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The Dove That Saved Charlie

by

Bill MacWithey

The last time I had seen Charlie, he took off in his Medevac chopper to rescue some wounded dogfaces in the Central Highlands. His chopper was downed and, according to reports from the field, he was last seen crawling from the chopper, his flight suit half torn off and covered with blood. Attempts to rescue him and his crew were thwarted by a massive lay-down of mortars by the enemy. Charlie was listed as missing in action and, as far as I knew, was never heard from again.

Imagine my surprise one Sunday morning, while browsing through the channels on television, there was Charlie. He was preaching in a soft, deep voice to a huge church filled with people. At first, I knew it had to be just a look-alike, but there was no mistaking Charlie’s voice. I told him once, he just didn’t have the voice of a combat pilot, but sounded more like the announcer on one of those FM Classical Music stations. He’d feigned indignation and said, "You trying to say something, buddy?" Then, he laughed at the look on my face. I had taken him seriously.

Well, of course, I wouldn’t have meant anything untoward. Charlie was all man; six feet two inches, two hundred twenty pounds, and had a smile that charmed the most distant of women. Yeah, this was the Charlie I knew, here on television, telling the congregation the answer to our country’s problems didn’t lie in massive weapons of destruction, or forcing our will on other peoples, but rather, the answer lay right where they sat. He was telling them there was a time when he hadn’t realized this, but spending time in Vietnam had taught him a lot about what the world should be, not what it is.

I stayed glued to the set. If I hadn’t gotten the name and location of the church, I’d have contacted the station. But, at the end of Charlie’s sermon, the name and city of the church was on the screen and revealed by the announcer. I grabbed the phone and dialed long distance information. Within two minutes, I had a church secretary on the line. After explaining why I was calling, she took my name, phone number and address. She assured me she would give it to reverend Hopper.

I fidgeted around all day, as antsy as I could have ever been. Would he get the message? Would he call?

Late in the evening the phone finally rang, and I grabbed it before it rang the second time. I knew it would have to be Charlie. No one ever called me on Sunday evening. Fact is, few people ever called me. I sort of… well, I guess you could say I withdrew from society somewhat after Nam. A lot of us did. Anyway, it was a strange feeling when the unmistakable voice on the other end said, "Hey, Bob, surprised to hear from you."

"Is it really you, Charlie?"

After a brief chuckle, he said, "Yeah, it’s me. What are you doing watching television church, old buddy?"

I’m sure my voice echoed my astonishment. "We thought you were dead, Charlie."

"So did I, for a while."

"Man, I couldn’t believe it when I saw you on television. How… "

"Bob, you’re the first of the guys I’ve talked to since that day I took off and didn’t come back. I sure would like to see you."

"I sure ain’t doin’ anything special. You tell me where and when. I’ll be there."

"You’re only about four hundred miles away. Why don’t you drive on over?"

"Like, when?"

***

Charlie and I visited on the phone for nearly an hour, when he had to go tend to some church business. Seemed he was not only a preacher, but a family counselor, as well. Seemed impossible. Charlie had never been the type. After returning the receiver to its nest, I sat for a long while thinking about the "old" days. No, Sir, it just didn’t seem possible Charlie could be a preacher, especially on television, going nationwide. What a deal. What a thing to ponder.

We had settled on my going to St. Louis the next day, so I stayed up late packing, then sat up in bed staring at the sky through the open window, only to get out of bed and pace back and forth, then sit on the bed again. I had to ask myself if Charlie was on the level with this preaching gig, or was he merely taking advantage of a lucrative position? The Charlie I knew was definitely not a preacher.

I left fairly early in the morning and found Charlie sitting on the front steps of the nice home furnished to him by his church. He bounded down the steps and into the yard, as I climbed from the car, anxious to hug the old Charlie I knew. People who have never served alongside a man in a combat situation would have a hard time understanding the life-long tie one will always have with that man. He will either hate him forever, or he’ll love him forever. There was a time when I would have been too embarrassed to say I "loved" a man. Well, the kind of brotherly or sisterly love that develops between two people of any sex goes far beyond any societal norms of what’s good and what’s bad. Society and its rules be damned, when a man has saved your life.

We stood on the front lawn of the parsonage, arms wrapped around one another, crying for a good long while. Neither of us could speak. Finally, Charlie said, "Love you, man."

I couldn’t answer. All I could do was hang onto him and cry.

