Chuck Hinson's Posts - Architects of a New Dawn2024-03-29T07:33:55ZChuck Hinsonhttps://architectsofanewdawn.ning.com/profile/ChuckHinsonhttps://storage.ning.com/topology/rest/1.0/file/get/8087801659?profile=RESIZE_48X48&width=48&height=48&crop=1%3A1https://architectsofanewdawn.ning.com/profiles/blog/feed?user=2svuvhkhsub4l&xn_auth=noSensationalism: The Destroyer of Peace??tag:architectsofanewdawn.ning.com,2020-10-28:2227378:BlogPost:5183512020-10-28T16:14:53.000ZChuck Hinsonhttps://architectsofanewdawn.ning.com/profile/ChuckHinson
<p><a href="https://storage.ning.com/topology/rest/1.0/file/get/8085429295?profile=original" rel="noopener" target="_blank"><img class="align-left" src="https://storage.ning.com/topology/rest/1.0/file/get/8085429295?profile=RESIZE_710x" width="300"></img></a></p>
<p>I ran this post about eleven years ago. But, since then, we've seen such a surge in violence and vitriol across the nation that I'm running it again with a few modifications.</p>
<p></p>
<p>Peace. A simple, honest plea from the hearts of millions around this country, from Philly to L.A. and beyond. It can be personal or political, within or without…</p>
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<p>I ran this post about eleven years ago. But, since then, we've seen such a surge in violence and vitriol across the nation that I'm running it again with a few modifications.</p>
<p></p>
<p>Peace. A simple, honest plea from the hearts of millions around this country, from Philly to L.A. and beyond. It can be personal or political, within or without ... and, subconsciously, we all want it ...<br/> <br/> But there seems to be something holding up the process on <i>both</i> of these fronts. It's called "sensationalism".<br/> You see, to the news media, peace is a boring topic. I mean, without someone killing another, or a crime committed, or an uprising here or juicy, intruding gossip there, no one would read their mini-tomes or tune in to their newscasts, <i>would</i> they?<br/> <br/> Sometimes, this reaches to our homes and businesses. If we were unified, there'd be no hierarchy, no subservience ... no <i>power!</i> And what's the main way to obtain these? To build on the senses ... to incite a feeling of fear, angst or whatever. For many, it's not only boring but (heavens forbid!) it'd mean we'd have to (gasp!) <i>be on the same level as the common person!</i><br/> <br/> In politics, it's much the same thing - but, considering the maddening disputes on Capitol Hill<i>,</i> is there??<br/> <br/> Whereas the media is saying <i>"THIS is happening! It's CONTROVERSIAL!! BUY ME AND FIND OUT!! TUNE INTO OUR BROADCAST AND LISTEN ... OUR RATINGS ARE <u>SURE</u> TO GO UP!!"</i> ...</p>
<p><br/> peace is saying, "SHHHHH! Listen to what your <i>conscience</i> is saying ... not <i>these</i> guys!!"</p>
<p><br/> Whereas others might wanna fight on a personal level, peace says, <i>"Walk away from it! You're not going to gain one inch of height, muscle or fame with violence. And violence only begets more violence!"</i><br/> <br/> Once, I performed at a Mental Health Center for children -- a gig that, honestly, brings the most precious memories of my days as a guitarist/vocalist. It was a center full of love, where the children (ages -15 to 55+) were all of one accord, and in a <i>beautiful</i> mountainside setting.<br/> It was a gig that I wish had lasted a lifetime! But, as the show was short (they had other activities planned for the wonderful hearts there), the band packed up and headed back to Charlotte.<br/> Upon arriving, I picked up the local paper and read about murder; pollution; a rape; economic woes. People were afraid; they were becoming angrier and more suspicious of each other.<br/> Then couple of fair-weather "friends" chastised me for "playing for a bunch of r****** (I won't use the disgraceful word)!"<br/> I couldn't help thinking: "WAIT!! There WAS no sensationalistic "journalism" there. There WERE no crimes there of any sort; there was only LOVE! And <i>you</i> have the audacity to call <i>them</i> 'r*******'??"<br/> <br/> Sensationalism breeds fear, anger and paranoia. At best, it breeds a flippant attitude in people hungry for the latest verbal trash. And it's those four words: fear, anger, paranoia and the flippant attitude ... that cause wars, bitterness, and so much more.<br/> <br/> May every good spirit <i>bless</i> those kids at Western Carolina Center. For a brief time, they took me away from the sensationalistic ... and into a pure world of peace!!</p>NO MORE "R" WORD!!tag:architectsofanewdawn.ning.com,2020-10-28:2227378:BlogPost:5179432020-10-28T04:33:37.000ZChuck Hinsonhttps://architectsofanewdawn.ning.com/profile/ChuckHinson
