boat shoes and polo shirts. Don could play the guitar and took every effort to serenade the women on staff and later at school. And Don felt called to ministry.
It may seem Don and I never would have anything in common (the usual mark of a friendship). And, at first glance, that might possibly be true. But on closer inspection, you will find some overlapping themes that sparked our interest in each other that would be the basis of our friendship over the years — love for the outdoors, interest in travel, and God’s unwavering voice calling us to follow.
And there was something not quite as evident — our appreciation for our redneck roots.
When you open up the dictionary (any one) and search for the word “redneck,” the definition is not very flattering, often including the word “disparaging” in the description. And that seems to be the way most people think of rednecks, in a disparaging way. But that was not the way Don and I understood the word.
Our definition would coincide with the way Will Campbell defined the word in his lecture, “Elvis Pressley as Redneck” at the first Elvis Pressley Symposium in 1995 (his definition is anything but disparaging). And despite the defining characteristics Jeff Foxworthy associates with being a redneck (no disrespect to Jeff) a few “true” marks of a redneck would be authenticity (don’t put on airs), acceptance (don’t judge a book by its cover), honesty (say what you mean and mean what you say), and dedication (do what you say).
Not far from Gardner-Webb’s campus flows the Broad River. I had discovered a spot on its bank where I could immerse myself in pondering. As my friendship with Don evolved, he would join me there and we would spend great amounts of time talking theology, philosophy and females. But we also would talk about dreams for the future and where we dared see ourselves in years to come.
We talked about hiking the Appalachian Trail, making our way to Mount Everest, traversing the globe on a boat with sails unfurled. We talked about things too numerous to mention, but mostly now forgotten. And we talked about the journey of life as we attempted to unravel the threads of God’s mysterious call to ministry.
We both wound up (with our spouses) at Southern Baptist Theological Seminary in Louisville, Ky., in the early 1990s. Because Don and I both were religion majors at Gardner-Webb, the seminary curriculum wasn’t “new” but gave more time for a deeper dive into the complexities of being a minister. Don then moved to Boiling Springs, N.C., to be assistant to the president at our alma mater. Not long after that, I made my way back to Boiling Springs as well. During that time, Don set out on two new adventures, riding bulls and fatherhood.
Don would relocate to Pennsylvania and I would move to Cary, N.C. (and then on to Four Oaks). Over the years, Don and I would go a lot of places and do a lot of things and work a lot of jobs, and navigate a lot of changes, but our “redneck-ness” never abated. Nor did the call to ministry, or our love of travel, which evolved into riding motorcycles.
And through it all our friendship remained.
Part III
Amid the most recent Memorial Day celebrations, I found myself thinking about Don. Several years ago, on Memorial Day, we set out on our bikes headed to Gettysburg, Pa. We departed Concord, N.C., in the rain and returned a few days later in the rain. It was a miserable trip but one of the best trips Don and I ever took.
Don had purchased a 2003 Harley Davidson 100th Anniversary Road Glide (an FLTRI for you Harley aficionados) with a full tour pack on the back, which he appropriately named “Silver.” Don could carry all his luggage plus the kitchen sink. I was running a 2004 Dyna Superglide (FXDI) with no windshield and leather throwover saddlebags. Don rode full dresser style (drinking coffee and listening to music as he rode) and I rode cruiser style (clothes bag, sleeping bag and tent strapped on).
I joked with Don about riding a “Geezer Glide,” and he kidded me that I was a wanna-be “Dyna Bro.”
Don and I would take several other bike trips together and had planned to ride to Sturgis, S.D., for the annual bike rally in August 2010. Unfortunately, something came up and Don was not able to join me, but we kept talking and dreaming about one day riding west together. We also planned to do an “Iron Butt” ride as well (1,000 miles in less than 24 hours). Really, we would plan to ride anywhere. Because when you’re on a bike, the destination is not what’s important, it’s the journey (and the friendship with fellow riders) that counts.
But, as is said, “life is what happens when you’re busy making other plans.” And a lot of the plans Don and I made together would not come to fruition.
Don eventually wound up in Denton, N.C. (having left Atlanta and his work for the Cooperative Baptist Fellowship) where he provided vocational coaching for many individuals and served as interim pastor at several churches, but mostly farmed and “gave away food” at Healing Springs Acres. Don’s hair and beard grew long and he, more often than not, could be seen wearing bibbed overalls as he sat atop his Farmall tractor plowing or tilling the fields.
I settled into life as a pastor and the routine of parenting and caretaking for my mother. Don and I occasionally would talk on the phone, picking up where each conversation ended and feeling better about us and the world due to memories of the past, continued dreams for the future, laughter and a heaping helping of redneck theology.