"Things been bad for you, Bob?"

All I could do was shrug my shoulders by way of an answer, as Charlie led me, arm around my waist, onto the front porch, where we sat in an old-fashioned porch swing. It was a beautiful evening, a slight breeze cooling the somewhat temperate air, as I sat and stared at Charlie. He waited patiently for me to begin the conversation.

"Charlie, how’d you survive that crash?"

"Aw, man, it was a bummer experience. No way should I have survived. I was hurt so bad, I couldn’t move. It felt as though my entire body was one huge pain. The real pain though… "

Charlie’s voice choked, and he cleared his throat. "A medic crawled over to me and shot me full of pain killer. His last words on this earth were, ‘We’re gonna get you outa here, Sir,’ then half his head was blown away. That was the real pain. A few seconds later, I was out of it. Don’t ask me any of the details of what happened in the next ten, twenty hours. I have no idea. That brave kid had really shot me up with narcotics.

"Next thing I’m aware of is lying in the back of a truck, bright sunlight smacking me in the face every time the overhead jungle opened momentarily. I don’t know if I was in that truck thirty minutes or ten hours, but it suddenly slid to a stop, and everyone jumped out, firing weapons. I was still pretty much out of it, and the next thing I know, two of the biggest, ugliest men I’d ever seen crawled into the back of the truck with me, speaking some jargon I had never heard."

"Montagnards."

"Yeah, I figured that out, later. Anyway, after a heated debate between the two men, one of them spoke softly to me, as if trying to reassure me everything was okay. I was in no position to argue, either way. I was on a field stretcher and, when they lifted me out of the truck, I saw four dead NVA on the ground around the truck."

Charlie was contemplative for a moment, then said, "You know, any NVA bringing in an American prisoner automatically received a promotion. But an American pilot? Well, that was sort of like winning the lottery. That’s why every weapon in the area was pointing at the sky when there was an American aircraft of any sort up there. Didn’t matter that we were on an errand of mercy to aid wounded soldiers. We were pilots, and that’s what counted. If they brought a pilot in alive, so much the better."

Charlie smiled and said, "Those Montagnards are truly something different. Fierce, but gentle. They’re nearly a throwback of some kind, answering to no government or country, just roaming free, wherever they want to go. First thing they did was strip what was left of my flight suit and underwear off. I was still groggy from the drugs, and the thought of being out here in the jungle naked, with this group of really ugly people, made me giggle." Charlie shook his head and, again, smiled. "They carried me a ways and set me down next to a small creek. Then, they gathered leaves from a particular bush and began chewing them. After a bit, they were all smiling and mixing the chewed leaves with mud from the creek bottom. They covered my entire body with the mixture. Funny thing was, the drugs the medic gave me were beginning to wear off and I was hurting, but, the gook they smeared on me took all the pain away. Nearly every spot on my body had been burned or severely abraded."

"Where’d they take you?"

For nearly a minute, Charlie stared off at nothingness, evidently thinking back to that time of his life. Finally, he said, "They carried me for two days and two nights without stopping. I mean, they didn’t eat or stop for a break except to get a drink from the small creeks we crossed. They did force some kind of awful tasting goo down me." He added laughingly, "I later learned it was the leaves they had already chewed up, so I could handle them.

"We ended up at a small mountain village of stick and grass huts. The next days were sort of a blur of feeling, as if I had just smoked a two-foot joint, or I was on the verge of dying. But, I slowly got better. The burns were healing well, and amazingly, leaving but very little scar tissue. Then, they made me get up and start moving around. And, without the benefit of the pain-killing leaf mixture they’d been smearing on my body and making me eat."

Charlie got a serious look on his face, then a smile. You know, Bob, it’s truly amazing that I survived. And, those are truly amazing people. Here they are, in the middle of nowhere, without any sort of education at all, except in survival, and they did for me what could never have been done in our best hospital. I later learned I should never have been able to walk again. The injuries I received when the chopper came down were far worse than I’d known. Anyway, it was nearly two years before they decided it was time for me to leave their little village. I had learned much of their language, but curiously, they didn’t seem to have a word for thanks. But, I think they understood it when I thanked them in English.

Six of their best bowmen and I traveled twenty days through the jungle and ended up in the Mekong Delta. They stood off in the trees and pointed me toward a US base camp. And, to make a long story short, I spent a couple of days in a Saigon medical unit getting checked out, and here I am."

