In Loving Memory of Former President Gerald and Betty Ford
Thank You for the Halls of Shambhala
The Long Afternoons at the Chapel
And Walks Along Beaver Creek
May your Wisdom Reach
Across the Great Wall of China
Into the Hearts and Minds in Shangri-La
Ford’s Porch
“Why? Why on earth do they call it Ford’s Porch? Sara Lacey stood in front of her writing table. She walked briskly out onto the balcony of the Charter at Beaver Creek, Colorado. Her red hair flowing in the morning breeze, her black ballerina slippers scuffed across the decking, she stopped abruptly and breathed deeply several times.
“I don’t think I’ll ever grow accustomed to the thinness of the air.”
“In time, you’ll acclimate. They call it that because President Ford’s Balcony affords a view of the trail. It is also rumored that if the downhill racers hit the lip too hard they will land on his porch.”
Tom Dillon was writing a freelance piece for Ski Magazine, covering the 1989 World Alpine Ski Championships. He pointed across the Alpine Village, past the Poste Montane and Village Hall with its red stone courtyard lined with bronze statues.
“Look directly above the yellow and white festival tents. The Ex-President lives in the back of Strawberry Park and the Inn at Beaver Creek. The home is on Elk Track Court. Spanish Prince Alfonso de Borbon y De Dampierre who was a member of the International Ski Federation was killed on that run.”
“Killed? What happened?”
“It was a freak accident, the Prince skied down a closed trail.
“It happened right at the finish line below Ford’s Porch and Rattlesnake Alley above Centennial Express and the Festival Tent.”
“Was he really a Prince?”
“Yes, the Prince of Spain.”
“I suppose he was handsome also?”
“A playboy, carefree, reckless. He had a death wish. He came close to cutting his head clear off. They had warned him twice.”
“How could it happen?”
“A worker dropped the banner as he skied under. It severed his jugular. They brought in snow to cover the blood.”
“How very gruesome. A royal life cut short by foolishness, I worry about you all the time, Tom! Why do you do what you do? What is the thrill? Why do you have to risk your life in the mountains?”
“The challenge of conquering the mountain either inbounds, or especially if you climb and ski the backcountry is the thrill. I have developed my skills over the years and I don’t take unreasonable risks.”
The grey roofed stucco inn sat nestled among the Upper Eagle River Valley. There were two days left of the World Alpine Ski Championships. The Boulevard spiraled behind the charter and under the cement walk leading to the Meadows and rose steeply passed the Highlands to the site of the Beaver Creek Tennis Classic. Their room facing the white swaths cut through the evergreen mountainside. The ski patrol and a small army of trail crew workers were busily side-slipping the downhill course. He reached up and adjusted his sunglasses against the mountain glare. Two feet of freshly fallen powder had closed the events. He turned and smiled at Sara.
“I can’t wait to ride on the sleigh with Former President Gerald and Betty Ford,” Sara said. We’ve spent hours together, but you have never given me a reading before, it is a new beginning,” Sara smiled at Tom.
“Fresh as the promise of the new snow.”
“I’m happy to be here, Tom.”
“You can see now why it was so difficult for me in the city. I was a fish out of water. The evening at the Empire State Plaza in Albany, New York, I enjoyed your Plethora of Poetry. I knew you were a hippie when you put a daisy in your hair. I would do anything to turn back the hands of time and reset our past. The truth is you can only go forward. Leaving the city alone for the mountains was the hardest and best thing I’ve ever done.”
“You love these mountains, I can see it in your eyes. You were so abrasive. I was shocked by your transformation.”
“It was like Nick Nolte in Down and Out in Beverly Hills, I was fighting for my life and in a very dark place. I thought I would be in a New York prison. You were the last person I ever wanted to hurt. I can’t change the damage done. Making amends to you is something I’ve had to do.”
The Percherons stood hitched to the sleigh draped in green garland and a large red bow. The bells on the harnesses jingled as the team stepped back and Tom and Sara approached.
“Whoa, Easy,” the cowboy said.
“They’re a beautiful team.”
The big black horse, the larger of the two, snorted and turned his head toward the outstretched hand.
“They are brothers, a matched pair, the smaller is Jim. John the larger is a pistol. Be careful, he will step on you by mistake.”
“Jim is regal.”