<p><a href="https://storage.ning.com/topology/rest/1.0/file/get/8085495860?profile=original" rel="noopener" target="_blank"><img class="align-left" src="https://storage.ning.com/topology/rest/1.0/file/get/8085495860?profile=RESIZE_710x" width="300"></img></a> <span style="font-size: 12pt;">Of all the labels commonly used among the citizenry, none are more repulsive than those that belittle race or those with mental disorders.</span></p>
<p><br></br> <span style="font-size: 12pt;">Fortunately, society has all but blotted out the "N-word" from its vocabulary. We <i>understand</i> how repulsive that can be.…</span><br></br></p>
<p><a href="https://storage.ning.com/topology/rest/1.0/file/get/8085495860?profile=original" target="_blank" rel="noopener"><img src="https://storage.ning.com/topology/rest/1.0/file/get/8085495860?profile=RESIZE_710x" width="300" class="align-left"/></a><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Of all the labels commonly used among the citizenry, none are more repulsive than those that belittle race or those with mental disorders.</span></p>
<p><br/> <span style="font-size: 12pt;">Fortunately, society has all but blotted out the "N-word" from its vocabulary. We <i>understand</i> how repulsive that can be.</span><br/> <span style="font-size: 12pt;">But there's one that's equally demeaning -- and should follow that earlier word into the colloquial trash.</span><br/> <br/> <span style="font-size: 12pt;">You see, we often throw the word <i>"retarded"</i> at each other with the same ease as when we threw <i>popcorn</i> at each other in movie theaters years ago.</span></p>
<p><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Although, grammatically, it means <i>"slowed"</i>, it's used to describe a person's <i>aloofness, lack of coordination, intellectual level</i> -- even to slur one if he/she doesn't do as we <i>demand.</i></span><br/> <span style="font-size: 12pt;">It's even <i>more</i> demeaning to use the word in describing anyone with a psychological disorder -- or a <i>biological</i> malady that leads to one. To use "that" word in referring to them can not only label them for life, but also lead to a tremendous loss of self-esteem, depression, regression -- even suicide -- as it burrows into their subconscious and begins to infect their emotions.</span><br/> <br/> <span style="font-size: 12pt;">There's a movement that was borne out of a Special Olympic program (I believe in California) to stop this word in its tracks, much as was done with the "'N-'Word". I'm blessed and honored to promote <a href="http://therword.org">The 'R' Word.org</a> as a means to <i>thwart</i> the propagation of this cruel description and taunt.</span></p>
<p><br/><span style="font-size: 12pt;">And <i>now</i> that same initial stands for banning a blanket bigotry ... something called <i><b>racism!!</b></i></span><br/> <br/> <span style="font-size: 12pt;">Together, we can <i>do</i> it ... not only for ourselves but, more importantly, for <i>anyone</i> labeled by this demeaning insult! Just click the link I gave you and find out what <i>you</i> can do!</span></p>I wrote this in 2007... but is it still as relevant today? (imagine ... PEACE!!)tag:architectsofanewdawn.ning.com,2009-09-03:2227378:BlogPost:1165662009-09-03T03:23:10.000ZChuck Hinsonhttps://architectsofanewdawn.ning.com/profile/ChuckHinson
The summer of 1967 was one of the most vocal and radical in the history of America. Nationally, we were embroiled in political scandals, racial injustice - and a horrible war in Vietnam.<br />
<br />
The country was firmly divided into two separate groups - Doves, who believed the war was wrong and that our military should pull out and come home, and the Hawks, who thought we should not only be fighting in Vietnam,<br />
but maybe even take it a step farther and decimate China, who was allegedly bolstering the…
The summer of 1967 was one of the most vocal and radical in the history of America. Nationally, we were embroiled in political scandals, racial injustice - and a horrible war in Vietnam.<br />
<br />
The country was firmly divided into two separate groups - Doves, who believed the war was wrong and that our military should pull out and come home, and the Hawks, who thought we should not only be fighting in Vietnam,<br />
but maybe even take it a step farther and decimate China, who was allegedly bolstering the North's manpower.<br />
<br />
Here in America, though, thousands of young people, who were turned onto peace, love and inner guidance, were rising up in protests of the fighting. Some history books will say they were "doves", while others say they were "high on drugs and Indian music." Many of us were there, and we were simply looking at it all with logic. Is peace better than war? Love than hate? Inner guidance better than outer control?<br />
