"I became saved once Goliath (the C.H.U.D.) fell, and from this defeat we both embraced the truth."

From the Top....

Name: Tab
Origin: American
Sex: M
Meaning: A form of David, A drummer, a Biblical landmark mountain near Nazareth

Tab,  you were born two months premature and had to be incubated in order to survive.

Out of my eleven pregnancies Trey and you were the only ones to survive.  "Bilirubin" is the name of the blood test that you were given right after birth and several times daily for several days. In the ones you had the blood was taken from your heels for testing (in this article the procedure is called "Heel Stick"). Every time you were brought to me in the hospital to be fed, you had new little "slices" on your heels. I'd sit there and cry. Due to the results of the Bilirubin Tests, you were given 2 blood transfusions: one when you were 24 hours old, and the second when you were 48 hours old. The transfusions were done through your umbilical cord (on your navel). You definitely had Jaundice so we were told, and it was evident in that your skin was a yellowish color as well as the whites of your eyes.

We were told that your blood was drawn out, then new blood inserted - over and over -until you had all new blood in your body. Praise God for such blessings!"

Tab writes...

It's probably safe to assume that when you're young, you are the most impressionable. I vividly remember those specific people, places, and things that were just down right cool and seemingly bigger than life itself. I think I had a harder struggle giving up the batman cape than Linus did losing the blanket. By far I believe the three most impressionable things in my life have to be the love of our savior Jesus Christ, the game of soccer, and the art of music.

A few months after my sixth birthday, my dad got a promotion, and our family was transferred to Rio de Janeiro, Brazil. It was definitely different than Virginia. I didn't really know anybody, much less what they were talking about and did not have much fun outside of a few G.I. Joe hangings. It did not take long to notice that people everywhere sure did like kicking soccer balls around everywhere, at anytime, all the time. The following year I became involved in kicking that ball around in school increasing my skill and interest in the game of soccer. Summer came, and I remember how nothing could ever compare to the intense experience of witnessing the FIFA World Cup. Brasil, with the infamous player Pelé won that tournament on June 21, 1970. What a coincidence that I was living in Rio de Janeiro, Brasil and was celebrating my seventh birthday on that special day. Those guys became my heroes. The following school year, things were great, especially when I was appointed the captain of the soccer team, and my team became the proud wearers of that special yellow and green Brasilian International Team jersey.

Each day after school, homework was always finished during the ride home, so as soon I arrived, I headed straight to our full size soccer field to greet the locals and kickoff that daily afternoon re-match. My friends, mostly adults, never failed to miss those daily matches, for their passion for the game never left their inner child. Each match enabled me to soak up more of that one of a kind Brasilian soccer style. Each experience enabled me to play better against my opponents and better for my team mates. Often they commented how that little American striker's attack impressed, intimidated, and often skillfully shamed them in front of their peers. They eventually paid their respects by awarding me with medals and the honorable new nickname, "Tabinho", (meaning "Little Tab"). Those were terrific highlights in my young life, but the best thing that happened in Brazil was the blessing of the birth of my baby sister Tania Maria Warwick.

Prince to Pauper

Regarded as a relatively wealthy family, the greatest blessing concerning our family's three and a half year stay in Brazil was the day a very poor woman approached my parents begging them to adopt her newborn daughter (one week old), realizing that we could provide for her far greater than she could, for she resided in the flavela (slum) infested hillsides of Rio. This was an answer to prayer for all of us, especially my parents at the time. Six months of extensive paperwork secured the adoption, and we have been richly blessed by my sister Tania Maria Warwick to this very day.

My mother adds:

"Your little brother, Randolph Mann Warwick, II, (in Brazil) was stillborn. The doctors there transfused him while he was still in my tummy, but he still didn't make it. He was born on April 9, 1973 in Brazil. He was buried by Jack and "Bita" in a cemetery high on a mountain overlooking Rio. Jack had to carry his little coffin up the steps all the way to the top of the mountain and wait while the grave-digger dug the grave before burial. Jack held a service for him. Jack had a "signet" ring (gold with flat top surface with the initial "W" on it) that his uncle, Randolph Mann Warwick ("Monk"), Papa's youngest brother, had given Jack before Monk died. Jack put that ring in the baby's coffin. The baby would have been about 2 years, 7 months younger than Tania. I was told NOTHING of his burial for a LONG, LONG time....only that the hospital was taking care of that. I was so upset about losing him that Jack and Bita thought it best that they not tell me until much later."

