Some years ago, while we were visiting Edinburgh, Scotland, our tour guide told of a Scotsman who struck up a conversation with a British fellow on the train to London.

The Scotsman mentioned that it was his first trip to London, explaining, "I'm on me honeymoon, you know."

"But where's your bride?" the Britisher asked.

"She's t'home," the groom replied. "She's been to London before."

Pinchpenny anecdotes about frugal Scots abounded at a breakfast honoring Dr. Albert Edwards, pastor emeritus of Raleigh's First Presbyterian Church.

The occasion marked the 50th anniversary of the Early Birds Breakfast Club, founded by the greatly loved 91-year-old minister known across Eastern North Carolina via his televised sermons.

Master of ceremonies Bob Inskeep, one-time radio personality and now an associate pastor at First Prez, said that in his youth, young Albert was sitting by the loch in Scotland with a pretty lass, who looked at him and said, "Penny for your thoughts."

Albert, always honest, replied, "Well, I was kinda hopin' for a little kiss?"

So she kissed him. Minutes went by and the lass turned to him again and said, "Penny for your thoughts."

Honest Albert turned to her and said, "Well, I was just sort of thinkin' I hope you haven't forgotten about the penny!"

Edwards was not only an eloquent speaker, but also a caring community leader whose influence extended far beyond his First Church flock. Probably his best-remembered sermon during his long tenure was the one he never delivered.

The incident occurred during the civil rights sit-ins of the '60s, at a time when African-Americans were advocating equal access to community facilities, including the right to sit on the first floor rather than in the balcony of Raleigh's Ambassador Theatre on Fayetteville Street.

One Sabbath morn, Edwards requested that each of us during the forthcoming week telephone Ambassador Theatre manager W.G. Enloe, a member of his church and also mayor of Raleigh. He explained he wasn't telling us what to do or say but to express our feeling one way or the other on the theater's segregation policy.

Next Sunday, when he asked for a show of hands from those who had contacted the mayor, fewer than a dozen hands were raised.

Edwards looked out from the pulpit at us for what seemed like a long five minutes. He then quietly closed his Bible and left the pulpit. We all went home with something to think about, something we hadn't given enough thought to in the past.

The "silent sermon" Edwards preached that Sunday has remained with me, pricking a guilty conscience, reminding me that in that historic time, I failed to take a stand for humanity, excusing myself under the guise of being the on-the-scene "objective reporter."

A pox on Crayola!

Crayola, the grand duchess of crayons, has gone too far!

Under its new color classifications, orange no longer will be orange. Orange will be Awesome. Purple will be Best Friends. Turquoise will be Ever After and green will be Giving Tree. Fiddlesticks!

I've never been a Crayola fan. I've never forgiven them for, when I was a first-grader, not printing the names of the colors on the crayons.

I had constant nightmares over art class, when old Mrs. Hinshaw would swat my hand with a ruler because I colored Robin Red Breast's bosom brown, the grass he stood on purple instead of green and the worm he was eating hot pink.

Any prospect I might have had for becoming another Rembrandt or Monet was totally aborted by a teacher who apparently had never heard of colorblindness, which afflicts 10 percent of little boys.

Taking home a report card with a 65 in Art every month does nothing to increase a kid's self-respect or confidence.

So a pox on you, Crayola, and on all your new colors, including Awesome! And Bear Hug!

Get $150+ in coupons in every Sunday N&O. Click here for convenient home delivery.