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16 July 2009 - 23:55

four score and ten

Four score and ten.

That's how the minister described it.

The length of Stan's life.

Before reading his obituary, I would have been surprised at the number of people at his memorial service. He'd never mentioned any family except Sue, who passed on a couple years back, his brother (who I'd met a couple times) and a daughter. But reading the obit, the wife and I were surprised at all the folks we knew in the community who were family to Stan.

Evolutionarily, he did well. Lots of his genes still wandering around.

By all other means, Stan lived a good and full life, too.

It was, as so many western funerals are, more of a family reunion than a farewell ritual. As I waited to sign the register, I saw smiles in the front pews, and heard the laughter of children.

The service included a couple of Stan's favorite music selections. Played in old vinyl records, because that's the only place you can find some of this stuff. The first, what I would describe as almost ragtime, had a skip in the disk.

And replayed before it got to the end of the tune.

And jumped and replayed again.

And again.

Yeah, the little snickers were open laughter by the third time. But it mercifully, eventually got to the end.

The second selection, after members related some of their favorite memories of Stan, was from the early Big Band era. What some would call "swing". For Sue and Stan were members of the Greatest Generation.

I already knew about his service in North Africa in World War II. A member of a motorcycle reconnaissance squad. Quite used to tearing across unroaded countryside at night on a Harley, Stan instilled moments of fear in Sue and other family members by giving them rides at well over a hundred miles an hour.

And I already knew about his business after the war, a combination tow service and vehicle repair shop. And that Stan was well known for pulling people in off the Lincoln Highway under the worst possible conditions. And being able to fix almost anything, especially motorcycles and motorhomes. And just as well known for never asking for payment when someone's financial situation was tight.

I've been in his shop, with a bulletin board covered with old postcards of grateful travelers sending back their thanks.

But I did not know he once ran a riverboat charter service. And, working for a National Geographic expedition, was one of the first white folks to reach the upper leads of a major river in Africa.

Apparently the natives were all in awe of this little man with the military buzzcut hair, running their fingers through it. Since Stan never wore it any other way.

As for his short stature, I apparently wasn't the only one Stan told that he used to be 6'4", until he opened his big mouth and got beat down in size.

As the minister was first to point out, one of Stan's proudest achievements, other than family, was his initiating the first AA chapter in our part of the country. And his five years as its representative to the higher levels.

When folks were asked to tell their favorite stories about Stan, his son-in-law spoke up:

"I've got lots of stories about Stan."

"But none that I can tell here."

After the laughter settled down, the minister added, "I heard some of those stories last night."

"And he's right, he can't tell them here."

After the service, I gave my condolences to his brother and daughter. And one nephew, who had a familiar face. He recognized me, too, but we couldn't remember from where.

He was busy gathering up family members for those rare, precious things... family photos.

Do you want to be in it? I ask...

And so, I quickly am taught the process on a huge digital Sony, and he and his wife start gathering folks.

Some time later, after at least four shots with different kin in each image, I take their leave.

My one last present to Stan.

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