Tom smiled and winked at the girl. “They pull the sleigh to the cook house for Kid’s Night Out with the Beaver Creek Children’s Theatre. The sleigh carries us to the theatre where we perform while the parents go out. We have a host of Western Characters along with Sport Goofy, Mickey and Minnie Mouse who are all skiers. The show is several hours long.”
“How long have you performed here?” Sara asked.
“About a year. I responded to an ad that the Lodge was looking for a storyteller. I had just returned from a film and screenwriting workshop in Aspen with your friends. We spent the last day at the Maroon Bells and hiked up to Maroon Lake. One of the people in the group told me about the audition. It worked out well and I have been performing at the Lodge and Theatre ever since.”
“They mentioned it, Ian had just finished his screenplay of his book in Hollywood it was a best seller. I’ve performed with Mary and Ian at Political Readings. They liked your poetry. Did you enjoy Ian’s workshop? You have to show me what you wrote?” Sara walked to Tom and stood next to him.
Tom turned toward Sara and smiled. He looked at the base of Beaver Creek Mountain and the pristine blue sky. He wondered how this ever happened?
“We studied the screenplay ChinaTown,” Tom replied. “ I read Ian’s book, and enjoyed it, I wrote to him. He was having some trouble placing his second one.”
“He finally got it out, Mary and I spoke recently,” Sara replied.
Sara and Tom stepped up into the sleigh and sat back. The Cowboy jumped into the seat, grabbed the reins and gave a quick shout. The sleigh slid forward in the deep powder. The morning silence was broken as the bells of the horses echoed up the mountainside.
“I thought we would take a ride around the village and stop at the Chapel. I would like for you to meet Mrs. Ford.”
“Tom, I’m excited!”
The sleigh slid forward with a slight bucking motion and the team fell into a gate, circling around the village in a slow arc. The dark brown contemporary non-denominational church came into view as the team made its way toward the building.
“Sara, I’ll go into the meeting after I introduce you.”
“I feel like a schoolgirl again, Tom.”
“You’ll be fine, just be your charming self”
Sara hit Tom’s arm as they stepped out of the sleigh onto the snowy path and walked up the stone lined stairs to the chapel doors. Tom opened the wooden door. Sara stepped inside the vestibule and quickly looked into the chapel with its large wood beams that made up the ceiling. She looked around at the grandeur of the new structure. She took a deep breath of the newness and turned to Tom.
“It is beautiful, I love how open it is.”
Sara followed Tom through the vestibule into a large carpeted open side room with several couches and chairs. Across the room Sara could see Mrs. Ford in conversation with a young woman. She raised her hand, touched the girl on the arm bent down and whispered something to the girl. The girl smiled and laughed. She turned and walked into an adjoining room.
Mrs. Ford waved her hand to Tom and Sara and quickly approached.
Reaching out she shook Sara’s hand.
“Hi, you must be Sara?”
“Yes, I am.”
“Please call me Betty. Good Morning Tom. Everyone is gathered in the meeting room and the coffee is made. Sara and I will talk here. I’m happy to see you here and I hope you have a good meeting.”
“Thank you,” Tom said. “I’ll head in.”
“Why don’t we sit down and chat,” Betty reached out and guided Sara to the couch.
Sara sat down and was engulfed by deep soft cushions. Betty sat next to Sara placing her hands on her slacks. Fidgeting with her sweater bottom Sara anticipated the coming conversation. Known for her poise. She was at a loss.
“I hope you don’t mind,” Betty began. “ You are an inspiring woman. Tom speaks well of you. He has also confided in me about the history you share together. There are not many secrets inside these walls, Sara. Secrets don’t lend to sobriety.”
“Thank you, Betty. I assume he told you that I severed contact during his last episode that almost landed him in jail. I was so angry with him.”
“Yes he did. If this is too uncomfortable I will understand your hesitancy to speak of it, after all I am a total stranger and don’t really belong in your affairs.”
“No, I don’t mind. I care for Tom. I can’t believe the changes in him.”
“That’s just it. Tom is a pillar of the community. He along with others started the Vail Valley Writer’s Group and they have worked with the Vail Library in sponsoring Children’s Writing Competitions. I don’t know if he told you. Tom works with both the Vail Valley Community and the Children’s Theatre,” Betty said.
“He has.”
“I understand he is to give you a reading this evening.”
“Yes.”
