He glances at the number on his caller ID. “I’m popular today because ‘my thing’ came out,” he says. “His thing” — as he humbly refers to it — is the release of the first single (“Do You Love Me?”) from his band The Explorers Club debut CD Freedom Wind.

It’s Tuesday, a celebrated day in the music industry. Tuesday is when new music is released and Brewer is experiencing his first-ever Tuesday as a recording artist in the industry. You would think this Tuesday in early April would be full of fanfare for the 26-year old, but for Brewer, its business as usual. It’s just Tuesday, which means worship team meetings at Ashley River Baptist Church, where he serves as the contemporary service worship leader.

Again, the phone vibrates. Brewer looks at the number just in case it’s Brian Wilson calling. Yes, the Brian Wilson, former lead singer of the Beach Boys.

While driving his girlfriend Krista home after a recent dinner-date his cell phone started buzzing, of all things. Not recognizing the number, he didn’t pick up, letting the call go straight to voicemail.

Later, Brewer checked his voicemail. At first he was sure what he was listening to was a phone prank from a friend. But as he listened, his face went blank. “At the end (of the voice message), a friend of mine who plays guitar for him (Brian Wilson), came on the line and said that was Brian (Wilson) telling you how much he liked the songs.”

Seeing his expression, Krista asked about the voice message.

It was Brian Wilson, the Brian Wilson of the Beach Boys calling to pay the band a compliment. The call is more personal, and has much deeper significance to Brewer. See, by the third grade Brewer was “sitting in the back of the car, going to the grocery store with my Mom, wearing a yellow Walkman, with headphones on and listening to the Beach Boys 20 Greatest Hits cassette. It was kinda weird for an eight-year old kid, I guess?”

Weird?

No.

Surreal?

No doubt.

One listen to the debut CD from The Explorers Club and the link between Brewer, Wilson and the Beach Boys emerges. Freedom Wind, the 12-song pop compilation released in May, is a throwback to the 60’s, complete with feel-good lyrics and made-for-summer vocal harmonies reminiscent and oft-compared to the Beach Boys and Beatles, a comparison Brewer doesn’t resist.

“I don’t mind that comparison at all,” he said. “Obviously I have that vocal style that they invented back in the early 60’s. Back then, it was like a style of music. Nobody’s doing this kind of music anymore. I found that I’m fairly gifted at writing that 60’s, early 70’s ‘happy’ sound.

“When I read reviews they say, ‘it’s as good as the stuff back then, it’s more of a continuation than a reprocessing. That’s how I look at it: it’s a continuation. I don’t mind being compared to legendary artists, it’s better than being compared to not-so-legendary artists. It’s a compliment.”

Freedom Wind is not a Beach Boys rip-off. The influences are deep – and evident. “There’s stuff on there that’s influenced by country songs, doo-wop, Gershwin, even Broadway stuff I picked up from my Mom,” said Brewer. “My brain attaches everything I’ve been surrounded with my whole life and everything ends up being in that music.”

His brain began creating musical attachments at age seven when he his father bought Jason his first cassette tape: a recording of The Beatles first album Please, Please Me. Born 20 years after the release of the first Beatles single “Love Me Do” and the Beach Boys debut CD Surfin’ Safari, Brewer was hooked by the sound.

Then everything changed when he saw the film Back to the Future. “I wanted to be Chuck Berry. That’s what I wanted to do. That’s the music that got me excited,” he said. Then, in 1987, Hail! Hail! Rock and Roll, a tribute to Chuck Berry was released. Brewer was mesmerized.

Soon he was dragging his dad to the video store to rent The Complete Beatles documentary. “I would rent it all the time,” he said. “I would wear it out and my favorite part of the movie was the beginning because they would talk about Chuck Berry.”

It wasn’t long after he picked up his first guitar at 11, Brewer set off on a more serious musical exploration and education that began — like most teenagers with a musical instrument – with a no-name garage band. That continued through high school and college, all the while he was compiling musical knowledge and clocking experience.

“What really stuck with me, and always has, is really good songwriting,” said Brewer. “If I’m going to be a musician, and I want it to be really good and timeless … I want to get to the point where I can incorporate all the great aspects that make a popular song. I want to be musically good but really accessible. I found the best way to do that, for me, is to really study these great, truly gifted individuals and just surround myself so it comes out in my songwriting.”

Brewer became increasingly passionate about the process and began studying those who were inspiring him. “I was listening to tons and tons of bootlegs of session tapes from my favorite musicians,” he said. “I think what I do is, listen to every little thing … I listen to the tone of it.”

His attention to detail has paid off professionally but the jury is still out on whether or not it will damage his personal relationships. “Krista puts on a song she really likes and she’ll be playing it and …” That’s when the question comes: Do you like it?

“I can’t really pay attention to how good the lyrics are because all I hear is all the stuff in it that I wouldn’t do,” he said with a sheepish grin. “I’m all about the sound and she’s all about the words.”

That drives Krista crazy. “I try not to do it too much,” he added. “That’s why when we drive in the car we’ll either listen to classical music or sports scores, something simple.”

More good vibrations (excuse the pun) are coming from Brewer’s mobile device now. It’s fascinating to see what a recording contract, a couple of national television appearances and a handful of critically-acclaimed reviews can do for a band that began as an experimental project.

Following college graduation in 2004, and a seven-month hiatus from life in a band, Brewer started getting restless. During this down time, he had been writing three songs and was ready to record them. “I didn’t want this to be a rock and roll band, I wanted it to be a singing group … that was a rock and roll band,” he said.

One-by-one Brewer cherry-picked local musicians to help with the “experiment,” that included David Ellis, Stefan Rogenmoser and James Faust. He then added drummer Neil Thomas and bassist/vocalist Wally Reddington.

The “experiment” went so well the band put together a live show and performed through most of 2005. By the summer of 2006 the band had performed in New York and was on their way to Los Angeles. That’s when things started happening.

The band hired a lawyer, then a licensing agent for film and television and finally a record contract with Dead Oceans. In January 2007, the first of the three “experimental” songs (Forever) appeared on the Fox television show the O.C. and later on the CBS television comedy How I Met Your Mother.

Described as “psychedelic pop” (Pitchfork Media), “bohemian beach-bums” (Spin Magazine) and “jangle pop” (Download.com), the question is: Where do The Explorers Club fit in? Today’s music industry has never been more fragmented. Every artist is labeled by category, like it or not. It’s all part of a larger global marketing plan designed to saturate today’s music providers (radio, iTunes, XM and Sirius satellite) with format-specific music.

Brewer is aware, yet comfortable, with his band’s place in today’s music world saying, “We knew we were going to be outcasts, but that’s OK,” he said. “The music industry goes where the excitement is. If you’re not the hippest, coolest thing than you’re not a thing.”

But this band has a secret weapon. With a live show oozing with “feel good” lyrics and energy, the band is defying the odds. “What makes The Explorers Club successful is people really like the songs and they come to see the live show and we give them a blast of energy and fun and we’re really starting to earn a reputation of being a really fun experience.

“When I was a little guy what got me dancing, what got me excited about the song on the radio was that it was fun, it was singing about something I could relate too. The Beach Boys are singing about going surfing and The Beatles are singing about a girl in “I Want to Hold Your Hand.” That stuff. There’s no innocence in today’s music, it’s so direct.”

Being a Christian and being in the music industry is a challenging position. It comes with its own set of risks. From ethics to morality, Brewer is faced with daily, frontal attacks in an industry known – and sometimes celebrated – for its provocative “sex, drugs and rock and roll” lifestyle.

Brewer’s phone vibrates, but this time he doesn’t seem to notice it, probably because the conversation has landed on his two passions: faith and music.

“There are not a lot of Christian folks on that side of the music industry,” said Brewer. “In my music, I definitely want to be a roaring lamb among a pack of wolves,” Brewer confessed in a recent conversation with Krista. “(I want to) make enough noise to where people can hear you. That is what that ‘roaring lambs’ thing is about — about being successful but being successful with what God gives you and honoring God through your success. I want to be successful and what success to me is the impact I can make on other people through what I do, not through man’s rules.

“I don’t have a problem telling anyone about it (his faith). I’m a music leader at my church. God created music. God gave me ability to play music. I do feel called to use my music to glorify God. I’m using the things that God has given me to spread the gospel. This (music) is just a vehicle to invite me into your home, to get to know me and you’re going to know everything about me and my spiritual life is me. I think it’s a good vehicle and I’m glad I have the keys to it.”

The phone vibrates a third time. Interview over.

Holscher, the general manager for the North Charleston Coliseum, has been in the drivers seat of most every major concert or entertainment event in the Lowcountry since the venues doored opened in January 1993.

Legendary rocker Bob Seger, with family in tow, arrived in Charleston in January 1996 to begin rehearsals for his long-awaited return to live touring.

On January 19, 1996 Seger kicked off his tour at the North Charleston Coliseum. As Seger rocked his way through classics like “Old Time Rock and Roll,” “Against the Wind,” “Main Street” and “Like a Rock,” a minor emergency was developing backstage.

“His son went into the dressing room and grabbed Bob’s curling iron with his hand,” remembers Holscher. “They rushed him to the MUSC burn center. There was a lot of talk whether or not to tell Bob [Seger] during the show or wait until after. His wife decided to wait until he came offstage.”

In the wings, Seger’s wife and new family, watched. “He’s [Seger] on stage and his son has his hand wrapped in this huge bandage.”

Holscher’s office walls are like a who’s who of celebrity events in the Lowcountry: The Eagles, Elton John, Bob Seger, Hootie and the Blowfish, Faith Hill, Tim McGraw, Garth Brooks, Rod Stewart, Jimmy Buffett, Neil Diamond. You name it, if they’ve played in Charleston over the last 15 years, most likely Holscher’s responsible for it.

That includes the Eagles Hell Freezes Over concert in 1995. It stands as one of the fastest sellouts in Coliseum history, despite a ticket price controversy.

Tickets went on sale at $90. Fans were outraged and promised to boycott the show. It didn’t matter. Tickets sold – fast. It was the highest ticket price to date.

More than that, Holscher was concerned about the show’s preparation.

According to Holscher, the band’s equipment trucks were delayed by a snowstorm in Knoxville, Tenn., Typically, a production crew arrives at the coliseum by 9 a.m. on the day of a show, but the Eagles’ equipment trucks arrived at 11 a.m. Despite the delay, things went smoothly and the band was doing its sound check by 4 p.m.

