"Bye, bye, Betty"

'Selfie' of 'Ms Betty',  my wife and me after church today

        'Ms Betty' is leaving us, moving yet again. She has 'packed up' her worldly belongings several times  over the  years . . .  from her native 'New Hamp-sha', through numerous billetings with her late Navy husband, Len, [see earlier post 'Mr. Len'], then here to North Carolina where we have known her for these past few years, and now on to Georgia to be close to her grand-son, an Air Force officer, and his family.

   Approaching 94, she is a marvel.  Still driving her big Nissan, maintaining her mental acuity, and just being delightful company, already we miss her.  Our church had an 'early birthday and farewell lunch' for her this afternoon.  (We also had the sad occasion of saying 'good-bye' to another couple who in retirement are moving to the NC coast.)  This coming Advent season at church, we shall be reminded yet again of her creative and sharing spirit when the Christmon  tree is placed in the sanctuary.  Betty was the inspiration and instructor in preparing these symbols.  Subsequently, she shared her know-how with other area congregations.

   In our conversation today, she noted that her sense of humor has been indispensable as she has accumulated birthdays.  My customary parting words to her are ,  "You behave yourself !" to which her consistent reply is "Do I have to ?".  Her sister, Eleanor, has frequently visited her from New Hampshire and Betty has often gone there for extended visits.  Several years ago, Betty and Len had planned to fly to Boston and subsequently rent an automobile for New Hampshire. When they learned that car rental agencies would not rent vehicles to persons over 80, they opted to drive the distance from North Carolina to New Hampshire.  So much for being defined by age !

    Among my regrets, I wish that I had recorded her reminiscences.  'Stories' are a huge part of how we define and understand ourselves and the worlds in which we live and have lived.  I hope that her grand-son and family will make lots of videos.  Like her impishly mischievous late spouse, she has lots of good stories  waiting to be told and she tells them well.

    Satchel

"THERE ONCE WAS A WRITER NAMED GIBBS . . ."

       Very few of you who read this post would have known my  friend, Milburn Gibbs, who died recently at age 76.  Throughout his life, he had been a witty, articulate, intelligent man.  That most cruel of diseases, Alzheimer's, had robbed him of much of his identity in recent times.

   In the 1990's,  Milburn returned to his native North Carolina.  During his years in California, he had been Vice-President of a successful family bakery business and wrote part-time for the Long Beach Press-Telegram.  Soon after arriving back here, he interviewed with my brother, Bob, who was then Editor of the local weekly newspaper.  He worked as reporter, columnist, and eventually as Editor of the chain's edition in a nearby town of Liberty.  Over time, he won several state newspaper association awards for his columns.  He also remarried with my brother, also an ordained minister, conducting the wedding with Lala.

     Tomorrow, my brother and I will conduct his Memorial Service.
 (Parenthetically, while Bob and I have each conducted numerous services as ministers, this is only the second one that we have done together.)  The following is the text of what I prepared for that occasion to remember this good man:

"Milburn's obituary noted that 'writing was his passion'.  Doubtless, there were lots of reasons for that . . . his ability to make 'lasting friends wherever he went'; his being able to see importance in what might look ordinary and mundane to others;  his having been an undergraduate history major.

But, I believe, that fundamental was his love of WORDS.  Milburn understood the truth of the saying that "all words are pegs to hang ideas on".  Today as we gratefully remember this beloved 'wordsmith', we can follow the advice of the long-ago German writer, Goethe:  'Be generous with kind words, especially about those who are absent'.

 I first met Milburn in the mid '90's when I was minister in the nearby village of Coleridge and would occasionally drop by The Chatham News to visit with my 'baby brother', the then Editor.  Right away I knew that this new man on the newspaper staff was a real Kar-ak-ter (in a good sense) with his stories of dumpster diving, yard sale bargains, and ability to stretch a dollar bill so far that the Eagle would scream.  It was evident that he knew something about a lot of things and could talk with anyone about most any  topic. He spent many hours in a labor of love writing and    editing a book about the now defunct Staley school in that nearby town.   And I still have (unread, alas) a book he passed on to me, Baseball with a Latin Beat.

Our friendship found a new venue when I came to this town in   2001, and especially when our favorite cafe, Mina Bena's, was here.  Friday night dinners and Saturday morning breakfasts became regular events for a group of friends.  One of our mutual friends remembered how Milburn, Dominique Metreaud, and I would frequently get into punning matches.  The uninitiated try to assert that 'puns are the lowest form of humor'.  We knew otherwise, believing the truth of the Yiddish proverb that  'a wise man hears one word and understands two'.  Or, as someone else wrote, 'punnery is largely the trick of compacting two or more ideas within a single word or expression' , making it a 'rewording experience'.  Anyway, we carried on with great energy and zest, perhaps to the consternation of those around us.  Milburn held a PhD in Punning. Lala recalled years later that these pun-a-thons seemed to become his favorite Saturday morning pastime.  While not exactly a 'word game', Trivia was another pursuit in which he excelled.  Maybe that degree in History from Chapel Hill whetted his appetite and excellence here  as well.

As a former History professor, I know that the subject most comes alive when approached not as trivia but as STORY.   So, I find it no surprise that with his felicity with words,  Milburn knew how to tell a good story.  Now, I have seen the title for Bob's comments, A Good Story, but not his notes, so there may be the risk for some repetition here, but I'll take it.  Ernest Hemingway supposedly remarked that he wrote because he knew a lot of stories and wanted to tell them.    The same could have been said for Milburn.  In his review of the Staley book, Bob wrote of our friend: 'Coming to writing later in life has given voice to a pent-up store of words and stories. There seems no end in sight as he tells the story of the common man with the detail it deserves and in so doing weaves a rich tapestry of life.'  Warren Dixon who published the book noted that 'Milburn Gibbs is the consummate story teller, a connoisseur of creativity.'

We who regularly read his column knew that his favorite topic  was Lala.  When writing about his being overcome with tears of joy during their wedding ceremony, he facetiously noted that the vows could have been addressed to 'sobster and wife'.

On the occasion of his 75th birthday, my wife and I  wrote a poem of sorts.  Rhyming and meter are not my strong suites, but anyway, herewith, An Ode to Milburn Gibbs:

    There once was a writer named Gibbs
      Whose scribblings, while glib, told no fibs.
   At the Chatham News,
       he never took a snooze.
  His prose was at its best when he was  
       At Liberty
    'cause he wrote it 'delibertly'.
  When young, he was a baker
    with his hands in the dough.
  When he made his fortune, he said,
     'I'll bake no 'mo',
      'cause my heart pines
        to return to  Caroline'
  Now he has reached Seventy-Five,
    So we'll tell you no jive
HAPPY  BIRTHDAY, OLD FRIEND !!!

While Milburn was not a  'religious person' in a conventional sense, these strong words seem appropriate for this occasion:  Romans 8:31- 13, 37-39 , and, in keeping with what I believe the point of Saint Paul's words, 'not even Alzheimer's can separate us from God's love.'  " 

We could use more kind-hearted souls like Milburn !
      Satchel