It’s summer vacation season for our Sunday Story writers, and this week’s piece comes from guest columnist Brad Kutner. Watch for a story next week from guest food editor Todd Kliman.

× Expand Bill Ferguson (left, organizer of the Acca Shriners members at the Watermelon Festival) and Thornton Holt (Acca potentate/leader) at their North Side headquarters (Photo by Brad Kutner)

When I first called Bill Ferguson late last month, he apologized for not being able to speak with me. He was someplace in North Carolina, driving a child, her mother and sister to Greenville, South Carolina, so the child could get medical care.

Ferguson, along with other local Acca Shriners, spend much of their free time helping sick children get the treatment they need.

They also handle the logistics, cutting and distribution of about 3,000 watermelons during the annual Carytown Watermelon Festival, set for Aug. 13 from 10 a.m. to 6 p.m.

I finally met up with Bill and the group’s leader, Thornton Holt, at the Acca headquarters on Hermitage Road, near Bellevue, a few days after my initial call. They brought some fellow members, and we spent a few minutes shooting a video talking about the upcoming festival. Check it out below:

After the shoot, we turned the conversation to how and why these Shriners ended up being keystones in one of the city’s largest outdoor events.

Ferguson joined the Acca Shriners in 1975 at the behest of his father-in-law.

“I didn’t have much of a chance,” he says with a laugh. He’d hang out there while he was dating his wife. He learned the rules and eventually got interested and became a member. The Acca chapter is one of 200 fraternities worldwide devoted to fun, fellowship and philanthropy. The first chapter was formed in 1872.

For Holt, joining the Acca chapter was a legacy thing. His grandfather, father and uncle were all members. He was a part of the Chanters, a Shriner singing group, and eventually became a drum major. You might have seen him marching with other Shriners at parades throughout Central Virginia.

“We can’t all drive the little cars,” says Holt, wearing the trademark maroon fez with the chapter’s name in twinkling sequins.

While the Watermelon Festival started in 1983, the Shriners got involved in 2002. One member of the Carytown Merchants Association reached out to see if they’d be interested in using the festival as a fundraiser for their charitable mission.

That mission, helping children get medical treatment, began in the early 1920s. According to Holt, the broader Shriners organization has helped 1.3 million children with medical issues ranging from burns to prosthetic limbs.

So far in 2017, Acca Shriners have arranged for the transport of about 45 patients, often with Shriners driving them to and from their destination, as well as giving them money for food and housing while they receive treatment.

“We’re constantly getting names and suggestions,” Ferguson says. ”Members let us know, they see articles [in the news], or doctors and hospitals refer them.”

The Shriners usually get a few weeks' notice before having to transport patients, but they all end up at one of the Shriner hospitals located across North America. Acca Shriners usually transport kids to hospitals in Greenville, Cincinnati or Boston, but they’ll also drive kids to Dulles International Airport so they can catch flights to the network’s hospital in Montreal.

The treatments and transportation aren’t cheap, so that’s where fundraisers such as the Watermelon Festival come in.

The group’s members volunteer as melon cutters, forklift drivers, cleanup crew or whatever else is needed from about 8 a.m. until 8 p.m.

But for Ferguson, who serves as the Acca Watermelon Festival coordinator, organizing the next fest starts the day after the last one wraps up. They learn what they can from the year before, and by April they’re applying for health permits and confirming logistics.

This coming week, two 52-foot, refrigerated trailers will roll up behind the Carytown McDonald’s, and that’s where Ferguson will spend most of his day, running a small command center that distributes melon to the five booths that line the street.

“If he’s not doing his job, we’re in bad shape,” Holt says, joking. “[Bill] is the guy, and everyone else has to sit down, shut up and keep moving … you do what you gotta do to make the thing work, but it is a lot of fun.”

“It’s tiring, it’s not stressful. A the end of the day, you’ve walked 1,000 miles, you know?” says Holt. "Driving the forklift, or those guys cutting the watermelon, they’re cutting all day long, they never move.”

But they also know what the real fruit of their labor is: money to help sick kids get the care they need.

“I’m pretty well worn out, but I feel fulfilled,” Ferguson says. "I feel like I made a difference.”

And another Watermelon Fest trope accompanies that feeling:

"My shoes are pink, my clothes are pink, sticking to my legs from watermelon juice,” he says, laughing. “[When I get home] my wife puts her fingers over her nose and points at the shower.”

This year, Publix, the Florida-based grocery chain that just moved into the Richmond region, stepped up to provide the melons.

“Publix, from the get-go, said they wanted to get involved.” Ferguson says, noting the company seems to embrace the event’s focus on community building. “They are like what Ukrop’s was.”

During our conversation, Holt’s wife, Debbie, sits across the table, laughing at stories from over the years.

Debbie tears up when Holt talks about the kids getting the medical treatment they need.

“Our ladies are involved. They’re more our strength then we probably know,” he says.

“We’re right there beside them every step of the way and we love what they do,” she says, wiping her eyes. “I’m proud to be a Shriner wife because I love what they do for the children. And we have fun.”

While spirits are high ahead of next weekend’s event, the Acca Shriners face an issue many longtime civic groups are dealing with — dwindling membership.

When Ferguson joined the group, he estimated Acca had about 6,000 members. In 2017, they number a little more than 1,300.

“It’s becoming an issue, as we get older ... we’re having trouble filling the ranks,” he says. “People have so many other things going, it's hard.”

“We’ve got to replace ourselves, and that’s what we’re trying to do,” says Holt, agreeing with Ferguson.

Forever the optimist, and facing their most public event of the year, Ferguson smiles.

“But the world’s been good to me. It’s time to pay back,” he says. “That’s what I do.”

This story has been corrected since publication Aug. 6.

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