“They are perfectionists,” said Holscher, who witnessed an even more tense atmosphere backstage.

“There were a lot of rumors that the band didn’t get along,” he said. “They all had separate dressing rooms and stayed in seclusion until it was time to go on stage.”

By the time the lights went down and the Eagles took the stage to a sell-out crowd of 10,782 people including South Carolina Gov. David Beasley.

When the band returned for a second show, almost 10 years later in March 2005, tickets were $120 and, again, the show sold out within hours.

From the opening note of the historic first concert (Lorrie Morgan and Alan Jackson) in January 1993 to the highly-anticipated next major concert (Elton John) on November 9, the North Charleston Coliseum has been the site of many emotions.

Known as “Casa del Ray,” the Coliseum played host to the South Carolina Stingrays Kelly Cup championship in 1997, the tragic death of a rodeo worker in 1998 and, most recently, the venue that hosted the Charleston firefighters memorial in June.

In 2003, in an emotional ceremony, the South Carolina Stingrays retired Mark Bavis’ #12 two years after the former Stingray died on American Airlines Flight 11 on September 11, 2001. Bavis’ number hangs alone in a special corner of the arena (#14 Dave Seitz and #24 Brett Marietti are the other two retired Stingrays numbers).

The famed Stars on Ice tour arrived in Charleston on their 1996-1997 tour. The show was at its peak featuring former Olympic skaters Scott Hamilton and Christi Yamaguchi.

Hamilton purchased the tour bus from Tim McGraw. The same bus McGraw used while touring with Faith Hill, then his opening act. While giving Holscher a tour of the bus, Hamilton showed him the circular bed in the back of the bus. Their were mirrors on the ceiling.

“He [Hamilton] had the same bus driver that Tim McGraw used,” said Hoslcher. “He said when Tim and Faith started dating it got so wild back there he had to get a leather divider to block the sound.”

Hamilton travelled to and from each show alone, by bus. An avid golfer, Hamilton bought the bus so he could plan golf outings in the city’s where he was performing. In the days leading up to the performance at the Coliseum, Hamilton phoned Holscher and asked if he could schedule a tee time at the famed Ocean Course at Kiawah Island.

“On the 15th or 16th hole, Scott said he wasn’t feeling well,” remembers Holscher. “At the time, he thought he just needed something to eat. When we went in, we sat down and had lunch, he seemed fine. A couple days later he keeled over during a performance and we later learned it was testicular cancer. It hit me, because I felt close to the story.”

The highlights are framed, dotting the walls. Yet, they are a small sample of what Holscher has been part of it. When asked, Holscher struggles to put a number on how many concerts and major events have come and gone. Doing the math out loud, Holscher says, “Maybe 300 concerts in 15 years … but that’s just a guess.”

Then, there are those numbers etched on gold plated plaques: like Garth Brooks three shows on three nights (January 30, 31 and February 1, 1997) resulting in three sellouts. Then there’s the best-selling single event: Billy Joel. He had a 360-degree stage which allowed the Coliseum to open additional, unobstructed seating that increased ticket sales. Or, Hootie and the Blowfish performing to huge hometown crowds on back-to-back nights August 29 and 30, 1994 and Elton John, who performed October 14, 1997, and sold 12,500 tickets.

Slide after slide, images on a PowerPoint presentation flashed across the screen; reflections of life in Guatemala, some fun and others simply heartbreaking.

Five years after Hurricane Stan leveled Guatemala with 40-foot high mudslides, burying homes – and lives, where more than 1,500 people perished, where survivors still live in poverty, a dozen Charleston Southern University faculty, staff and students stepped off a plane on a mission: to share the love of Christ.

“You see this stuff on TV, but when you drive the bus on to this land and see people living this way, we had to overcome that,” said Charleston Southern University senior Amanda Kizee. “We had to get past the tears and the affect it had on us in order to reach in and serve them.”

Kizee was one of 10 students on the spring mission trip to Guatemala. The group recently reunited to share their experiences with the University.

The 10-day journey to Guatemala began with anxiety, unaware of what they’d see, who they’d encounter or how to communicate.

“I had no idea what to expect,” said CSU senior Ryan Hill. “I was really anxious because I don’t speak Spanish. I know how to say ‘Hello’ and ‘Where’s your bathroom?’ I was so frustrated because I couldn’t just talk to these people.”

That’s until he met Harla, a deaf child from Guatemala.

“Language wasn’t an issue,” said Hill. “We talked completely through body language. That was the coolest thing that God showed me on this trip. She and I had an incredible bond by the third day. It was heartbreaking to leave her.”

Charleston Southern student Michelle Hendrickson spent her final day in Xela kicking and throwing a beach ball with a five-year old boy. For nearly 40 minutes the two never spoke a word, communicating only through body language.

The group visited a number of Mayan villages, painting, teaching, playing with children and worshiping with the local people. The students visited Santiago and taught at a small school called El Buen Pastor. In Cerro de Oro, the group met the Gomez family, 10 people living in a two-bedroom home.

“My wife and I struggle for closet space,” said Hill. “How can I complain about not having enough closet space when they have one change of clothes? They may not have a meal? It made me feel shameful for being so prideful and selfish.”

While worshiping at Mision Bautista, a small church in Cerro de Oro, Kizee recalled feeling God’s presence as Hill began singing she remembers being “on my knees, in the dirt. It was overwhelming. The presence of God was so real.”

In that moment, in that sanctuary, propped up by pieces of wood, as the rain pounded the aluminum roof and Charleston Southern students dropped to the dirt floor, the Holy Spirit was at work in their hearts. As Hill later explained the experience, “God broke me in that moment.”

Hill serves youth leader at Hillcrest Baptist Church. He confessed, “I get frustrated when the video I pull up isn’t working. In Guatemala, there church is pieces of aluminum siding propped up by wood.” He realized, “church isn’t about the media working right, it’s about a body of people worshiping God. As long as you’re doing that, that’s church. It’s worship and it’s that simple.”

“Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy and my burden is light.” – Matthew 11:28-30

After days of work, Kizee had reached the point of exhaustion. Praying for strength, she gathered and worshiped in song with people in the village. A young girl approached her, rubbing her eyes. Kizee reached out and the girl jumped in her arms.

As the little girl fell asleep, Kizee prayed a prayer of thanks to the Lord. “She didn’t know me, but she trusted and the Lord spoke to my heart,” she said. “This is how I want you to rest in me, and trust me, that I will care for you.”

Hill, a double major in psychology and youth ministry, didn’t truly experience Guatemala until he was home, surrounded by his comforts, chatting with friends on Facebook and preparing for his final semester at CSU. That’s when it hit him.

“I went without the Internet for a whole week [in Guatemala],” he said. “I don’t need this. I can put this in the closet and not miss it. This is God’s way of telling us to cut some stuff out of our lives.”

But Hill can’t cut out his feelings for the people of Guatemala.

“I went in not knowing what to expect,” he said. “I left feeling like I was leaving home. I felt like I belonged there. I still didn’t speak the language and, yes, I was excited to go back home and see my family but I was also homesick for Guatemala.”

Vincent came to Major League Baseball as a deputy commissioner in the spring 1989 and unwittingly was pushed into the commissioners role exactly six months later, when then commissioner A. Bartlett Giamatti suffered a fatal heart attack.

Less than two weeks into his interim duties, major league owners unanimously voted Vincent into office as the full-time commissioner.

“I was one of Fay’s earliest supporters,” said Reinsdorf, the day before Vincent officially announced his resignation as commissioner, “… I don’t want to seem to destroy someone or rob him of his dignity, but the difference between Bart and Fay is that Bart knew what he didn’t know. That’s why he hired Fay.”

Vincent, already facing a term in the shadow of the beloved Giamatti, literally hit more unstable ground from the outset. During the 1989 World Series it was Vincent who earned accolades for his sensitivity in handling of the Loma Prieta earthquake that hit the San Francisco Bay area just minutes before Game Three of the World Series. With the country in shock in the aftermath of the quakes (which reportedly measured 7.1 on the Richter scale), Vincent acted, postponing the Series until further notice.

Vincent again rescued baseball in early 1990, championing negotiations to end a 32-day lockout of spring training by negotiating a four-year collective bargaining agreement with the Major League Baseball Players Association. Despite the labor agreement, some owners were seething, claiming Vincent was pro-union.

Vincent was not the source of an already bigger economic issue facing the game of baseball. During the 1990 labor strike, it has been reported that baseball hired four economists including former Federal Reserve Chairman Paul Volcker and Henry J. Aaron of the Brookings Institute to independently analyze baseball’s economic problems. In his 1992 report, Aaron wrote:

“The industry of baseball is in political chaos, bereft of any governing mechanism by which clubs can agree to share revenues among themselves in a fashion that will permit all clubs both to compete equally on the field and to have an equal chance to make positive operating revenues … A governance structure of clubs that is incapable of enforcing greater revenue sharing is the problem. Unless that problem is addressed and solved, labor management peace will never come to baseball.”

It was here, in the wake of the 1990 labor agreement, with owners angered and the commissioner defiant, that Vincent’s reign as commissioner began a long, slow, tumultuous two-and-a-half year slide.

In between a two-year suspension of Yankee owner George Steinbrenner for illegal gambling ties (July 1990), a lifetime ban of Steve Howe for cocaine use (June 1992) and a two-day strike by MLB umpires, Vincent faced his biggest challenges as commissioner: expansion, realignment and television revenues. In hindsight, this three-headed monster would wrestle the commissioner into submission.

Strike one against Vincent took place in June 1991 when the commissioner allocated $190 million in National League expansion fees to major leagues teams. Vincent awarded American League teams, $3 million per team while National League teams received $12.33 million for each club.

The decision infuriated some team owners, especially Reinsdorf.

Those on the inside referred to him as “Reinsdorf the Powerful.” The White Sox owner denied his reported powers in a 1992 interview with New York Times writer Ira Berkows. “Am I powerful?,” Reisndorf asked rhetorically, “No. Power means to me to be able to say to someone, ‘I need your vote.’ There’s nobody I can say that to. But Bud (Selig) can. For one thing he’s one of the nicest guys in baseball. For another, he talks to every owner on the phone at least once a week.”

