Updated Thursday, May 29, 2008

Nothing left on Blackwell's bucket list

By Norman Jameson

BR Editor

Breaking into the evening programming in April 1968 Michael Blackwell at WRAL-TV in Raleigh was the first reporter in North Carolina and likely just the second in the entire country to announce the death of Martin Luther King Jr.

Blackwell, president of Baptist Children's Homes of North Carolina since 1983, was always and still is a news junkie. Maturing as a journalism student at the University of North Carolina in Chapel Hill in the tumultuous 1960s he covered prison riots, racial turmoil and civil rights demonstrations and President John F. Kennedy's funeral in Washington D.C.

He drank from "colored only" water fountains, sat in "colored only" movie theater seats and was cautioned by the UNC Chapel Hill dean of men about being seen walking with Karen Parker, the first black female undergraduate, on campus.

"I was out every night covering demonstrations," he said, the excitement of that era still percolating in his veins. He admits he got an education, though it didn't show on his transcript.

After college he turned down a chance to work for CBS in New York City to pursue the higher calling of ministry, and instead of moving to New York, he moved to Wake Forest to prepare at Southeastern Baptist Theological Seminary. It was time, he said, "to stop telling people the bad news, and start sharing with them the Good News."

He was on staff at Ridge Road Baptist Church in Raleigh, and interim or pastor of churches in Beaufort, Garner, Carthage and Richmond, Va.

25 years at helm

This year Blackwell celebrates his 25th anniversary as head of BCH. BCH at 123 remains North Carolina Baptists' oldest and largest institution, with 350 employees and an $18 million budget, operating in 16 locations, soon to be 20.

Although he claims to be a North Carolina native, he actually was born in Gafney, S.C., May 3, 1942. He would have preferred to be born in North Carolina, he said, but he wanted to be near his mother and she was in Gafney, where her own mother lived.

He stayed there only six days and came to Gastonia where his parents - Clitus and Viola - actually lived. They doted on their only child. They saw in him enormous potential and they pushed to help him realize his gifts.

"Both parents pushed pretty hard for me to be out front, to perform," said Blackwell, who at age 14 was the youngest disc jockey in the country. "That kind of fit in with my personality anyways."

His mother was a powerful influence until she died in 1996 at age 83. His father, an insurance salesman and his "severest critic," died eight years earlier.

"My mother got her fulfillment through me," said Blackwell. "She was a stay-at-home mom. They had one basket and all the eggs were in this basket. She was a competitive woman in lots of ways. They just wanted me to do my best in whatever I did."

They instilled in him enough confidence to keep riding his bike down to the local radio station until management found something for him to do. He spun records for "The Platter Party" for free, then "went across town to the other station and got a dollar an hour," when he had some experience.

"Mickey's Record Shop" enjoyed 67 percent of the audience, according to surveys. For some reason unknown even to him, he saved every fan letter and they fill boxes in his attic.

Only people who've known Blackwell a long time call him Mickey, even though Just Call Me Mickey is the title of his biography by Wint Capel, published in 2006. His physical stature, "pipes of God" voice and position as BCH president make calling him Mickey seem somehow awkward.

Blackwell started his career in radio, and in some ways, his family as well. He met Catherine Kanipe over the copy machine at radio station WAYS in Charlotte where he was news director and she was temporary help between semesters at Brevard College.

Today, he and Catherine, whose great uncle J.C. Canipe founded Fruitland Baptist Bible Institute, have two children, Julie and Michael, and two granddaughters, all of whom live in Black Mountain.

They got engaged on Christmas Eve 1966 and the next day he announced to the church both his engagement and his call to ministry. It was the only time he ever saw his father cry.

He was certain he was finished with radio and television news when God answered a fleece that Blackwell doubts he would have the courage to put out today.

While searching for clarity in his calling to ministry, he "told" God that if eight people responded to his invitation to come forward after he preached at his home church in Gastonia, he would consider that an affirmation. "I preached my heart out and half the church came down," he said. "That was it. That was over."

No bucket list

Blackwell is a news junkie and has watched every season of "Survivor," but he has no regular hobbies, no favorite craft or sport. Instead, he selects occasional activities that push him outside his comfort zone. Three years ago he did a five-day Outward Bound adventure and he just finished a six night improvisation class at Comedy Worx in Raleigh.

He called the Outward Bound experience "exhilarating," but he "will never do it again as long as I live." He has no bucket list, nothing left he longs to do before he "kicks the bucket."

"If I have time I spend it with my grandchildren," he said. "That's how I relax. The best feeling for which there is no explaining is lying on that bed and your seven-year-old grandchild is between you and your wife. It's the best feeling, pure bliss. It's the purest form of love I've ever known. That's it for me. I don't have anything else on my bucket list because I've got that now."

Close to that feeling professionally are the moments Blackwell is among the children on various campuses, hearing them sing and testify, receiving hugs and thank-yous.

"For those few moments you're kind of transported," he said.

No plans to retire

At age 66 others might wonder about Blackwell's plans to retire. He has no plans. "I don't think about it because then I have to think about it," he said.

Instead, he is brimming with plans to accomplish at BCH, including getting the new wilderness camp for girls operating; strengthening and expanding the new Oak Ranch equine therapy facility; finding funding to launch a statewide crisis hotline; adding a couple developmentally disabled adult residences and initiating North Carolina Baptists' Aging Ministry. After that, he said, it will be time to pause and catch the institution's collective breath.

When he does look back on what could be three decades at the helm, it will be to "evaluate not what was built or not built, but to consider is it still vital and vibrant? BCH is still very, very vibrant," he said. "It's still a living, breathing organism."

An astute political observer, Blackwell said the time for him to consider running for public office is past and he has no such ambitions "whatsoever." He chaired the Institute of Political Leadership for some years.

He utilizes his political adroitness to manage the mine fields in North Carolina Baptist life, and is proud that he often preaches in churches that represent the far extremes of North Carolina Baptist perspective.

Blackwell has few regrets. He never finished the personal fitness and life saving merit badges that stood between him and Eagle Scout. He quit taking piano lessons after five years. And he never saw Elvis in person.

When it was suggested it might not be too late to see Elvis, he agreed and said, "I hope he's going to come to the trail ride," at Oak Ranch.