My father had a lot of strong qualities. One of them was humility. I had very little idea about what he had done in life before our moving to South Carolina. He just never talked about it. On some visits to Martha Franks in Laurens, I would ask him about that time in his life. The early days. His work in churches around the country. He was reluctant to share these things, but he told me some stories. Like the time he was on a train to Ft. Worth in 1934 and happened to see the bodies of Bonnie and Clyde outside on a porch in Louisiana after they had been killed. That was interesting, but I wanted to know more about his church work. He told me that he thought he was the first full-time Minister of Education in a Southern Baptist church. That would have been in the early 1940's, I think. He told me about his designing church buildings with his Architecture degree from Clemson. He told me about working in some of the greatest churches in the country. I also realized that his stature in Baptist life was how I got into Anderson College, as well as not getting kicked out of seminary.
In late September 1999, I was working at Rich's. We were allowed to wear polo shirts and dress pants. It had gotten a little looser and more fun to work there. The musak played classic rock. One afternoon (September 28th) the phone rang. It was my brother telling me that our father was ill and in a coma at the Laurens County Hospital. The song playing in the store was "Turn Turn Turn" by The Byrds. He said we needed to get up to Laurens and make some plans. I told my supervisor that I had to leave, and she agreed.
We got up to Laurens and immediately went to the hospital. Daddy was lying in a coma. He had experienced several heart attacks over the years and was now in congestive heart failure. He had developed pneumonia and was on morphine. You could pinch his big toe but get no response. You could try to squeeze his hand but get nothing back. My brother was a big baseball fan. He asked the doctor that if it was the bottom of the ninth and two outs, and he had two strikes, would he get a hit and win the game? The doctor said he had 2 1/2 strikes against him, and he wouldn't get a hit. He said that even if Daddy woke up from his coma, he wouldn't know us. Just 10 days before all of this, I had visited my parents at Martha Franks. The last thing Daddy said to me as I was leaving was the same thing he said every time I left: "I love you, and I'm proud of you." Even though I had no idea what was to come 10 days later, those words were of special meaning to me.
The doctor said that Mother had to make the decision about turning off the machines that were keeping Daddy alive. We drove over to Martha Franks. Mother was pretty weak. John and I laid out the situation to her. In a very small voice, she said "Let him go." We went back over to the hospital and told the doctor what she had said. He told us that it would take a while for him to die, so we might as well go back home. By the time we got back to Columbia (a one hour drive), we got the call that Daddy had died.
Another one of my father's traits was organization. He had planned his funeral to the letter. He had also written his own obituary. So, my brother filled in the date of his passing and sent it to the newspaper. He also went to Greenwood to talk with the funeral home there about the arrangements. I got on the phone and called all those he had wanted to perform the funeral service. They all knew what they were to do, as he had talked with them years before.
The service was held at Martha Franks on October 1st so that many of the residents could go. Mother was too frail to go to Greenwood, so she sat in a wheelchair between my brother and me. She had wanted Daddy to be buried with his glasses and Bible. The funeral home said that was not something they liked to do. I explained to them that he would often fall asleep with his glasses on, so they reluctantly agreed to that, and his Bible was placed on his chest, with his hands on top of it. That Bible was the one he used to do funerals and weddings. It only seemed fitting.
When we got to Greenwood for the burial, I wanted to say a few words from the family, but my brother said no. It wasn't in the prepared plan that Daddy had drawn up. I don't remember a lot about the burial. It was chilly. My cousins from Charleston came, and my aunt from Atlanta was there. My friends from St. Matthews (the Stone family) came. The woman staying with my Mother in Laurens told us later that Mother slept for the time we left Laurens and got to Greenwood. When the graveside service started, she woke up and raised up in the bed. About 20 minutes later, she laid back down in bed and went back to sleep. They had been married 62 years. She had been his partner is so many things in churches. That was the only way to describe her reaction. It amazed the woman with her.
On our way back to Columbia, my brother and I were sharing stories about our time growing up in our family. He is almost 8 years older than me, so we grew up separately for much of our lives. We were both interested and surprised that much of our life was so similar. It was obvious we were brothers. There were people who wrote letters to us from around the world about what Daddy meant to them. We got a picture of his impact on the work in churches, on the mission field, and in everyday life. The letters were made into a book.
I was having a hard time grieving. I wanted to get back to work. They gave me a week off, but I was just sitting at home watching TV. I told our HR person about my trouble, and she said that I would be driving down the road and a song would come on the radio that would remind me of my father, and I would start to cry. Every time I hear "Turn Turn Turn", I think of Daddy. I was having dreams about him at night. Some were nightmares. I would wake up screaming "No Daddy No!!". I thought I was going crazy. I was afraid to go to sleep for fear I would have another dream.A friend, who had lost his father earlier, told me to think of those dreams as "visits". I did, and the dreams started to subside. I still have them occasionally, but they are more comforting. I also had people coming by the store to express their sympathies. Even a few years later, a prominent pastor in SC came by. He told me how much my father meant to him and his ministry. I had to go into the stockroom and cry.
We always thought that Mother would die first. God had a different plan. My father was not perfect. We fought a lot. I embarrassed him a lot. He was hard to figure out. But, I am also proud to call him my father. I have one of his ties, which I wear on occasions like Father's Day, their anniversary, his birthday, and other meaningful events. Most people don't know what I am doing with it. They just see it as a tie. I know differently. And somehow through osmosis, I inherited Daddy's humility. Before then, my ego was as big as all outdoors. After he died, I became more humble. Go figure.
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