“Palms of Victory, Crown of Glory”
I loved Lil’ Red. For more than a year Lil’ Red came by my office every Thursday morning, at about 9:00 AM. It did not matter what the weather was like; he could be counted on. I tried to plan my schedule around his visits. If I was in the “inner office” doing something I would leave the door ajar, just a wee bit, allowing me to hear him when he came in. The secretary and bookkeeper enjoyed his visits as well. Often the secretary would greet me on Thursday mornings with the words, “This is Thursday. Lil’ Red will be by soon.” It was a treat to hear the main door open and then to hear his cheerful voice as he gave his greetings. In the place in my mind where my memories are stored, I can hear him, even now after several years have passed.
Lil’ Red had lived in the cotton-mill town (located in the upstate area of South Carolina) all of his life. He had never had the opportunity to receive much formal education. While he could read and write, his skills in those areas were limited. He was married. I had the privilege of getting to know his wife. She was precious. She was so pleasant, smiling, and very gracious to me whenever I stopped by their house for a cup of coffee and a chat. Together, they had raised three children on the meager wages Lil’ Red had earned in the textile mills as a laborer. While Lil’ Red was a small man, standing only about five feet tall, and weighing around one hundred and twenty-five pounds, I found him to be a giant of a man. Though, when I knew him, his hair was mostly gone and what he had left had turned white, folks called him “Lil’ Red” because of that which used to be.
Whenever he visited my office, he wanted to talk for just a few minutes, before hurrying on his way. By the time he came by, he had already made several stops along his way. When he left the office he had several other places he intended to visit. No doubt, wherever he went, he left those who were there smiling, with uplifted spirits. How did he do that? Well Lil’ Red was a singer. He would always sing for those he encountered a couple of songs before he headed on his journey. He had a beautiful voice, high tenor. He knew so many old hymns and gospel songs. The pitch of his voice was “mite near perfect”. He would sing such old songs as, “Press On, It Won’t Be Very Long”, “This World Is Not My Home, I’m Just a Passing Through”, “How Beautiful Heaven Must Be”, “In the Sweet By and By”, and on and on he could go. However, my favorite was one that is often called “Deliverance Will Come”. Even now, I can hear him singing, “Palms of victory, crown of glory, palms of victory, I shall a’wear”.
This town has a yearly festival in recognition of the part a ship, named after the town, played in the ending of the war with the Japanese (WWII). The festival is a “big deal”. It always draws lots of visitors to the town. There are carnival rides, food vendors, musical groups, shag dancing, and all of things one usually associates with a festival. A highlight of the festival is a parade. On the Saturday morning of the festival thousands of people line the streets, hoping to see the folks, floats, marching bands, politicians, and so forth that make up the parade.
Well, on Friday afternoon before the Saturday parade I met Lil’ Red coming out of the post office as I was entering. When I spoke to him I noticed that he was not his usual cheerful self. He was soft spoken. He was not smiling. It was obvious something was wrong. I hurriedly got my mail and hustled out of the post office in hopes of catching him. Because he was a strong walker, in spite of his eighty plus years, I had to practically run to catch him. When I caught up to him, I asked him what was wrong. In response he said, “I will not get to be in the parade tomorrow. For the first time, since I was a little boy, I am going to miss it.” Because I was relatively new in the community I had no idea what he was talking about, so I asked him for clarification. He then told me about a little red wagon that he had always had someone to pull for him in the parade. He said the wagon was small, but big enough to be pulled by a truck. He said one of the tires was flat and that he had no way to get it fixed. He, also, said that unlike years past, he had no one to pull his wagon in the parade. I did not know how to respond to him. So I stopped walking and watched him slowly walk away from me. As he began to fade from my sight, I knew what I needed to do.
Surely, by now you see the depth of my feelings for Lil’ Red. What do you think I did? Yes. You are right. I hurried home. I got in my pickup GMC truck and went directly to Lil” Red’s house. He was surprised to see me and even more surprised when I told him my plans.
We fixed the flattened tire. On Saturday morning, I pulled Lil’ Red’s wagon in the parade, proudly but yet very humbled. Lil’ Red walked along beside the wagon. Yes, his voice was beautiful as he sang those old, familiar songs. He smiled and waved at everyone. My red truck pulled his red wagon through the town. Lil’ Red had painted in bold letters on the side of his wagon “JESUS SAVES”. Some of the folks along the way yelled encouragement to Lil’ Red and me. Others laughed and made fun of us. It was one of the highlights of my life. I hope that I will never forget that experience.
As we neared the end of the parade route I heard him singing, “I saw him in the evening, the sun was bending low, he’d overtopped the mountain and reached the vale below. While gazing on that city, his everlasting home, God sent a band of holy angels to bring that pilgrim home. He shouted loud Hosannas, deliverance has come! Then palms of victory, crown of glory, palms of victory, I shall a’wear.”