“There aren’t any guarantees. What he has accomplished could all be gone tomorrow. You know my history and motivations. If you follow the program and live daily in the truth there is hope and salvation. It works. Tom is doing everything possible to make his future work.”
“Thank you for your confidence, Betty. I met him when he came to my classes in New York. I offered to be his editor. I wanted to work with him. He showed so much promise. Out of nowhere, he seemed to lose it. He was arrested.”
“Yes, I know. He was not in a good place. It devastated him. It doesn’t make what he did right, but alcoholics are like a giant wrecking ball in life. They come in and cut a swath through everyone and everything in their path. They are incapable of creating and maintaining a healthy relationship. It is as if they have no moral compass. They are on auto destruct. They might go off at any time.”
“To be honest Betty, I’m not sure I’m willing to take the risk again. Tom swept me off my feet during our last time together. He was so gallant and showed so much promise. We spent a lot of time together and became very close.”
“The thing is Sara, In a Glad Awakening, I speak of my journey back. It is a journey. Tom seems to be doing very well with his program. There are good things to come. I trust his motivations, they are pure and from a caring place.”
The two fell into silence. The din from the meeting wafted into the room. They could hear Tom leading the group in the Serenity Prayer.
Betty folded her hands in her lap and smiled at Sarah.
“What happens next is between you and Tom. He is keeping his life simple. I am in awe of his progress.”
“He is an adrenaline junky and extremely obsessive! He has been obsessed over the sale of the ski mountain Arapahoe Basin. His disdain for the Senator and Ralston Purina Corporation that purchased it and his need to tell the history has clouded his vision as a writer, I believe,” Sara said. He reminded me of Atlas, the weight of the world on his shoulders. I believe he finally understands what it meant to him. He never wanted to be a Historian,” Sarah said.
“I know you are doubtful if you could only understand the time and effort Tom has put in, it might give you a new perspective about him.”
“ He hasn’t asked anything of me, only to keep an open mind. He wants to work together again, I know that much. Tom’s exile and extreme obsession remind me of the Poet Dante'. He has expressed a desire to go to Chamonix, France and the Alps, then on to Cortina d'Ampezzo. He says it's called The Pearl of the Dolomites, it is in Northern Italy. I have made in roads and have had readings in Washington, D.C. My life is in the East. Tom won’t go back. It will always be the challenge of the next steeper mountain, the place with the deepest powder. He doesn’t just go to visit. I believe one day he will settle down, not here and now.”
“He has to put down some roots. Jerry spoke with him about a house for sale across from ours on Elk Track Court. One would think that these mountains would be enough.”
“I’m sorry Betty, I thought one time he was coming back to me, but the truth is, he loves mountains first and foremost, he always has and always will. It is time to make amends and go forward,” Sara looked into Betty’s eyes.
“I’m pleased you can at least repair the broken fences. It will mean a lot in his life going forward. We have spent many afternoons sitting and talking here or walking idly along the creek. He has helped me as much as I him. I enjoyed our conversation and cannot wait for this evening.”
“Neither can I,” Sara responded.
Tom approached the women sitting and stopped abruptly next to them.
“My ears are on fire!” he chuckled.
“They should be Tom,” Betty smiled. “We will all ride in together on the sleigh with Gerald. He wanted Sara to have the experience of a Presidential Arrival.”
“We can’t wait,” Sara said.
“The sleigh will be just outside of the stable, see you there.”
Tom and Sara walked down the snowy trail toward the stables. Sara held Tom’s gloved hand as they approached the couple in a conversation next to the sleigh and the large team harnessed to it.
“Hi Sara, I would like to introduce you to my husband Gerald,” she said, stepping to the side.
“It’s an honor to meet you. Please call me Jerry. Betty has spoken of you. I look forward to this evening. As always Tom, good to see you out and about, looks like you’re the man of the evening,” the former President chuckled as he gave Tom a friendly nudge.
“I’d return the favor but I’m afraid,” Tom pointed to the team of security.
“That wouldn’t be very prudent,” Jerry said laughingly.
“Shall we start?” Betty questioned.
“Let’s go,” Tom and Sara replied in unison.
The couples entered the sleigh and the bells jingled as the team stepped up.
“Sara, did you know Tom was our Santa for Christmas this year? He rode in on the sleigh with us for the tree lighting,” Betty said.
“I was in awe,” Tom exclaimed as the Lodge came into view.