<br />
So they began putting the pressure on Washington - from sit-ins to open-air festivals to outright marches - and, by 1969, President Nixon began feeling the pressure and reduced troop numbers. Slightly over three years later, the war was over.<br />
<br />
In 1968, the assassination of the Rev. Martin Luther King resulted in widespread violence and looting - a grim climax to the years of struggle for African-American equality. Once again, young, hip whites and blacks were on the scene, united in the cause of peace. And they knew they'd have their hands full: On the one, they tried to calm nerves of both blacks and whites; on the other, they protested the inequality loudly. From the streets of LA to Pennsylvania Ave. in Washington, they took the message that Dr. King had conveyed time and again: that all people, of all races, should work together and given equal rights in this country.<br />
<br />
The pressure eventually worked, and society slowly began to realize the importance of true, interracial brotherhood.<br />
<br />
More important changes were made by the protesters and marchers. The voting age was finally lowered to 18, and women were beginning to be treated as more than sex objects - they were finally being viewed as equals in the marketplace, employment field and in places of authority.<br />
<br />
Now it's summer of 2007. Forty years after-the-fact, we have a senseless war in Iraq. People are starving, tortured and/or murdered in the Sudanese province of Darfur. Gas prices are at an all-time high. Power and personal<br />
freedoms are being wrested from the hands of the people by an Administration they've learned not to trust.<br />
<br />
Yet, the baby-boomers - this same group that so valiantly championed the cause of peace and equality forty years before, and of which I am a member - have become largely silent, seeming to stick their heads in the sand and hide from our present national and world situations in hope that they'll go way.<br />
<br />
What happened to the once-resonating voices of peace? Have large families, larger paychecks and the responsibility that comes with maintaining material security taken the edge off our active and vocal protest of the wolves at peace's door? At one time, we could - and did - change the political fabric of America. Yet, today, most of the protesters of yore are content to "let it slide" or have someone else do it for them.<br />
<br />
We were willing to put it all on the line for peace - including facing arrests and jail-time. Now, at a time when our country - our world, for that matter - needs us to speak up, we've become strangely silent.<br />
<br />
We have the greatest buying power, the most political pull, and the highest demographic of any other age group in the nation. Years ago, we had longed for the day when we would have the authority - the power - to change the world. Now that we have it, though, we're not using it. Has our spunk given in to complacency? Do we believe that, despite our values as young people, what's happening in this world is of no consequence to us?<br />
<br />
Again, I ask the question: What happened to the voices of peace? Have we surrendered to the establishment at long last? Are we afraid - or, worst of all, so involved with ourselves and the money-machine feeding us that we just don't care?<br />
<br />
It's time for every person who was ever a "child of peace" to answer that question.Lesson-In-A-Boxtag:architectsofanewdawn.ning.com,2009-07-26:2227378:BlogPost:1002832009-07-26T03:46:28.000ZChuck Hinsonhttps://architectsofanewdawn.ning.com/profile/ChuckHinson
It's doubtful that you'll ever find a young child who <i>hasn't</i> wanted a bicycle for Christmas -- and we three Hinson boys were no different. We'd spent the entire year of 1963, in fact, begging and <i>pleading</i> for Daddy to buy each of us one. After all, our sister had had one for years, but it was a <i>"girlie"</i> bike. We couldn't be seen riding that over Morrow Avenue; all our friends would <i>laugh</i> at us.<br />
Still, he used the same reply each time: <i>"Maybe for Christmas…</i>
It's doubtful that you'll ever find a young child who <i>hasn't</i> wanted a bicycle for Christmas -- and we three Hinson boys were no different. We'd spent the entire year of 1963, in fact, begging and <i>pleading</i> for Daddy to buy each of us one. After all, our sister had had one for years, but it was a <i>"girlie"</i> bike. We couldn't be seen riding that over Morrow Avenue; all our friends would <i>laugh</i> at us.<br />
Still, he used the same reply each time: <i>"Maybe for Christmas ..."</i><br />