Based on previous media reports both Selig and Reinsdorf are the founding fathers of the Great Lakes Gang. When the topic surfaces, Reisndorf strokes Selig and Selig downplays the idea altogether.

“I love Jerry Reinsdorf,” Selig said. “He and I are amused at what people write. I talk to Carl (Pohlad) as much as anybody. I talk to Stan Cook. Bill is a close friend of mine. But if I explained the last 24 months, you would see how much (the Red Sox’s) John Harrington and Paul Beeston are involved … I regard Drayton McLane as an important new owner. I could go on and on.

“Ironically, George Steinbrenner and I have known each other the longest, for 20 years, and although we have different perspectives, we can talk. (San Diego’s) Tommy Werner is one of the finest young men I’ve ever known. But as to the question of who influences what and who does what, there’s a lot of great fiction around that.”

Reinsdorf may not have publicly slandered Vincent, but privately he shared his feelings with the Great Lakes Gang – and Vincent himself. During a meeting in Vincent’s office in 1992, Reinsdorf scoffed at one of Vincent’s opinions, leading the commissioner to say, “Maybe you think we should have a different commissioner?”

Reinsdorf replied dryly, “Yes.”

Two years after Vincent’s resignation, while looking into the economic issues facing baseball, the Sporting News reported:

The Great Lakes Gang today is perceived by many as the most powerful coalition of owners, with Selig and Reinsdorf at its center. The two talk almost daily, giving rise to some humor. Selig’s wife, Sue, once was introduced at a birthday party for Selig, as the “last person Bud talks to at night.” But she demurred. “In reality, it’s Jerry,” she said.

“It’s one of the more misunderstood subjects in my 25 years in baseball,” Selig says. “It’s hard to interpose in human relationships and assess accurately. People make judgments not based on reality. They wind up creating power where it doesn’t exist. They tend to overlook people who have influence.”

Vincent pressed on, despite the efforts of the Great Lakes Gang. The commissioner hit a nerve in June 1992 when he publicly encouraged and approved the sale of the Seattle Mariners to a group of Japanese investors. When the news reached Reinsdorf, he erupted.

Baseball owners convened in New York the following week. In a bizarre twist, Reinsdorf, Selig and Richard Ravitch, the owners’ chief labor executive, called a meeting, cherry-picking participants, mostly American League owners, all anti-Vincent.

Reinsdorf, Selig and Ravitch attempted to persuade owners to pressure Vincent into surrendering his his role in baseball labor relations. It was called “the putsch that failed,” by baseball insiders. The atmosphere was described as tense, pitting one league against the other, pro-Vincent against anti-Vincent.

Strike two came three weeks later when Vincent announced he was realigning the National League, sending the Chicago Cubs and the St. Louis Cardinals to the National West and the Atlanta Braves and Cincinnati Reds to the NL East, effective at the beginning of 1993.

The Tribune Company – owner of the Cubs and Chicago-based television station WGN, the Cubs local affiliate – were already at odds with Vincent over broadcast revenues.

National League president Bill White and league owners publicly denounced Vincent’s decision to redraw the league’s geographical map. “The commissioner’s decision is wrong,” the Cubs said in a statement. “[It's] bad for baseball and especially bad for baseball fans here in Chicago.”

White followed, telling the Associated Press, “I am very disappointed with the commissioner’s extraordinary decision to override the National League constitution … the commissioner has jeopordized a long-standing working document which has governed the National League for decades.”

Less than 24 hours after the announcement the Cubs filed a lawsuit, challenging Vincent’s decision. The team would be granted an injunction, freezing the move.

On the morning of Sunday, July 12, the final day before the 1992 All-Star break, a group of team owners were feverishly working the fax machine, crafting and signing a petition to call a joint meeting to discuss Vincent’s actions and the growing turmoil.

Vincent objected, declining the request. With communication broken down into faxes and letters, Vincent declined public comment but did responded to team owners in a five-page letter, writing:

“In my judgment … there is no contractual right to remove me from office or to diminish my powers … How could the commissioner function otherwise? The possibility of removal midterm would render the commissioner ineffective … I will never resign – until such time as the highest court of this land tells me otherwise.”

But the writing was on the wall, the one-time cabal of owners was growing in size and force. Vincent, firm in his commitment, could now count his supporting cast on one hand.

The Great Lakes Gang moved ahead, with or without Vincent’s participation. Led by Reinsdorf and Selig, the Gang organized a meeting in at the Hyatt Regency O’Hare hotel in Rosemont, Illinois, a Chicago suburb. Reinsdorf called the Great Lakes Gang, one-by-one he laid out the meeting agenda: get rid of Vincent.

The owners argued in the public resolution that:

1. Baseball needed “strong and consistent leadership.”

2. Baseball needed an owner who could lead the way on “crucial issues of franchise stability, television and broadcast contracts, labor negotiations and action on the forthcoming report of the Economic Study Committee.”

3. The game needed a commissioner to “build consensus on the fundamental issues facing baseball, who could demonstrate vision and objectivity and who can manage relationships with outside parties important to the success of baseball.”

On September 3, 1992 baseball owners voted 18-9 (with one abstention) calling for the commissioner to resign. Four days later, Vincent conceded, never completing his elected five-year term as the eighth commissioner of Major League Baseball.

As the meeting broke, reporters crashed Reinsdorf for a comment. He told the media, for “the first time, the commissioner knows how many clubs want him to step down, the commissioner has some serious thinking to do.”

For once, Vincent and the owners agreed, he should step down. On September 8, 1992, it became official. Fay Vincent, baseball’s eighth commissioner, resigned. The Great Lakes Gang had finally sunk Vincent.

In his resignation letter, Vincent wrote:

… I can no longer justify imposing on Baseball, nor should Baseball be required to endure, a bitter, legal battle – even though I am confident in the end I would win … I’ve concluded that resignation – not litigation – should be my final act as commissioner in the best interests of Baseball.

I remind all that ownership of a Baseball team is more than just ownership of any ordinary business. Owners have a duty to take into consideration that they own a part of America’s national pastime – in trust. This trust requires putting self-interest second.

President George W. Bush, then owner of the Texas Rangers supported Vincent. His words seem somewhat ironic now.

“If anybody can find any winner in this mess,” Bush told the New York Times, “it’s my friend because he’s showed that among the rubble, there rose a dignified human being with a lot of class. He’s clearly the winner as far as I’m concerned …

“He knew some of us would stand by him until the bitter end, and I was fully prepared to do that. This is the wrong decision by baseball, but he took a loftier position. He said, ‘it’s not me, it’s the game.’”

“I was weak in the knees out there in the ninth inning, I thought I was going to faint,” Larsen told the Chicago Daily Tribune, moments after the game. “The thing I wanted to do was get out of the ninth inning. In a prayer I mumbled to myself, I said, ‘Please get me through this.’ I was so nervous I couldn’t think straight.”

As Dodger right fielder Carl Furillo twisted his right spike into the batters box to lead off the bottom of the ninth, the sellout crowd in attendance anxiously awaited Larsen’s first pitch, hoping, praying, for three more outs. Yankee catcher Yogi Berra met Larsen between home plate and the mound. “Go out there and let’s get the first batter.”

Meanwhile, a police offer rolled up to the bay of windows along Michigan Avenue, leaned across the front of the patrol cars front seat, rolled down his passenger door window and ordered the cab drive to move his car. The cabbie turned and explained Larsen’s pending perfecto. The officer relaxed the law for the moment, drove around the corner, parked and witnessed the ninth inning play out while sitting behind the wheel of the car.

For Larsen, the years, days, hours and minutes leading up to this moment, hadn’t prepared him for such a dramatic experience. Born in the modest, middle America town of Michigan City, Indiana on August 7, 1929, Larsen quietly worked his way through the minors, before making his major league debut in 1953 with the St. Louis Browns.

After being sent to the Baltimore Orioles before the 1954 season, Larsen was again dealt to the Yankees as part of a 13-player trade the same season. Larsen was so unimpressive the Yankees immediately sent him back to the farm, where he compiled a 9-1 record before being promoted.

Larsen’s lack of experience in such situations was only intensified, thanks to his superstitious, pinstriped teammates. “I tried to engage in conversation with some of our players on the bench during the game, but they all avoided me like the plague,” said Larsen in a 2003 interview with Baseball Digest. “That doesn’t happen only in the World Series, it’s a baseball superstition for players to talk to a pitcher working on a no-hitter … I was the lonliest guy on the bench. Nobody would talk to me.”

The same behavior was taking place in the Yankees bullpen, according to Yankee pitcher Mickey McDermott. “(Bob) Turley and I and some of the other guys were in the bullpen and Turley turned to us and said: ‘Wouldn’t it be something if Don gets a home run to go with the no-hitter?’” Turley said in the Yankees clubhouse after the game. “This was when Larsen came up in the eighth inning, mind you.”

The comment roused the Yankee pen. “We almost chased Turley out of the bullpen,” said McDermott.

The 6-foot, 190-pound Furillo led off the ninth, hitting a routine fly ball to right field. Hank Bauer made the catch. Nearly 100 million across the country were tuned in, including a steady stream of 600 staff employees viewing the game on eight screens from the main studio at WGN in Chicago as Larsen recorded the first out of the inning.

Larsen continued praying as Roy Campanella came to bat. The Dodger catcher promptly grounded to second base. Billy Martin gobbled up his fourth chance of the day, threw to Ed Collins at first base. Two outs.

From the Bronx bleachers to a street corner in Chicago and beyond, everyone seemingly held a collective breathe as Dale Mitchell, the Dodgers 27th hitter of the day, made his way to the plate to pinch-hit for pitcher Sal Maglie.

No one was more surprised than Larsen at what was unfolding on this cool Fall Monday afternoon at Yankee Stadium. The night before Larsen didn’t expect to pitch, let alone start the game.

Larsen spent his Sunday evening relaxing. “I drank a couple of beers and went to bed … about midnight,” he told the Associated Press.

“Many times Casey (Stengel) and pitching coach Jim Turner announced the starting pitcher for the next day’s game the day or night before,” said Larsen. “If the starter was undetermined, then Frank Crosetti, our third base coach, performed a Yankee ritual of placing the warm-up ball for that day’s game in the starting pitcher’s spikes prior to game time.”

