Tuscumbia and the Dog

On Saturday, September 29,  we said goodbye to my dad in a simple ceremony at the church that he had always attended in his hometown of Tuscumbia, Missouri.  Dad was a deacon in the Tuscumbia Christian Church, affiliated with the Disciples of Christ denomination.  His mother was a member of the Presbyterian Church in town.  The girls, Betty and Barbara, attended church with her and Dad attended with his father, Homer Lee.  I even have a picture of Homer Lee at age 10 or so standing in front of the very church.  Dad was buried in the Hauenstein plot in the Tuscumbia Cemetery where countless of my relatives (and his) are buried.  He is with mom, resting there in his beloved Miller County.

Tuscumbia is a small town, located along the Osage River.  It has an "upper town" and a "Goose bottom" along the river.  Sadly, the best days of the town are in the past, at least in part but the people who live there are gracious, lovely, kind, warm-hearted people.  When Harry Truman spoke of "God's Country", I am sure he was speaking of Tuscumbia.  It is still the county seat and there's still a high school and elementary school there.  My dad had been president of the school board back in the day and chairman of the Annual Homecoming Picnic for many years.  He was proud of his community and the people who lived there.  He worried about the cemetery and even in his papers I found some figures that he had put together on the costs of mowing the cemetery grounds, $5000 annually, according to Dad, and the annual Memorial Day donation, $3,000.  The cemetery is a private entity.  Dad's records indicate the land was deeded by a Goodrich (of some family connection) as a cemetery.  One of my earliest memories is accompanying my grandmother to the cemetery with some 30 plus containers for "Decoration Day".

On Saturday, I drove to the funeral services by myself.  We had been asked to get to the church early.  I made a trip from Jefferson City that I had driven many times, most recently at Memorial Day.  I was struck by the beauty of the morning.  The first early hint of fall has arrived in Central Missouri and the trees were beginning to turn hues of yellow, orange, and red.  The sumac that grows along the road was already a fiery red.  In places the trees almost touch over Highway 17 and it was peaceful, lovely drive.  As I reached Tuscumbia, nestled by the river, I saw the sign, Population 218.  It hasn't changed much.  I think when I lived there it was 258.  People who have never lived in a small town have a hard time understanding why anyone would do so and further HOW anyone did so.  Even then, I was a bit annoyed by the fact that cell service is intermittent at best.

I learned that it was a tradition in Tuscumbia for mourners to walk to the cemetery from the church.  It's a short walk, perhaps a half mile, and many of the people at Dad's service walked through the school yard and around the corner to the cemetery.  There, they picked up a dog, or rather a dog picked them up.  He was healthy looking dog, but obviously a mutt of mixed parentage.  As the military honor guard fired the guns and blew Taps, the dog nosed among the mourners, rubbing up against my leg and those of my brothers and wandering among our friends.  I smiled and thought how my dad would have loved that dog being there among us.  It was almost as though dad was there, checking out who was attending the services, reassuring us that everything was okay.  My girls are convinced that Bamber sent the dog or perhaps was there with us through the dog.  Later, after the lovely luncheon provided by the church, as we stood in the street, ready to leave Tuscumbia, the dog reappeared.  Becca wanted to take him home but I am sure he belonged there in Tuscumbia.  At least that's what I choose to believe.  I left another piece of my heart there on Saturday.  I'm so glad Dad is there, among his family in the community that he lived in and loved for most of his 93 years.  Welcome back, Dad.

Bamber Hauenstein Wright, 1919-2012

My dad died yesterday.  I don't think he was in any physical pain and I hope that he was not afraid or sad.  I want to think that he died with my mom welcoming him to heaven in that gentle way that she had.  I can hear her saying, "gees, Bam, what took you so long?"

I have been most blessed in my life by the generous and good men who have filled it.  From my childhood, Dr. Jack Gunn, Phil Smith, Clayton Smith, Dr. Paul Howard, Floyd Ouderkirk, Denzel Kallenbach, Dewey Kallenbach, Bill Lawson, Jim Clark;.my teachers, Dr. Charles Jones, Mac Green, Charles Kendrick, Dr. Jesse Wheeler, Ted Tarkow, Walter Schroeder...my friends, Dale Schmidt, Larry Habel, Walter Bowman, Stuart Bintner, Bob Mobley...my family, Uncles Carroll, Cecil, Sam and Bud, my brothers Phil and Jack.  The best of these good and gracious men from whom I have learned so much was my dad, Bamber Wright.