<br />
Finally, at 6:00 on Christmas morning, we hopped out of our beds and into the living room -- hoping that we wouldn't be disappointed. Underneath the tree in the corner of the room were our presents -- the standard fare of new shirts, pants, shoes and stuff. There were also a few of those new GI Joe action figures and some board games.<br />
<br />
Then, in the other corner of the room, propped up against the couch, were <i>two brand new Schwinn bikes!</i> While we were overjoyed that Daddy hadn't forgotten, we were puzzled. There were <i>three</i> of us ... but only <i>two</i> bicycles! I especially took it hard, since each bike was labeled with one of my brothers' names!<br />
<br />
My face flushed and I began to panic. Where ... where was MY bike?<br />
Daddy looked at me and said, <i>"Chuck, we didn't forget you. Look in the corner!"</i><br />
There was ... a long, flat box lying on the floor. Certain that he didn't have time to unpack it, I tried to pick the box up. Not only was it heavy, but it sounded like a bunch of stuff was sliding around in it! I opened it just to find my bike in what seemed to be a <i>hundred pieces!</i><br />
<br />
Disappointed and embarrassed -- I felt <i>sure</i> they'd played a practical joke on me -- I felt tears welling up in my eyes. Then, after a moment of silence, Daddy spoke,<br />
<i><br />
"Son, <b>there's</b> your bike! You've just got to put it <b>together!"</b></i><br />
I turned on my heels and half-cried, <i>"But they got theirs already put together! Why not mine?"</i><br />
He grinned and said, <i>"Don't you see, son? If you put this together, you'll learn how it works!"</i> He knew I'd never had an interest in mechanics. <i>"And, if you can do it, then you'll be 'one up' on your brothers. They'll come to you to fix their bikes, 'cause you'll know how everything fits!"</i><br />
<br />
So I pulled the box out to the den to start working on it. As I was laying out the different pieces, Daddy came in to talk with me for a moment (my brothers, as you could imagine, were already on the street, trying out their new wheels).<br />
<i><br />
"Son, I know you're mad because this thing wasn't already put together. But the reason your mama and I did that was to show you something. You see, your brothers had theirs all put together and ready to ride. Wherever they go, they'll know we gave them those 'gifts'. Now, yours was in a lot of pieces, and you have to learn to put it together. It means that, wherever you pedal that thing, you'll know you've been given a 'talent'. One day, you're gonna find out that, sometimes, when we ask God to give us something, he'll give it to us in a hundred little pieces and want us to make what we need out of it. That way, we'll not only learn how to make it, we'll also learn how we can help others with the same need, if they ask us. We'll know how to put the parts together the way they should be."</i><br />
I stopped trying to fit the back wheel into the assembly, and just thought about what he'd said.<br />
<i>"So, the talent is greater than the gift?"</i> I asked.<br />
He stood there for a second, then quietly replied, <i>"Son, a gift can always be returned or taken back. But a talent stays with you forever. Even though your life is a gift from God, one day it'll return to Him. But the talent you learn here on earth will benefit others for years to come ..."</i><br />
<br />
Suddenly, that bicycle took on new meaning ... and I learned a lesson that will forever stay with me.A Lesson of Peace From An Old Guitartag:architectsofanewdawn.ning.com,2009-07-25:2227378:BlogPost:1001572009-07-25T06:00:00.000ZChuck Hinsonhttps://architectsofanewdawn.ning.com/profile/ChuckHinson
Sometimes, the greatest parables can be found in everyday situations. What you’re about to read is something that happened to me in August, 1964. It’s the story of an encounter between me and my father, <i>Eola Hinson.</i><br />
<br />
I’ll <i>never</i> forget the lesson he taught me that day … it’s one that I’ve passed down to my children, and to others. It’s my hope that someone will find the lesson in it, as well, and pass it on to those who can use the wisdom he conveyed in this.<br />
<br />
This story has been…
Sometimes, the greatest parables can be found in everyday situations. What you’re about to read is something that happened to me in August, 1964. It’s the story of an encounter between me and my father, <i>Eola Hinson.</i><br />
<br />
I’ll <i>never</i> forget the lesson he taught me that day … it’s one that I’ve passed down to my children, and to others. It’s my hope that someone will find the lesson in it, as well, and pass it on to those who can use the wisdom he conveyed in this.<br />
