It seems like there are always people in our lives that we really don’t know, but in some way or another they make an impact on you. Something about them just leaves an indelible impression that you are slow to forget. Often times they are someone who just kind of “flies under the radar”. Someone who does little or nothing to draw attention unto themselves. Someone who really doesn’t make much, if any, effort to fit in. They march to their own beat. They chart their own course. They plow their own path, they farm their own field, you get the point. This story is about such a man, a man that probably nearly everyone reading this never knew or has never heard of.
Time for Sunday Dinner
Growing up in Chivington, we were kind of just right in the middle of the county. I think the county is about 90 miles long and I think Chivington is kind of right smack dab in the middle from east to west. It’s quite an interesting thing to me how the railroad divided up the county with these little towns every so often scattering them about 20 or so miles apart. I’m not sure why, but it really is interesting to me. Our family attended the Chivington Friends Church. Actually, the land that it is built upon was donated by my grandparents, Kenneth and Margaret Brown. I think the original parsonage was a house donated by the Bowens. It was a good group of people that attended the church. It was kind of the central focus of the community. I believe that the original church was built around 1945. Like most, actually nearly all, of our communities were built in the 1940’s by our nation’s greatest generation, our WW II heroes are the reason that our communities exist today. When they returned home from the war, they started building, and thank God that they did. Most of us have been able to remain here in our small rural communities because of the infrastructure that this generation built. It’s quite amazing if you really stop to think about it.
Back to the story… growing up in that little church really gave me the opportunity to know lots of people and come to appreciate the genuine character that these folks possessed. It has given me “perspective” that has helped to guide my life. I’ve always kind of been a people watcher. I try to learn something from everyone. I am finding that many of the memories that I have involve people that did little or nothing to draw attention to themselves.
There are a couple of couples that are the subject of this story; Milan and Betty Morris and Jack and Edith Parker. Milan and Betty lived in Towner. Milan was a railroad man and Betty was the Postmaster in Towner. Milan, I believe, was a boy scout leader. I remember he made incredible peach cobbler in a Dutch oven. They were devoted members of the church. Milan was also the song leader and Betty taught adult Sunday school. They were great people. It’s funny what you remember about people. When I think about Milan and Betty these are the things I remember plus Milan’s crew cut haircut and he was a good singer! By the way, Milan and Betty were the parents of Kelly Morris of Performance Auto.
Jack and Edith Parker lived on the May Valley road. Jack and Edith were farmers. They were very good farmers. Jack was a farmer that was ahead of his time. I suspect that Jack Parker was one of the first farmers in Kiowa County to grow dryland corn. If anybody grew anything, it was Jack. Edith was perhaps one of the most special people that I have ever had in my life. And I suspect the list of people that could say the same is quite lengthy. Edith played the piano at church when I was very young. Edith invested into the lives, countless hours, of young people in our community, and especially in our church. Jack and Edith always drove a Honda car. They drove Hondas even when driving Hondas wasn’t cool, if you know what I mean. I can’t begin to express the influence that Edith Parker had on my life and my relationship with my God. When I think of Jack and Edith, I think of Jack, a quiet man always in the field, fields with no weeds, trucks and tractors always clean, waxed and well maintained, Edith always doing something to encourage and invest into the lives of young people, and her player piano. Both of these couples were phenomenal people, and the lives that they helped to shape and mold are numerous. I am certain that “Great Was Their Reward”.
Earl’s Red Lincoln
Both the Morris’ and the Parkers had something in common—Earl. Earl was a man that to my knowledge had no family. Earl lived in Brandon and did not waste much water on bathing. Earl was the man that lived in a 12x60 singlewide trailer with an oil well in his back yard. I really don’t know that hardly anyone knew much about Earl. I never really heard anyone even speak of him. It was kind of like he was there but didn’t really exist. Milan and Betty helped Earl for a period of time then for whatever reason Earl switched horses and decided that he wanted Jack and Edith to help him. I never really knew Earl. I’m not sure that there were very many people that knew Earl. You might say that Earl was a very eccentric man. A loner, an interesting character, or any other variety of descriptions. I didn’t know much about Earl, but the one thing that I do know is this: Earl drove a red Lincoln Town Car 4-door sedan (the one I remember was about a 1979 model, the big one) and Earl liked Carolyn Howard’s fried chicken at Howard’s Café in Eads on Sunday. And I mean he liked it at straight up 12:15 pm on Sunday. (How many can remember the time when the café was loaded on Sundays, and it was generally a race between the Methodists and the Baptists to see who got there first. One thing is for sure, the Assembly of God would be the last one’s there and the chicken was generally all gone by the time they got out of church) (That’s a joke). Jack and Edith would take Earl to Eads for Sunday dinner following church nearly every week. The only weeks they didn’t were the weeks that we had fellowship dinners at the church. I don’t know that I ever remember Earl ever darkening the doors of that little church, but he was always there at 12 noon. Just in time to pick up Parkers and head to Eads. You see it is 14 miles from the church to the café, so they had to leave at 12 noon sharp to have his fried chicken at 12:15. I’ve been told that that Lincoln had a 460 under the hood, and that Earl used most of it to be sure he got there in time for hot chicken.
On this particular Sunday, it seemed that church was going to run a little long. The next thing we know, there is Earl, parked right smack dab in the middle of hwy 96 in his red Lincoln and at 12 noon, right on the nose he just began laying on the horn! He honked and he honked and he honked. He was the Chivington version of the Sunday noon whistle. And anyone who ever had a Lincoln knows exactly how loud those horns were. Earl had declared that it was time for church to end and it was time to head to Eads for fried chicken. Jack and Edith quickly got up out of their pew, joined Earl in the middle of Hwy 96 and away they went.
No More Earl
Earl died when I first began my journey through funeral service. I was working in Lamar when Earl died at the Weisbrod Nursing Home in Eads. I went to the Nursing Home and the Parker’s were there. They told me that Earl was to be cremated. This was in 1988, and perhaps one of the first occasions for a person to choose cremation in our area. I remember feeling sad that Earl really didn’t have any family, but I knew that he was close with the Parkers.
Here’s The Point
Earl had died, his body was cremated, no service to remember him, no gathering of folks to eulogize him, I don’t even think that there was an obituary published. I mean absolutely nothing. To this day, I don’t even know what was done with his ashes. To my knowledge there is no tombstone that I am aware of with an epitaph memorializing Earl. It’s kind of like he was never even here. All these years later, I still find myself thinking of how terribly sad it is that there is no record of this life. What I have come to see more and more is that the world wants people to think that their lives really don’t matter, that our time spent here on earth is insignificant, meaningless and of no value. Nothing could be further from the truth. Our lives do matter. I suspect that most people have no clue as to the real number of lives that have been influenced and made better by them having lived. Everyone is loved by someone. The fact that we have lived is exactly the reason that we memorialize, remember and pay tribute to those that we love, respect, care about and celebrate. Earl’s life mattered. The world may have convinced Earl otherwise, but God created Earl wonderfully and uniquely in HIS image. There may not be more than just a few of those reading this that knew Earl or even remember him, but make no mistake, God knew him. Earl Muir, that was his name, Earl Muir from Brandon, Colorado. There may not be a memorial to him, but on this day, I will speak his name and remember this man, Earl Muir. Memories like those of Earl leave you longing for the simpleness of life when something as simple and wonderful as Sunday Dinner Fried Chicken with a couple of good friends makes life worth living and longing for the way things used to be.