In many ways he was a simple man.  He worked for Anchor Milling Company for over forty years, under the thumb of his wealthier, older cousin.  He enlisted in the Air Force at the dawn of WWII, dropping out of the University of Missouri.  He dreamed of becoming a pilot; but, he became instead a part of a combat mapping squadron in the little known China, India, Burma theatre.  When he returned from the war he meet and wooed my mom, Marcella Schell.  Their courtship last seven years and was in many ways tumultuous; but, somehow they persevered, despite his parents' misgivings about marrying a Catholic.  He watched as mom took us each Sunday to church at Sacred Heart in Eldon.  Dad went his own way, a deacon at the Tuscumbia Christian Church.

He was a faithful son who visited his mother each night.  My brother Jack repaid these visits, in part, during the last year when he faithfully trekked each evening to the nursing home to help dad with his teeth and to turn down his bed.   He was a devoted brother of Barbara and Betty, Betty who called each night when he could hear, ending their two minute talks with "I love you little Sister."  "I love you, Big Brother," she always responded.

Dad was a good husband.  He and my mom were married for fifty-six years.  He missed her desperately in the last few years.  When mom wanted to move to Jefferson City, dad moved, even though we all knew it was hard for him.  He missed the house he and mom had built before they married, pouring the foundation as he always told me on July 4, 1952.  Mom shared that more than once as their wedding date approached she thought of calling off the whole thing; but, then she remembered she had $2000 invested in the new house.

Dad was a terrific father.  I don't remember that he ever spanked us and he rarely raised his voice.  I never heard him swear in anger at my mother or any of us.  Somehow, we always wanted to please him.  We were good kids; how much trouble could one get into in Tuscumbia in the 1960s?  Dad took us on endless "cat arounds" to give our working mom a few minutes of peace on a Sunday afternoon.  Often these trips ended at the "station" under the hill with an ice cream for everyone.  Almost every summer night, Dad took us to the Eldon Pool where he and Vic Luetkemeyer talked and we swam for hours.  Dad and Vic undoubtedly consumed a fair amount of Jack Daniel in these sessions.

Dad liked butter brickle ice cream, red roses, Old Spice cologne, the music of Jim Reeves, and the stories of Louis L'Amour.  He always drove a red pick up and he drove after he retired for Belt Chevrolet in Eldon.  He loved to drive and when he couldn't, he didn't complain, although I know it bothered him and dampened his irrepressible spirit.

Dad took us on vacations that are still some of my best memories of time spent with him.  We traveled to Disneyland, Boston, Colorado, Wyoming, Michigan, Tennessee, visiting friends and family.  Every summer we trekked to Iowa and even as late as 2009 he made the trip in his pick up, me worrying at every mile.

Dad was a great story teller.  He could remember everyone's name, thinking that we would remember them too.  "You know", he would say, "X was the salesman for Lone Star Cement, Weyerhauser, etc."  Even recently, dad could remember long lost family from Tuscumbia and Miller County.

Bamber was a good friend and he had friends of all ages.  The closest friends of his youth, Judson Berry, Phil Smith, Omer Goode, are gone now too...I have an idea that they are sitting around a celestial fire ring, toasting each other with a good glass of bourbon, dad's "bellywasher."  Other friends were faithful visitors to dad in Jefferson City and later at the nursing home.  He would regale me with stories of visits by Jim and Nancy, Jimmy Mays, the family of Lessie and Bill Jenks, Alan Wright and Joe Pryor.  Children loved my dad and he loved children, especially his eight grandchildren.  Even last week when I visited he wanted to know "how are the kids?" and he smiled with pleasure as I reported the antics of my three and their respective jobs and romances.

It is difficult to sum up the rich, full life of my dad.  He lives in my heart and in the smile of my son, Matthew. I see him in the hug and wry humor  of my brothers Phil and Jack.

Say hello to mom for me.  I miss you.  I love you.  My dad, the best man I've ever known.