<br />
This story has been published before, but, thankfully, I still retain all rights to it; after all, it was an episode of <i>my</i> life that I'll never, ever forget. I hope you enjoy it.<br />
<b><br />
A LESSON FROM AN OLD GUITAR<br />
</b><br />
Years ago, when I was just barely into my teens, my dad came home from work carrying a battered, old guitar. He <i>knew</i> I wanted to learn to play one – I’d seen folk groups, country acts – even some new group called <i>“The Beatles”</i> playing them, and it looked like so much fun. In fact, while these performers were on TV, I’d watch carefully for the close-up shots, and (using a baseball bat as a “guitar”) I’d mimic their fingering, position of the chords and timing.<br />
<br />
When he gave me the acoustic guitar, I sat down and, propping it up on my knee, began to position my fingers on the neck, just as I had seen the performers do. I just <i>knew</i> I was going to be the next Elvis or rock superstar!<br />
<br />
But he did something that I’ll remember to my dying day: He took a big, calloused hand, put it over the fingerboard and stopped me from playing! Then he said,<br />
<br />
<i>“Son, wait a minute. Let me tell you a little story.<br />
<br />
You see, Life’s a lot like that old guitar you’ve got, especially when it’s time to pay your dues. And, just like the sounds you can make on that guitar, the ones you make in life are entirely up to you. We can’t stop you from framming away at it like an off-tune madman any more than we can stop you from playing beautiful music. When you get to be an adult, it’s going to be the same thing when you’re ‘out there’ in the real world. Nobody can stop you; it’s your choice as to what type of ‘music’ you give them.<br />
<br />
Now, you see those strings, and how you’re holding them down with your fingertips? Each note is meant to create harmony with each other. That's your goal in life, son … learn to place each thing you do …each step you take … so it’ll be in harmony with mankind. Otherwise, just like with the guitar, you’re gonna make such a noise that nobody’ll want to hear you.”</i><br />
<br />
I listened intently; this was good stuff!<br />
<br />
Then he continued, <i>“And, by and by, you’ll learn how to sing with that guitar – maybe even write a few tunes yourself.<br />
When you do, remember that a simple tune does better when the words are from the heart. Make them easy for people to learn … to keep in their mind. And you’re painting a picture with each one. Son, remember to do the same thing in your everyday doings, and you’ll make friends and be happier than you ever thought.<br />
<br />
And that ‘song’ that you sing … the one you show everyday in your actions … will be the one that’ll go ‘number one’ with your friends and others. Just leave the lyrics open to your brother’s and sister’s point of view, and they’ll be humming that song long after you’ve gone.<br />
<br />
Now … let’s hear you play …”</i><br />
<br />
<b><i>I kept this lesson with me during five great years of performing. Though a stint in the Army interrupted those, it was the prime motive for continuing my musical career in producing, promoting and rock journalism when I was discharged.<br />
Today, as I continue the journalism and promote two UK acts, I still keep this in my mind at all times ... for we all have music within our soul.<br />
</i></b>Heroes Come In Different Formstag:architectsofanewdawn.ning.com,2009-07-05:2227378:BlogPost:932912009-07-05T15:27:19.000ZChuck Hinsonhttps://architectsofanewdawn.ning.com/profile/ChuckHinson
My kitchen floor was full of muddy footprints. At around five-thirty that afternoon, I'd come in from one of the saddest moments of my adult life: burying my best friend – a Maine Coon feline wonder names Lightning -- out in a little flower garden next to the house. In fact, if you were to look through my kitchen window, you could see his grave clearly.<br />
<br />
Actually, Lightning came into this world back in 1998 -- and it certainly wasn’t an easy entrance! As a matter of fact, while he was just a…
My kitchen floor was full of muddy footprints. At around five-thirty that afternoon, I'd come in from one of the saddest moments of my adult life: burying my best friend – a Maine Coon feline wonder names Lightning -- out in a little flower garden next to the house. In fact, if you were to look through my kitchen window, you could see his grave clearly.<br />
<br />
Actually, Lightning came into this world back in 1998 -- and it certainly wasn’t an easy entrance! As a matter of fact, while he was just a little kitten fresh from the county animal shelter, he ran away from me and was run over twice in the street. That's right: twice! But wouldn't you know it? Thanks to a very thorough vet and the little rascal's determination, he survived!<br />