Larsen arrived at the Yankees clubhouse for Game 5 to find a crisp, new white baseball sitting in his spikes. The news didn’t bother Larsen. As amatter of fact, he was anxious to make up for his poor start in Game 2, when he was yanked in the second inning after allowing fours runs and four walks.

In his own words, written for Baseball Digest, Larsen explained it was a strong start that helped.

“I opened the game by striking out the first two batters — Junior Gilliam and Pee Wee Reese on called third strikes,” Larsen wrote. “Then Duke Snider hit a soft fly to right fielder Bauer. Retiring the Dodgers in order helped build my confidence and I was more relaxed on the mound.

“I retired the first 11 batters before Snider came up for his second at-bat and hit a ball deep to right field that would have been a home run, but it went foul. I then caught him looking at a slider for my fifth strikeout.”

By the seventh inning, after retiring 21 consecutive Dodger batters, it clicked. Larsen realized what was happening. As the Yankees batted in the home seventh, Larsen was smoking a cigarette in the dugout when he turned to Mickey Mantle and said, “Look at the scoreboard, Mick. Wouldn’t it be something? Two more innings to go.”

Now, he was one out away. Larsen quickly got ahead of Mitchell, one ball and two strikes. He had thrown 96 pitches, 70 for strikes. But the pitch count was irrelevant now. Larsen was pitching on adrenaline.

Larsen readied himself on the mound. Berra called for a fastball as home plate umpire Babe Pinelli, calling his final game behind the plate, leaned in over the catchers shoulder. As Larsen set into motion, he remembers saying to himself, “Well, here goes nothing.”

Mitchell stood frozen as the plate as Larsen’s fastball skimmed the outside corner. Berra jumped into Larsen’s arms after the called strike three. Don Larsen, an 11-game winner in 1956 who finished his career with an 81-91 record, had pitched a perfect game and off the 64,519 in the stadium that day, Larsen was first in line of unbelievers.

“It can’t be true,” he told United Press in an exclusive interview later that same day. “Any minute now I expect the alarm clock to ring and someone to say, “Okay Larsen, it’s time to get up … My legs are still rubbery all over and I’m so nervous and excited I don’t even know what day it is.”

Forbes.com voted Larsen’s perfect game as one of the Top 20 greatest individual athletic achievements over the past 150 years (18th). It was the crowing moment for an otherwise mediocre ball player.

“If Nolan Ryan had done it, if Sandy Koufax had done it, if Don Drysdale had done it, I would have nodded and said, ‘Well, it could happen.’ But Don Larsen?” Yankees public-address announcer Bob Sheppard said on ESPN Classic.

###

NOTE: Larsen was named the World Series MVP by Sport magazine, claiming a new Corvette for the honor. After the Yankees won the Series, Larsen earned about $35,000 in endorsements and appearances, including $6,000 for being on Bob Hope’s TV show. He spent $1,000 to have plaques made up commemorating the game, awarding them to teammates, umpires, his parents and some close friends. He had his hat, glove and ball from that game silvered and years auctioned them off to pay for his grandson’s college tuition.

Before he could fall to temptation, his father intervened, putting Montes de Oca and his sister in piano class at the age of five. “It kept us away from the streets and the bad stuff that was around us,” he said.

Music did more than keep Montes de Oca out of trouble. He believes it developed the left side of his brain. His curiosity about his roots piqued when he took a Dominican history class. He read about the rich history of the small town of Monte Plata, where his family grew up. But the history and the results didn’t add up.

“In that town there isn’t anything,” said Montes de Oca. “The province is one of the first ones established in this country; you would think it would be one of the most progressive.”

Monte Plata, a small province outside of Santo Domingo, lacks the resources to provide children with hope and opportunity for the future – the same opportunity Montes de Oca had as a child.

“Most kids on the weekend just go to this little small park and they’ll just play music and drink a lot of alcohol,” said Montes de Oca. “There are no activities. Although it’s fun for them now, in the future they’re not really going to do anything. That’s how you don’t progress.”

“We were talking about ideas to help the province,” said Montes de Oca. “My father always wanted to have a school for music.” The conversation ended but the idea planted a seed.

Montes de Oca realized, like father, like son, he now needed to intervene between the past and future with a bold act in the present.

In the summer of 2008 Montes de Oca worked making deliveries for his father’s business. He was listening to New York radio station 1010 WINS when a commercial came on “saying there was this music store in New Jersey going bankrupt and everything was half price,” he remembers. He wrote down the phone number and gave it to his father.

They drove to New Jersey to see for themselves. “When we got there, there were 800 or 900 pianos –expensive pianos,” said Montes de Oca. “The owner was walking by and heard my father talking to the salesman. He explained how he just wanted a couple of small pianos to go to the DR to start a school. The owner loved the story, and he said I’ll give you what we pay for the pianos.”

They walked out with four pianos, a keyboard, a drum set, two trumpets, two violins, two guitars, a bass and a regular guitar. That summer they took the instruments to Monte Plata.

Montes de Oca’s father, who manages a modest real estate business in the DR, used the second floor of one of his properties to house the music center.

“When we first started he went around town and asked different businesses if they could help out,” said Montes de Oca. “Through collections of the small town we’ve managed to pay two professors.”

April 23 marked the one-year anniversary of Ataeneo Enrique Montes de Oca. “It was named after my grandfather,” said Montes de Oca. “He was Enrique Montes de Oca, and Ataeneo is a Spanish word for art and culture.”
The school opened in high demand. Two half-day classes are offered each weekday, operating conveniently around the traditional school hours in the Dominican Republic. More than 200 students of all ages signed up for free music lessons, including 16-year old Isuara Leidy Jimenez.

Born in Monte Plata, Isuara’s parents, Pedro Jimenez and Elida Jimenez, noticed their daughter’s interest in music and art at a very young age. They saved enough money to purchase a small keyboard and a music book so she could learn by herself because they did not have enough money for a teacher.

Isuara has been taking classes at Ateneo Enrique Montes de Oca and has excelled at the piano. Her favorite composers are Mozart, Schubert, Beethoven, Chopin, Vivaldi and Haydn, and her favorite songs are “Chanson de l`adieu” from Chopin, “The Four Seasons” from Vivaldi and “Moonlight Sonata” from Beethoven. Isuara is a great example and role model for the town of Monte Plata.

“These kids don’t know their talents to develop,” said Montes de Oca. “Since education isn’t very good, these kids usually have the mentality they’re not going to do anything. Poverty is so strong that even a college degree doesn’t necessarily mean that you’re gonna be successful. Music, it’s like an escape. I don’t have to live that way; I can do something else.”

Music is a major part of the Dominican culture. Montes de Oca explained Merengue, the cha-cha, even salsa, which has Puerto Rican roots, is a major musical influence in DR culture.

“It’s a big thing as far as our town; we just didn’t have a way to teach music,” he said. “You maybe could have found a keyboard in the whole town. So when my dad came in with the electric pianos that play with touch screen – wow. That’s huge especially for kids.”

In the small town of Monte Plata, where people live day-to-day, Montes de Oca said the free music program made an immediate impact.

But free isn’t truly free. The free program requires financial support to continue to meet the incredible growth and success in its second year.

Montes de Oca’s father continues to pay for local musicians to teach students, rent and new instruments.

“Our problem right now is trying to get more money and finding more teachers,” said Montes de Oca. “We have more students now, and since it’s free, my dad has to pay for things … in the first year it’s been overwhelming, more than we expected … everybody knows about that school now.”

The school recently purchased 12 violins, a saxophone, a trombone and four more guitars.

“My father invited some of the most famous younger musicians in the country,” said Montes de Oca. “The violinist from the national orchestra came twice a week from August to December and taught a group of specially chosen 14 young people that play the violin.”

The group performed for the entire town at the local church last December. “It was packed; it was the first time the town ever had something like that,” said Montes de Oca.

Like father, like son. A musical intervention is changing one life and one small town at a time.

That question was ringing in Dave Padilla’s mind for the 2,249 mile cross country drive from California to South Carolina. But who’s counting?

Last July Padilla accepted a coaching assistant position under Jay Mills. But this was more than a job, more than trading palm trees for Palmetto trees or the sweet vineyards of Napa Valley for sweet tea. He was walking away from his roots, his family and friends. For Padilla, California was home. He grew up first playing, then coaching high school football there.

“That was hard for me; I had a lot of doubts about leaving home,” he said. “I think even more than that was I had no idea what I was getting myself into.”

What are you doing?

“I’ve got a good job at Ventura College. I was going to school at Ventura College,” he debated. “Being a minority I qualified for scholarships into the UC system. So there were opportunities lining up where I wouldn’t have to pay for anything going to a UC school.”

As he drove through Arizona, New Mexico, past Oklahoma and Texas, the question reverberated: What are you doing?

He was a couple long days – and thousands of miles – away from the answer.

Padilla was introduced to Charleston Southern University and head football coach Jay Mills during his stint as director of football operations at Ventura College.

“I’m driving home and I get a call from Jamie Chadwell (former CSU football recruiter),” Padilla remembers. He told Padilla, “Our head coach is in the area.  Are you in your office? Can you help me out?”

Padilla was on his way home. He made a U-turn and went back to the office and waited for Coach Mills.

“In the process of transitioning we started talking about the Christian faith,” said Padilla, who was working for the Fellowship of Christian Athletes (FCA) in Ventura. “I didn’t even know CSU was a Christian university at the time. We started talking about faith and football, and I gave him a brief rundown of how I came to Christ.”

Now that is a story. Padilla was led to Christ by a 14-year old high school freshman student-athlete he coached at Cambrio High School.

“He challenged me as to whether or not I knew God or why I cussed so much,” said Padilla. “I look back now and I realize that there was always something different about him, he wasn’t like other kids on the team.”

He was persistent remembers Padilla, hanging around, coming in the office at lunch time, asking questions, doing different things, always asking Padilla if he wanted to go to church.

“I think I put him up against the wall a couple times because he wouldn’t leave me alone,” Padilla confessed. “I didn’t like him.”

But, Padilla finally gave in. He went to church out of pity for the student. “I felt sorry for him,” said Padilla. “I went, sat there and was ready to go when it was over.” But a bond had already begun to form. Eventually Padilla became one of the church youth leaders without being saved.