Mary and Marla

It's Labor Day weekend and I have been reminded, once again, of the fragility of life and the sadness that loss brings to family and friends.  Mary Downs and Marla Harris never met each other but they died on Thursday and I knew them, albeit not well.  Mary was the wife of long time teacher, Terry Downs, and over the past twenty years (or so), I have talked with Mary at the odd faculty gathering.  I remember when she gave birth to Sara and her son, Brian, a current sophomore at O'Hara.  Just last May I marveled at the fact that she was driving the kids to and from O'Hara, having suffered for many years from some kind of a neurological, seizure disorder.  I talked last with her at the faculty gathering in May.  Diagnosed with cancer in July, Mary had only a short battle with the vicious disease.

Marla was the mother of  Megan, Becca's first college roommate and still dear friend.  I bonded with Marla over the travails of moving our two freshmen into a 8 x 10 room at Creighton and shared stories that first semester at Parents Weekend.  Megan decided to transfer at semester and Marla and I shared a Mexican meal with the girls at Habeneros as they parted.  Megan and Becca have remained fast friends with numerous road trips between Sedalia and Kansas City by both girls.  And, I kept up with Marla through Megan, from the devastating diagnosis of leukemia, through last Thursday.

And, so, although I did not know Mary or Marla very well, I do know their children, and I happen to believe that it is possible to learn a lot about a woman when one knows her children.  I know that Mary had incredible determination and faith because her daughter, Sara, showed that each day at O'Hara as she took the stage for various plays and served as a leader for our senior Kairos retreat.  That determination and faith live on in Sara and in Brian, who is just beginning his sophomore year at O'Hara.  And, I could see the enormous capacity for love that was Marla's gift to Megan.  Throughout her battle with leukemia, Megan started "Hope for Marla", a prayer campaign complete with wristbands.  Megan carried on at Mizzou and spent as much time as she could with her lovely mom.  A warm and caring woman, Marla had a quick smile for everyone she met and it was like meeting an old friend when I learned that she had grown up in Jefferson City.  So, we bonded about growing up in a small town in central Missouri.

I feel so deeply for the Downs and Harris families.  I so cherish my adult time with my own mom, and I feel sad that Sara, Brian, Megan, and her brothers have been cheated of that experience with their own moms.  But, the gifts of their moms will live on in them.  And, so I am reminded of how precious and fragile life is.  We are here but for a short time.  Please don't waste that time arguing with your mom or wishing your child could be this way or that.  Hold on to each other.  Cherish each moment, even the arguments over hair length and curfew.   I know that I will do so.  It's especially important on this weekend.  Twenty years ago I gave birth to my last child, Matthew.  His name means "Child of God" and each day I thank God for bringing him (and his sisters) to us.  I plan to spend a little more time with these "gifts" because none of us knows what the future might bring.  I hope to live to be a very old grandma, but that is in someone else's hands.  What I can do is live life fully, in appreciation and joy.  

Advertising...Why Can't It Be a Force for Good?

While enjoying my morning tea, I was catching up on some Olympic coverage of the amazing Serena Williams, and thoroughly relishing the fact that I had nothing pressing to do for the next couple of hours.  And, then, a commercial from Arbys flashed on the screen.  It features a young man enjoying the newest Arby's promotion, Snap and Rock.  Evidently one snaps a picture, texts Arby's, and wins, according to the ad, every time.  As the young man was reveling in his rewards, he was proceeding to walk down a street destroying mirrors and other property set outside an antique store.  For his reward, he was narrowly missed by a piano falling from an upper window.  

Even my modern advertising standards, this commercial is bad.  It appears to endorse wanton destruction of someone else's property and ends in the fable that somehow one can escape misfortune by snapping pictures of Arbys food.  Ridiculous and irresponsible.  So, I promptly got on the web, located the "contact us" button for Arbys and fired off an email.  If more people would take the time to register indignation, corporate America would pay more attention.  They get away with this kind of outrageous message because we let them.  Let's wake up!  Corporate America is only as good as the Americans who watch the ads and buy the products.

