The Fourth Sunday in August

August was always a special time for Tyre Denney.  His birthday was the 25th of August.  He would have been 80 this year.  Mom and Dad were married on August 14, 1948.  And, the fourth Sunday in August each year was the Denney Family Reunion.  Most of the time it was the last Sunday in August and it was always close to Dad's birthday; sometimes it was the same day.  My grandmother, Leone Denney, always said the reunion is on the last Sunday in August, except when there are five Sundays in August, and that year it won't be the last Sunday, it will be on the fourth Sunday.  This year there are five Sundays in August so next Sunday will be the Denney Reunion.  I don't think anyone in my family will be going this year.  Dad didn't go last year because he wasn't feeling up for the trip.  It was the first year he had missed in many years. He was recovering from knee replacement surgery and he just didn't feel that well.  He did plan to go this year and if he was here and able to go, I would go with him.  But, it will not be the same without him there.  He wrote an article back in 1991 about going to the reunion each year.  It is worth remembering.  Dad wrote,

I didn't go to church on August 25th because I was at the Macintosh Passive Recreational Facility in Carroll County, Georgia for the annual Denney Reunion.  For over 50 years, those of us who are descendents of my grandparents, James Thomas and Laura Smith Denney, meet every year for about three hours on the fourth Sunday in August.  When I was a child, we went, period.  It was still that way when Betty and I first married.  But after I became a pastor, it was difficult to get away and I missed several.  In fact, in the later years of daddy's life, I rarely took advantage of the opportunity to spend some time with, as I say it, people who know how to pronounce Tyre and spell Denney with the proper amount of e's.  Strangely enough, since he passed away, I haven't missed a year--24 straight now, if I'm counting right.  Long enough to see his generation of seven brothers and four sisters shrink down to the only one that remains, his baby sister, my Aunt Gerila.  And, for all those 24 years, since I'm the only one of the preacher persuasion in the family--except the one who married one of my cousins, but they never come, it's been Aunt Gerila who's come over to put her arm around me and say "Tyre's going to say a few words to us now and then ask the blessing on our food."  For a number of years, I tried to say a few words.  Words about the common name we share and the love we have for one another that draws us across many miles so we can spend a few minutes together once a year.  And better than that, since we are a Christian family, about the Savior we share and the privilege we have to tell our world about His love.  But my emotions would get the best of me and I'd usually be so full I couldn't handle it.  So I've just about given up on trying to do that.  Now I just try to get through the blessing without puddling up.  That doesn't work too well either.  But if the good Lord is willing, the creek doesn't rise too far, the Gideons can fill my standing offer to have a speaker here on the last Sunday in August, and I'm still around here, I'll miss church one time next year too.  I'll be back in the land of red clay dirt, tall pine trees, blue skies, fleecy white clouds and people who know how to say Tyre.  And Aunt Gerila will hug me again and say, "Honey, that's alright."

I'm sure Aunt Gerila will be hugging Dad and saying the same thing to him this year.

Thanks for the Memories

Many of you will understand why this has not been an easy one to write.  Father's Day was not the same this year...I'm sure it will never be the same as it was when my Dad was living.  Some of us spent the day with Mom and that was a very special time.  We didn't have any of our children in town but that is something we have learned to accept when they live in Washington, DC, Oceanside and Ridgecrest, CA and wherever the Air Force has our son, Daniel, at the moment.  We didn't see them on Mother's Day this year either.  But, we did have everyone together for Independence Day this year.  So, that was our Mother's Day and Father's Day, Grandparents Day, and whatever other special occasion we would like for it to be.  And, special it was!  The last "Father's Day" I will remember with my Dad was last December when the four James Tyre Denneys were able to get together in Kentucky a few days before Christmas.  All this reminded me of one of Dad's articles that was published in the Anderson News on June 14, 1989:

