I carried a styrofoam cross, filled with roses, into a church today. That reminded me of an ol’ buddy of mine.
He was a part-time employee of our funeral home. We worked many services together as I was in my “learning” phase years ago. Virgil was from Tennosee, at least that’s how he pronounced it.
A true Son of the South, he loved sweet tea, good Bar B Q and practiced an indulgence for collecting things. He built two or three garages on his back acreage to hold all the cars and other automotive paraphenalia. His home was filled with guns held to the walls by nails. I never did get a full count because I was only ever in three or four of the rooms and they had guns in place of wallpaper. He never met a Southerner he didn’t like and was somewhat suspect of Northerners until his death. How he felt beyond that, I do not know.
He grew up in an area where you couldn’t swing a cat and not hit a Church of Christ. These are the “non-instrumental” folks who don’t allow musical instruments in their church buildings. And they’re as likely to split and start a new church next week as they are to have a Sunday night a capella hymn sing. I suspect he was baptized in a cold Tennosee crick at an early age. He’d often turn a religious conversation into a wrestling match. If you’ve ever seen any films of those old matches back in the fifties with Gorgeous George and the like, you’d recognize Virgil, he’d be the guy who always went for the steel folding chair first. That’s the way he discussed the doctrines of the Church of Christ too.
Virgil retired from the United States Air Force as a Chief Master Sergeant after 30 years of service. He was extremely patriotic and had a lot to say about the course of our country. If you ever needed a shot of patriotism he was your man. If you needed a shot of full-blown pessimism on the future of Hippies, Gov’ment and Politicians, he was also your man. He was the most conservative Democrat I ever met.
Well, I suppose I oughtta saunter on back to what got this whole thing goin’. The styrofoam, floral cross. Virgil hated them. He also hated styrofoam hearts filled with flowers too. Together we carried many of them as we moved flowers for funerals and gravesites. Why did he hate them? I figure it was because he never met a styrofoam heart or cross he couldn’t break,
After all, they are quite sensitive to bending, dropping and moving. In fact, I was looking at a styrofoam cross once and the three pieces fell apart right in front of my eyes. Virgil remarked, “Hey, I didn’t touch it!”
I don’t know how many times I’ve had to repair broken hearts and crosses after Virgil carried them to the van or graveside. They can be repaired with pencils, florist sticks, plastic flower card holders and prayer. I take that back. I’ve tried it many times, prayer doesn’t help. You need to stick with the other stuff.
I don’t know how many times, on a blustery day, I’ve prayed for the priest or pastor to hurry along with his comments, fearing the demise of a recently repaired cross or heart. You don’t know what stress is until you’re standing on pins and needles hoping the flower arrangement doesn’t fall over.
Well, Virgil, here’s to you. Son of the South, Son of a Gun and a man who never met a floral heart he couldn’t break!