Change the World

As I was looking through my twitter feed today, a teacher I follow, Kay Connors, had posted a story from CNN called "Give a Child A Camera and Change the World."  "Give a Child a Camera"Of course, I was hooked and I went on to read the story on CNN.  Four college students got the idea to travel to distant parts of the world to teach children how to use a camera, the idea being that these children would take pictures of their day to day reality, pictures that could then be posted and eventually sold.  The money from the sales would go to "boots on the ground" organizations in these countries that would help the children.  The CNN story shared the details of an orphanage in Sudan where the money earned from the pictures helped build a fence and secure reliable transportation.  The college students eventually turned their idea into a non-profit and have gone on to work in New York and Cuba.  100 Cameras   As I read the article, I was cheered.  Young people, probably close in age to the young man who opened fire on the movie theatre in Colorado, had an idea that they could make a difference for good in the world and they found the courage and the means to make their idea a reality.  It happens that their actions fit nicely into my personal philosophy which I have explained to my students and my own kids.  Summed up it is simply you are either a part of the problem OR you are a part of the solution.  There's so sitting idly by, watching the world go by.  If you can read about stories of injustice and poverty and NOT feel compelled to do something, anything, then, in my view, you are a part of the problem.  The college students highlighted in the CNN story are working toward a solution.  As the comments on the CNN story indicate their work is not without its critics.  Several people noted things that ran along the lines of, "you can't solve this big a problem with cameras," "how do you know the organizations are giving the money back to the children?"  While some of these criticisms may be legitimate, I put these naysayers firmly in the "part of the problem" side of the world.  Yes, there are probably lots of problems with this idealistic view that if you give a camera to a child in poverty then you can somehow change the world.  But, isn't it wonderful in our too cynical world, where some young people open fire on innocent movie goers, that some college students decided THEY could make a difference.  What made them newsworthy is that they did it.  May all of our young people feel so empowered.  That is, after all, one of the most important goals of education in the Lasallian tradition, helping people realize that they can be a force for good in the world.  To sit on the sidelines is to be a part of the problem.  Don't sit on the sidelines.  Choose to be involved in the world.  The rewards for all are immeasurable.

Saturday

It's Saturday.  It's the day when I used to get all the chores done that had piled up during the week like grocery shopping, laundry, cleaning, dusting, etc.  Most Saturdays though I go to Jeff to see my Dad.  I'm not sure how much he enjoys my visits because they are always really short, but Jack told me that it helps him when I do go, so I've gone every Saturday since Dad moved into assisted living back in October.  Except today.  And, I'm feeling a bit guilty.  Life is like that, though.  It's one giant juggling act between what we need to do and what we want to do.   I decided to stay home today and do some of the things that have been piling up.  I started painting the deck today.  I have it over half finished, but I ran out of paint, so will finish later in the week.  The kids are all gone this weekend.  Matt's with the Freelands, Becca went to Hays with Corey, and Sarah is in Columbia with Joe.  I miss them, but it's been fun cleaning and organizing without anyone but Grady under foot.  The dog got a little paint on his nose because he got a bit too close to the action this morning.  And, now I just have to finish the myriad of tasks I've set for myself before my precious Saturday is gone.

Summer

I have been thinking a lot about the summers of my childhood.  And, a variety of memories have surfaced, each poignant and delightful, each bittersweet in its own way.  I remember...The Tuscumbia Picnic.  It wasn't actually a picnic...it was more like a, Lees Summit Downtown Days. . .a carnival came to down replete with rides and sideshows. . .the PTA hosted a delicious chicken dinner....there was a dance...square dancing...a beer garden that parents strongly discouraged...there were swimming lessons at the Lake of the Ozarks...my mom's garden...I think we ate wilted lettuce every night for at least two months...my Aunt Betty who came to visit in late June and stayed until August...the 56 Chevys...the bookmobile...there were nights swimming at the Eldon Country Club...our annual visit to Iowa to pick up Grandma Wright who had gone for a visit to Aunt Barbara's and stayed for three weeks, or more...my brothers' birthdays...both born in the summer...vacations with the Smiths to San Diego, Wyoming and Colorado.  Who could forget camping in the wilds of the Snake River during August when the temperatures dipped into the 40s?  My dad, having a "bellywasher" with Phil Smith, on the banks of the Snake....we picked blackberries with my grandmothers Tilly and Lizzie.  My brothers and cousin Ron collected minnows at Gum Creeek while I...read...ah, the books...Ah.  It was a simpler time.  I hope that my children's memories of summer are as rich...