Father's Day came to our house a week early this year.  I don't think anyone planned it that way, it just happened.  All my J's, except Jody who showed up even earlier on Saturday, were home this past Sunday, a week early.  Next Sunday they'll all be scattered to the four winds again.  So, even though no one said anything about it, I took it for Father's Day.  Father's Day still doesn't come easy to me.  The memories I have of Daddy and those long ago days at the Hopewell Primitive Baptist Church in Heard County, Georgia, on the third Sunday in June, which coincided with Father's Day, still tug at my heart strings.  I didn't know it at the time, but I was storing my memories in my bank that are priceless.  Now they come sweeping back with interest.  Recalling being smothered half to death in the ample bosoms of snuff-dipping great aunts is far more pleasant than when it happened.  Pleasant, yes, but having to admit that those days are gone, never to return, isn't.

Neither is the fact that the days when my children were small are gone, too,  The daddy in me longs for the day when the sound of little patter-feets filled the house; instead of their memory causing a lump in my heart.  I'll always be convinced that the best days of a man's life are those he spends raising his children.  I have no objections about these I'm living now.  Grown children are a blessing and I know the memories of today, stored as they will be, are just as priceless as those of their childhood.  They too will come back one day--with their added interest.  But it doesn't alter the fact that our Lord certainly knew what He was doing when He made it such that we would have little children come into our homes where we could love them, nurture them, love them, feed them, love them, enjoy them, love, and then love them some more, for 18 or 20 years or so.  He did know what He was doing. 

So, on this day that was Father's Day to me, a little misty-eyed remembering didn't hurt at all.  Nor did it to say one more time to each of them, "Honey, I love you."  Or, to borrow a phrase, "Thanks for the memories."

Save the Best for Last!

I know some of you may be tired of reading about airplanes; there is always one more airplane story to tell when you write about Tyre Denney.  This one may be the best of all; it is certainly the best DC-3 story and I had almost forgotten about it.  He wrote about this encounter many years ago in his weekly newpaper article:

I grew up near the Atlanta airport and I can still remember the sights and sounds of a Douglas DC-3 as its engines came to life and it took off into the sky.  The pilot would set the throttle for about 1200 rpms, the mixture control to "full rich", give it two shots of primer, and engage the starter.  After three blades had passed by, the ignition switch would be turned to "on" and, if everything went well, the engine would start.  The first three or four cylinders that fired would burn the excess oil and gas from the exhaust collector ring with a fearsome display of fire and smoke and noise.  Then, as the others began to fire, over 1,000 horses would settle down to a deep-throated roar, waiting for their counterparts on the other wing to come to life.  After that, it would take but a few minutes to taxi out to the active runway, usually 27 right, get tower clearance, set full flaps, push throttles and mixture controls to the firewall and release the brakes.  Then the beautiful bird would slowly gain speed and, leaving the awkwardness of its time on earth, climb majestically and gracefully into its natural habitat, the sky.

I saw one again last week.  Actually I heard it before I saw it.  It was a cool, crisp morning and my first thought was that I was hearing a big truck but the sound was coming from the wrong direction.  Then, as it got a little louder, I recognized the unmistakable sound of two Wright R 1830 aircraft engines spinning a pair of Hamilton-Standard propellers and a DC-3 began to take shape in the northwestern sky.  I just stood and watched.  The sun bouncing off the polished aluminum made my eyes water but I wouldn't look away for anything; a speck of history was cruising by at 130 knots. 

Nearly as old as I am, the airplane must have been at about 3,000 feet and on a heading of around 110 degrees going to who-knows-where in the southeast.  In less time than it takes to tell it, it was gone from sight.  The birds twittering in the trees soon drowned out the last faint sound of the engines my straining ears tried to pick up.  After a minute or so, I began to think about me.  I, too, am earthbound, awkward, often out of place; a misfit in a foreign land, a wandering pilgrim, a sojourner.  But I have the lively hope and blessed assurance that one day, as a child of the King, I will slip the bonds of earth and fly away home to heaven, my spiritual habitat.  Powered, not by a pair of Wright 1830s, but rather by God himself.

