Almost a Year Ago

       October 3 marks the death of my father, Edmund Gates Jr.  Seldom am I in town or at a social occasion, even after almost a year, but comments like these are made to me:

Your dad was the friendliest man I ever knew.

or

Your father was one of the nicest men I've met.

or

Your dad never met a stranger, did he?

      Dad lived by the verse in Proverbs 18:34 "A man who has friends must show himself friendly."

       In the year before Dad's stroke, he and I were in Fairfax. I had to pick up an item in a store and encouraged him to go into the store with me. I was surprised by his response, " I can't always remember names now." Of course, I told him to just say "hi" and not worry about calling the person's name.

       People mattered so much to Dad. He genuinely enjoyed interacting with people. Each individual was important to him. This was the reason it disturbed him at being unable to recall people's names as soon as he saw them. Calling the name of the person he met validated the presence of that person and stressed on Dad's part the worth of that individual.

        According to Mother, Dad made the most of meeting strangers under extremely difficult situations. She told of a return trip from Wednesday night Bible study at their church in Ralston. The old pickup' s headlights began erratically flickering. Within a mile or so of the Belford River Bridge over the Arkansas River, the headlights went out completely on the old pickup! I guess he called on his long-ago experience of driving a wagon at night or maybe it was those many nights of coon hunting as a kid that strengthened his night vision and spurred him to keep puttering toward the bridge. Just as he approached the bridge, flashing lights atop a vehicle behind him rapidly drew near. Mother's heart skipped a beat. She knew they shouldn't have driven that old pickup, but she didn't say a word. Dad pulled onto the grassy shoulder and began cranking down his window.

      Mother said Dad immediately spoke with earnest gratitude in his voice before the patrolman could utter a word, "Oh Officer, I am so glad you came along. My wife and I were just returning from church and our headlights went out. I would sure appreciate if you would follow us across this bridge. We just live about a mile from here in the Bend. If you could follow us to our home, we sure would thank you."

        The official readily agreed to Dad's request, much to Mother's surprise. Yet she would say that Dad never lacked confidence. It never entered Dad's mind that the patrolman would not see the reasonableness of his solution to a sticky situation.  

         Upon reaching the farm, Dad jumped out of the old pickup and thanked the highway patrol profusely, with genuine sincerity. Dad probably ended his expression of thanks with, "The Lord bless you." I have a hunch that Dad had begun praying silently for a safe arrival for Mother and him as soon as the headlights began blinking. 

        Dad had a heart for serving others. He wanted to help people. One time I heard exasperation in Mother's voice when he tore the slacks of his suit checking under the baptistry following a church service. He had been made aware of a possible problem. He was small and agile enough to crawl in that tight space. Why ask anyone else to do it?
         The last Christmas program he attended was in December of 2011.  Mother and I were visiting with several others in the Church sanctuary foyer. Dad, as was his custom, was patiently waiting. The door opened and a single mother slipped into the foyer. Who immediately asked if she needed help? Dad did! She was looking for her little boy's jacket. Here was a 92-year-old man who was probably tiring and ready to go home, but he put that woman's need first and began helping her look for the child's coat.
          Dad's philosophy was pretty simple - He loved the Lord, his family, and people. These song lyrics from hymns sung at his funeral poetically depict his credo - a proven pattern for all of us to replicate in our own lives.

Oh, how I love Jesus, because He first loved me.

Trust and obey, for there's no other way

To be happy in Jesus, but to trust and obey.

Dad and Me after church on his 91st birthday.

Recalling Two Dates in Late September

I am revisiting a previous post this week since I have experienced some major laptop difficulties the last several days.!

One of the Best Ways to Celebrate Birthdays

Aunt Daisy Rice, Dawn Rice Haney, Aunt Emma
 Rainey Buckley, Rick Rice, me, Angie Gates 
Bradley. Take notice of the two cakes.

                Daisy Dean Rainey Rice was born on September 30 in 1893. My sister, Angie, was born on September 28 many years later. For several years, we looked forward to a family event in September to celebrate these two birthdays. The celebration was a dinner, usually in the early evening. Some years my family hosted the soirée at our home as the photo below shows. On other years, the dinner was at Aunt Daisy’s house. Aunt Emma, the embodiment of a perfect hostess as a result of her many years in Washington, D. C., entertained everyone at her home on the east side of the square for some of the happy occasions.

Aunt Daisy Rainey Rice and Angie Gates Bradley 
at the 1965 September celebration held at our 
home that we shared with my maternal grandparents.
It is hard to believe that our home was only 
4 years old.at the time of this photograph!