On Easter Sunday 2000, without the aid of a persistent teen, Padilla accepted Christ.

Arkansas, Mississippi, cities and small towns are a blur now. Bathroom stops, lunch stops, dinner stops. Just a year earlier moving across the country was not part of the master plan.

“I said after I get my degree I may want to go up to the next level if I can find an opportunity,” said Padilla. “I was going to be content honestly with staying at Ventura College and going to UC Santa Barbara. That was my goal.”

Things change, so do people, especially when you’re following Christ. For Padilla that day was March 9, 2009. The day Coach Mills called.

“I’m a product of Jay Mills,” said Padilla. “He believed in me enough to bring me out here to be a part of this staff and to help me finish school. I don’t buy into this vision because of what he did.

“Coach has a vision for this team, not just to win a championship, but to make better men. The championship is a byproduct of making better men. I bought into the vision because I believe it. Coach Mills is part of the vehicle to help you guys get there.”

What started as a passing conversation had become reality. Padilla accepted the job and on July 6, 2009 he began the long cross country drive. Alabama, Georgia and South Carolina … What are you doing?

“The reality of it is that I’m gaining everything here,” Padilla said. “Had I not given up all there are certain things that I would never have experienced. Spiritually here I’ve been challenged more. I’m growing. God’s challenging me more. I think about the rewards and the relationships I’m building here. I think about the kids that I’ve impacted here. That’s where God wants me right now. I think that’s a great place to be.”

Padilla says his life verse deals with responsibility. It is Titus 2:6-8:

Encourage young men to be self-controlled. In everything set them an example by doing what is good. In your teaching show integrity, seriousness and soundness of speech that cannot be condemned, so that those who oppose you may be ashamed because they have nothing bad to say about us.

“He is preparing me for something,” said Padilla, who added Jeremiah 29:11 comes to mind: For I know the plans I have for you. Plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future.

What are you doing?

Padilla is at peace. He is now singing, confessing he walks around campus humming the song It Is Well with My Soul.

Peace, at last.

They pulled into a community carrying the first-ever Living Water Treatment System on the back of a pickup truck.

The system, constructed of plywood, treated lumber and a 55-gallon water drum, was designed and built by the staff at General Engineering Laboratories. Its purpose: to supply temporary access to sustainable, safe, clean water to a developing country.

They parked near a small mud house, beside a small creek. Greene decided this would be the place to set up the system. They could use the creek to pull and generate clean water.

People began to gather and watch as the missions team constructed the unit. Within a couple of hours the system was assembled and ready for operation.

The team, none more than Greene, were anxious. He thought to himself, “I hope this thing works?”

By this time the whole town became bystanders, watching as this small group of Americans shuttled up and down the embankment, connecting hoses, twisting levers, tightening bolts and screws to and from this Rube Goldberg-like machine.

“We cranked it up and low and behold crystal clear water starts coming out,” remembers Greene. “We were more excited than the townspeople.”

But there was a problem.

“Nobody would drink it,” said Greene. “We hadn’t noticed but it turned out that the name of that creek we were pulling water from was called the River of Death. Kids were told to stay away from it and nobody would go near it.”

A Pentecostal pastor, who was at the scene and witnessed the reaction, began talking to the people of the town. He told the crowd, “These people have come to us with a gift and this was a gift from God. They are taking water from the River of Death and turning it into Living Water. You don’t need to be afraid of the River of Death anymore.”

Still, there was some hesitation. “We had to drink the water to convince them it was OK,” said Greene. The Honduras community couldn’t believe their eyes. They watched as Greene and the GEL staff started gulping down cups of water from the River of Death.

“They just started praying and hand-raising, it was just an incredible experience,” remembers Greene. “You knew you changed a paradigm.”

The moment is etched in Greene’s memory. It is a mental snapshot of the vision that the Greene’s had since September 30, 2000. It is the essence of what is known today as Water Missions International, the faith-based nonprofit organization in West Ashley.

In the Fall of 2000, two years after their missions trip to Honduras, Greene and his wife Molly had grown discontent. General Engineering Laboratories – or GEL – opened its doors in 1982. It was a leader in the industry, specializing in environmental consulting and water quality testing. Business was flourishing.

But it wasn’t about money or business, it was about purpose. On that Saturday in September George and Molly Greene went searching for answers.

“We spent the day on the back porch with three books: The Bible, a book called Halftime and a book called Deep Change,” said Greene, who used the books as reference. “Molly and I came in not really knowing what we needed to accomplish … we committed to talk and pray our way through it to get the Lord’s guidance. By the end of the day, it was clear he was telling us to shift our focus from environmental issues in the United States to the global water crisis.”

Nearly three years after Hurricane Mitch battered Honduras, and GEL responded, Water Missions International was born.

The seed was first planted on October 22, 1998, the day Hurricane Mitch ripped through Honduras. Greene was driving back from a meeting in Atlanta, listening to the word pictures of destruction on the radio. He knew almost nothing about Honduras and, in all honesty, serving the country wasn’t a concept that particularly interested Greene.

“When [Hurricane] Mitch hit Honduras, I felt the Lord was saying to me, ‘you need to do something,” said Greene. “ But I have a tendency, when the Lord says ‘go do something,’ I try and negotiate,” said Greene.

But Greene felt a spiritual tug. He knew he needed to make an effort.

When he returned to Charleston, Greene went back to his office and sent an email to the one person he knew who lived in Honduras: the Bishop of Honduras. Greene offered his support and asked how he could help. Not thinking he could offer much more than money or supply donations, Greene was surprised the next morning when, in his email inbox there was a reply. The bishop specifically requested – not money, not food, not clothing – but six drinking water units.

Greene was shocked by the promptness of the response and the specificity. Again, he was being nudged spiritually, this time with a distinct, express request. The message was now crystal clear.

But another hurdle emerged. Until then, GEL was a consulting business. They did not produce drinking water systems. So, Greene made some phone calls only and learned the systems available would not fit their needs or were too expensive. It was back to the drawing board – literally. Greene and the GEL staff began working feverishly, attempting to design a custom water system solution for the people of Honduras.

“I call it an adult science fair project,” says Greene. The staff at GEL was working on the system during their lunch breaks, in free time, in the evening. “People were so excited about it, morale went through the roof,” said Greene. “There was really just a buzz around the building. It was a really neat experience.”

Within a week, the team of engineers at GEL had designed a functional water drinking system.

While the system was being constructed, Molly Greene (George Greene’s wife) was organizing a transportation effort to get the systems from South Carolina to Honduras. Within a few short weeks, Greene, 17 members of the GEL staff, 50 tons of supplies and six water systems boarded a C5 at the Charleston Air Force Base and headed for Ground Zero: Honduras.

“There was still bodies floating in the rivers, it was terrible,” remembers Greene. “The roads were washed out. Honduras is the second poorest country in the Western hemisphere to begin with. So it was a pretty dismal place.”

The team spent Thanksgiving week of 1998 in Honduras setting up water systems. They slept on tables at the military base in Honduras. “That was a great Thanksgiving,” remembers Greene.

It was the beginning of what would evolve into Water Missions International. The first system was not as refined as today’s, it was only designed to last six weeks, a temporary solution. Today’s Living Water Treatment System has been revised 12 times.

A full system takes an estimated 40 man hours to design, all from volunteer efforts. In a large warehouse in West Ashley, like clockwork, volunteers design, test, disassemble and package the Living Water Treatment Systems for shipment. The process is refined and efficient. Today, the complete system is packaged with all the treatment materials, including tools to assemble. In fact, Water Missions International has begun testing solar-powered systems, the next evolution of technology. The first two are scheduled to be deployed in Haiti and Uganda before 2008.

According to Water Missions International volunteer coordinator Christy Witcher, the non profit has a database of 220 volunteers designing water treatment systems year round.

“We have a lot of regular volunteers, who know what they’re doing and they have a regular day,” said Witcher. “We have new volunteers who cycle in and each week we have one volunteer orientation session [30 minutes], then they sign up for their first day and then its one-the-job training from there.”

“When church groups and volunteers come in here and work, it’s a very humbling experience,” said Greene. “It says to me that they believe in what we’re doing.”

Today, 343 Living Water Treatment Systems are serving nearly one million people around the world according to Danya Jordan, the vice president of Development for Water Missions International. The nonprofit organization has installed water systems in 28 countries, including Indonesia, Sri Lanka, Uganda, Kenya, Haiti, Iraq, Peru, Singapore, Belize, Mozambique, Thailand, Turkey, Rwanda, Ecuador, Dominican Republic, El Salvador – and the Gulf Coast of the United States.

But the numbers are still lob-sided, so much so, they frankly leave you breathless: 20 percent of the world’s population lacks access to water (“Access is defined, not by going in to your kitchen and turning a tap on, but having to walk less than one kilometer to a source of clean water,” says Greene). 2.4 billion people lack access to sanitation.

“There is no sewage treatment in developing countries – or it’s rare,” Greene added. “Waste water treatment is, at best, being collected in the home, through a pipe and discharged into the rivers. That is killing the rivers, there’s no life, they’re muddy, cess pools and that’s what people are using for water and that’s why they’re dying.”

25,000 people die every day.

Greene drives home that number, saying, “So, if we talk for an hour, 1,000 people are going to die.”

Water is essential for life. People can survive for up to two months without food, but die within three days without water.

“The tragedy of it is … it doesn’t have to be,” says Greene. “We’re not dealing with an incurable disease here. There is virtually no contaminant known to man that we don’t have the technology to remove. There’s no water source anywhere in the world that can’t be made drinkable.”

Water Missions International is realistic about the process. Greene realizes his team of 12 full-time employees, four satellite offices and some 220 volunteers who build the systems are just a link in the chain. It will take a massive community effort to accomplish the goal.

“This isn’t going to happen single-handedly by a little non-profit organization operating out of the back of a church in Charleston, South Carolina,” said Greene. “I see this huge, messy network. I describe it as ‘a spider web of organizations.’ Water Missions may be at the hub or it may be on the rim, I don’t know? If you can picture the nods of a spider web, they’re all connected. Some of them are vendors, some of them are country programs, some are governments. That begins to multiply pretty fast.”

Water Missions International has a simple, two-fold mission: one, to provide treatment systems and two, to share their faith in the process. It sounds simple enough, but in the nonprofit world, politics sometimes get in the way of progress.

