Presidents Corner & Notes

In 2012, I was at the end of myself. My marriage in Atlanta had collapsed under the weight of my own poor decisions. The consequences were swift and humbling. I was, for a season, without a home—sleeping on couches, in my truck, wherever night overtook me. I was spiritually dry, physically exhausted, and emotionally broken. And yet—even in that valley—God had placed something in my heart. In the aftermath of the 2011 tornadoes, the Lord had given me a vision called Lettermen

The more I read about Saint Augustine, the more I see my own reflection staring back from the pages of history. Born in 354 AD in Roman North Africa, Augustine was a man torn between worlds—pagan upbringing, Christian mother, intellectual glory, Manichaeism, and a long, anguished entanglement with the female flesh. His Confessions open with a boyhood theft: pears stolen not from hunger, but from the sheer thrill of sin. “I loved the evil in the deed,” he admits, “and the plea

Hey there, folks—pull up a chair and let me spin you a tale that’s as much about heart as it is about helmets. As I sit here reflecting on it, it’s on Monday, September 1, 2025, with the college football season just kicking off, and I’ve got these two old black-and-white photos—and a couple of newer ones—that

Forty years have passed since the summer of 1985, when I prepared to transfer to The University of Alabama—marking the start of a transformative chapter shaped by an extraordinary man, Professor Bill Russo. On this quiet evening, August 10, 2025, at 9:30 PM , I find myself reflecting on that moment: leaving behind the familiar hills and culture of New England, the vibrant pulse of Boston, and stepping into the unknown. It was under Professor Russo’s guidance that I first disc

My best friend drapes clouds around His shoulders, a celestial robe spun from the breath of dawn. "He wraps Himself in light as with a garment; He stretches out the heavens like a tent" (Psalm 104:2). With scarred hands, He carries galaxies upon galaxies—hands forever marked by the ink of grace, bearing the wounds of a world that scorned Him.  "See, I have engraved you on the palms of my hands" (Isaiah 49:16). Yet He loved them still, His love breaking shackles and mending wh

Hey there, folks—pull up a chair and let me spin you a tale that’s as much about heart as it is about helmets. As I sit here reflecting on it, it’s 8:58 PM  on Monday, September 1, 2025, with the college football season just kicking off, and I’ve got these two old black-and-white photos—and a couple of newer ones—that bookend my football story.

On this November night—the day after Thanksgiving—a pale moon rises like a lantern in the inky sky beyond my study’s French doors. The world outside is hushed, wrapped in the velvet chill of early winter. Thanksgiving’s warmth is now a memory of crowded tables and lingering pie crusts, giving way to the solitary clarity of the season’s first true cold. Bare branches claw at the moon’s glow, their silhouettes etched sharply against the faint mist that softens the horizon, as i

Daddy raised me War Eagle. Every Saturday, the doors of his yellow-and-white ’70 Dodge stood open like a country cathedral, Jim Fyffe shouting “Auburn!” across the pasture while we mended bobwire and slung feed. Nine years older, David sat sixteen books high on my hero shelf. He’d roll home in his ’74 Caprice and drop the week’s treasures on my bed: • plastic Alabama cups, • pom-pom shakers, • game programs still warm with stadium breath. I’d wash up in the old wash house, de

To the Lettermen of the USA veterans community and our loyal patrons, This Thanksgiving, my heart is overflowing with gratitude for you. Your steadfast support and sponsorship of our work—through President’s Corner, Notes, our social media platforms, videos, and website—gives us the privilege of serving America’s veterans full-time. It is an honor we never take lightly. As my family and I gather around the table this year, you—our Lettermen of the USA family—are at the very t

The dream opens with me planning to fly to Boston. I step outside the airport’s passenger loading area, expecting to board a plane, but instead, I find my mom’s old blue 1991 Ford pickup truck parked there. I realize it couldn’t possibly get me to Boston, yet somehow, I’ve already arrived at my destination. The scene shifts to my parents’ farm, with its familiar pasture, barnyard, and a long gravel driveway lined with crepe myrtles, stretching several hundred yards. I’ve invi

As a history major with a lifelong passion for the stories that bind us—those tales of courage, betrayal, and unyielding resolve—few invitations stir the soul quite like one from a true American legend. On Wednesday, November 5, 2025, I had the profound honor of attending the Youth Leadership Development Program Luncheon at the Birmingham Botanical Gardens in Mountain Brook, Alabama, as the guest of retired Major General David P. Burford—our 2023 Military Honoree from the  On

Birmingham, AL — November 7, 2025 — The Lettermen of the USA proudly released a tribute video commemorating the 250th anniversary of the United States Marine Corps, celebrating a legacy of courage, sacrifice, and unwavering service that has defined America’s history since 1775.   A Legacy Forged in History The video opens with a powerful salute to what it calls “the greatest fighting force the world has ever known”—the U.S. Marine Corps. Viewers are reminded that since its fo

I returned the black Mazda SUV to Enterprise in Rainbow City with ten minutes to spare before closing, the fuel gauge sitting above the mark it had when I picked it up two days earlier. The odometer read 1,100.3. The clerk raised an eyebrow. “You drive for a living?” he asked. “No,” I said, handing over the keys. “Just for the ones who can’t.” That was Thursday, October 23. The journey had begun only forty-eight hours earlier, but it felt like a season. Two days. Five cities.

I didn’t mean to eavesdrop on history. It was Christmas in the 1990s, Crown Point in Tuscaloosa, Alabama — a kitchen thick with the smell of ham and coffee, voices rising and falling like fiddle strings. My father was telling my brother a story, the kind you don’t find written down anywhere, the kind that drips out between laughter and bourbon. I walked in halfway through, catching only the heat of it —  “Hard as they come, Ludwick (  Ludwig)  Fuhrman was,”  he said. They say

In the heart of Southside, Etowah County, Alabama, where the Coosa River winds through fertile valleys and community ties run as deep as...

September 19, 2025 A Legacy of Unity and Service: The Enduring Partnership Between Alabama Power and the Lettermen of the USA In the crimson hues of an Alabama Power jersey, emblazoned with the number “1” and the bold proclamation “Alumni Day ‘11,” lies a story far richer than the fabric itself. These jerseys—one in vibrant red, the other in deep navy—serve as tangible relics of a pivotal moment when rivals set aside their differences to rebuild a shattered community. Capture

In the red clay embrace of Southside, Alabama—where the Coosa River winds through pecan groves and family farms—my mother, Jerrie...

You know you live in Alabama when you step into your front yard on a humid August evening, the air a sultry quilt of heat and damp, and...

Do you find yourself worrying more than you pray? Be honest—how much of your day is consumed by worry? How much of it is spent dwelling on yesterday, last week, last month, last year, or even ten or twenty years from now? In other words, are the events of the past—whether from a week ago, a month ago, or decades ago—still haunting you?

I will never forget the first time I saw him. It was a rainy day, the kind where water dripped off my fatigue cap in steady rivulets, my...