Clint Bryson was a friend of mine. We met at church back in 1980 in the Singles Sunday School Department. He worked for ETV as a camerman. He also would be on one of our TV cameras during the service. If you saw a pretty girl in the congregation, you knew Clint was on that camera. Clint usually stood next to me in the choir, as we both sang bass. We sort of looked alike, as we both were thin and wore glasses. One day, he and I were standing around in a hallway, and a woman came up to me. She pointed at Clint and asked what my brother did for a living. I knew she meant Clint, but I told her of my real brother's occupation was working in public relations and on political campaigns. Her eyes got big. I could tell she was thinking that Clint had a lucrative career, but he didn't dress like it. I told Clint about what I had said, and we had a good laugh over it. We never told that woman any differently.
He and I helped coach the First Baptist girls' softball team along with another guy. He would handle one of the bases. My job was to heckle the opposing team. It worked out well, except for the times that the umpire would tell me to shut up. We also went on mission trips for the church. One of our trips to Philadelphia, he described the town as "Fithydelphia". It kind of was, but he took us to a mall downtown, where I was exposed to some cool music by Philly Cream and other groups. When he and I went on a mission trip to Puerto Rico, we stayed in the same hotel room. Clint was very protective of his age. He never said how old he was. One night, I just asked him how old he was. He asked me how old I was, and I told him. He replied that he was ten years older than me. I was shocked. He made me promise not to tell anyone of his secret. I never did.
As time will do, we drifted apart. He and I started going to other churches. I would see him taking pictures at events for the Irmo newspaper from time to time, but that was about it. In May of 2022, I was invited to go out to eat with some friends, and Clint was there. He looked frail. I went up to say hello. He was cordial, but I wasn't sure that he remembered me. A week later, Clint died from pneumonia. I went to his memorial service at the church that he had joined many years before. They talked about his love for baseball and softball. The service was outside next to the ballfield. They were talking about naming first base for Clint. I suggested that they name the whole field for him, and they thought that was a great idea. They were also talking about having him buried at the Fort Jackson National Cemetery, as Clint was a veteran, but there was a lot of red tape involved to do so. He didn't have any family left.
About a week later, I went to the James Taylor concert in Columbia. He was very good, although he didn't sing "You've Got a Friend". This was the second time I had seen JT. It was his first show on his tour, and they said he had spent several days in Columbia rehearsing for the show. I really wished that I had known that ahead of time. A high school friend from years ago knew I was going, and she offered to take me home afterwards. As we were heading home, she asked how I knew Clint. She had seen my tribute to him on Facebook. As it turned out, she knew him from working with him at ETV. I told her about us wanting to have him buried at Ft. Jackson. As it also turned out, she was involved in getting unclaimed veterans to be buried there. She had no idea what the plan was. It was fortuitous that the subject even came up in the car.
You just never know how a contact will lead to something else. I believe God puts people in our paths, but we have to listen and be receptive. I could have taken an Uber home from that show. I didn't, and it worked out for the good. Thanks, Jean.
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