             An interesting note about the square - it consisted of a section of land in the Big Bend community just west of the Belford Schoolhouse. Aunt Daisy’s house was on the south side 
 of the square, our home was on the north side of the square, and as already mentioned, Aunt Emma’s home that she shared with her younger brother, Gene, the last home of her parents, was on the east side of the square. Hazel Goad and her family lived on the west side of the square. (Hazel was a daughter of Daisy Rainey Rice. For more about Hazel see the blog post of May 18, 2014, entitled Celebrating a Hundred-Year-Old Treasure.) Just to clarify a bit of family history - Lewis and Pearl Rainey lived on the south side of the square just east of Aunt Daisy’s home. Lewis was the older brother of Daisy, Emma, and Gladys, my grandmother. Rick Rice and his parents, Virgil and Helen, lived a short distance from the southeast corner of the square.
              There were always two cakes at these celebrations. Aunt Emma Buckley usually fixed the cake for Angie. Mother and Aunt Daisy shared an affinity for the color pink so Mother, Bernyce Smith Gates, enjoyed baking and decorating a cake for her aunt - a cake that always included pink in some way. No matter the cake or frosting flavors, both cakes were always created with much love.

Angie Gates Bradley and Aunt Daisy Dean Rainey Rice just before "Happy 
Birthday" was sung and the delicious,homebaked cakes were sliced and sampled. 
This photograph was taken in 1966, at the celebration hosted by Aunt Daisy at
her home.

            Understandably, Angie always was much more excited about the gifts than Aunt Daisy was. Looking at the expression of delight on Angie’s face in the photographs, one can tell she was a happy, little girl. Aunt Daisy's birthday joy derived from being surrounded by her family. She wanted nothing more than to be with her loved ones. Her motto was "The more the merrier." Sharing a happy time together as a family was paramount.

The "Two Cakes Celebration" in 1967. Grandma Mamie Tripp Gates, Dawn
Rice Haney, me, Rick Rice, Aunt (actually Great-Aunt) Daisy Rainey Rice, 
Edmund Gates, Jr., my father. Angie Gates Bradley is barely visible above her
cake baked by Aunt Emma Rainey Buckley!

Rick Rice, Angie Gates Bradley, me with my side to camera, Dawn Rice Haney 
in the living room of our home as Angie opens gifts in 1967. Rick's parents and
 Dawn's parents had helped my parents and grandparents build our home in 1961.

Grandma Mamie Gates (partially visible), Edmund Gates, Jr., Elmer Rice, Angie
sitting on Grandpa Calvin Callcayah Smith's lap, Daisy Rainey Rice with Ruby
 Martin Rice standing behind. This was taken in Aunt Daisy's kitchen in 1966. 
Grandpa and Elmer probably had just had a good laugh over some political comment.

              No matter where or when we create good memories, the foremost remembrance involves people. There may be funny happenings, lovely surroundings, delightful food, or beautiful music, but the key reason we cherish those times centers around our loved ones. In light of this, we should, as we live our daily lives, hold close in our hearts, in our thoughts, and in our prayers those we love. Living life this way diminishes future regrets.

        

           This photo was snapped of Angie Gates Bradley and Ronnie Rice just as the 
          delightful evening was ending. Ronnie lived many years with his grandmother, 
         Daisy Rice after Virgil and Dean, her younger children, left home following the
 death of their father, Ernest Rice. Aunt Daisy did not like to be alone and loved to
have her family members around her.

Happy Birthday to Julia Irene Gates Newland

Julia Irene Gates Newland

Julia Irene Gates was born on September 22 on the Gates farm west of Ralston. Her three older sisters and five older brothers welcomed her into the family of Edmund Gates, Sr. and Mamie Irene Tripp Gates. Baby Julia received the same middle name as her mother – Irene.

My father, Edmund Gates, Jr., was the oldest brother that Julia knew. He was fourteen years old when she arrived. Dad enlisted in the Army Air Corps just twelve days after the bombing of Pearl Harbor. Little Julia, at the age of eight, missed her big brother terribly since he had been living on the farm helping their father as the family tried to recover from the Great Depression.

Julia with her baby sister, Mamie Marie modeling the pretty pink dresses made
by their mother, Mamie Irene Tripp Gates.

Julia vividly recalled one time when my father came home on leave. The little two-room house bulged with excited family members, vibrating with the never-hushed voices of the talkative Gates clan. Even though Julia’s anticipation of her big brother’s return had pervaded her thoughts, at that moment one of her teeth pained her unbearably to the point of tears! Remembering how sensitive he had always been to her, she approached her brother. He learned of her aching tooth. My father located immediately a topical pain reliever, put it on a piece of cotton, and applied it to the decayed tooth. To her relief, Dad’s remedy alleviated her pain, allowing a joyful celebration with her favorite big brother.

