As Time Goes By...

Get the Point!

Several years ago, as I sat among a group of colleagues at a local courthouse chatting it up as we waited for a routine case management to begin, when the group started talking about my political writings and social media presence in general, one wryly noted that every time that he turned on the Facebook app and began to scroll, that I had some new post or picture up on my page, a comment that drew a few laughs from the assembled group. 

In response, I put the group up on some free game by explaining that a strong social media presence was akin to good advertising, right before adding a truth that cuts to the core of today's blog, which is that I enjoy taking pictures with people and at places and events because like my old Deacon Willie Green used to sing at New Salem Missionary Baptist Church, "it may be the last time, I don't know..."

Earlier this morning, as I scrolled down my own Facebook page following my daily devotional, I noticed that Mr. Charles Conn had passed away at a South Carolina Hospice facility this past weekend. 55 years ago, four years before I was born, Conn was a Corporal in the United States Army who was assigned to the 212th Military Police Company in South Vietnam. 

A few years back, I was invited to join a Facebook group that was dedicated to MP Sentry Dog soldiers from the Vietnam War because one of the members, thinking that I was his former company commander Charles Hobbs, sent me a direct message asking me to join. When I informed him that I was Charles II and that my father had passed away many years earlier, I not only was accepted into the group, but a number of the men then reached out to share reminisces of their time serving with my old man!

Mr. Conn was among the first, noting that when Dad took over command in '68, that he was his assigned jeep driver. Conn then relayed that Dad was "well liked, quiet and reserved," but an "imposing figure" who cared about his men and the German Shepherds that they used to guard the Long Binh base camp and its massive ammunition dump, one that constantly drew attention from infiltrating enemy combatants, and on reconnaissance missions with infantry units where the dogs helped to identify booby traps and the hiding places of Viet Cong guerrillas.

The late Mr. Charles Conn in Vietnam circa ‘68, and while hunting in recent years.

Conn, like several others, also talked to me about Dad as an athlete who not only insisted that a basketball court be constructed at the base camp to help with morale, but as several soldiers also remembered, that he actually poured and leveled the concrete himself—a skill that he learned growing up the son of Robert Hobbs, a construction stone mason in Miami.

Then Captain Charles Hobbs in Vietnam circa ‘68…

Now, suffice it to say that if I didn't have the above Vietnam era photo of Dad up as my Facebook profile picture at the time, that I very likely would not have learned about the group that included his former comrades in arms, many of whom had fond reminisces from a time in their younger lives that Dad hardly ever spoke about during the 28 years that I was blessed with his physical presence.

But what's equally crucial to me is that as it has been 23 years since my father died, that the sad reality is that the few pictures that I have of him will never be joined with new ones. That's the major reason why I am constantly snapping group pictures and selfies at any number of events that I attend, because there will come a day when my kin, friends, and acquaintances will be dearly departed, too, and the photos will be all that remains for me in the temporal world. 

In a similar vein, it is important, whenever we can, to answer those direct messages and return phone calls because again, it may be the last time—I don't know. Now, I admit that I am somewhat awful at returning phone calls because the introverted side of my ambivert self doesn't like talking on the phone all that much and prefers text messaging. To that end and my chagrin, this past week, I learned that Circuit Judge James Hankinson, a man that I tried well in excess of 50 murder, rape, and robbery cases in front of back in the day, died just short of his 71st birthday. Two weeks ago, my friend Joe Bodiford text messaged me the judge's number and said that his Honor would be very happy to hear from me, but I put it off—and put it off some more—until finally, time ran out. 

“Hammerin’ Hank” was the toughest sentencing judge that I ever practiced before, but he was one of the best at calling balls and strikes during a trial—and was always glad to offer critiques on my trial advocacy skills post trial…

Now, I give myself a measure of grace on not calling Judge Hankinson because regrettably, I've seen more death, given more eulogies, and “born” more “palls” than most folks in 2023. My personal requiem of the dead includes old friends, Frat, and/or Morehouse Brothers like Lawrence McFarland, Joe Jefferson, Rick Dubose, Robert Woolfork, George Drumming, Kofi Hemmingway, Bam Rose, Bushnell Brown, Nikki Groomes Joshua, Chauncey Winston, Kenny Clark, Leroy Cox, and on, and on, and on it goes.

Kofi Hemmingway, my friend since 1980, and I took this selfie in 2021 right after Florida A&M University President Emeritus Frederick Humphries’ funeral in Tallahassee. I had no idea that it would be the last photo we would take; I spoke “as a friend” at Kofi’s funeral this past March. He was 52 years old…

But in mourning my friends and mentors, at least I know that in the years ahead, thanks to the Facebook Memory app, that I will see their faces and remember good and bad times long gone—much like Corporal Charles Conn did for me regarding his old Captain, Charles Hobbs, over the past several years. 

Lest we forget...