The time the sheep became skittish at the live Nativity scene

The live Nativity scene. I am not sure when my father got the idea. We were well into December 1957. I was 10 years old. My father was pastor of Riverside Baptist Church in Cramerton.

I am not sure when my father got the idea. We were well into December 1957. I was ten years old. My father was pastor of Riverside Baptist Church in Cramerton.

He introduced the concept to my skeptical mother at breakfast as we sat around the kitchen table eating fried eggs, grits, and biscuits which I enjoyed dipping in my coffee.

“I’ve never heard of such a thing,” my mother said.

“I read about it in the Baptist Standard. They did one in Dallas, Texas, last year and it was a big hit.”

“It’s probably colder here in December than in Dallas,” my mother said.

“We’ll wear warm clothes,” he said.

“We?” my mother said.

“Yes, Mary. You will be Mary. Mickey, Gregory, and Michael Ensley will be shepherds. I will be Joseph.”

“So, you, Clarence,” my mother said with emphasis, “will be Joseph, but where are we going to get a baby Jesus as this Mary is not prepared to deliver one.”

“And animals?” I added, proud to be participating in the discussion.

Gregory also said, “And animals?” his big eyes getting even bigger.

“We’ll use a little boy doll for Jesus,” my father said. “I think it might be too cold for a live baby. But we can all dress up warmly. We’ll be fine.”

“What about angels? They don’t seem to wear a lot of clothing,” my mother said.

“We’ll get little girls and stand close to them to keep them warm.”

I was thinking we should ask Rita Wright to be an angel. I would be glad to stand close to her. But she was not a member of Riverside Baptist Church. So that was out.

“We need animals. Pigs and goats,” my mother said.

“No pigs,” my father said. “No goats. We’ll get sheep and a donkey if we can find one. Uncle Frank has three sheep.”

Loy Overcash volunteered his used car lot on Franklin Boulevard as a good location. Some of the men in the church built a crude lean-to and a manger. We got straw and Christmas lights. Uncle Frank offered his three sheep. They were named after his daughters: Millie, Ruth, and Teresa. Millie was the oldest and the biggest. Uncle Frank also found a small mule to stand inside the lean-to instead of a donkey. We were all set.

It was in the low 40s the first night, so not too bad. Our three little angels shivered but we kept them warm by encircling them with shepherds, plus Mary and Joseph. Loy opened his office for anyone who needed a bathroom or to warm up. Many of our church members came to see us the first night. A few cars slowed down and beeped their horns. We smiled and waved.

On the second night there were a lot of visitors. Cars drove slowly down Franklin. Some pulled into Loy’s used car lot, parked, and walked over to stand in front of us for a while. It had gotten colder. A couple of our angels put coats on over their wings which did not seem right to me. If they had recruited older angels, like Rita Wright, this might not have happened.

The third night was a disaster. It started with a visit from some important people who seemed to know my father. They tried to speak with him, but he played the part of a silent and protective Joseph. There were many flashing cameras and conversations.

I was the first to notice the pending catastrophe. Uncle Frank had said, “Be careful with the sheep. They’re kind of skittish.” As more car horns blew and cameras flashed, the three sheep started showing signs of panic. Millie started going around in circles. Ruth and Teresa squatted down and trembled. Then Millie leapt over the manger and took off toward Franklin Boulevard.

Joseph left Mary’s side in a flash and ran after Millie. At 6 feet 5 inches in height, his long white legs churned and protruded from his bathroom robe as he ran hard to catch the wayward sheep. I followed right behind him. Michael Ensley corralled the remaining sheep to keep them from bolting.

Soon we were on Franklin Boulevard heading east toward Charlotte. Millie was well ahead of us and nearing the McAdenville-Cramerton intersection. I heard loud horns and squealing tires as Millie apparently ran a red light. With some relief, my father and I ran downhill toward the South Fork bridge, then we slogged our way uphill toward the next intersection.

I passed my father on the upgrade and saw Millie take a right turn toward the golf course. As I ran down the first fairway, I saw Millie dancing around the flagstick on the first green. When I got to her, she collapsed and lay unmoving on her side. I sat down beside her trying to catch my breath.

My father rushed onto the green and knelt beside me. “Are you OK?” he said through ragged breaths.

“Yes, sir,” I said. “But I don’t know about Millie.”

She was perfectly still. Her eyes closed.

My father touched Millie’s side and face. He pushed her head back and forth a few times. Then he said, “Dead.”

I nodded.

A few minutes later, what seemed to be the entire town of Cramerton was gathered around the first hole of the Cramerton golf course. Somebody said, “We should do something.”

My father stood in his Joseph costume and said, “Let’s sing ‘Silent Night.’”

We all stood around the first green surrounding the recently departed Millie and sang ‘Silent Night, Holy Night. All is calm. All is bright.”

Everybody seemed happy, except Uncle Frank who had lost one-third of his flock.

It was the first and last live Nativity scene for Riverside Baptist Church in Cramerton. For this my mother said, “Thank God.”

Michael "Mick" McMahan is a resident of Gastonia.

This article originally appeared on The Gaston Gazette: Cramerton sheep dies at live Nativity