I stared at him, waiting to hear more, but Charlie only smiled at me and asked, "How about a cup of Joe?"

I smiled back and nodded to the affirmative. At the kitchen table, with a cup of coffee in front of me, I asked, "Isn’t there a Mrs. Hopper?"

Charlie grinned sheepishly and moved his head from side to side. "Bobby, I have a story to tell you that I’m afraid you won’t believe."

"That bad?"

"Bad… good. I guess you could say a little of both. No one in our outfit ever knew it, but I was married when I went to Nam. Married, but not living with her. We’d had some problems over my smoking pot and drinking. I used to hit the stuff pretty hard, at times. While I was in Nam, and after writing a bunch of letters promising to change my ways, we were going to make our marriage work when I came home. I thought everything would work out okay. After being lost up there in the jungle all that time, and having lots of time to think about life and all, I truly was ready to make a go of our marriage, whatever it took.

"Then, I came home and found she had herself a new guy and was insisting on a divorce." Charlie held his hands out palm up and said, "Well, what could I do? Couldn’t make her stay. She didn’t want anything; not the house, a car, or money, nothing. Just her freedom. I gotta tell you, it was rock bottom for me. Went back to my old habits, feeling sorry for myself. Looking back, now, I understand why she did it. She knew at the first sign of a problem, I’d drop back into my old ways. And, you know what? She was right. She’d been gone two days when I went out on a drinking binge for five days. Ended up in the local cooler for fighting in a bar."

Charlie smiled at me, shook his head and was silent.

I asked, "So, what happened to turn you into a preacher instead of a bum?"

"That was only the first time I got thrown in the drunk tank. Many more nights throwing up in the little stainless steel toilet followed. I was spending all my money on pot, coke and booze and letting everything else slide, including my house payments. The day I got a court order giving me thirty days to vacate the property was the lowest.

"You know, Bobby, I had this big bird feeder in the back yard, and so help me, I had no idea why, but even though I was slowly killing myself with booze and drugs, I always kept that feeder filled." Again, he hesitated, evidently thinking of some past occurrence. "The house was kind of on the edge of town - big empty lot behind me. Lots and lots of white wing doves and little Mexican doves ate at my feeder every day. One morning, after I’d been out drinking most of the night, something awakened me at nine o’clock. Normally, I’d sleep ‘til late afternoon, shower and get ready for another night out. But, this morning, I woke up, was wide-awake, not hung over as usual, and felt extremely good. I gotta tell ya, I was one confused pothead.

"I made coffee and sat on the patio, wondering what would happen to the doves when I wasn’t there. I figured I’d leave a note for the new owner, explaining the doves depended on the occupant to feed them. I’d even write down the name of the feed store that gave me a good discount on the birdseed, even though I usually went in there stoned out of my head. As I was mulling over the problem of the doves getting fed, I noticed a dove sitting atop the small roof over the feeder. You know, you can tell when a bird is sick. They sort of huddle down and ruffle their feathers. Well, this bird was sick. And, when I walked up to the feeder, the other doves flew away. But this little girl dove stayed right where she was."

Charlie took time out from his story to pour us another cup of coffee, then sat down and continued. "I stood there talking to her in a quiet, and what I hoped was a gentle tone of voice. She just cocked her head and looked at me, not offering to move. All day, I watched from the window or from the patio, as the bird sat lower and lower to the roof. Then, after I’d made a sandwich and poured a cup from the third pot of coffee of the day, I looked out the patio door, and she was gone. There was a big flowerbed that I’d let go to heck right next to the feeder. The little dove was sitting hunched up in the corner of the fence and made no effort to avoid me, when I picked her up and sat her in the feeder.

"It had been a hot day, and I figured she needed water. I put water in the birdbath, took a teaspoonful and placed it under her beak to force her to drink. After not knowing if I was drowning her or helping her, she dipped into the water on her own. That was a good sign. You know what, Bobby? Later that evening, I was about to leave for a bar up the street a ways, but something drew me back to the bird feeder.

"The little dove was all hunched down, and I tried to give her some more water. Instead of drinking, she made a valiant effort to step onto the palm of my hand. With a little nudge, she made it and, so help me, she sat down in my hand, looked up at me, opened her beak as if to make a sound, then closed her eyes and laid over on her side, dead. She somehow realized I was a friend and wanted to die close to me."

