Logo for the exhibit Weaving Our Survival: Upcountry Stories of World War II

One of my favorite projects involved writing the script for the documentary Threads of Victory: Upcountry South Carolina During WWII. I worked with Don Koonce of Ferncreek Productions, who did the real shooting and editing, and Dr. Courtney Tollison, a history professor at Furman University and staff historian for Upcountry History Museum. As she told me, I had to take her three years’ worth of research and interviews on the subject and condense it into a twenty minute documentary. I loved working on this and am still amazed by some of the wonderful material we got from local veterans. The finished film received a National Award of Merit from the American Association for State and Local History in 2008.

In 2009, I was asked by Dr. Tollison to write copy for the year-long museum exhibit Weaving Our Survival, encompassing more stories of the WWII era as it was lived locally. Once again, my role was to assimilate and condense her extensive research material into flowing, manageable, readable chunks. She published a lot of the material in a book, World War II and Upcountry South Carolina: ‘We Just Did Everything We Could’.

Oakdale Cemetery DVD

Here’s a link to more information from the Friends of Oakdale Cemetery.

Below is a review that appeared in the 2009 Newsletter of the Gravestone Studies Association

The history of the cemetery, including famous and interesting burials, along with the history of the area is well explained in the narration and through stunning current and historical photographs.

The production quality of this video can only be described as outstanding. The photography is breathtaking. The viewer is taken on a stroll among the flowering shrubbery, the tombstones and crypts and the magnificent trees. One cannot help but want to visit the cemetery.

Tourists as well as local residents will enjoy this video. It will also attract, and retain, the attention of community leaders. The video will be a constant reminder that Wilmington has a treasure in this park known as Oakdale Cemetery.

I find myself envious not only of this wonderful cemetery but also of the DVD itself. Many cemetery friends organizations will watch this video and grind their teeth wishing that they too could produce something of this quality.

- Hugh T. Harrington

By Neil Shurley

Until it became time for me to enter elementary school, Mother and I lived in Vegas, where she cocktailed six shows a week at the Stardust. I spent showtime in a back room straining to hear the headliner’s act, although laughter and applause were the only real sounds that carried through the walls.

I’d pass the time reciting passages from the bible chapters Mother and I had studied that week. I took great pride in memorizing verses for the upcoming Sunday’s lesson assigned for my Beginning Christians class.

Before the show Mother would quiz me as she pulled on her little outfit.

“Psalm 23,” she would say as she wiggled into her fishnet hose.

“The Lord is my shepherd,” I’d reply, tiny fist gripping hairpins which Mother would extract one by one. “I shall not want.”

“Very good.”

Mother would reward my successful recitation of that week’s verses b Ëy letting me watch that evening’s show. I had a reserved seat in the light booth where a bearded man named Eddie told me stories that I had to “swear never to tell your mother.”

Eddie liked to talk during the headliner’s set. He claimed to have seen them all. Most of the singers he declared to be bums. The comedians stole material. The magicians had no secrets from Eddie. He knew all their moves.

The night I finally nailed the Ten Commandments down pat, Mother suited me up in my Sunday morning bow tie, dropped me off at the light booth and, for the first time, I watched Sinatra.

Eddie winked at me when I entered the booth and told me I was in for a treat. He said very little the rest of the night, staring, mesmerized, as Sinatra worked the room.

I fidgeted a bit (after all he was just another bum singer) but found myself much more interested than I’d been in Vic Damone or even Steve and Eydie.

“He’s the man,” Eddie sighed after the final encore. He turned to me. “You could Ëlearn a few things from him.” He winked at me before I headed out to meet up with Mother in the back room.

“So how did you like it?” she asked me, not looking up, busy counting the night’s tips.

I nodded my approval silently and then watched as a large man in a small suit entered the room and patted me on the head, grinning menacingly.

“Mr. Sinatra would like to see you,” he said to Mother.

She blushed, hesitating, then patted her hair in place and motioned for me to follow her.

“Not you, sonny,” the man said. “Why don’t you stay in here until your mommy gets back.”

“No.” Mother pulled me in front of her. “I’m sure Mr. Sinatra wouldn’t mind.”

The man finally shrugged and led us to the dressing rooms.

Sinatra sat at a dressing table, his back to us, smoking a cigarette.

“Come on in, doll,” he said. “Make yourself comfortable.”

Mother stood in the doorway, still holding me in front of her.

“Good evening, Mr. Sinatra,” she said.

“Please. Call me Frank…” Sinatra turned, Ësmiling, to face us. His smile quickly vanished when he spotted me.

“I see you brought a friend,” he said after a few awkward moments of silence. He took another drag then stood and approached us, his eyes on Mother.

“Whattaya know, kid,” he murmured, patting me on the head, his eyes locked with Mother’s.

I hesitated, not really sure that he had addressed me, then finally said, “The Ten Commandments, sir.”

Sinatra, puzzled, shifted his gaze to me. “What?”

“He knows the Ten Commandments,” Mother explained.

Sinatra whirled around and returned to the dressing table.

“He does, eh?” He smashed his cigarette into an ashtray, causing one last trail of smoke to curl upward. “What’s the first one.”

Mother gently poked my arm. “Go ahead. Tell Mr. Sinatra.”

“You shall have no other gods before me,” I squeaked.

Sinatra nodded his approval. “That’s good. You’re a smart kid.” He took a seat. “Now listen to me. There were eleven commandments. Not ten.”

“He’s just teasing you,” Mother added quickly.

“No. I’m serious.” Sinatra motioned for me to join him.

I looked up at Mother for approval. She nodded and I walked forward a few steps.

Sinatra grabbed my arm and pulled me to his side. Then he leaned over and whispered in my ear.

“You want to know the eleventh commandment?” His breath smelled of smoke and whiskey. “The one more important than all the others?”

I didn’t move.

“Stick to your mother, kid. Thou shalt stick to your mother like glue.”

He shoved me away and lit another cigarette. “Now both of you get out of here.”

Mother took my hand and turned to go.

“You got a smart kid there, doll.” He whirled around and dismissed us with a wave of his hand.

Mother gently closed the door.

Originally published in Rosebud Magazine

You can watch the video on the front page here.