Big Daddy in Memoriam

Last Sunday my grandfather passed away.  His name was “Big Daddy.” He was so named, not because of his ample girth (though he had the usual southern-fried extra around the middle, from eating my grandmother’s cooking for 63 years).  No, his name was Big Daddy because that was his personality.  His personality was huge, and left just such an impression everywhere he went.

One of his greatest loves in life was to make people laugh.  Any kind of person and any kind of laugh would do; from the smiles of the church lady at Cartwright Baptist, to the stately chuckles of the officials and politicos during his time as County Commissioner;  and the guffaws and belly laughs of the truckers at Wagner Freight and farmers of the Sequatchie Valley Co-op.  And there was no area of humor that he did not master: practical jokes were probably his favorite (including, maybe especially, the one where he ended up in jail), but the outrageous were probably his second favorite (ask his grandchildren about his toilet bowl guitar).  There were no topics that were off-limits: politics, race, family, religion all played into his jokes, and I will never forget the twinkle in his eyes just before he got to the punch line.

And another thing that everyone who knew Big Daddy appreciated about him was his generosity.  He gave so much, in so many ways.  He never met a stranger, and gave away his extraordinary personality to everyone he met.  One of my strongest memories of spending time with him was rising early in the morning on Saturday at the farm, driving in his old beat up Datsun pickup, which smelled like chewing tobacco and his dog (who accompanied him everywhere). We’d drive to Hardees, where they knew to expect him, and he would buy a bag of biscuits and drive through the valley, visiting neighbors, especially the homebound or poor, sitting with them and sharing breakfast.  I have no idea how much of his wealth he has given to charitable causes.  He never spoke of it to me.  But I am certain it is an astounding amount, because that’s the kind of person he was.

We always spent holidays at the farm.  And ever so occasionally, he would sit us (his grandchildren) down after a holiday meal for one of his fireside chats.  He rarely gave us advice, but when he did, it was best to listen closely.  His favorite topics were hard work, integrity, and family values.  He came to hear me speak several times, a message to our church, a valedictory speech, and a mission presentation, and he would give me pointers; most notably to always speak up and stand tall, and I always remember this in that second after I walk to a podium and before I open my mouth.

He is, and always will be, with me.  In the moments after his death, as I try to gather every memory and store it away for safekeeping, these are the first things that I recall.  They are by no means the only things, and everyone who has known him has a story.  That is legacy in its own right, and to be remembered in stories is to be remembered forever.  Thank you Big Daddy.