Tab writes...

Once our family returned to the U.S., it was not long before we had slipped into the sharp claws of unbelievable poverty and my father was shortly thereafter declared totally and permanently disabled after a spinal surgery leaving him partially paralyzed. Due to the non-existence of soccer, music became the idea of my passion at age 11. I must admit that it seemed to have started for all the wrong reasons. Perhaps at the threshold of the age of accountability, hormones stepped in. The famous cliché 'Sex, Drugs, Rock and Roll', quickly became the most significant driving motivation behind my newly discovered art form. This was primarily because of my zero care or knowledge of God.

Today, as I look back, I can easily see the Lord's protection and provision over my life amongst those many years of my obsessed strive for perfection. Especially, on the drums. He was always there. The obsession which encompassed me those long sweaty hours each day, wasn't really about fame or fortune, it was really all about a tangible object provided for me to lean into until the time arrived which He had predestined for me, to know , to trust , and to ultimately serve Him completely.

Almost enchanting how I recall those drums practically speaking back to me during those countless days alone together. I used to claim my drums as my best friend to anyone who dare ask. Perhaps because each and every day, this best friend permitted me to pulverize, smash, hit, beat, and even at times try to kill him, as hard as my outcrying heart willed to do so. My drums were always willing to take the abusive punishment. Each and every one of those countless smites, strikes, kicks and blows. All the anger, hate, and abusive lash outs I could possibly deliver. Those drums, that best friend, just sat there and absorbed it all, never retaliating, only as if to reverberate back to me, and compassionately resound, "Please........ strike me............. as much as you need to........ It's O.K....... for you know I deeply care about you..... and understand how you feel.......... My purpose will always be for you to get better...........to feel better..... about yourself.........about everything and everyone else........I will always be here to help you become your very, very best.......regardless of what you must do, or must not do......with, or without me.......to, or unto me........I'll always be right here for you, forever."


In truth, moving to Mathews County, Virginia at age 11 was the beginning of my worst nightmare. My parents had sold two properties in Yorktown, VA which they rented while in Brasil, and with the money purchased a small country store in the little town of Mobjack, Va. in Mathews County. This small country store had been in business many years before they purchased it, with a license to sell alcohol on and off premises. Attracting the locals on a daily basis, the first gossip I recall hearing about Mathews County, was that it was a modern day "Peyton Place". The gossiper told the absolute truth about that.

Children, undoubtedly have a keen spiritual discernment about things, and I will never forget discerning upon my immediate arrival to Mobjack that there was an evil in those woods. The first kid to introduce himself to me just happened to be the worst influence one could have at that time (my prayer is that he finds the Lord, as he went to prison many years ago, for a total of fifty). I suppose I was just at that ripe age to be naive enough to be tempted into tasting forbidden fruits. So it was. First came the cigarettes, then came the stealing of them from my parents own store. Next, Marijuana. Smoking it led to stealing money randomly to purchase it at school in the sixth grade. And of course my life had birthed in to a rebellion, fueled by the Satan's lies.

My parents were generous in their hearts toward the primarily poor to middle class residents of the area and believed they were doing the right thing by allowing most of these to have credit accounts. Well, unfortunately within less than three years the business folded due to the failure to meet the mortgage payment because customers did not pay back on their credit accounts. Many of these customers were chronic alcoholics which have passed on, dying from the disease. To complicate matters, at the same time my dad's health declined as he went under the knife for spinal surgery which left him totally and permanently disabled.

The history of Mobjack has it that the town was once owned almost entirely by a man named Phillpotts who was wealthy as a result of his oil company which had prospered in the years passed. When we moved to Mobjack I recall the ruins of that company slowly slipping in to the Mobjack Bay. Survived by his wife, Mrs. Phillpotts became a saving grace in the time of our families' darkest hour, being that she still owned several properties in the town and had a compassion for our time of need.

Life started to get tough as the poverty became extreme.  A sense of pride and shame prohibited my parents from seeking welfare, primarily because so many in the neighboring towns were abusing the system and people knew it, gossiped about it, and condemned it.  Deep depression rolled in and settled like the dark and deadly cloud of a decade long nuclear winter.  I remember my brother and I hiding in shame when the love of the local church appeared at our doorstep bringing groceries and supplies that only the Lord could have inspired them to donate.  I did not realize till later in life how much my dear dad was so devastated concerning his physical and financial misfortune.  He often compared his life to that of the story of JOB.  