Again, Charlie got a catch in his voice but managed to say, "I cried. I had never cried at anything. I didn’t even cry when Martha told me she wanted someone else. But, I stood there and bawled like a baby. I stood next to that feeder and cried for an hour, the little bird resting in my hand. Then … then, I did something I had never done in my life. I prayed to God to bring the little bird back to life. I prayed and I prayed, but the little dove lay still. Perhaps I didn’t know how to pray. I carried the dove to the picnic table, lay her on it and got down on my knees. With my head bowed in real reverence and pleading, I asked God one last time to please let the bird live again."

When Charlie said nothing more, I asked, "So, what happened?"

Now, he smiled broadly. "I sat there all night with that little bird lying there in front of me. I’d stare at it’s lifeless little body a while, then I’d stare up at the stars, wondering where God was when I needed Him. As the sun barely came over the horizon, I realized I’d been there all night and went inside to get a cup of the, by now, putrid coffee. When I came back out … You’re going to have to trust me on this, buddy. When I came back out, the bird was gone. Just like that, she was gone. There were no dogs around who could have gotten it. There weren’t any hawks or buzzards or anything around. It had just disappeared.

"Well, I thought I’d put it somewhere and just didn’t remember. That used to happen to me when I was using a lot of drugs and booze. I’d have time periods and things I didn’t even realize had existed. Thought this was one of those. I had wanted to bury that poor little bird, but it was gone. No way, could I tell you how many times I walked around the yard looking for that bird, then going in to pace around the house, then going out to look some more. But, a funny thing had happened. I had no desire to go out drinking or doing dope. None whatsoever. Of course, I thought I’d finally gone off the deep end and was crazy or something.

"I even fixed a real meal for supper and ate it on the picnic table, watching the doves have their evening meal. I was tired and went to bed early, but every time I went to sleep, I dreamed of the dove. But, she wasn’t dead. She wasn’t even sick. She flew to the picnic table and sat in my hand, staring up at me, cooing. It was like she was trying to talk to me. I had that dream for two weeks straight. Every night, that little dove came to me in my dreams and became my friend.

"Then, one morning, as I fixed breakfast, I realized it was the day I was supposed to vacate the house, and I also realized I hadn’t drank a drop since that little dove died in my hand. Somehow, I knew there was a connection. There had to be. I began to wonder if God really had answered my prayer, but I just hadn’t witnessed it. Yeah, I know what you’re thinking. You’re thinking, ‘Charlie, boy, you have gone off your rocker.’ I can understand why you’d think that. Anyway, like I said, it was the day I was supposed to get out of the house, and I had no idea what to do, or where to go. The money had all but ran out. I think I had a couple hundred bucks in the bank."

Charlie got up to get us yet another cup of coffee, and as he walked back to the table he said, "Bobby, I want you to meet someone. C’mon." He walked to the back door, me following.

When he stepped onto the porch, a dove flew down from a tree and landed on his shoulder. "This is Maggie, a friend of mine." He softly rubbed the feathers on her head as he spoke."

"I suppose you’re going to tell me this is the dove that died?"

Charlie laughed loudly and said, "No, this is just Maggie, a baby dove I found on the ground here and hand raised. She’s completely people oriented."

When I reached over and stroked her gently on the top of the head, Maggie cooed softly. I could see where Charlie would be fascinated with her. She was sweet.

As we sat down on the rear steps, I asked, "So where did you go?"

"Well, I sat thinking about what I should do for a long time. I couldn’t come up with an answer. Just couldn’t figure out what to do. I was still there when the sun went down, and I went out to the feeder to dump as much bird food in it as it would hold. Like I said, Bobby, you’re going to find this hard to believe. This little dove that died? She had a broken toe on her right foot. You know, it kind of turned to the side. Well, as I filled the feeder and was about to walk away for the last time, a dove landed in the feeder and stared down at me. The same toe on the same foot pointed out awkwardly. The dove walked right over, jumped onto my hand and continued to stare at me. What do you think of that?"

"Charlie, I can honestly say, one thing you could never be accused of was being a liar. If you say it happened, I believe you. But, what you’re saying is, this was the same dove that died?"

"I don’t know. I honestly don’t. But, what are the chances another dove would be automatically tame and have the exact same toe problem? What would you think?"

I shook my head and wondered if the booze or drugs had made Charlie imagine this entire thing. He must have read my mind.

