Tuesday, April 26, 2016

Chimney Rock Golf Course: Four Man Scramble

“Spring is sprung and the grass is rizz, it’s time to search for where your golf ball is.”

On July 16, 2016, Bayard’s Chimney Rock Golf Course will host a Four Person Scramble. Bright and early at 8 a.m. the first foursome will tee off and the fun begins, replete with hooks, slices, birdies, bogeys, pars, camaraderie, prizes, scrumptious food, and a chance to win $10,000.

From the beginning, golfers will want to be at their best because there are prizes for golf-like feats on each hole. Eye-widening rewards like a Snake Eyes SL4 putter, a set of Callaway clubs, a dozen Titleist golf balls, a golf bag, and the list goes on.

If that’s not enough, just for participating, each player will receive a free club and a $10.00 gift certificate. Moreover, a silent auction of 75 – 100 prizes will take place on Thursday and Friday before the tournament.


If all that activity makes you hungry, a hot dog, chips, and pop lunch, on the course, is the appetizer. To cap the day, the main entre is a savory, delectable, taste bud enticing Rib Eye steak, with all the trimmings.

This bundle of delights becomes part of your gallery of golfing for $75.00 per player. If, perchance, you want to save your marriage, or promising relationship, you can reserve an extra Rib Eye steak meal by adding $25.00 to your entry fee.
Entry forms will be available at Chimney Rock Golf Course, the City Office building, other Bayard businesses, and on Bayard’s website.

Fees are due in advance of the tournament.

Proceeds from the tournament will go to renovate Figgin’s Field. Speaking of renovating ballparks, and City Parks, if you’d like to volunteer to help, or make a donation, do so at Bayard’s City Office.

Thanking you in advance.

Just hovering around good ol' BHS

With the insinuated password of “hover,” parents, students, visitors, teachers and administration “hovered” about the room, or they sat in the bleachers and inhaled the 2016 edition of Student 

Showcase. As inquisitive eyes scanned the surroundings, they observed the results of what flows through the talent corridors of Bayard’s Junior High and Senior High students.

Sectioned off were products of love emanating from the wood shop, the ag program, art class, technology, 7th and 8th grade science, and a freshman hover-board.

Nevertheless, the diversified exhibits had a common denominator: In the not-too-distant-past every display simmered in some student’s skillet of creativity. The students seasoned their project with love, care, and desire and then placed the manifestation on a platter for display.

In passing, guests had the opportunity to taste their craftsmanship.

The younger generations flocked to the hover board. What some say is a harbinger of short excursions is powered by air flow. The hover board at the Student Showcase skimmed above the floor and elicited a wide variety of expressions from spectators and those on the board.

Yes, the hover board is a product of ingenuity and stimulates the imagination. Maybe, someday, it’ll compete with Captain Kirk, Spock, and the Starship Enterprise.       

Congratulations to those students who made Student Showcase a reality via their knack of bringing life to what they imagine. Don’t let your God-given creativity lay dormant. Let that gift propel you to where it wants you to go.

BHS: A Bastion of Melody

After hovering at the Student Showcase, most of the surveyors of specialty items sauntered to the auditorium and, along with other music lovers, relished in Bayard’s Jr/Sr High Spring Concert. Unfortunately, though, time didn’t saunter, and the melodious moments echoed into the hallways of BHS and on to harmonic infinity.  

But, in that surreal time frame, those in attendance enjoyed highlights from the concert and jazz bands, the Jazz Pandas, and the Junior and Senior High Choirs.

While the talent on stage shot musical darts that pinned those in attendance to their seats, I thought about words and how to mingle them with the harmony that flowed from the front of the theater.

Thoughts like “which is hardest, playing the music, singing the song, or pronouncing the composer and/ or writer’s name? Or what an honor it is to compete at the level of proficiency displayed at the Spring Concert.”

I thought about the hours of practice, from individuals to groups, and to replicate those sounds with the expectations of Mr. and Mrs. Babic. What did they believe the original composers felt when they formed that piece many years ago?

Personally, I know what it’s like to search for the right word to convey a thought or emotion. Do musicians seek certain tones for musical passages so they convey the correct passion?

Watch musicians react. I think that tells whether the sounds meet their standards.

Whether it’s a musician, athlete, writer, teacher, or business person, they all try to send their audience a message. Sometimes the message gets muddled, but usually it’s because they try too hard.
Remember: No matter the venue, at that particular time, more than anything else in the world, the artist, or artists, wants to please you. Regarding BHS Jr/Sr High Concert, those talented musicians painted their audience a perfect musical picture.

Bayard thanks you.

Monday, April 18, 2016

Chimney Rock Villa: “It’s Their Home”

At a recent city council meeting, representatives for the City of Bayard voted not to renew Rural Health Development’s contract as the management team at Chimney Rock Villa. I’m not going to repeat the sordid details, but I’d like to comment on a statement made by someone who recently terminated her employment at the Villa.

