Dad

"Your dad is such a sweet man."

"Your dad is such a good man."

"Your dad is such a Godly man."

"Your dad is a remarkable man."

"Your dad has had such a positive influence on so many people."

I have heard comments like these about Dad my entire life. At first, I thought it was just our hometown friends and relatives who thought so highly of him, but, after he and Mom moved to Alabaster in 2002, the same comments kept right on coming from all kinds of people.

Growing up in my hometown of Dadeville, Alabama, I remember several times when Dad was called upon by citizens in the community to come to their aid in situations which required a mediator of sorts . . . a peacemaker. On some occasions, it was even the authorities who contacted Dad when they were in a real bind and needed someone to try and calm down certain individuals who were on the verge of becoming violent and dangerous. They knew from previous experiences that Dad had a way with people; folks liked and trusted him and usually would do whatever he asked.

My cousin, Katrina, called Dad a "Patriarch." She was referring to that of our family, but really, he was a Patriarch to an entire town. He was, indeed, "the father of the flock, symbol of the faith and figurehead of the community," as one definition of the word states. The Dadeville Kawanis Club thought so. They called on him to speak to their group on August 3, 1978, and then awarded him with the Good Citizen Award for "Outstanding Community Service" in 1998.

Dad was not a minister, only a Sunday School teacher (he was an expert on the Bible), deacon and music director at our beloved home church of New Concord Baptist, yet he was asked several times to preach at churches in the community and even conduct funerals. These requests continued even after he and Mom moved to Alabaster, and he obliged every time in both locations up until a few years ago when his health just would not permit him to do so any longer.

I mentioned earlier that Dad was called upon frequently by citizens in and even outside our hometown to settle disputes. Once, a small group of members from a church came to him for his thoughts about another member who, according to them, had done some things that were not considered "Godly" in their eyes. They wanted to ask this person to leave the church.

Dad thought they were being too hard on this individual, but he told me that he had no idea how to tell them that. All of us who knew Dad understood that he was a "prayer warrior." He said he immediately begin to ask God what words to use to calm down these angry accusers. Something made him put his hand in his coat pocket that he was wearing. When he did, he found something that felt like a small rock. He pulled it out, and, sure enough, it was a miniature stone. I remember Dad telling me, "I had no idea how that rock had gotten in my pocket, but it made me think of the words of Jesus in the Bible (John 8:7) that He had spoken in a similar situation."

He plopped the pebble down on the table where they were seated and made this statement: "Let he who is without sin cast the first stone." He said you could have heard a pin drop. Practically everyone has heard this declaration, and many probably do not even know that it comes from the Bible. The group had asked Dad his opinion and he had given it, and, as far as he knew, they changed their minds about asking the other member to leave the church.

Everyone knows that Dad was also a musician, guitar teacher and great songwriter. He wrote around 300 songs in his lifetime, making some of them into records and still composing right up until his death. A true composer, I would come home from work and find the beginnings of song lyrics written on all kinds of things - napkins, business envelopes from the most recent mail, documents, newspapers and even the outside of a tissue box once. When showing him the box of Kleenex, I asked, "Dad, why did you scribble on this Kleenex box? We have paper around here, you know." His answer was, "Oh, I didn't have time to find paper. The words were coming fast in my head and I had to write them down before I forgot them. The closest thing I could find was the Kleenex box!" I thought to myself, Now I know why I put that box of tissues by his chair in the den! And, as a composer and writer myself, I understood completely.

Here are two of his records from the 50s which, in my opinion, was the decade that spawned some of his best writing. Mom was singing backup with him on these two songs.

Here is another of my favorites recorded by Dad, also from the 50s. It was inspired by the history surrounding the Battle of Horseshoe Bend, which took place during the War of 1812 in the bend part of the Tallapoosa River, located on the outskirts of Dadeville.

The lyrics to a dozen or so of his songs made their way into the poetry field and were published by the International Library of Poetry. One of the songs, "No Measure for Love," received two awards - the Editor's Choice Award and the International Poet of Merit Award.

This past February, I recorded a piano solo version of "No Measure for Love" for Valentine's Day and posted it on Facebook.

Dad had a deep love for our country and wrote at least two patriotic songs that I know of. One of them, "Burn the Hate, Pledge the Flag," he composed in the early 90s when there was a lot of protesting going on by way of setting fire to our beloved American flag. In 1995, he wrote the man who was president at that time, Bill Clinton, a letter and included a CD of this song which expressed his views about the subject matter. President Clinton - or one of his aids - wrote back and thanked him for his letter and recording. It thrilled all of us to see an envelope and letter addressed to Dad that had nothing more than "The White House" - "Washington" written as a return address.

Now, I have an additional comment to add to the list mentioned in my opening paragraph: "Your Dad is a very strong man."

I heard this statement 3 times over the recent almost 6-week period that he was in the hospital, fighting to recover from his shocking car accident. It was the medical workers that cared for him who saw this amazing inner strength. Although it was not enough to supply him with the healing he needed to completely recover, it did allow him the stamina to hold on for over 5 weeks in the midst of excruciating pain from several broken bones and a weakening heart due to congestive heart failure.

Even people who have never been around Dad very much have quickly been able to sum up his character. I am referring to my co-workers at Ellis Piano. Dad was able to come and visit us a couple of times over the past year and a half after Mom passed away. After being around him for just a few minutes, my co-workers made the same similar comments about him that others have made.

When returning to work the day after his funeral, David Ellis asked me how things went. I gave him some funny and not-so-funny details. My aunt, Dorothy, Dad's younger sister, when making her way to Dad's coffin to say her last good-bye, tripped over Mom's grave site (Mom's burial spot was right beside Dad's and was hidden by a tarp; we had not yet purchased a head stone for her grave at the time). Aunt Dorothy stumbled and fell over onto the side of Dad's burial bed and the tissue that was in her hand flew right in to the coffin! David joked that Mom had probably tripped her for some comic relief!

On a more scary note, a nice lady passed out toward the end of my cousin Johnny's eulogy. Johnny, also a minister, officiated the service. My sweet niece, Jilllian, a trained nurse, and dear friend from high school, Tammy, also a trained nurse, rushed to the lady's aid. After working with her for a while, the lady was taken by ambulance to the ER. It was determined that she had just gotten too hot and was dehydrated. She ended up being just fine.

Back-tracking to the morning of, my sister n law, Judi, had to make a trip to Vestavia to pick up the flowers that we had purchased to go on top of Dad's coffin. My niece, Jillian, and nephew, Brennan, and their boyfriend and girlfriend, Jp and Sydney, went along with Judi to help since the flowers were heavy and bulky.

Being that they were all dressed in the traditional black funeral attire, a customer at the flower shop noticed them and thought they had dressed up in honor of Queen Elizabeth's funeral, which was also happening that day at the same time as Dad's - British time, that is, but none the less, the same numerical time, which was 11:00 a.m. The lady made a very big deal out of it saying, "Oh, how nice that you all are wearing black in honor of Queen Elizabeth!" Not feeling like explaining anything different, my family just accepted the compliment. This lady went on to say, "Yes, it's a sad day all over the world because of her death," to which my nephew, Brennan, responded, "You have NO idea!"

After telling all of this to David, I said, "Dad would have been happy to know that he was buried on the same day as Queen Elizabeth. David replied, "No, Queen Elizabeth would have been happy to know the SHE was buried on the same day as your Dad!"

That just about says it all, except for one more thing . . .

He was the best father a person could ask for!