"No, Bobby, it wasn’t a drug induced hallucination. I’d been off them for two weeks - stone sober. That’s not the end of the story. That little dove sat there staring at me, and I asked God, well, what do I do? You answered my prayer for this little dove. What about me? Do I survive? Can you save me?"

Charlie was again silent, a thoughtful, yet peaceful look on his face. "You know, Bobby, the Montagnards even have a deity they look up to and pray to. The head man at that village did a lot of speaking with their God while I was recovering. He told me his God said I would heal to do something important - that there was something more for me to do before I went to their happy hunting ground. Yeah, that’s what the Montagnards call their heaven. It’s a place where the animals practically lay down in a skillet for you and all is peace.

"I should never have recovered from all the injuries. I should have died right there in the jungle. At the time, I didn’t realize that, but it’s true. Now, I know God had something more important for me to do than die out there. But, to answer your question about what I finally did when I had nowhere to go, as I stood with the dove on my hand at the feeder, she took off and landed on the fence to the front yard. When I walked over there, she landed on the edge of the roof at the front of the house. Then, she flew a couple doors up the street and landed on a low limb.

"I finally got the message that she was trying to lead me somewhere. About two blocks up the street, she flew right through an open window of a small bungalow. I stood on the sidewalk, waiting for her to come back out, but she didn’t. After about ten minutes, and feeling pretty foolish, I rang the doorbell. A pretty lady answered the door. I didn’t know what to do, but blurted out, ‘My bird flew in through your open window.’

She smiled the most beautiful smile I’d ever seen for a moment, then finally and said, "I’m sorry, uh, I saw your bird, a dove?"

"Yes, could I come in and get her? I’m sorry, I shouldn’t ask you to let a complete stranger in your house. I think she’ll let you pick her up if you’d bring her to me."

Charlie threw his head back and laughed loudly. "That bird gave Susan a run for her money. Susan, that was the lady’s name, I learned a little later. Anyway, that dove flew all over the house, but refused to let Susan get near her. She came back to the door and said, ‘I guess you’ll have to come in and get her. She just keeps flying away from me.’

"Well, at this point, I guess you can imagine how confused I was. Here, this dove is dead, then it comes up missing off the picnic table, then it shows up alive and well, and leading me to this lady’s house. I knew it was all for a reason, but…" Charlie shook his head and grinned widely. "Like I said, it was all totally insane. Anyway, I went into the woman’s kitchen and this dove flew over and landed on my shoulder. When I reached up, she stepped right onto my hand and stared at me. Susan only smiled, as I told her I was really sorry to have bothered her and headed for the front door. The dove didn’t want to leave. She flew back to sit on the back of a kitchen chair. I picked her up again. Then, again. And, again. Every time I started for the door, this little critter insisted I come back to the kitchen. Finally, Susan said, ‘Your bird doesn’t seem to want you to leave, or she wants to stay here. Would you like a cup of coffee? By the way, my name’s Susan.’

"I stood there without saying anything for a bit, then realized I was staring. I don’t know why I said it, but I told her perhaps the bird knew she couldn’t stay at my house any longer, because I couldn’t stay there. For the life of me, as she poured us a cup of coffee and I sat down at the table, the dove perched on my shoulder, I began telling her the entire story of my life, including the fact that I was being dispossessed from my home. Before I knew it, we had talked for hours, the bird snuggled against my neck, her eyes closed."

I hope Charlie didn’t see the feeling of doubt about all this I had. Oh, I wanted to believe it all, but it was pretty hard to swallow, about the dead bird coming back to life, and all. I was sure that by one of those strange coincidences that happen a couple of times in a lifetime, this second dove just happened to have a broken toe, like the dead bird. But, I knew Charlie was no liar, whatever his other faults might be. And, I was sure he believed everything he told me.

He continued without any hint that he thought I might be doubting his story.

"Susan told me all about herself, you know, her past and all. But, funny, she stopped at about the time she was supposed to get married a few years back. I was curious, but didn’t want to be rude and ask her for the rest of her story. She did say she had lived alone for some time, then, without even asking, as we talked, she began fixing supper. The funny thing, Bobby, it all seemed so natural to be happening. It seemed I was supposed to be there. As I told you, it was all completely bizarre, yet seemed just… well, I can’t put it into words, really. Funniest part was, I had been so into dope and booze, but I no longer had any desire for either. It was as if I had been instantaneously cured of all my bad habits. Another funny thing, Susan seemed to accept my story of the dove and all, as if it was a perfectly normal thing to happen.

