Papa and Grammy - Later Years

Of course my grandparents eventually grew old and with aging came ill health.  I remember Papa being taken to the hospital in Fort Worth, and I drove Mama there to see him.  That was while I was still in College.    I made a few trips to Hico during college and in the years thereafter, but they became more infrequent.  My grandfather died in the year my oldest son was born (1961).   I don’t know the exact date but I think it was probably in the fall. 

I have a picture of Elliott taken on their front porch on the day of the funeral.  He couldn’t have been more than 7 or 8 months old.  Elliott is now 50.  I recall the funeral service pretty vividly because I didn’t like it.   I don’t remember the preacher’s name, but I do recall some of the things he said.  My grandfather did not attend church, and the preacher chose that time to preach a doctrinal sermon on the nature of the New Testament church.  I thought it totally inappropriate.   My grandfather may not have gone to church, but he was my grandfather and I would have appreciated it if there has been some reference to the man’s life. Three or four years later, Ann’s father died and I was given the assignment to go to the preacher and instruct him not to do that.

Papa only addressed the subject of church one time with me that I remember.    He was distressed because there was so much bickering, disagreement and debate between the churches.   He said, “Until they learn how to get together, I’m not going to have anything to do with them.”  Of course that never happened.

Grammy lived on several years after his death   The last time I saw her she was in a nursing home in Meridian and I don’t think she recognized me.    

When Grammy died I was living in Houston, but I didn’t make the funeral.  I was asked to conduct it, but I had the flu and could barely speak above the whisper.  I insisted that the rest of my family make the trip to Hico to attend the funeral.   My father made a tape recording since I was not present.  I still have it.    

I hope this next part doesn’t sound disrespectful.  It is not meant to be.  When we were living in Cedar Rapids, Iowa the first time, we were part of a parents group that supported the performing arts.   To raise money for the performing arts, we sponsored a play.  The play was called “Tuna, Texas,” which is an off-the-wall bit of satire about Texas.  It was written by two Texans, but they would probably like to maintain a low profile when they travel in the state, because they aren’t very complimentary.  

Ann and I became dialect coaches for the actors.    Those Iowa boys didn’t know how to talk “Texas.”    If there’s one thing I know a little about, that’s it.   When I was in college, my speech teachers accused me of having the worst case of a West Texas country boy dialect they had ever heard.   So I set about to teach these old boys how to talk correctly.  For the first time in my life, I found willing students.

In the play, there is a funeral scene. The script calls for somber, off-key funeral music.  I thought about the tape.   It includes one of the most pitiful renditions of “As the Life of a Flower” I’ve ever heard.    I mean no disrespect to the singers.  I’m sure they did their best and I’m equally sure the Lord was pleased, but when I played it for the cast and crew of Tuna, they were in stitches.   They recorded it on their high-powered equipment and the scene opened with that music.    I’m sure the good folks at Hico would have been greatly surprised to know they would become featured vocalists for a play in Iowa.

Family roots are important to me.  Your identity is bound up in where you came from.  It is impossible to tell anybody who you are without telling something of your story.   These memories are my way of relating my story.    Perhaps it will enhance your own appreciation for your roots.

This blog entry completes my reflections on my mother’s family.  The next post will start a section about my parents.