“I feel a sense of frustration because I find us dealing with things that are, what I would classify as bureaucratic,” said Greene. “While people are dying we’re sitting here arguing or debating about, is what we’re doing going to pass tax codes? I find that very frustrating.”

It may frustrate Greene, even wear him down at times, but it doesn’t stop him. As a matter of fact, it drives the organization to succeed. Greene doesn’t care for the word can’t, as in, “that can’t be done.”

He has photographic proof refuting the idea. It’s a image that hangs on the office wall, in the hallway at Water Missions International. In it, Johann Nietsch, the country missions director in Uganda standing with a small group of Ugandans. The man on the left drinks a brown liquid, it looks like ice tea but it’s Uganda’s drinking water. The man on the right drinks of crystal clear water treated by the Living Water Treatment System.

“The people there who saw it said there was just a look of disbelief, they started dancing and started crying and laughing … all the emotions just came out at once,” said Greene. “When you’re in the field and you set up a system and you see that dirty water come out clean, and you see the looks on those peoples face, it’s the first time they’ve ever seen clean water.”

It’s those experiences, those moments, that renew the vision and keep the dream alive for Greene and the staff at Water Missions International.

“It’s the only diploma I have in my office,” said Savage. “You won’t see a high school diploma, a college diploma, law school diploma, bar, anything.”

The New York cabbie title is but a dot on Savage’s resume, a little-known fact, but a prevailing explanation as to why and how Savage became Charleston’s most-recognized and successful defense attorney.

“That was great training for me – seriously,” said Savage. “What I deal with essentially is people, their feelings, their emotions. People in cabs have crisis too and on the way to the airport they may tell you their whole life story. If you listen, people tell you the most intimate details of their lives. It really helped me learn the minds and emotions of people. 31 years after graduating law school I’m still being helped by what I learned driving a cab.”

Savage has since mastered the art of communication, and in his profession, that means interacting and understanding addicts, criminals, and a variety of interesting and delinquent characters.

“The most difficult cases in getting to that core are the addiction cases,” said Savage. “You wouldn’t believe who we’ve represented in drug addiction cases – politicians, clerics, rabbis, doctors, lawyers, it’s not who you think, some street kid on the East Side. It’s much more prevalent than that … housewives, educators, nurses, the list just goes on and on. Those alcohol and drug addiction are really tough to cut through.”

Despite his reputation, Savage’s work does not have the sex appeal one might think. The high profile cases that define Savage’s public image are just a small slice of a larger, grittier daily push through reality. Believe it or not, Savage prefers it that way. In fact, his practice is designed that way.

“The law practice is not a business enterprise,” said Savage. “You get a DUI, you pay a lawyer $500 and you get off. I don’t view the practice that way. It’s more encompassing. If someone comes to me with a legal problem, I want to see what that legal problem is a manifestation of, because I don’t want return business – and I mean that.

“The goal is to help them with their legal problem but the primary goal is to help them with their health. Whether it’s a drug addiction specialist, whatever, there has to be a component of that or we don’t want to represent you.”

Savage said in cases where addiction and behavioral issues are involved, representation on the legal level – or the “legal engagement” – only exists if the client agrees to submit to necessary psychological evaluations, drug screenings and post-legal mental health programs.

“I don’t recall in recent years a client that I haven’t sent to a psychiatrist or psychologist because it’s not just what I can do, it’s what these experts can do to assist me and assist the client on where we are,” Savage said.

But that exercise often uncovers deeper wounds. Addiction is littered with baggage: anxiety, anger and depression. Each addiction comes with its own unique hurdles. Some Savage understands, even indentifies with. Some he doesn’t. Some he’d prefer to avoid altogether.

“You get down to their essence,” said Savage. “They’re human beings, and what I try to do, is make an attachment, a communication attachment. Sometimes that’s very difficult. There have been people that I’ve represented that it was hard for me to represent them but I had to overcome that to represent them and represent them well.”

The legal field can make anyone jaded, if you see it, hear it and live it long enough. It’s an emotional rollercoaster. Compassion is replaced by callousness. You can lose your hopes, your passion, your beliefs and your soul. Savage knows that – now.

But he had no idea in 1972, the year he joined the Air Force, the significance of the decision. Calling it “one of the most enjoyable experiences of my life,” Savage again connected the dots, tracing his past to his present. It all makes sense – now. His military training, much like his summer job as a cabbie, paid dividends.

“This business can be skeptical about human behavior, if you allow it too,” Savage said. “Doing what I do all day long I’ve gotta have something to keep me grounded. The Air Force kept me balanced. It kept me grounded.”

But Savage has learned to compartmentalize those cases, instead focusing on his legal responsibility. “Everybody I represent is a human – everyone, and they all have human frailties, some worse than others,” Savage explained. “Some were within their control and some were out of their control; by birth, by education, by employment, by bad luck, by addiction, whatever that is, the moving forces in their life.”

How does Savage communicate with those suffering addiction?

“Sometimes, I don’t,” said Savage. “Sometimes it’s a loss. In these cases you have to go into knowing there’s going to be failure and failure is not a word attorney’s like, but you have to accept that there are going to be cases where they fall down. People I’ve represented have literally gone back to jail because they didn’t follow through on those commitments.”

It sounds great on paper, and even better when it comes in a serious tone from Savage, but leaves you wondering if it falls flat into the “too-good-to-be-true” category. But Savage passed the litmus test as he pointed to a large corkboard above his computer. On it, dozens of photos, all past clients –addicts, criminals, you name it – all who have overcome their personal demons, persevered and become productive citizens with Savage’s assistance personally and professionally. It’s a testimony to Savage’s work.

The addict, those who fall to DUI or drug charges, come in all shapes, sizes, colors and professions. But often, they are private citizens, who fly under the media’s radar, falling short of the high profile clients that Savage has represented – like Al Parish.

Parish, the economist and former Charleston Southern University professor, is currently charged with 10 counts of investment fraud and has been the headline story for local media over the last six weeks. His legal defense team: Andy Savage.

The media frenzy and public intrigue have centered on Parish’s assets. A long list of exotic collectibles from Red Skelton paintings, Jimi Hendrix guitars, gold-encrusted watches, expensive Montblanc pens, cartoon art and comic books.

Savage scoffs at the public’s curiosity regarding Parish’s private, eccentric lifestyle, exotic collectibles and claim of amnesia. His legal mind refuses to buy into the ancillary elements presented by the media in the Parish case. “I’m a very skeptical guy when it comes to that,” said Savage, “because I know what the public is interested in.”

The claims of amnesia by Parish have been another unique obstacle for Savage. “I’m not a physician but it appears to me a lot of his medical problems were induced by fear, what’s to come, and the stress,” said Savage, when asked about Parish’s health.

As Parish battles to regain his mental health, Savage finds himself in a difficult situation as the highly anticipated court case draws near. “Where I wanted to be three weeks ago, I haven’t started yet,” said Savage. “Next week I’ll be four weeks behind … and this isn’t good because I tend to think – now I haven’t reviewed all the evidence and I haven’t been given any evidence by the government – but I tend to think there were other professionals were involved in some capacity, I just haven’t figured out what capacity yet.

“I’m not saying that excuses his conduct,” continued Savage, “but he may not be the sole person responsible for this.”

Parish’s unstable medical condition has not helped his defense. When asked if Parish has been any help to himself in regards of communicating any information in preparation for his own defense, Savage answered, “No, none, not a bit, zero.”

[Part 2 of two-part story]

Andy Savage still gets butterflies when he goes to trial.

It wouldn’t be such a surprise if the Charleston defense attorney were a newbie. But that’s far from the case. Savage is a 31-year veteran with a long, successful track record.

In 1981 Savage went into private practice. Soon after, everything changed when he was hired to represent a prominent local banker accused of child molestation. Within days Savage’s face and name were plastered all over Lowcountry televisions sets and in the newspaper.

“That case taught me a lot of lessons, least of which was this pre-judgment by the press,” said Savage. “I’m not knocking the press when I say this, but its just fact. It was an unfounded charge. Not only was it unfounded, they identified who the perpetrator was and it wasn’t him.

“Particularly in child molestation (cases), when they throw that charge against you, it stinks and it sticks. And no matter how innocent you are, you may get the sticker off but the stink stays.”

When his client was acquitted of the charges, Savage took it upon himself to see the same public justice was given to his client, a reversal of the public smearing his name and reputation took. In defense, Savage spoke out, contacting the media.

“There is an assumption of guilt and when he was acquitted it was important for me to get the word out that somebody else was charged, because the newspaper didn’t do that,” Savage continued. “They dropped it somewhere behind some obituary inside the paper.”

Media Man

The court of public opinion tagged Savage’s client guilty – as charged. The front page media headlines and the “assumption of guilt” frustrated Savage. It also gave him a better understanding of the power of the media.

Savage believes that case, followed by a steady string of high profile murder cases, was what propelled him into the media spotlight.

“It gives you instant credibility,” said Savage. “Not celebrity but credibility. Because if I’ve been in someone’s home when they’re eating breakfast or dinner and I’m on the news, and they allow me to be with them during the most intimate times of their lives, in their homes … those people come up to you on the street – and that’s credibility. So when they go into the courtroom as jurors, I got a leg up, because they know me. In their minds, there’s that relationship, so there’s a credibility that arises from that familiarity which I think is helpful.”

In 1994, Savage’s media presence reached new heights. It was the year of the O.J. Simpson trial. Savage found himself part of a daily segment on Live 5 News giving his expert legal opinion on the most-watched legal proceeding in American history.

Andy Savage was becoming a household name in the Lowcountry.

The experience was an education for Savage, who recalls being terrified when the cameras were on. “I used to sit on Talkback and Warren Peper would interview me. When I’d get up there’d be a puddle of nervous sweat,” explained Savage, mimicking the way he’d fold his hands on the desk. “Honest to God there was. I could stand in front of juror’s everyday and it didn’t bother me a bit. But that camera, I was absolutely terrified.”

As the Simpson trial dragged on, the work began taking its toll on Savage. He realized the media commitment was beginning to dominate his time, while the line between lawyer and media expert were beginning to blur. “It was exhaustive,” said Savage. “I couldn’t run a practice and continue that. The other thing is I didn’t want to be identified as a TV guy, I’m a lawyer.”