And he did just that.  And now you know the best DC-3 story that Tyre Denney ever told and I hope you enjoyed it as much as I did.

One More Airplane Story

There is at least one more story to tell about Tyre and the DC-3 airplane.  I was expecting someone to point out that the picture below was not of Dad standing next to a DC-3.  Some of you may know that the plane in that picture belongs to Ken Jordan.  I'm very glad to say that Ken reports his Champ is very close to flying again after he has spent many months putting it back together from that "hard landing" a few years ago.

Dad wrote about one of his encounters with a Douglas DC-3 in a newspaper article in July 1994.  I will continue to look for a picture of Dad with a DC-3 but below is his recollection of that encounter:

This past Saturday, two sons-Jim and Jeff, and four grandsons-Ty, Daniel, Jared and Jordan, and I went to the International Air Show in Dayton, Ohio.  As we walked through the front gate, sitting there in all her glory, was a restored Piedmont Airlines DC-3.  I was over, under, and all around it and would have gone in it but the "air stair door" was roped off and a big fellow was standing in front of it.  But all was not lost.  On our way to where the Air Force planes were parked, Jeff spotted another one.  This one had been restored by some Continental employees who were a more congenial lot.  In fact, after I had invested $2 in a tie tac they were selling and walked over to look at the Boeing 727, Ty came running to find me.  "Daddy D!  Daddy D!  Come over here!  There's a man who wants to meet you!"  When we got back to the Continental 3, Jim explained that Ty, wanting to get a closer look, had said to one of the men, "My grand-daddy used to work on these airplanes, too."  That's all it took.  Blood is thicker than water and engine oil is thicker than that.  After Jim introduced us, I was treated like a long lost cousin.  In less time than it takes to tell it, I was through the door, up the sloping passenger compartment, and standing in the cockpit touching the controls, smelling the smells, seeing the sights, reliving those days of long ago.  And expecting the engine to go to turning over just any second.  In a little bit, I fumbled my way back down the aisle, and as I stepped down the air stair door, my new friend asked, "Did it bring back memories?"  "Memories?  Friend, this'll bring tears to your eyes."  And it did.

And, it still does today.  Some of my fondest memories of Tyre are when airplanes were involved.  Whether we were looking at them on the ground or watching them fly at an airshow in Ohio or Nebraska or Mather Air Force Base in California; or flying a Cessna or Piper to Bowman Field in Louisville for lunch; or flying across eastern Kentucky and then deciding to fly on over to an airport in Virginia for lunch just because we could, my Dad and I shared a passion for airplanes and shared passions between father and son are to be cherished for a lifetime.  And, I will.

It Started With the Douglas DC-3

Many of us have heard stories about Tyre working as a mechanic for Delta Airlines in his early years and because of that he was always interested in anything that had an engine. He also had a love for airplanes....but I don't recall him having much interest in gliders or hot air balloons. If it didn't have an engine, my Dad would only give it a passing glance. While we lived in Dayton, Ohio, Mom and Dad made several trips to visit and most of the time these trips would include a visit to the Air Force Museum at Wright-Patterson AFB. I also spent a few hours with Dad in the Air and Space Museum in Washington, DC, in late 1994. I know that Tyre loved airplanes but he was fascinated with their engines. He could tell what kind of rotary engine an old airplane had in it by the sound of it running. The most memorable airplane story I have of my Dad was when we went to an airshow in Dayton the summer of 1994. But, that story will have to wait until another time. Tyre wrote an article once about his early days at Delta:

"...in July of 1947, about five weeks past high school graduation, I went to work in the mail room of Delta Air Lines and fell in love with the flagships of their fleet, the Douglas DC-3. My salary was $100 per month. Since Mr. C.E. Woolman, the president, wanted his mail delivered on Saturday, Pete Parker and I took turns being off Friday afternoon and working on Saturday morning. Mr. Woolman was a southern gentleman of the old school; polite and courteous to everyone, including the lowly mail room boys. A trip to his office was always an experience. I remember being there the morning in the fall of 1948 when Donald Douglas, president of Douglas Aircraft Company, called him about the contract for the five DC-6s we had ordered. Mr. Woolman was showing me his shotguns when his secretary came in to tell him Mr. Douglas was on the line. The great man apologized to me for the interruption, saying, "Don't leave yet, I want to show you another gun I have." After a pause he said, "Well, Donnie, I guess we'll have to keep the bankers happy. Tyre is here in the office with me. He'll mail the contracts today." There is no reason to believe that Mr. Douglas ever knew who Tyre was. But, even as the lowest man on his employee totem-pole, I was a person who was important to Mr. Woolman. After I went to work in the engine shop, he always knew me, and always inquired about Betty and Jennifer and Jim."

My Dad always thought of himself as part of the Delta family, even years after he had moved on in his life. I'm sure the influence of C.E. Woolman had a great deal to do with his sense of the Delta family and I'm sure it also influenced Tyre's great love and respect for others during his years as a minister and true man of God.

Now For The First Verse!

I couldn't leave off the first verse to this great song so I made it a two-parter....in case you are confused, due to the file size limitation, I could not post the entire song at one time. Hope this is a little better than just hearing the ending from last time.

How Great Thou Art

As many of you know, Tyre enjoyed singing almost as much as he did preaching. I'm not sure if he had a favorite song but many of his listeners enjoyed "How Great Thou Art". I'm working on a DVD of his songs that were recorded on old VHS tapes at Alton Baptist over the years. The conversion and editing is something of a challenge so it may be a few more weeks or months before I have something worth sharing. Until then, I attached the last verse or so of this great song for your enjoyment...I would have provided the entire song but this site has a file size limitation.

"Go ye therefore," with Special Emphasis on "Go"!

If you look up the word "patience" in the dictionary, you will NOT find a picture of my Dad. Patience was not a virtue for Tyre Denney. When he felt led to do something, especially if it was for his Lord, Dad was ready to go at that moment and many of those who weren't ready had difficulty keeping up with him. In his moving message at my Dad's funeral service, Brother Jeff Eaton pointed out that Tyre lived by the Great Commission (Matthew 28:19-20) and many of us agree. Dad was all about "going" and he was on the go about every day as a pastor. At times, Tyre was inclined to go as fast as he could to get wherever he needed to be...a trait that most of his children inherited. But, more about his driving slightly above the speed limit at another time. One of his memorable mission trips was to Kenya in the fall of 1985. That trip had a profound effect on my Dad and he shared some of his feelings in an open letter that was published in the local newpaper, "The Anderson News". Tyre wrote a weekly article for the local paper for many years and some of his articles are well worth reading again. A few of Tyre's thoughts from his open letter about Africa, dated October 19, 1985, are copied below for your enjoyment.

• I've been living here since Wednesday afternoon in a place that, in a strange and touching way, reminds me of the home of my grandparents in Georgia. There is so much here that reminds me of home. The sandy, reddish dirt roads are almost identical to those I remember. The crops of cotton and corn and peas are just as scraggly; the yards are kept swept as clean as a whistle, not a blade of grass in sight. And as you come into their village, the children rush into the house to get a chair and bring it out and set it in the best shade for the Visitor (they capitalize it, not me) -who-has-come-all-the-way-from-America-Kentucky-not-even-stopping-in-Nairobi (where everyone who is anyone stops)-to-come-to-Sabaki-Melindi-Kenya-to-tell-us-about-God-and-His-Son, Yesu Christa. These are the sights and sounds and smells and hospitality that one associates with the deep south of the United States and they have touched my heart.


