Certain people share common traits: a cheerful demeanor, courage and unshakeable faith — no matter what. They make me want to be a better person.
My skinflint grandfather — himself a teacher — made my mother quit school and support herself after eight grade. Mother envisioned Heaven as a place where scholars would teach her. She did housework, married at 16, was hungry during the Depression and raised five children. When Daddy became blind she worked as a floral designer and babysitter. Throughout everything she remained cheerful.
How sad is this? Leaving home to visit her terminally ill husband in the hospital, Helen Ernstes slipped, broke her hip and couldn’t even attend his funeral. She sold her Irvington home when she was over 95 and moved into assisted living in Zionsville. I called: “Helen, are you happy there?” “Certainly I’m happy. If you insist on being happy, you will be.”
Over fifty years ago, Miss Elisabeth Good — Lis to her myriad friends — became Bill’s, Helen’s and my teaching colleague and friend. After her retirement she founded and directed a choral group. She cheerfully confronted various health problems, including having to survive on liquids during her last years. When I was ill she sent a one-word note: “Patience!”
She said, “I unlock my garage because some of my friends insist on checking up every day. I worry because I know that one day, one of them will find me dead.” She died not long after her recent hundredth birthday party where some members of the Purdue Glee Club that she had supported serenaded her.
Following vascular surgery, I sensed someone standing beside me in the recovery room. It was Jack Eichacker, minister at Irvington’s Ellenberger United Church of Christ and a real estate client who became a friend. He said, “Is it O.K. if I say a prayer for you?” I answered, “Jack, you can pray for me any time you want!”
Jack lost a two-year fight against leukemia a few weeks ago, but never lost his cheerfulness. Hundreds attended his memorial service, and his oncologist, a Muslim who had become a friend, was one of the speakers.
Jack loved music, and the music that day was the measure of the man. One experience becomes layered and interwoven with another. I learned a fervent belief in the equality of all people at my devout mother’s knee, and her spirit was present beside me when we sang,
“We shall overcome, we shall
overcome . . .
Oh deep in my heart, I do believe
That we shall overcome some day.”
Phrases stuck in my mind: “. . . Joyful music leads us Sunward in the triumph song of life,” sung to the tune of Beethoven’s glorious “Ode to Joy.” Schiller’s poem that Beethoven used includes “All men will become brothers.” Jack was everybody’s brother.
“The Lord of the Dance” was sung to the tune of the old Shaker hymn “Simple Gifts.” (The Shakers loved to dance.) Sydney Carter’s lyrics portrayed Christ as a pied piper:
“I danced in the morning when
the world was young
I danced in the moon and the
stars and the sun . . .
Dance, then, wherever you may
be;
I am the Lord of the Dance,
said he.
And I’ll lead you all wherever
you may be,
And I’ll lead you all in the
dance, said he.”
I was transported back to the Benton House when Gerry Gray, and Friends performed Christmas carols. Gerry once sang with the Indianapolis Symphonic Choir and performed yearly at the State Fair. Sadly, she’s had to curtail performing, but remains cheerful. She always sings “The Lord of the Dance.” Jack and wife Mary Jane were sitting behind me. He had an excellent voice and I shall remember his softly singing along.
Jack’s joyous spirit shone throughout the service. The only thing better would have been if he could have been there in body: He would have loved it! wclarke@comcast.net
