It is an inherited family trait, like stubbornness, oddness, and humor.
We cannot miss reading the obituaries.
Firstly, we want to ascertain that we knew someone who didn’t die and needed to pay our respects.
Secondly, a good look at an accomplished person’s life will always make you take an assessment of your own.
Perhaps, I had known John Tinker for a year when a package arrived.
It was a simple paperback book filled with obituaries written by the legendary Robert McG Thomas of The New York Times. The book is called 52 Mcgs. Tink had yet to marry me and move to the South, but he already knew I appreciated tremendous writing and the stories of lives that had perished.
Winnie O’Kelley, a 4-H farm kid like me and a schoolmate, went to New York City and built an impressive career. She was once a prestigious editor at the NYT.
I visited her one day to see the great building, and we talked about Mr. Thomas.
“The remarkable way he could uncover facts about simple lives and weave them into a great tribute.”
Eventually, his obituary was written and may have made the front page. Someone else took over.
For years, I savored the three or four detailed obituaries in the weekend edition of The Wall Street Journal. In the 1930s and ’40s, immigrants from war-torn Europe came to America and became well-known for toys, cash registers, and bubble gum. American soldiers returning from an Allied victory also became inventors, entrepreneurs, delivery men, and taxi drivers.
One obit was a woman who was co-founder of a company recording books on records in the 1960s.
Until I read his obit, I did not know that the shrewd Pete Correll, head of Georgia Pacific, had accidentally discovered the great need to save Grady Hospital in Atlanta – the only trauma hospital in a 125-mile radius. However, I met the cordial Mr. Correll, it never occurred to me how tough his climb to the top had been.
His general store owner's father died when Pete was a boy. He went to work in the store with his mother, but to their heartbroken dismay, the boxes of inventory that they expected to be full were empty. His father sold off merchandise to keep the store going, yet he looked prosperous.
There, the young Pete learned to take on the toughest challenges. It paid off, too. When he retired, Georgia Pacific was one of the best-operated, best-respected companies in America, and Grady, through Pete’s fundraising efforts, had not only survived but prospered.
I shall always remain touched by the brilliant CFO, who died quickly of a brain tumor. She was 52. One colleague told me about her kindness, such as how a zooming car cut them off once he was riding with her as she drove down the interstate. She took a breath and said, “Perhaps he is trying to get the hospital to see a loved one who is dying.”
Lately, in local obituaries, Alvin Hatcher, 77, passed away peacefully, surrounded by loved ones.
I did not know him, but I wish I had. He was an ordinary man, an American hero.
He died in the town in which he was born in 1946. He never left the county for work or adventure elsewhere. He stayed rooted. He worked for the city for decades before retiring and then starting his own construction company. With his longtime wife, they had had a family. A line read, “Left to cherish sweet memories are his wife, Barbara, daughter, Pam, and grandson, Matthew.”
There is an all-telling black and white photo of Mr. Hatcher in a coat and tie, backed against a wall and smiling.
Thank God for those who have worked a job for decades and want to be a blessing to family and to strangers like me.
Ronda Rich is the best-selling author of St. Simons Island: A Stella Bankwell Mystery. Visit www.rondarich.com to sign up for her free newsletter.