I visited Don now and again, and he preached at the church where I was pastor a couple of times. Then, the COVID season began, and for whatever reason, I rarely talked to Don and never saw him.
In the summer of 2022, Don and I reconnected. My youngest daughter had become interested in surfing, so I contacted Don about the best way to go about easing her into the sport. Don was happy to oblige and began to share not only an education “on” surfing, but the essence “of” it as well.
Apparently, surfing is more than a physical sport, it is also a spiritual experience. To top it off, Don said my daughter could try his long board (more suited to old-style surfing) which would give her time to learn and determine what style of surfing she would like to pursue.
On June 11, we met in the parking lot of the Cracker Barrell in Burlington, N.C., and Don “handed off the keys” to the board. It was the first time I had seen him in a long time. He appeared proud to be passing along to a friend’s child something very meaningful to him.
Don and I continued to converse via text and call about various things, including him sending me instructional videos on surfing and me sending him videos of my daughter on his surfboard. He even posted a clip of her on his Facebook page.
It was during those ensuing conversations Don shared with me an interesting twist on his life — the possibility of a ministerial position that would take him away from the farm and return him once again to the beach, completing a 360-degree journey since the time we met at Gardner-Webb. His mind was racing with possibilities, and he eagerly shared those dreams with me.
Don had been involved in podcasting on his own (Welcome to the Table! What people are doing to end hunger & Bible Bash) and wanted to offer something like that to the new ministry setting. He was excited, and I was excited for him. We were planning to take another ride.
Not too many days after that, out of the blue, I received a text from Don: “No-go at the beach.”
Little did I know the first time I had seen Don in a long time, when we did the surfboard handoff, would be the last time I would see him. On a Friday morning in September 2022, I found myself thinking about Don. That evening, I received a call informing me he had died.
Part IV
I’m not completely sure which is more difficult — grieving the loss of a family member whom you do not choose or the loss of a friend (or spouse) whom you do choose. To say I was floored when I heard the news of Don’s death would be an understatement. I responsively began to pace and ask the questions over the phone to which the answers, even if I knew them, would make no difference.
“When?” “How?”
It was too soon to know the details.
Continuing to walk back and forth at the church’s parsonage, I realized I was at once inside then outside, unable to remain in one spot like a cat on a hot tin roof. His daughters, Don’s daughters, “How are the girls?” I asked. Another meaningless question, for I knew how they were — devastated.
I have heard it said that as a person is dying their life flashes before their eyes. I don’t know about that, but I do know (for me) when I hear of the death of someone I’ve had a relationship with, my life (with them) does flash by for me to see. I spent the whole weekend remembering and rehashing my friendship with Don.
Don enjoyed the writings of Wendell Berry, and his Manifesto: The Mad Farmer Liberation Front could have been penned about him. Don also was a fan of the “bootleg Baptist preacher” Will Campbell, and over the years, whether intentionally or unintentionally, Don had become to many a Will Campbell-like character himself.
To be sure, Don’s personal attestation of being “a peace and justice loving, hermit-like mendicant farmer and cantankerous curmudgeon” was as accurate as accurate can be.
But even that could not sum up Don’s life completely. I was one of the ones to know Don through numerous iterations of himself (and he mine) and to be with him in good times and bad, through thick and thin. Over the years, he and I went a lot of places and did a lot of things and worked a lot of jobs and navigated a lot of changes, but our redneckness never abated.
Nor did the call to ministry, or our love of travel. And through it all our friendship remained.
If you began reading this article thinking you would discover “5 Ways to be a Better Friend” or “How to Tell Others How to Deal with Death” I apologize for your disappointment. I simply wanted to tell you a story about a friend who has died and how my friendship with him shapes me still. How I miss the time we had together and the future time we won’t. And how I am a better person having known him for the time I did because “iron sharpens iron.”
Simply put, I wanted to write a Redneck Requiem.
Don’s bike (Silver) now resides at the Norman household; his daughters desired me to have it and made a way for me to get it. Someday Silver and I will set out on a journey with my friend for one last ride together, to spread Don’s ashes at locations designated by him — a request he made his girls agree to sometime before his death.
On that trip, I’ll be drinking coffee and listening to music as I ride. Maybe Don was right about the “Geezer Glide” after all.
Farewell, my friend. Until we meet again.
John Norman
John I. Norman Jr. recently became director of partnership development at Campbell University Divinity School after serving as a pastoring for 26 years at First Baptist Church of Four Oaks, N.C. He and his family continue to reside in the Four Oaks community. The views expressed are the author’s alone and do not represent the views of Campbell University.
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CBF mourns passing of visionary Foundation leader Don Durham
How Don Durham and I became neighbors | Opinion by Justin Cox