Defending the so-called enemy

Ali Al-Mari graduated from the University of Illinois in the Spring of 2001. After a brief celebration in his homeland of Saudi Arabia, Al-Mari, his wife and five children boarded a plane bound for the United States on September 10, 2001.

Within 24 hours Al-Mari would morph from American citizen to terrorist threat. After the events of 9-11 Al-Mari was on a long list of Arab-Americans under the microscope of the United States government. Government security and a general sense of paranoia in the States wreaked havoc on Al-Mari’s actions.

In December 2001 he was arrested and placed in solitary confinement on criminal charges of suspicious credit card activity. The government confiscated Al-Mari’s computer and found suspicious transactions. Ironically, he was arrested and transported to New York and was housed just blocks from where the World Trade Center terrorist attacks unfolded.

In June 2003, when the case returned to Illinois, Al-Mari was scheduled to appear for a motions hearing on the “suppression of evidence.” According to Savage, just as the hearing was set to convene, the charges were “dismissed with prejudice” and Al-Mari was transported to Charleston and declared an enemy combatant.

Savage speculates about what actually took place. One theory involves admitted 9-11 mastermind Khalid Sheik Muhammed – or “KSM” as Savage refers to him. Savage believes Muhammed’s de-briefing may be the key to Al-Mari’s case.

“KSM recently testified at his military tribunal that he was tortured,” theorized Savage. “KSM has admitted expansive misconduct on his own part, terrorist conduct on his own part. He’s also retracted information that he said about somebody unknown. Based on what’s he retracted and what Al Mari’s been accused of I assume, but I don’t know this, that KSM is saying he lied under torture about this guy [Al-Mari]. Which is very important and it’s why I think he’s not charged. It’s all speculation, I don’t know what happened.”

To date, no evidence has been produced to officially charge Al-Mari, who is being detained under the controversial Military Commission Act of 2006. According to the written law, the President has absolute power to imprison a person indefinitely without being charged, in essence, removing the Constitutional due process right of habeas corpus.

By their actions, not documentation, the United States government believes Al-Mari is a member of Al Qaeda, making him a threat to the country. But without evidence, no one knows what to think of Al-Mari.

The closest person to a true understanding would be Savage. No one, including family, has communicated with Al-Mari more than Savage since he was originally detained five-and-a-half years ago in Illinois.

The obvious question now surfaces: Does Savage believe Al-Mari is a terrorist?

“I don’t know,” said Savage. “That term terrorist defines a lot of ground, it’s so expansive. I can tell you my relationship with him is very good. I trust him. I think he’s telling me the truth. I have no reason to doubt him. I’ve seen him through five-and-a-half years of isolation and solitary confinement. I’m his only contact.”

Savage is quick to point out his concerns. “Because he’s been isolated – and that term is important to me – solitary means locked up in your own cell, at least you have a guy next to you or a guard comes and talks to you or you speak to family on the phone,” Savage explains. “He’s had no contact with his family, the outside world, except Andy Savage, the other lawyers and the ICRC, since he’s been locked up as an enemy combatant. The fear I have is that of Stockholm syndrome, he’s identified me as his lifelink to the world and I worry about that.”

Savage claims Al-Mari was tortured “in a subtle way” while in isolation. Unlike the psychological torture that accompanies isolation, Al-Mari was “sensory-deprived,” a deliberate, almost slow motion form of mind game.

“The guards had their military uniforms covered in tape so he couldn’t read their names, he had the earmuffs and goggles everywhere he went, in his cell he didn’t have anything soft, it was either concrete or metal, from 10pm-5am he got a thin mattress to sleep on, no sheets, they turned the temperature down, he was cold at night, he was shaking the whole time, the guards would take away his toilet paper and shut off his water,” explained Savage.

“They put a fan outside his cell, they’d turn it on and it was driving him crazy. Not from the wind – but from the noise. He got so bad, when they were tarring the roof he thought in his mind they had some kind of gas they were putting on him because of the smell. The psychiatrist and psychologist were telling us this was all part of isolation, how you start to go wacky.”

The description of torture prompts Savage to rebuffs any potential speculation of his clients handling. “I am absolutely, 100% convinced that the staff at the brig is terrific,” said Savage. “The torture, if you will, that I described was not at their direction. They were carrying out the DIA’s intention to break him. As a guy who was in the Air Force I can’t tell you how proud I am, not on the level of representing Al-Mari, but on a different human level that I was a member of the military. They have treated him over the last two years with absolute respect.”

Savage first met Ali Al-Mari in October 2004. Al-Mari had been in isolation for 16 months.

“When we went to see him for the first time, three lawyers went and I call it ‘the three-butt wide room,” Savage described. The three attorneys sat on a small steel stool, Savage sat to the right, his right butt cheek off the side, hip against the wall. The second attorney sat centered on the stool and the third to the left with his right butt cheek off the seat and hip to the wall.

The attorney’s were de-briefed before they entered the room. They were given specific parameters about what they could discuss with Al-Mari. No one was allowed to take notes. Savage sat under the electric eye of security, every move and sound was being recorded by a Defense Intelligence Analyst (DIA) representative monitored the conversation.

Al-Mari, separated by tinted plexi-glass, untouchable and unseen, sat just feet away from his lawyers. “He’s shackled, belly-chained and chained to the floor, so there’s no movement,” recalls Savage. “It was the first time he’d met with his lawyers. It was a real strange experience for us.”

In 31 years of practice Savage sees the outcome of the case as having more encompassing ramifications than any other case he’s worked on in the past. “He’s an enemy combatant, the only one in the United States that’s housed in the United States,” said Savage. “It’s a very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very important case, not only legally but for America, who we are and what we stand for.”

Since that first meeting in October 2004 the relationship between Savage and Al-Mari has evolved into a friendship – or as much of a friendship as one could imagine between attorney and client.

“I know this is going to sound very strange to you, and you asked me about communications, you wouldn’t believe the communication I have with him,” said Savage. “You wouldn’t believe it. The concept of him is of a terrorist. I have developed a very unique relationship with him as the people at the brink will tell you.”

Savage begins choosing his words with extra care when describing his interaction with his client.

“I have to be very careful about that,” he says. “It’s a very fine line and I’ve talked openly with the other lawyers about it. You have to remain objective. I have to accept, in terms of my dealings with Al-Mari, that the United States government thinks he’s a member of Al Quada. If I think of him as a friendly guy that’s just been mistakenly arrested, then I’m not going to be a very good lawyer. I’ve got to keep focused on the fact that his legal problem is that he’s an identified illegal Al Quada operative and I’ve got to separate and compartmentalize that compassion for him.

“I have gotten to know him as a human being that I never anticipated,” said Savage. “I would never, ever have would have projected that relationship. Now I have to be careful, because I don’t want to be a fool and I’d like to think I’m not being made a fool.”

Savage admits he slips occasionally, drifting from attorney to friend when dealing with Al-Mari. “When I go out there we don’t talk about his legal case,” said Savage. “We talk about family, we talk about religion, we talk about Mecca … I am his lawyer but 99.9% of what I talk about is not legal matters, so that’s where you’ve gotta be careful.”

Savage parses his personal and professional feelings on the Al-Mari subject, in a self reassuring way, explaining and justifying his feeling out loud.

“As an American, as a member of a larger world community, it helps me feel better about the world because if he is who he says he is and he is, don’t take me wrong, but that makes me feel better,” he said. “That means no matter how crazy the world is, how bad this war is, no matter how many people get killed on either side, there’s a breakthrough. Now that may seem very idealistic but if Ali Al-Mari and I can communicate and enjoy each other’s company and he would come to my table, at my house if he were able or I could go to his house, then nothing is impossible. I’m not sure that’s realistic but in my little narrow view of the world, I’m comforted by that.”

Seacoast pastor Greg Surratt

Last month, when Time magazine published private letters from Mother Theresa, letters confessing her doubts about God and His existence, unlike so many who were bewildered, Seacoast Church senior pastor Greg Surratt understood.

“I think we all have doubts at times, at various levels,” said Surratt. “One of the things I have learned to do is doubt my doubts. A lot of times when you have a thought, it may be a doubting thought, a negative thought, if you continue to think it or affirm it, it becomes a part of history, this must be truth. So I challenge myself to doubt the doubts, doubt the negative thoughts.”

When Surratt steps outside his faith he also understands the affect the letters’ could have on the un-churched, those without faith – and some believers, too. The letters could psych someone right out of their faith.

“It can rattle your faith,” he said. “There are some people who have their faith in people like Mother Theresa or a leader in faith and when they hear a leader [have doubts], they say that’s terrible. No, that’s human. For me personally, it takes less faith for me to believe there is a God and who He is, than it does for me not to believe.”

Surratt, 51, was raised in a Christian home and he solidified his faith on the spiritual writings of Josh McDowell and C.S. Lewis. But early on he built his faith on “the one event in history that for me was the solidifying fact that there was a God.”

That event: The Resurrection, the very heart of Christianity.

“Jesus rose from the dead, and if He did, then He’s God,” says Surratt. “Eleven of the 12 guys that were with him, all but one of them died martyrs deaths. Very few people are willing to die for the truth. That’s the basis of my faith, so when I begin to doubt, I doubt my doubts and go back and re-examine my basis for my faith.”

Surratt recently confronted incertitude himself, doubts that stand symbolically at Seacoast in the form of two ten-foot wooden prayer crosses balancing each end of the platform of Seacoast Church. To Surratt the crosses are God-inspired and a daily reminder of his personal life verse, Galatians 6:9: “Let us not become weary in doing good, for at the proper time we will reap a harvest if we do not give up.”

“I reached a congruence of a lot of things in my life, turning 50 and all that entails, the regular wear-and-tear, wondering if my time of effectiveness done,” said Surratt. “And, then wondering is that even a good thought to have?

“It led me to a time of ‘in the fog,’ [a time] of chaos and confusion. Feeling like you’re in the fog and going back to the Scriptures [and telling yourself], OK, keep doing good, keep doing good, keep doing good, with the temptation being – bail.”

Those feelings set Surratt on a on a six-month journey in search of renewal, one that had the pastor flirting with the idea of, in his words, “packing it in.” But the journey eventually led Surratt on a mission trip to Scotland where he had a life-altering experience that changed him and the lives of those attending Seacoast.

