Hippie T

My uncle has the prestigious honor of having recurring brushes with fame. He's a gospel singer/songwriter and is well known in church circles. He was, in fact, the first drummer to play in a church. But that's not what's so fascinating.

When I was about 7 or 8, my uncle was asked to play drums for a gospel band. He turned the offer down because he had just gotten married. My uncle figured constant performing and recording would interfere with his new marriage and he was totally in love. You might have heard of the band, though, since they went mainstream forever ago. My uncle, who goes by the nickname Hippie, was almost one of the Oakridge Boys.

Having passed up the chance for fame and fortune, Hippie had to support his family in another way, so he went to work spooling cable. He takes great pride in whatever he does, and has won contests for doing whatever it is that he does. Being so successful and having a great reputation within his industry, he is in great demand to train others, and has had offers worldwide.

But Hippie doesn't give a rat's ass about seeing the world. He's an American. In his words, "If you want to learn American stuff, come to America." He repeatedly turned down opportunites to go to Singapore, China, the middle East, and even England.

At one point, his boss, a transplanted Englishman, was totally dead set on my uncle going to England to train his fellow countrymen on the finer arts of "slinging" cable. "But DH, I don't want to go to England."

"What would it take for you to go to England?" his boss countered.

"A phone call from the Queen."

Now usually, such an outrageous request would end the argument. But DH said, "You don't know who I am; do you?"

"Well of course I do. You're DH."

"You don't know who I played with." DH teased, apparently dropping the issue.

Things went back to normal in the world of cable spooling and slinging. And a couple weeks later the phone rang in Hippie's office. When he answered, he was greeted with a message:

Please hold for the royal line.

DH, standing over Hippie's shoulder, smiled and told him, "Hang up or talk to the Queen."

Click.

Yes, my uncle hung up on Queen Elizabeth II. I'm sure he won't be receiving any further offers to visit jolly old England.

But it gets better.

Last year, in the midst of the presidential campaigning, my uncle found himself in the office covered in grease, while lots of people stood around for no apparent reason. You'd think this would be a clue that something was up. When the phone rang, again Hippie answered.

"Hippie? This is Dick Cheney."

"Yessir. What can I do for you?"

"I don't think you understand. This is Dick Cheney."

"Yes, Mr. Cheney, what can I do for you?" All the extras in the office were snickering by this point.

"You just don't get it, do you? This is Dick Cheney, the Vice President of the United States."

Oooooohhhhhhhh. "I'm sorry Mr. Cheney. I didn't recognize your voice." By now everyone was about to pee themselves. It had been common knowledge for 3 days that this phone call would be taking place. Common knowledge for everyone except Hippie.

Apparently, Mr. Cheney has a clause in his affiliation with Halliburton that he must perform one business deal each year. And my uncle was that deal.

My uncle is a family loving, God loving, drum playing, song writing, proud to be an American. He stands his ground, and refuses to be pushed around, not even by a Queen. He says, "This is my life." No one owns Hippie.

And he's my uncle Rikry.