In reference to the residents, and with her heart overflowing with emotion, she said, “Doesn’t anyone understand that Chimney Rock Villa is the resident’s home?”

In my opinion, I believe each management team that applies for the responsibility of managing the Villa should put in writing how they will respond to that statement. I believe their response indicates their level of respect for the residents whose home they will manage.

The word ‘home’ refers to more than clean floors, made beds, meds given on time, shopping trips and other activities. The word home embraces emotional warmth, respect, concern, understanding, genuine care and other adjectives that emanate from someone’s heart.

Most residents are someone’s mother or father. Maybe they served in a conflict that threatened our freedom in the United States. At one time, they probably worked either in or out of their home. They paid taxes, drove a car, were married, and more than likely owned a home. Maybe they coached little league teams or were Den mothers.

Maybe they enjoyed fishing or hunting, went on vacations, or traveled the United States before their health failed. Maybe they had a favorite football, basketball, or baseball team. More than likely they were either a Republican or a Democrat.

Those residents are human beings just like you and I. In most cases they were like what we are, and are what we will be like. They have the same basic needs as we do. They need love, they need to talk and be listened too, and they need to feel wanted. They may be older than we are, but they have the same emotions we do.

Just like everything else within the city limits, Chimney Rock Villa represents Bayard. May Bayard’s City Council determine to the best of their ability that the new management company will be a shining example of how Bayard cares for their Senior Citizens.



That’s the Way it is…

Stan awoke in the middle of the night sitting on the edge of his bed and gasping, “No, no, no, not you. I don’t belong to you.” In his daze he felt he needed to escape from something, or someone. A shiver slid down his spine.

After fully waking up and realizing he was dreaming, he lay back down and pulled the sheet up to his chin. He blamed the nightmare on the alcohol he’d consumed at the bar earlier that night.

He glanced at the clock on his bedside stand. The luminous numbers taunted his bloodshot eyes and cesspool-like pupils. A muffled “you’ve got to be kidding me” echoed through his muddled mind, 3 a.m.?”

But, before his alarm interrupted a couple of hours later, he slept.

At work, he stood by the highway and enjoyed the last gasps of early morning. Soon, the rays of a raging sun would beat down on him and rebound off the blacktop to beat up on him.

Stan worked for a construction crew. As a flagman he’d hold a stop/go sign and direct traffic for 3 hours, then for 3 hours he'd drive the pilot-car, then flagman again. Nine hours of mind-boggling excitement.

Off at 5 p.m. he went home. He made a sandwich, warmed a can of soup, took a shower and collapsed into bed, all  before the clock struck 8 p.m.

Nevertheless, again that night he woke up in distress; this time the luminous hands on the clock pointed straight up. He spit out an expletive and with the same venom threw his pillow across the room. Exhausted, he lay back down and drifted into a fitful sleep.

When the alarm went off that Friday morning, Stan swore, literally, that over the weekend he’d find the answer to what was going on below the surface of his conscious life.

Mid-morning Saturday, with clenched fists, he strode out the front door. He had no idea who, what, when, or where. Just walk until the urge to stop intervened, and then decide what to do.

He walked past businesses, churches, schools, and through residential areas. Nothing sent a message so he kept on walking. He turned left at a corner and then stopped. Across the street squatted a quaint little church with an immaculate lawn, which was surrounded with a whitewashed picket fence.

He stared in awe at the church and its surroundings.

An invisible forefinger waggled at him; he crossed the street and walked through the gateless opening in the fence. He conquered the three cement steps in a single bound; a slight twist on the handle and the front door opened into the sanctuary.

He walked in.

He looked around the room. It had eight rows of two pews on each side of the center aisle. Each pew had two bookracks with a Bible and hymnal in them. He walked to the front of the church; the pulpit stood on a raised platform with a table behind it. The table had a narrow cloth lying across it, and candles in holders sat on each end with a gold-plated cross in the middle.

The scenario spoke of perfect peace. He felt he belonged there.

“May I help you?” a courteous voice from the side of the sanctuary floated into Stan’s consciousness.

Turning, his two eyes met a pair eyes as soft as the voice. “I’m Stan, are you the pastor?”

“I’m Pastor Robert.” The reply came from wherever peace is found.

The pastor’s mellow tone opened the internal spigot of Stan’s emotions. They gushed out in torrents. He covered his eyes, his shoulders convulsed, and he crumbled to the floor on his knees.

I don’t want to go to hell,” he sobbed. “Please tell me about Jesus.”

Pastor Robert walked across the room and knelt down. He put his arms around the sobbing mass in front of him. “Stan, all you need to know about Jesus is that He’s the Son of God and loves you.”

“How can he love me with all the bad things I’ve done?” sobbed Stan. “I’m finished, I’m finished.”
You’re right, Stan, you’re finished,” the pastor said. “But that’s the way it is with Jesus. You must be finished before you can start.”