Steve Duncan has been a

good friend for over 43 years, since we first began

playing together in the neighborhood at age 5. We were

best friends, coconspirators in various childhood

endeavors, and seldom separate during those early years.

Steve was the best man at my wedding and we have

maintained contact through the years.

Today, Steve and his wife,

Melissa, are in charge of the nine to 11 children and

teens who reside at the Cherry Brook Children's Home in

Knoxville, Tenn. Most of the children who come under

their Christian care are placed in the home by the state.

Some will eventually be able to return to their natural

homes. A good many will not.

They will spend their

childhood and teen years either at Cherry Brook or in

foster care. Some few will be eligible for adoption and

will begin new lives with new families. Many of these

children come with emotional baggage and with destructive

coping techniques learned over their young, hard years.

Some will be sullen, others will face depression, and

others will experience anger, bitterness and rage.

It takes a special couple

to be able to minister to, care for, and truly love every

child who comes through the doors. Steve and Melissa are

such a couple. Steve has developed a technique for

dealing with the outbursts and aggressive displays that

occur from time to time at Cherry Brook.

Steve was beaming with

pride when he said, "I call this technique

`Eppyology.'"

Confused, I said,

"Eppyology? What the heck is that?"

Steve said, "I learned

it from watching your dad over the years. I remembered

how he used to deal with you, and I thought I'd try it

with these children. It works!"

I should explain that my

father, William E. (Bill) Epps, Jr., was a man who prided

himself on his ability to understand and deal with

people.

The oldest son of nine

children, he dropped out of high school to do his part in

World War II and, following the war, earned his GED. Of

all the regrets he had, not going to college was probably

one of his greatest. To compensate, he read just about

anything he could get his hands on and could speak with

nearly anyone on a variety of subjects.

When he was in his

thirties, he put himself through night school to become

an electrician and, a few years from retirement, went

back to school to become a specialist in electronics.

Over the years, before he became an electrician, he was a

grocery store owner, a firearms dealer, an insurance

agent, the owner of an antique store, a taxidermist, a

gunsmith, and a shoe store manager.

He could lay block and

brick, paint, install ceilings, lay carpet, put up

wallpaper, do carpentry, install sewer lines and septic

tanks, and, in my mind, do just about anything. I even

have in my home a working flintlock rifle that he made

from scratch.

In retirement, he became a

painter and his works adorn the homes of everyone in his

family. Perhaps because he was competent in so many

areas, he was a man of strong opinions. Unfortunately, I

often challenged those opinions loudly and frequently,

especially as I grew older.

When I became angry and

obnoxious, Dad would practice what Steve came to call

"Eppyology."

"I remember that we

would often be in your dad's car and you would start

arguing with him, getting louder and louder," Steve

said. "Your dad would steer the car with his left

hand with the right arm being draped across the back of

his seat. The louder you got, the quieter he would

become. Finally, when you had spent yourself, your dad

would just sit in silence for what seemed an eternity.

Then, quietly, calmly, he would respond with a one-liner

that would put all the arguments to rest and restore

peace.

"I learned from him to

(1) always listen carefully, (2) don't interrupt and let

the other person finish, (3) and don't get angry just

because others are," Steve continued. "I also

learned the incredible power of silence and of a calm

response. I began to use your dad's technique with our

most angry and rage-filled children. It works. Since I

learned it from him, I termed it `Eppyology.'"

Dad would be flattered. He

always thought the world of Steve and I really think that

he hoped that Steve would be a good influence on his

loudmouthed, rebellious, oldest son. But I also think

that he would be amazed. I think that he would be amazed

that I did, indeed, learn tremendously from him and did

come to respect him more than any man I've ever known. I

hope he knew that before he died.

I think he would be even

more amazed that he was a positive influence on the kid

who lived four houses down on the dirt and gravel street

on top of the hill in eastern Tennessee.

But I think that he would

be humbled to hear that his influence continues decades

later and affects scores of children and teenagers who

are being helped to lead full and productive lives

because someone cares enough to listen to the pain, the

hurt, the anger and the rage in their tender hearts.

If he knew that, when Steve

allowed these young ones, abused, abandoned, and

neglected by those who should have been their protectors,

to vent themselves and then be gathered into his arms

- I think if he knew that Steve was thinking of him

in those moments, he would be moved to tears. I know I

was.

Dad always hoped that he

had done something with his life that would make the

world a better place. He strove to set a good example and

to raise his two boys to be good men and good citizens.

He told me once, in his

last couple of years, that he wished that he had done

more good for more people. He was always careful to watch

his language, his temper and his actions. He wanted to be

a good influence, believing that influence was power.

I think that he would be

very surprised to see just how much power he had -

and still has - in a place called Cherry Brook.

[Father

David Epps is rector of Christ the King Charismatic

Episcopal Church in the south metro area of Atlanta. He

may be contacted online at [email protected] or at P. O. Box

2192, Peachtree City, GA 30269.

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