A large cheering crowd of brightly clad winter revelers greeted the sleigh. The crowd was separated by a barrier and security. The noise deafening to the occupants as it slid to a halt at the entrance. Former President Ford and Mrs. Ford debarked from the sleigh and waved to the crowd. Tom and Sara followed quickly into the Lodge. The noise faded and the group walked to the coatroom.
“I’m accustomed to an audience on a much smaller scale. It’s quite overwhelming.”
“I’m not sure you ever really get used to it,” Betty exclaimed. “It still takes my breath away.”
“Yes, We certainly are fortunate to be a part of the growth of the valley,” Jerry Ford interjected.
“I hope you both are famished. This evening’s menu is a local Buffalo prime rib,” Betty said.
“ I’m ravenous,” Sara said. “I can’t speak for Tom but he always seems to have an appetite. He skied all day yesterday.”
“Where did you ski Tom?” Jerry asked.
“Solitude and Birds of Prey, next to the downhill course, I stayed on the Peregrine lift. The snow was tremendous, they said two feet but it seemed much deeper. It was cold with the Arctic Front ”
“We couldn’t get out, hopefully tomorrow. I’m ashamed that we ski right after they groom. Our powder days are numbered,” Jerry admitted.
“There is a lot to be said about a well groomed trail with 3” of vanilla cream on top for carving wonderful turns in the morning sunshine,” Tom expounded.
“Do you ski Sara?” Betty inquired.
“No, I grew up in Vermont I spent my time in ballet and with horses and writing.”
“Sara had her work read by Robert Frost,” Tom said.
“That’s impressive,” Betty replied. “ I understand that Tom read his poetry in a movie, Not Made of Glass, about your life.”
“Yes, part of it was filmed at Lena’s Café in Saratoga and the other at my home. It was hard. I was recovering from a car accident. He was very supportive.”
The couples entered the dinner theatre, and were greeted by a young hostess who escorted them to their table. They were immediately drawn to a loud clang and mechanical whir and the squeal of a young girl. She was seated on a saddle of a large black metal horse and was twirling a lariat above her cowboy hat laughing gleefully. A metal track extended from the horse and a small mechanical calf on wheels burst from the front of the horse and rolled down the tracks. She threw the rope and it slipped neatly over the head of the calf. The group of children gathered around her cheering with delight. A young man removed the rope and reset the apparatus. The scene was repeated much to the delight of the children.
“What an amazing thing,” Sara said.
“I know, isn't it?” Tom chimed in. “One of the local Ranches let the Children’s Theatre use it for the evening. All these children are either involved in the rodeo or dressage, along with ski racing. You would be amazed at the level of skill they have.”
“I‘ve been to the ranches and watched them perform. They are really gifted and fortunate,” Betty replied.
“They are children of a greater God. Still I love performing. It brings me joy.”
“It is, we are excited to see a self-professed Mountain Poet King perform for the Queen of the Small Presses. The connection you two have is somewhat Shakespearean and extremely intriguing. We will see what you have in store for us after Sport Goofy and the Children’s Theatre Performers,” Betty said.
“Oh, Boy!” Tom exclaimed. “You’re linking my performance with Goofy now,” Tom chided the group.
The waiters arrived with the dinners and the couples fell silent. The children ended their activity with the mechanical toys and rejoined their parents at the tables. A quiet calm engulfed the room as the server’s plated the tables.
“Sara, it appears our friend is somewhat of a hopeless romantic,” Betty said.
“Romantic yes. He has the propensity to be quite charming,” she smiled. “There is also a touch of insanity as well. He attempted to organize his musician and artisan friends to scale the backside of Whiteface Mountain in New York carrying music equipment to hold a concert on the top of the mountain during the Winter Olympics in 1980. The scary part of it is he was extremely serious. I honestly didn’t know what to think.”
“The Olympic Organizing Committee would have had something to say about that. Tom you might have opened a can of worms,” Gerald Ford advised.
“Well it would have gotten the World’s Attention. I wanted it to be like the Beatles on a rooftop in London. It was logistically possible.” Tom said.
“For what end Tom?” Sara inquired.
“It’s like climbing mountains, because it was there, and because you can. I am a firm believer in civil disobedience as long as it is non-violent.”