<br />
As time went on, he began to care for any new puppy or kitten I’d bring into the house, grooming and tending to them until they were strong enough to do so on their own. I figured it was because he was so lucky to be alive himself that he wanted to help others who needed it.<br />
<br />
A perfect example of this was two years later, when my little Abyssinian, Sammy, got behind the fridge at the old apartment where I lived and wouldn't come out. Being new to the family, he was frightened by a sudden movement by my dog. Though I tried getting him out myself (I still have the scars to prove it), he wouldn’t budge – just hiss and growl. Then I had an idea: I moved out the fridge just a little, minding not to hurt or startle the Aby. Then I called for "Uncle Lighty". He came over, went behind the refrigerator to where Sammy was, touched noses with him as if to say, "Son, you're going to be all right. Calm down now!" Afterwards, he went over to Sabre, my Bengal, and touched noses with him as if to confer, doctor-to-doctor. Returning to Sammy, he gently touched noses with him again, and calmly led him back into the group!<br />
<br />
Shakespeare once wrote, in describing a friend, "He had a face like a benediction". Well, that described my little buddy to a tee. When I'd get sick, he'd be right there, by my side ... kneading my chest for all it's worth, while looking straight in my eyes. It was like he was saying, "Okay, dad ... feel better now? Ummm,, well, how about now??" If I was upset or down about something, leave it to Lightning to provide the entertainment: I couldn't get close to the mantle or the fridge without him jumping on my shoulders from behind, nearly scaring me to death.<br />
<br />
Once, his little routine possibly saved me from being robbed. I'd put an ad in the local newspaper that I had a bookcase for sale. A few people came to see it, and Lightning just sat in the hallway, watching. Then an older man with a blue cap came by to see it. Uncle Lighty studied him for a minute, then, with a loud meow, jumped from the floor to his shoulders! The man brushed Lightning off and rushed, stumbling and scared senseless, out the door.<br />
A week later, that same man was arrested for entering someone's home to supposedly buy a piece of furniture, but robbing them instead!<br />
Whenever a kitten was scared and needed comfort, Lightning was always obliging. In 2003, my newly-purchased twin Siamese, Radar and Ricky, had been taken from their mother a bit early. Lightning would lie down and let the kittens suckle on him until they were strong and secure enough to blend with the other cats. He was just that kind of loving, sweet and patient soul.<br />
<br />
In March, I’d noticed Lightning walking with a slightly more delicate gait. He also had begun drinking water like it was going out of style. At first, I’d assumed it was due to the new environment; I had just moved into the house a month earlier.<br />
Finally, on the morning of April 8, after I noticed he’d refused to eat for two days straight and was becoming seriously lethargic, I took Lightning to the vet. Although my mind didn’t want to accept it, I could look at the cat and see that he was dying. Before we left, and in true “Lighty” form, he lapped up a bowl of water as if to say, "Look, Dad! I'll beat this, too!" But Dr. Adams said that Lightning was in the final stage of Chronic Kidney Failure (CKF). He had no noticeable red blood cells left. He said the cat could've inherited it from his mother, and it could've stayed dormant over all these years. And it's always fatal to cats!<br />
Lightning ... my best friend, the pet's doctor, psychologist, surrogate mother, comedian and protector ... was dying, and I knew that nothing could make him better. So the doctor suggested he be euthanized ... he would've lasted only a couple of days otherwise. Though I expected the prognosis, the blood drained from my face and I felt numb all over. After a lot of prayer and soul-searching, I told him to do it, but make it quick ... I couldn't stand to see my hero suffer like that.<br />
<br />
At 4:46 PM, Doc Adams gave him an intra-abdominal injection. Lightning looked at me like, "D-daddy, wha ... what're they doing to me?" Man, I wanted to reach out and save him so much. My heart was going as fast as his, I guarantee it!<br />
Then, with one mighty "MEOW!", he went limp ... and, at 4:47 PM, he was pronounced dead.<br />
<br />
Hmph. Dead. My Lightning.<br />
<br />
Sorry to disappoint you, doc, but ... heroes NEVER die ...