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An Open Letter

Today I shall once again adorn the uniform of the Southern Soldier , pick us his glorious banner and head over the mountains to one of my favorite spots; "Johnson City, Tennessee". Only this time when I roll out the Mike Beck Chair on the side of the road at the famous Dixie Barbecue Restaurant on North Roan Street, awaiting the arrival as I always delighted in doing , of my dear friend and brother, Commander Jim Maddox , with the full knowledge that he had already told Mr.. Howell to hide all the chickens because I would be there ; I cannot express the sadness that shall be in my heart because Commander Jim shall no more come down that road with his great big heart to greet me.
 
I have often spoke about the love that White folks and Black folks found for each other in the Southland of America , only to have those who would hate all things Southern try to put it asunder. I can tell all of you to go spread the message that old HK carrying the Christian Cross of St. Andrew , through a band of brothers rediscovered that love , and on just Friday evening past sat right down at the table of brotherhood that alludes so many with my brother Jim Maddox one last time before he went off to Heaven to be with God . It is too bad that men like Jesse Jackson and Al Sharpton did not get the chance to sit down with him , for if they had , they would have discovered just what it truly means to be a loyal Southerner, and to boot just what enticed their very own ancestors to embrace this notion of Christianity and love for a man and his family that they came to call Master and would willingly go off to war with him ; fighting , dying and supporting all his efforts under the Flag they called their very own.