• There is no language barrier to a smile. Richard, the pastor of Subaki Baptist Church and Joseph, my translator, have been trying valiantly to teach me the "hellos", "how are yous", "I am fines", "good-byes", and "God bless yous" of Swahili. But when I forget, the big Wazungu (wah-zoon'-gue, their name for a white man that is most nearly translated as "people that go around in circles") just smiles or laughs out loud. It works every time. If you didn't bring that nice mirror your wife bought for you before you left home, you can comb your hair by looking at your shadow on the tent wall. But it helps if, (a) you don't have much hair, (b) you don't have to see the results, and (c) you have a cap to cover it with. A big Wazungu whose hair looks as though he just stuck his finger in the light socket is something else. And little children get the tummy ache if they laugh too much. You cannot, repeat CANNOT, shave yourself by looking at your shadow on the tent wall. This really isn't too bad. The Guriama (Goo-re-amma) people respect and revere their elders, those with gray hair and gray beards. And, in light of the aforementioned hair situation, a gray beard helps.


• Ferdnnand Katana was here this morning by the time I finished breakfast, saying, "Please, sir, may I walk with you today. I want you to teach me more from God's Word." Even as I write these words, he is sitting under the cashew nut tree, patiently waiting. He has the New Testament I gave him clutched in his hands. Less than a week ago, Ferdnnand Katana and I were separated by over 13,500 kilometers, race, color, culture and belief. Today, the God who bridges continents, colors, cultures and the consonants of language will be with us as we walk together among the people who live in the villages of Subaki, Kenya.


• And, with tears in his eyes and much joy in his heart, the Visitor-from -America-Kentucky-who-came-all-the-way-to-Subaki-Kenya (without even stopping-in-the-big-city-of-Nairobi)-to-teach-us-about-God says, "Bwana Asifiwe!" Which, being interpreted means, "Praise the Lord"! And the Subaki Guriama always say, "Amen!"

A Passion for Airplanes, Engines, and...People

If you look up "people-person" in a dictionary, you may find a picture of my Dad. He cared for everyone he met regardless of who they were or where they might be from in the world. He treated everyone like a long, lost friend and because of that, Tyre had many friends. He also enjoyed being around and flying in airplanes. Even more so than flying in airplanes, he enjoyed the engines that powered them. I think Dad was more interested in the airplane engines than the airplanes themselves but that is another story. Ken Jordan, a dear friend to me, my Dad and now our entire family, is also a "people-person". Coincidently, he is a pilot who owns a few airplanes. To Dad, Ken's friendship was truly a "match made in Heaven"! Ken shared some recollections of Tyre with those who attended Dad's funeral last week and he graciously emailed those memories to me for all to enjoy:

"My profession at the time of my retirement in 2002 was a firefighter on the Lexington (Ky) Fire Dept. I first heard J. Tyre Denney one Sunday morning in 1994 on the kitchen radio in my Frankfort, Ky home when I returned from the fire station. What a deep southern voice this man had and the ability to capture my attention. He spoke softly and with much conviction about the Lord. I was between churches at the time, so I would listen to him. He didn't speak down to me, as some preachers have in the past. He spoke simply and to the point and always included himself when he would talk about human failings. I noticed that he would make reference to airplanes in his messages as well. Who is this preacher that shares a common interest in airplanes with me? The Lord works in mysterious ways, His wonders to preform! I have been flying as a private pilot since 1982. I bought and restored a 1946 plane and had been flying it since 1991. Three years later, Brother D comes into my life on the radio. I started attending North Benson Baptist Church in 1993. The preacher was young and from North Carolina. He and his family eventually returned to N.C. The church was looking for a new minister...enter- J. Tyre Denney!! This is the first time I had met Brother D. It was a meeting that would give me a long time friend- not just a minister. Brother D and I shared another interest- singing the old Gospel Hymns. I never met anyone who had the gift to sing so many songs from memory. I always need a book or the words a least. Brother D had a wonderful baritone voice!! That's something else we had in common. The same voice range. We would sing in the church choir side by side in the bass section. Another thing I enjoyed was how he would reference songs in his messages. I have always thought hymns were mini-messages from God. I would sing specials from time to time before Brother D's message. One of these songs was "My God and I". Brother D would always talk about his "sweet-heart, Betty" and throw up his fingers to name his children- all those "J's". I see why he did that. He was such a loving husband and father that he did not want to leave anyone out! Several years ago, Brother D asked me to ride with him to visit a deacon's mother in a nursing home west of Indianapolis, Ind. On the return trip we were talking about songs and he asked me to sing "My God and I" at his passing. He said this song is how he felt about his Lord. I said I would be honored to do this song for him. We shared many short flying trips together. Some of my pilot friends had the big bi-planes with open cockpits and with the big round engines. He enjoyed several rides with the leather helmet and goggles. He loved the sound and smell of the big round engine. In his early days, he had been a round engine mechanic for Delta Air Lines. Brother D was an encourager to all. He helped me through some difficult times in my life. Brother D is my TRUE FRIEND. How many people are blessed with a true friend? My true friend will not leave me--he abides in my memory......."