“I’m not sure that I should congratulate you or alert security,” Jerry joked. “If we didn’t have a history I might have chosen the latter. In A Time to Heal, I had to address the new beginnings for the country after coming out of a very turbulent period. I had to gauge the need for our Nation's growth with the desire for retribution of the crimes committed against it by Richard Nixon. If you want to be an agent for change, let the change be purposeful. Your reading this evening is a wonderful opportunity for you to start accomplishing that.”
“ We wish you the best of luck,” Betty said sincerely. “Let this evening be your Cameo.”
“Words can’t begin to explain the debt of gratitude I have for you both. How fortunate I am for finding grace in the refuge you have provided.”
“Cheers to all our good fortunes!” Betty toasted with her water glass.
“Tonight is yours Tom. I always knew you had the ability but you never showed the slightest interest in performing.”
“Didn’t you perform with the Vail Community Theatre, Betty and I watched you ramble on about the buzzards of Hinckley, Ohio in reference to the swallows of Capistrano, it was hilarious Tom. You played someone’s Uncle I believe.”
“You’re right.”
“What a blessing you found your way to the Chapel,” Betty said fondly.
A western clad figure strolled out onto the stage floor.
“Howdy folks, my name is J.B. Tucker. Showman and promoter extraordinary,” he removed his hat and with a sweeping gesture made a deep bow. “This evening we will be attending Mirabelle’s General Store. But first I have a few friends to introduce you to. You all know Mickey and Minnie Mouse, and their cohort, Sport Goofy.”
The children erupted into cheers as Mickey, Minnie and Sport Goofy came out on the stage.
“Ah Hi Folks! I skied with a lot of you today on Centennial. How many of you took a run with me?” Goofy quipped.
“I did. I was there,” a large group stood and waved their hands.
Mickey walked to the center of the stage holding Minnie’s hand.
“Minnie and I are glad you could make it to the show tonight. We can’t wait to take a peek into Mirabelle’s General Store to see what’s happening with our friends,” Mickey said, backing away from the spotlight shining into the scene.
Just then there was a loud commotion and the door to Mirabelle’s burst open. Sourdough Pete in his brown cowboy hat and crusty red long underwear backed up in the door.
“Now, Now Sure Shot. I'm gonna make good on that claim. Don’t you worry your pretty little head about it, there’s gold in that mine. I tell ya.”
Sure Shot Shirley in her pink pants and cowboy vest and hat was just starting to scold the old curmudgeon miner.
“Why you low down worthless lazy bag of bones. You’re a sorry excuse for a miner. You spend all you time flirtin with the girls than tendin to your minin. You sure have a wanderin eye.”
“Why if he hadn’t been a minin we might not even have a general store or a town,” Mirabelle said adjusting her bonnet and checkered blouse. “Isn’t that right Pancake?”
Pancake McKay stood bolt upright from the table and pulled down hard on his black cowboy hat.
“Why me and Sourdough go way back, he helped me build fences on my ranch. He also helped me look for that Injun Joe,” Pancake exclaimed. “Joe knew the country the best and helped get the town started. You forget if’n it weren’t for Joe and Sourdough we’d still be on that wagon train headin west,” Pancake said sitting back down.
“I hope you don’t mind but I’m going to get ready. So if you will excuse me. The performers should take a while longer. It’s not over until Sport Goofy sings,” Tom chuckled.
“Break a leg,” Sara replied.
Tom walked out on to the stage, buttoned his black jacket, adjusted his cowboy hat and stepped to the front.
“Good Evening. My reading is for The Children, who in Youth will know The Strength and Find the Courage to Tempt a God of Fate. It is also for the Former President and Betty Ford and my friend The Poet Sara Lacey,” Tom slightly bowed.
“Upon the Mountains,” Tom raised his arm and waved across the children.
“Go upon the mountains, my beautiful innocent children. Leave the cities far behind, for they, they in their ingratitude condemn themselves to their solitude. I will see it and say it and write about Mountains until all Children can hear me, because silence is a snowflake falling, until you hear me calling.” Tom paused and stepped toward Sara.
“A Golden Poet King. Sometimes I feel as if I am a marionette of a golden mountain poet king. ” Tom danced like he was suspended. “Dancing to a cosmic tune for her heart of golden strings,” a collective laugh came from the children.
“How many of you love to ski powder?”
A chorus of voices cheered.
“A Powder Run. Light, airy, nowhere, emerald trees, my eyes see. I hear nothing but fear. Hidden pockets of which to fall in, always reminding me of him, God’s crystalline chowder,” the group clapped in response.
