Dec. 20, 2004 ~ 1-1-6-6
We had been dreading it for nearly a week, and the day had finally arrived. But there was comfort in being among so many friends, in seeing all the familiar faces, feeling loving arms around us. It was a surprisingly upbeat service, by request and by design. Ever since his father's funeral, our friend has been unable to attend another memorial service. He said it was just too much for him, too painful. So if there was to be a service for him at all, it could not be just about tears and sorrow. It was particularly fitting that the minister offered the microphone to anyone who wanted to speak, and many did. It was funny how everyone said almost the exact same things about him, maybe using a few different words or phrases. "Never met a stranger." "... and in walked this ray of sunshine, lighting up the room on the cloudiest of days." "Loved by all who knew him." "The richest man in town... more friends than anyone could count." And I told a funny story or two, but saved the personal ones, keeping those memories close to my heart.
We thought of him as this lovable teddy bear of a man, always smiling, gentle with women and children and dogs. But he was an unsung hero, in the truest sense of the word. A retired Dallas police officer and firefigther, he must have helped save countless lives over the course of his career. But he never spoke of it, not once. No reveling in his glory days, as he preferred to live in the moment.
He always called me "sweetheart," and "precious," and I expect that's what he called most girls and women, from nine to ninety-nine. When he said it, it sounded genuine, sincere, not demeaning or rude. The other day an older gentleman at the grocery store spoke to me in just that same way, after we discussed the merits of various kinds of artificial sweetener. I paused a moment, remembering. I'm pretty sure I smiled.
He was the one I always counted on, the one person other than family who I could call anytime, day or night, and he would be right here if we needed him. Of course it worked both ways. And it was nice to be needed, to be appreciated, and to be loved. He was joyful, funny, opinionated, ornery, and gentle, all at the same time.
I only got mad at him twice in my life. He was foolish enough to say that our newborn foal, Bucky, was the ugliest thing he'd ever seen. That did not go over well. Bucky was the sun and the moon to me... there had never been a more beautiful baby horse. But Earl kept going on and on, detailing his every flaw. Legs too long, ears too big. Skinny. Couldn't see straight. If looks could kill, well, that would have been the end of Earl. I explained to him that anyone with a lick of sense would know better than to tell a woman her baby horse was UGLY, when in fact he was a perfect little angel, the most adorable creature to walk the earth. Which he thought was funny. He was just piling it on, making it worse and worse. There was probably steam coming out of my ears! Not long ago I found old pictures of that baby horse, who has since grown into a beautiful animal. But those baby pictures were pretty hideous. I told Earl that he had been right, that our horse had been a pretty ugly baby. But he had learned. He chose his words carefully, and with a twinkle in his eye, said that he always thought Bucky was a beautiful baby, the prettiest little horse to ever walk the earth. What a character!
The fire department chaplain spoke about our friend... he had known him all those years ago, and he shared a few funny stories about the old days. And then he talked about the bell. On a simple wooden pedestal, there in a place of honor, was a bell which had once adorned a Dallas fire truck. He spoke of the history of the bell, how it had been used to signal the firefighters at a fire. When it was rung in various patterns, it meant different things. "1-1" (rung once, and then once more) meant that the fire was over. "6-6" (rung six times, and then six more) meant that all the men could return to their quarters. And so in these modern times when bells are no longer needed for signaling, this bell is used at the funerals of firefighters, to honor them and bid them farewell.
At the close of the service, the chaplain rang the bell... 1-1-6-6. The fire is over, return to quarters. Earl, your job is done. It's time to go home.
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