Tab =(a form of David) vs. Goliath

Life went on for me, enduring the various experiences mostly detailed in my biography, which crept up to October 1985 when Kevin, the guitar player of our original band "Interchase" who was originally from California, decided to return home to celebrate his birthday for a period of two weeks with his family. He packed his personal belongings and took a flight leaving his gear behind. Close to the end of the two weeks he gave us a call telling us of his decision to remain in California. He had met a girl that stole his heart whom he eventually married. The band was naturally disappointed but, by the same token very happy for him. I asked him about his gear and how he planned to get it from Virginia to California. He informed me that a friend of his would drive him to Virginia in a few days to pick it up. So it was.

About a week later from that phone call Kevin and his friend pulled into our driveway. We were glad to see him but, sad to see him leave for we had put a lot of effort in our original music together. Kevin introduced us to his friend Frank. Frank, immediately stood out to the tune of 6 ft. 4 in. in height towering over the small car they traveled in. I will never forget how Frank and I immediately hit it off in our conversation. It was as if we had known each other all our lives.

I spoke to Frank of my personal discontentment of the music scene in Virginia at that time, and how I for the longest, desired to check out the West Coast. Before I could finish my sentence Frank suggested, " why don't you come out to California?" I told him I would love to but had nowhere to stay long enough to get my feet on the ground. He replied, " you can stay at my house with my folks, they would love to have you ." I was skeptical because that just sounded too good to be true, much less, he had not even discussed this with his family. However, deeper into our conversation he gave me the assurance that the invitation was genuine. I took him up on his offer, and within one month I began that 3000 mile journey to Marysville, California.

The day of my departure was actually surreal. There I was, my clothes, my drums, my van, my family, my girlfriend and the tears. I distinctly remember trying to be brave, although inside, I was actually nervous concerning the journey which lay before me. After those painful good-byes, I had driven roughly four hours before reaching the western border of Virginia. I was thinking at that point that this marked the point of no return. There at the border I pulled into the rest area, parked the van and began to struggle with my pride and fear of the unknown. After all, I had boasted to everyone I knew about how I was going to California to "make it". How could I turn back? Within several minutes of my struggle, my eyes fixed on a blue book cover on the floor of the van entitled 'Power for Living', a book I felt strangely compelled to order from a television ad approximately at the time I met Frank. I had yet to read the book but I knew its content pertained to testimonials of famous celebrities who became Christians. Interestingly, the same Spirit that compelled me to order that book, compelled me to continue my journey westward, and for some reason I did not feel alone the remainder of that journey.

At the time, I was an avid Rush fan blaring the tunes from their newer 'Power Windows' album across Interstate 40, marveling at the diverse changes in the landscape formations from state to state. From the thick pine forests of Virginia, to the flat lands of Arkansas, to the desert of the Texas Panhandle, through the realm of red rock New Mexico and Arizona and desert plains of Nevada. In three days I finally reached the golden grasses of Southern California and continued northward to my destination Marysville, California where I was warmly greeted by my new friend and his family.

Before settling in, Frank cautioned me that his father was a church deacon and to watch my language and behavior while in the home. I agreed thinking that was easy enough: don't take the Lord's name in vain, don't curses, don't smoke drink or drug while at their home. Three days had passed before the weekend came and Frank and I went to some of his friend's house and immediately the partying began. This became a normal hang out for us because it provided all that we were into, sex, drugs and rock and roll. Frank and I quickly became the best of friends and as with most close friends of mine, my natural tendency to give them a nickname happened to him to. Without thought I began to call him Goliath. Perhaps it was for his height, his size and scruffy red hair and beard.
  ......to be continued

Full details of the following are soon to be continued...............................

The Lord only recently reminded me of those dead black chickens, sacrificed and placed in bowls on our property on three now memorable occasions. Who could forget the sound of those macumba (Voodoo) drums that religiously echoed in the darkness of each and every night.

Who would believe that after cracking that book "Mastering Witchcraft" which I innocently checked out of my high school library and read three pages of, would shortly thereafter lead me in to a mysteriously seductive life of drugs, promiscuity and repeated unwilling outer body astral projections which lasted up to several years following my salvation. I would never have imagined that each of those cursed experiences would ultimately assist in leading many special people through the only true doorway to eternal life - Christ Jesus - The Messiah........

to be continued...............................

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