Gen. Barrow's lesson in dying

I just recently had an opportunity to speak with a wonderful and wise old man. I'm a medical student, and throughout our anatomy dissections--especially neuroanatomy--a retired neuro professor would come in and work essentially as a TA, simply because he enjoyed helping us understand the intricacies of the human body.

Last week, he returned to a Christian Medical and Dental Assoc. meeting I attended, where he offered a brief talk--exhortation, really--on excellence from a biblical perspective. Although the talk itself was enriching for me and the other students there, the most memorable thing happened after almost everyone else left, save for me and one friend of mine.

We started chatting with the professor, and he asked where we were from, what we wanted to specialize in, and the like, and then we asked about his background. He then pulled from his jacket pocket an envelope of old photographs, weathered and worn, and began to tell us about his past. Blue-collar background, first in his family to attend college, worked his way through as a steelworker, and although he was from the South, he spent summers in construction in New York City with his father. In fact, he was working on the second deck of the George Washington bridge in the late 50's with his dad, who himself had previously worked on the first deck in the 20's and 30's. Sadly, his father passed away during his second stint on the GWB when he fell from the Jersey tower, and our professor didn't have the heart to continue as a steelworker. Upon telling us this story, he pulled one last photograph from the envelope, of his father in the 1930's along the Jersey banks of the Hudson, the GWB in the background.

"Now this is a very remarkable picture," he said in a slow, subdued, magisterial drawl, with his curious mix of enthusiasm and seriousness. "I don't know of another photograph of a man, standing right in front of the same spot he would pass away, nearly 30 years later."

My friend and I were stunned over the entire experience. How remarkable! And how easy to neglect the treasures of yesterday---the stories, the wisdom, the people--amidst all of our busyness. Don't we have to learn about congenital heart diseases and infarctions and diltiazem and temolol and endothelial dysfunction? Don't we have a test? Don't we have CV's to fill up? Deadlines! Tasks! Entertainment! Achieve! Complete! Consume!

In most folks' lives, the Present has a way of eating up the Past. But with the Past forgotten, perspective is lost, and the Present becomes a monster, always feeding, always hungry.

Rod, don't beat yourself up too much over this. Although you didn't talk with the general yourself, one of the consequences of being famous or illustrious or noteworthy is that institutions will often want to do a formal oral history with you. Like LSU did with General Barrow in 1992:

http://www.lib.lsu.edu/special/williams/abstracts/university/barrow.htm

Every Veterans Day weekend we sing a version of "Eternal Father, Strong to Save", modified to include every branch of the military. As we sing, I ask veterans of the respective military branches to stand as we sing their identified verse. We do this as the first hymn so everyone, including the kids, can see who stood. Then in the kids talk I ask them all to stand. This way they can see who they know that has served. I understand that over the years and in the different congregations I have served this has led to some interesting conversations. It becmes a way to intorduce people to each other on a different level.

I am not very pro-military. However I also recopgnize this is a unique form of service - a form that not everyone has necessarily chosen, due to the draft that was once in place. It is important for the younger members to see, to know who has served and in what ways. It becomes a way to encourage service in many duie and creative ways. I would like to do the same for other ways people serve, but the military is the easiest to identify and adapt. I am working on the others as a continued encouragment to people.

The Shot of Whiskey I Never Drank
Trent Gilliss, Online Editor

Studs Terkel, the legendary radio personality and interviewer, died today. Nearly four years ago, I took my first production trip for SOF — and what a way to start things out — with an interview in his Chicago home. At the time (he was 92 then), he had taken a fall and thus was primarily confined to his bed, relocated to the first floor in the center of his living room.

We were prepared for an elderly man who may not have a lot of energy to make it through an hour. What we got was the same old dynamo that I’d seen and heard so many times. He was alive, and his vivacity energized all of us. I regret having to relinquish this original character.

During that hour, I remember three things vividly: his definition of being an agnostic, which he defined as “a cowardly atheist”; the way he spoke about his wife as a living presence in his life, even though she had passed away some time before; this towering figure shook hands with me and asked me to repeat my name several times so that he could register it and acknowledge my presence. For part of a crew (and a Web lackey at that) invading his home, this made me feel welcome — and special; and, I write this with a regret that pangs my heart, I didn’t take him up on his offer to have a snort of whiskey before the interview — even if it was before noon.

Oh how I wish I would’ve raised my one glass to him. I’ll raise it tonight instead.

Trent Gillis, online editor for Speaking of Faith, shares a similar sentiment on the passing of Studs Terkel...
The post is worth a read. In it, he says "I write this with a regret that pangs my heart, I didn’t take him up on his offer to have a snort of whiskey before the interview — even if it was before noon. Oh how I wish I would’ve raised my one glass to him. I’ll raise it tonight instead"

And, God blessed our nation with General Barrow.