In the early morning hours on a bitter cold, rainy and windy Winter day Surratt boarded a ferry for the Island of Iona, a short aquatic shuttle off the shores of Scotland, a place George MacLeod, a minister and founder of the community, once described as a “thin place – only a tissue paper separating the material from the spiritual.”

On the island Surratt visited one of Scotland’s most historic sites, The Abbey. This revered monastery is the burial place of early Scottish kings. The setting was inspiring as Surratt watched a scenario unfold before him.

“I saw a lady sitting in this little room and there was a cross made of sticks. Pinned to it were little pieces of paper and she was crying,” he said. “Just she and I were in there, she didn’t even know I was there. I felt God was in this place — this dark, desolate place. It felt desolate, how I was feeling in this fog. I thought … God is here.”

Surratt sat and prayed. When she left he walked to the room where the woman was sitting and read the prayer requests she had pinned to the cross. He wept.

In May 2006 Surratt was back at Seacoast leading a worship service but his purpose still felt unclear. “In seasons, you always plant before you harvest,” he said. “In between there’s always a gap. The gap time was challenging. It was a tough time to keep getting up, doing my job, doing the same thing. I’m just going to be obedient and faithful.”

Moments later, his steadfast faith paid off.

The gap was bridged.

Surratt recalls “sitting in the sound booth after the message and I felt God speak to me. He said, ‘you’ve been on a pursuit of me and it’s not just for you but for this church. My purpose for you hasn’t ended. If you will allow the people to respond to me, then they’ll experience my presence like you have.”

On Sunday, June 17, 2006 – Father’s Day – Surratt shared his journey. “I said we’re going to change how we worship here,” he said. “I said we’re going to let you respond and God said if I will, people will connect with Him.”

The crosses are now a signature part of the Seacoast experience.

At the close of the weekly message, Surratt pauses briefly and sends an invitation to respond. Moments later the Seacoast worship team begins to sing, some heads bow in prayer, others take communion or light a candle, while others line up and scribble notes, some a single word, and pin them to a cross.

By 12:30pm, on any given Sunday at Seacoast, the cross is pin-punched with prayer requests — a snapshot captured right off the Isle of Iona.

GROWING PAINS

Seacoast Church is on the cusp of celebrating 20 years of serving the Lowcountry. Attendance is at an all-time high. In a weekend it’s estimated 8,000-10,000 people will worship in a Seacoast venue that, as of the last weekend in September, includes 10 campuses across South and North Carolina and Georgia. But it hasn’t always been this successful, this well received, this consistent.

In February 1988 the original Seacoast 12 organized a meeting at East Ridge apartment complex and posed the question: “If there weren’t any rules in how we do church, what would we like to be?,” said Surratt. “We decided we would be a church for un-churched people. We tried to figure out how we could reach out to un-churched people and have them become fully devoted followers of Christ. We figured out we could do both.”

By April, Seacoast was ready – or so they thought. The first service was held in the former Carmike Cinema 3 (which now stands as a car dealership) on Johnnie Dodds Boulevard in Mount Pleasant. The results were promising. An estimated 350 attended the first weekend according to Surratt. “There was a nursery in one, children in the other and adults in the third one,” remembers Surratt. “Our biggest nightmare was keeping the gummy bears out of the kids mouths, they found on the floor. It was awful.”

It took Seacoast five years before they resurrected the success of that opening weekend said Surratt. As a matter of fact, attendance dropped to 150 and hovered around that modest total for five years.

“We went through a process of figuring out who we are and being faithful in the little things,” Surratt explained. Seacoast had a clear mission but struggled to find a comfortable niche, a unique voice. The church went through a trial-and-error stage in the early years, creating some inconsistency.

In the early years Seacoast was influenced by Willow Creek Baptist Church in Chicago, a nationally recognized, cutting edge, contemporary church. “The pastor at Willow Creek is Bill Hybels. He’s very gifted, talented,” says Surratt. “He said there’s a lot of Willow Creek clones up a creek without a Hybels (laughing). We were probably one of those.”

In 1993, after moving from the movie theatre and James B. Edwards Elementary School, Seacoast finally settled in at their current home on Long Point Road in Mount Pleasant. That’s about the same time all the hard work began paying off.

GROWING UP — AND OUT

Attendance took off, creating new, more creative problems for the church. By 2001, Seacoast had simply outgrown their facility. But hope was in the offing. Church leaders had a plan in place to expand but pressure from city and traffic zoning laws, the expansion fell through.

“Confusion and chaos, that’s the story of my life,” said Surratt. “The only thing I’ve done really well is not quit. To be honest with you, if you asked me what I’ve done well the only thing I’ve done well is not quit.”

The decision temporarily stunted the churchs growth and momentum. The city’s decision to deny the site expansion forced Seacoast to start thinking creatively. “I heard that Willow Creek was going to do some experiments with an off-site campus,” Surratt recalls. “Then I heard about a church in Rockford, Illinois that didn’t even have a senior pastor, they just had videos.”

On a Saturday afternoon Surratt and Byron Davis, the former CEO of Fisher-Price now a volunteer member of the Seacoast marketing team, boarded a flight to San Diego to get the first hand experience of church by video. “Really, it wasn’t very good but there were 500 people there and they were enjoying it,” he said.

After the service, Surratt and Davis were on a red eye flight to Chicago. “We rented a car, drove over to Rockford, changed clothes in their bathroom and went to the video service,” remembers Surratt. “I actually felt good, that was actually a good experience.” After driving to Wheaton, Illinois where Willow Creek had “just started a campus and they had everything on video … they had 300-400 people there. So we flew home and said let’s try this, I think we can do this.”

By Monday, Surratt was back in Charleston and announced to the staff, Seacoast would test market a video campus, an idea that went over like a lead balloon.

“That’s about the most stupid idea I’ve ever heard in my entire life,” said Geoff Surratt, Greg’s brother and teaching pastor at Seacoast. “I don’t like watching television preachers for one and two, why would I want to be in a room full of people watching you?”

Greg’s response: “I told him, you know you’re probably right. So you’re in charge, figure it out and make it work (laughing).”

Seacoast went on to launch their first video campus, The Annex, a modest, corner building located less than a mile from the church’s home site on Long Point Road in January 2002 and Geoff Surratt has since co-written a book titled The Multi-Site Church Revolution: Being One Church … In Many Locations.

A TRUE CHALLENGE

The idea of video campus churches was considered a novelty just five years ago. Now there are literally thousands of video campuses across the country. The idea has exploded and churches of all denominations have adopted the concept, with Seacoast among the first, now with 10 video campuses.

The challenge reached new heights in the Fall of 2006 when Seacoast starting discussing where to plant its next campus. The topic quickly evolved into a conversation about North Charleston, one of the most dangerous cities in South Carolina – and the country.

No one on the Seacoast staff was more familiar with what is happening in North Charleston than pastor Sam Lesky.

“I grew up in a working class neighborhood, I know the dynamics, I’ve been involved with drugs, the alcohol, dealing drugs, all that stuff,” said Lesky, a Camden, New Jersey transplant. “I know where I went wrong. I went wrong in middle school, when mom and dad were at work and there’s a lot of trouble on the streets.

“I get more excited if a guy comes to me, whose life is messed up and is looking for a way out. That’s who I want to share Christ with, that’s who I want to pour into.”

Seacoast knew if they were going to North Charleston they would need to be educated by the best. So, before he had a chance to say no, Surratt put Lesky and a team from Seacoast on a plane headed for Los Angeles to visit the Dream Center, a volunteer-driven, non-profit Christian-based outreach program that reaches over 40,000 inner city residents each month.

“When we got there we were blown away,” said Lesky. “The Dream Center is in West Hollywood off Sunset Boulevard in a bad neighborhood. We did adopt-a-block when we were there [Los Angeles] and I just happened to be on a team that was on the Watts projects.”

Lesky boarded a bus with the Dream Center staff and headed into one of the most notorious areas for violent crime in Los Angeles. At 11 a.m. Lesky was part of the team that climbed off the Dream Center bus to lines of homeless people, waiting with bags open for food.

“We went and knocked on doors and asked people, how can we serve?” said Lesky. There is an unspoken rule in Watts, you don’t go knocking on doors without knowing who’s on the other side. “Driving in on that bus was bad enough … and the bus just drops you,” said Lesky. “You could see gang members, but they don’t mess with you because they know you’re there to help.”

Following a six-week, $150,000 renovation blitz that included hundreds of volunteers, Seacoast opened their North Charleston campus on Sunday, September 9 with 589 people in attendance over two services. The campus is located on Remount Road in partnership with New Life Assembly Church and features a 14-piece worship team and a true multi-cultural experience.

Adopt-a-Block launches in North Charleston on October 6. The concept is simple: a volunteer group adopts a block and serves the block exclusively, building relationships by investing in the people living on the block.

“This takes Seacoast into a new territory and makes us servants and missionaries,” said Lesky.

KEEPING THE MOVEMENT ALIVE

No Lowcountry community needs the help more than North Charleston, ranked among the Top 20 most dangerous cities in America (see North Charleston police chief Jon Zumalt). For Seacoast to drop anchor it would take vision, courage and understanding.

Surratt and Lesky are re-energized by the new campus.

“I’ve done a lot of reading about what it takes for people to stay passionate about what they do,” said Surratt. “In the secular realm they talk about reinventing, that you have to reinvent your business or reinvent yourself. In the spiritual realm it’s [being] reinvigorated by the Holy Spirit. I think starting new campuses takes us back to our original core.”

It’s First Wednesday, Seacoast’s monthly praise and worship service. After 30 minutes of high-energy worship music Surratt walks up the platform and sits center stage on a stool and explains the evolution of a church’s life. There are three seasons, he explains: a movement, an institution and finally a museum, a fate no church hopes for.

“Everything begins as a movement,” said Surratt. “Then there are some things you almost have to institutionalize, you get systems, things that you do regularly … I just don’t want to go there.”

Surratt seems to favor the unfiltered, unpredictable, improvisational, grass roots style of “doing church.” It breeds passion and leads to growth.

“I would love for us always to be about cause which I think is what defines a movement and is distinctive about a movement as opposed to an institution, it’s cause-driven. I want Seacoast, as long as I have boots on the floor to be cause-driven, about helping people become fully devoted to God.”