“A show of hands. How many of you like to ski moguls?” There was a large yell from the children and a great number waved.
“This is for my dentist friend in East Vail. Dr. Bumps. He’s Fred and he’s sixty and he’s been banged in the head,” Tom smacked his head with his hand and the children cheered. “He’s the oldest living skier on the Pro Mogul Tour. That just shows you what skiing everyday does for longevity. Fred will work on your teeth as long as it’s not a good bump day!”
“An Alone Poem, They said I would shine, like a light in the city. I prayed it would be like the moon across the Grand Traverse, but I was alone when I died with my powder snow poems on the plains of Wyoming. Now, there are a million children waiting for me. Isn’t that what life is?”
“A Thought of You, I thought of you, the day they launched Atlantis. In the afterburner's gleam, I thought I’d seen, with a vision of crystal clarity, another maiden voyage upon an emerald sheen.”
“Poet to Poet, Today, like many days lately, you have been in my thoughts. Reflections of the way life once was, images of bright white footlights and the silence of your mirrored ballet walls and snow covered mountain peaks, cascade, as sparkling, glittering, gleaming crystals. Transforming, melting, melding like flowing rivers into the sea.”
“On a more serious note. ‘The Liberty Express,” He raised his hand and pointed his finger at the crowd. “ Mark my name well against the annals of history, all of you who dwell so comfortably among the World’s Aristocracies. I have been among your peasantries! My Liberty Express is a mythical golden chairlift and it is on time and bound to the plight of truth and freedom for the children of the world!” The crowd clapped loudly.
Tom stepped back toward the center of the stage
“This is my favorite Poem. Upon the Ocean’s Breezes, Listen! The ocean breezes are beckoning across the Isle Ellis. They are calling extraordinary artisans accustomed to nature listening. Apres’ her lady’s commissioning to let our collective lights shine brighter than the torch lit for Liberty, to let our collective voices be raised for all of Humanity, crying from the ocean’s depths of Peasantries, combating the silence of indifference, armed with swords of insignificance, to stem the rising tides of American Armageddons. Turning back the raging seas of Radical Extremism’s blasphemies spewing from the cauldrons tended by the World’s Aristocracies, beckoning across the sea of mediocrity.” A hush fell on the audience as they reflected on Tom’s words. Slowly one by one the group began clapping. Tom acknowledged the applause and stepped forward, smiled and turned toward Sara.
“From the Belly of the Beast, Once, I stood strong and tall atop America’s highest mountain peak. Turning I faced Mecca toward the East, to my eyes came this vision of a holocaust that brought me to my knees. Touching the very depths of my soul. I saw the American Armada’s storming the seven seas. Hear my voice ring, for truth and freedom for the children! To every nation’s mountain peaks, from the depths of the belly of the beast!”
Quickly Tom walked to Sara before there could be a reaction from the audience, he removed his hat and reached out and held her hand.
“My Video Queen. Won’t You! Won’t You Please take my hand, Help Me to teach the children to understand, give them our Love of the American Land! Put on your prettiest dress, a daisy in your hair,” reaching into his lapel pocket, he placed a daisy in Sara’s auburn hair. “You’re especially beautiful with one there. I just remembered your stare. Hurry up! Hurry up! Don’t be a tease. How can I possibly wear the cloak of a Golden American Mountain Poet King? When I don’t even have my Video Queen,” Tom stood and held both of Sara’s hands and smiled amidst a round of applause.
“Audience,” he said as he motioned to the crowd.
“Love is the gently falling snow.
You are a divine creation Elohim conceived.
Nothing comes from the artist that is not from within the person.
Lesser men in station have accomplished far greater deeds when the needs arose.
In so much as the gypsies blood courses through my veins,
Fools walk a twisted path, while a King chooses his path properly.
She is a light shining into eternity.
He is a beacon striving for immortality.
Ingenious as it seems it’s not just a dream but a vision Muhammad willed to me.
Never before has it been written, read or said as it will be when I perform for the
Audience of the Aristocracy.”
He turned amidst the applause, waved to the audience and walked to his table.
“Very touching Tom,” Betty smiled warmly.
“Well spoken,” Jerry said to his friend.
Sara, still blushing, looked at Tom with a radiant gleam in her eyes and her nostrils flaring as she spoke, “ it was wonderful, Tom!
The Voice Of Truth, Casting Crowns