"I'll be 36 in Six Years Anyway!"

At my father's funeral on February 18th, my cousin, Art, recalled the response above that Tyre gave to my Uncle Willis when these brothers discussed my Dad's decision at 30 years old to accept the Lord's call for him to become a Baptist preacher. Willis tried to reason with Dad by reminding him that he had a beautiful wife and three small children who Dad would need to support while he attended college for at least four years and seminary for another two years or so. Willis pointed out, "Bud, you'll be 36 when you finish!"

Willis would not leave it at that and questioned how Dad could give up his good job with benefits and security, work part-time while in school, and then support a growing family on a preacher's salary. Although I had heard about this conversation between these two brothers many years ago, I did not remember my Dad's response and I sincerely appreciate Art reminding all of us of a point that we should all engrave into our memory for years to come. To use Art's words, Dad said to Willis, "It doesn't make any sense to hold on to something I cannot keep and to give up something I cannot lose."

Never had a Reason to Blog

I could have lived the rest of my life and never blogged. I don't do Facebook, I read far more emails than I send, and I never thought I had anything important to say on a blog website...until, my father passed away on Valentine's Day, 2010. I realized after his funeral that there were so many good things to remember about him that short of writing a book, a blog was perhaps the best way to record the memories of my Dad.

Or, I should say our Dad and grandfather and great-grandfather, and uncle, and brother, and pastor, and friend, and husband because we all have fond memories to share, including my Mom. This site can only truly recount the life and legacy of Tyre Denney if all those who knew him share their stories and recollections of him with all of us. Please comment as much as you like to these postings or email your stories to denneyjt@gmail.com and I will post them for you.

So, for this posting, what is my fondest memory of my Dad? I'm not ready to recall my fondest memory. The few minutes my family shared with him a few days before he died were very special and I will remember those precious minutes for the rest of my life. But, that is not my fondest memory. My memories of Tyre Denney are of a gentle giant of a man, not the frail person my father turned into during the last few weeks of his life. For most of my life, my Dad was over six feet tall and very near 250 lbs. A giant in stature with a booming voice, an infectious laugh, and not a mean bone in his body. As many recounted at his funeral, Tyre Denney had a smile that could light up any room he entered.

He left an impression on everyone he met and most of the time, it was a memorable impression. His obituary listed some of the many accomplishments and contributions Tyre Denney made during his 50+ years as a pastor and minister to thousands of lost souls. My father seldom spoke of his accomplishments as a man of God. Although he was giant in stature, he was humble in heart and he only wanted to be remembered as a servant of Jesus Christ, our Lord and Saviour. This site is dedicated to the memory of a gentle giant; a servant of God who is well worth being remembered, my Dad.