At that time, Julia attended Woodland Grade School, graduating from eighth grade. Then she rode the bus to Burbank to receive her high school education. Upon graduation, she worked at the Southwestern Bell Telephone Company office in Blackwell, Oklahoma.

Julia with Mr. Lowell Welker and Clayton Hicks with their 8th grade diplomas
from Woodland Grade School in the west Big Bend.

She later completed college courses in the early childhood field. Soon after that, she taught little ones in some of the locations where she lived after her marriage. She enjoyed teaching music in two nursery schools in Dallas.

I recalled the day Grandma Gates called to say Aunt Julia had a fourth baby boy. At around eight years of age, I was “all ears” at family news. As Dad relayed to Mother the name of Julia’s new son, I overheard “Daniel Edmund.” I interjected, “The baby is named after Daddy.”

Mother corrected me, saying the new baby cousin was probably named after Grandpa, Edmund Gates, Sr. Her statement appeared logical to me so I never questioned further. Over fifty years later, as I informed Dan of my father’s death so he could convey the sad news to his mother, he explained that he was indeed named after Dad, since he was her favorite. Since Dad’s death, I sometimes refer to Dan as “Daniel Edmund” since I like to hear Dad’s name, and it reminds me of a cherished family story illustrating Dad’s sensitivity to his sweet, little sister.

How appropriate that Daniel Edmund Newland, Dad’s namesake, worked his magic as a graphic designer/publisher on my father’s military experiences entitled Okie Over Europe. As an independent publisher, he published the books out of his own studio. Dad lived long enough to see and hold in his hand the book in its final form. He would have been pleased to see how much people have enjoyed his recounting of those years that so scripted his life.

I have much admiration for Aunt Julia as she raised her four boys with the principles she had been taught by her parents. Using her diligence and talent, she did monogramming for schools and companies to personalize the specific items for these entities in the Dallas/Fort Worth metro area. With the frugality she had learned in her home from her parents in the west Bend, she provided support for her sons coupled with an abundance of love.

Julia was a member of the Writers’ Workshop group at the Garland Senior Activity Center near her home in Garland, Texas. When her group proposed a publication focusing on veterans, she thought of her oldest brother.  Her contribution of a brief account of Dad’s World War II exploits was printed in a collaborative effort published by her group entitled Veterans and Patriots of Freedom. Dad kept the copy that Judy (the name he usually used for her) gave him.

Only Julia would be the one of my father's siblings to connect with a Rainey while living deep in the heart of Texas. Julia's boys were playing in the neighborhood in Garland soon after moving there. Rory, her second from the youngest, appeared at Marilyn Rainey Firestone Brager's door with her son, Craig. Marilyn said to Rory, "I knew someone with eyes just like yours but they were from Oklahoma." Rory, never at a loss for words, immediately responded, "My grandma lives in Oklahoma." Soon Marilyn and Julia were renewing their friendship that had begun decades earlier in the Big Bend. Of course, Marilyn, my mother's cousin, had lived for sometime with my mother's family. Dad's response was "It's a small world,"when Grandma Gates called and told him of the connection that Rory made.

Aunt Julia stands out in my mind as a woman of faith. Her trust in the Lord, through difficulties as she reared her sons and as she experienced illness in later life, has sustained her year after year.

Happy, Happy Birthday, Aunt Julia!

                                Julia with her four boys - Rory, Mike*, Daniel Edmund, and Pat**

*I wrote some remembrances of Mike, Julia's eldest son, who died in 2014, in a blog posting entitled, Singing on Grandpa's Birthday.  To access the above mentioned blog go to: bernadeanjgates.blogspot.com/2015/06/singing-on-grandpas-birthday.html

**Patrick, a cousin of mine, made a point to connect with me after lunch at a recent reunion. After exchanging the pertinent yearly personal updates, he said, “Your dad is my hero.” He continued to reiterate the steadfastness in my father that he had observed for all the years he had known him. The well-defined consistency in his character and faith had been an inspiration to my cousin as he was on his own journey through life. Then he said, “He is the most compassionate man I know.”
I reflected on the infrequency of hearing a man’s name connected with compassion. Then I recalled a phrase from the New Testament repeatedly used in Matthew 9:36, Matthew 14:14, and Mark 6:34 to describe Jesus. The scripture says that Jesus “was moved with compassion.” Jesus, the Son of God, just by seeing the hurts and needs of others was motivated to take action on their behalf. I think that is what my cousin saw in my father – someone sensitive to those around him. (I wrote this in an article from 2010 after visiting with Patrick, Julia’s second son, who is only one day older than I am. Patrick’s reunion musings seemed so appropriate for this posting.)