"It was late in the evening when I finally told her I had to leave. When she asked me where I’d go, I shrugged my shoulders and told her I plain didn’t know. She floored me when she said, ‘Charlie, I want to tell you something. I believe every word of your story about praying to God and that little friend of yours coming back to life. When Schuyler died, I was nearly out of my mind with grief. I was so afraid. What was I going to do? For the last six months, I’ve stayed cooped up here in the house. The only time I’ve gone out is to the grocery store. Just like you, I’ve never been much into praying or going to church - that sort of thing. But, last night, I sat outside, staring at the sky, and I prayed. I asked God what was to become of me. How could I go on this way? Then, I had a dream.’

"Susan stopped and stared at me for a long moment before saying, ‘I know you might think this is as insane as you thought your bird being resurrected was, but my dream was about sitting outside, a small gray dove circling overhead, trying to get me to follow it. Finally, I got up and followed. It led me to a place of infinite beauty. And … someone stood with his arms outstretched to me. I felt a warmth and peace I had never imagined possible.’

"She smiled at me and said, ‘I remember thinking, if this is heaven, why isn’t the dove white? Everyone knows God has white doves. Whoever it was with outstretched arms smiled at me, and, somehow, was telling me that all things are not as we believe, and a plain old gray dove can serve God as easily as a white one.’

"At first, I was as confused as that look on your face right now, Bobby. I know you probably think your old buddy has gone completely off his rocker. That’s what I thought at first. But, you know what? God is real. If only we knew to ask Him for his help when we need it most. To make the rest of the story short, Susan asked me to stay at her house until I got back on my feet. Funny thing, she was a beautiful woman, but it seemed natural to stay, without any sort of liaison between us."

Charlie sat silently fingering something in his pocket for so long, I finally asked, "Well, are you going to tell me the rest of the story?"

Now, I’ve never been much of a philosopher, or anything of that sort, but I gotta tell you, there was something strange about Charlie. He had some sort of soft glow about him that made me feel completely at ease and at peace with everything. Instead of continuing his story, he pulled a worn scrap of paper from his shirt pocket and handed it to me. I held it toward the porch light and read:

My Dearest Charlie,

I must leave you now, but I have a message for you from God. Yes, God sent me to help you. In His way, He has a mission for you. The world is in terrible need of knowing the truth, and from the day you were born, it was destined you tell the world the truth. It was no accident you became a medical technician and helped save lives in Vietnam. And, it was no accident the people were there to help you recover from your injuries. You didn’t see me, but I was with you in the jungle, Charlie. The reason your life there was spared was because of your destiny.

God wants you to tell people your story. He wants you to tell them about the first time you prayed to him to save the little dove - how he answered your prayer with a miracle. Your life is that of the dove, Charlie. God saved you, even as he saved the dove. The dove will be with you always, a symbol of God’s love for you and all mankind. And, I will be beside you when you need me. Just speak, and I will hear. You shall always have me, and you shall always have God. Do not worry about the essentials of living in this world. God will provide them. Only concentrate on telling people about God’s love. The note was signed simply, Susan.

I must have looked from the note to the dove to Charlie a dozen times, neither of us speaking. Then I reread the note several times before handing it back to a smiling Charlie. I swear to you, if birds could smile, the dove on Charlie’s shoulder smiled at me.

Finally, he said, "When I found that note, I remembered something from the trip south with those Montagnards. At the time, I thought it a bit strange, but thought no more of it. I saw a dove sitting in a tree just overhead, as we came from the jungle into the lowlands filled with small farms. I’d never before seen a dove in Nam. They just aren’t indigenous to the area."

***

I go to see Charlie from time to time, and, I have to tell you the truth, his preaching has changed my outlook on life. I never miss a Sunday Sermon from the former chopper pilot, drug addict, alcoholic, womanizer, Etc., and, by golly, a truly holy, almost God-like Charlie Hopper.

Oh, by the way, I’ve done a lot of fixing up around my place - got to know some of my neighbors. I have several bird feeders in my back yard, and I believe half the dove population in the county feeds there every evening. Me, I sit watching them flutter around the feeder, wondering which one is my Guardian Angel.