Proud to be one of Jerry's kids

This day has been marked with shock and sadness. The unthinkable has occurred. The man we thought would outlive us all has failed to do so.

You remember where you were at 9:00 a.m. on September 11, 2001? Absolutely. Well, residents of Lynchburg and students at LU will remember where we were when we heard that Jerry had collapsed. I was running errands with my daughter, Diane, when the announcement was made on the radio that Jerry had collapsed and was reported in "grave condition." It did not sound good. I prayed for the best, but feared the worst. Less than an hour later CNN reported that he had died.

I hope the media is kind to Jerry, but he was a public figure often embroiled in controversy, and that is how they identify with him. After spending a year at the university he built, I came to appreciate the Jerry that the media never knew.

Jerry was a mountain of a man. He was self-deprecating at times, calling himself an "old hillbilly" or "country boy" and believing it to be so. He was an icon on Liberty Mountain. He usually drove a black Escalade, and he would darn near run over you just for the fun of it. Then, he'd stop and offer you a ride. He's transported many a student from one side of campus to another, asking them all kinds of questions about what they like or don't like about the school. He took those conversations to heart and made changes that he felt were warranted. We remember the Jerry Falwell, who was 73 years old, but a kid at heart.

Jerry had a photographic memory. He was a very intelligent man. He was the valedictorian of his high school, but was not allowed to give the speech because of a prank he pulled on a teacher before graduation. That is the Jerry Falwell that we will remember: the man who loved a good laugh.

According to Jerry's own autobiography, he was quite the troublemaker before his conversion; but, from the day he made that decision, his life was never the same. He went to Bible college and then came home to Lynchburg to build a church out of nothing. In the beginning, he knocked on 100 doors a day for six days a week inviting people to church. Less than a year ago he beamed like a little boy at Christmas at the opening of the new sanctuary to celebrate the church's 50th anniversary. He was blunt and opinionated, but he was a pastor, and only his family meant more to him than the calling on his life to preach and reach the world.

The students at LU loved Jerry. Often, at or near the last convocation, they would erupt into "Jer-ry! Jer-ry! Jer-ry!" chants and applause. He usually could control the affairs of an entire college campus and mega-church, but he was helpless when the students starting chanting and loving him so. Everyone identified with him on some level, either as a pastor, grandfather, father, friend, etc.

I wish the media could have known this man. I shook his hand. I watched him work. I watched him interact in the community and in the church. What I saw and what I know makes me proud today to be counted as one of Jerry's kids, and very sad as a result of this loss.

II Timothy 4:7-9