It was a very touching moment when the flag was reverently removed from the casket, folded with silent precision, and presented to my cousins. The long slow salute and the playing of taps always wrenches the hearts of us veterans.
I was back home in Kentucky recently to attend the funeral
of my Uncle George. A WWII Army Air
Corps Veteran, he was an older brother of my Dad, and the first of seven
siblings to pass. He will be missed by all who loved and knew him. He was a great guy,
great father to my cousins (his two beautiful daughters) and our own personal piece
of what Tom Brokaw has so eloquently named, The Greatest Generation. If you
haven’t read Mr. Brokaws’ books on the folks who lived through, and fought in, the second world war, well….you should. My uncle was one of those great men and women that we
owe so much to.
Speaking of books, while I was home I took a drive out to my
maternal great-grandads homestead where he settled
after a cattle drive from Washington County, Kentucky. { for more on that bit
of family history see earlier blog
posts : TRUE FARMERS, and MORNIN WITH WILLIE AND ETHEL posted in April/2012} There’s not much left of the original
farm. Only two of the old outbuildings remain, the huge old barn is just a pile
of fallen lumber waiting for a match. The old log cabin still remains hidden under
asphalt siding, but the house is deteriorating rapidly, and will soon be only a memory. I walked
through the old house for what is most likely the last time.
The roof is caving in. Rain leaked through the old kitchen and living room ceiling like an open faucet. Drywall lay on the floor in two rooms, exposing rafters and the rain laden sky above. Raccoons had taken up residence in the place that was once inhabited by such warm, happy, God fearing folks. It was quite hard for me to see the destruction of a once vibrant farm and loving home.
As I carefully made my way through the house I discovered a few old books still
sitting on a shelf where they had been placed ages ago. It was so dark and rainy
that I had to gather the books up and carry them outside to see just what they were. I soon discovered that
they were old text books.
My great aunt, who was
the last to live in the old place, had been a teacher in a one room school
house in the long ago. The books I found were undoubtedly some she had used, as I
found notations inside them that teachers would use to conduct a classroom
session. Penciled notes of delicate female writing were made of where to start and stop for tests and discussions. Questions
to present to the students were written alongside certain passages. I closed the books and put them in the car. I would clean them up at home, and then examine them further.
When I had the chance to look the books over, I was amazed at their good condition after being in such a negative environment for so many years. The books were written in 1903,1923 and 1928. I found through research that these text books were used in schools through the 1930's and 40's.
I sat down in my old oak rocker by the window, and read by the filtered sunlight. As I turned the pages, it occurred to me that I held in my hands a book that was 110 years old.
The cover of this old text labeled its book as the Graded Classics Fifth Reader. Another was Community and Vocational Civics. English literature was one of the others. The prices of the books were all stamped on the covers. My favorite, the Graded Classics, was marked 37 cents for its hardbound, 368 pages of content. If the covers didn't give away the ages of the books, the contents surely did.
I found in them the most beautiful prose. Each paragraph was written in the early poetic language of the Kings English. It was nice to think that school kids back then were recognised for their ability to learn and process information, without dumbing the language down. The instruction in each of the books was so straightforward and wise.
Some passages in each of the school books extolled the virtues of work, responsibility, and citizenship. They promoted family unity and togetherness. They encouraged students to be "forthright and honest in every endeavor." One book even dared to begin its first chapter with a prayer by Robert Louis Stevenson.
But I found most interesting the Reader that began its content of scholarly instruction with a letter entitled "Duty".
This letter was written to a school aged son by his father. In it, the letter instructs the young man in social etiquette. Some of the advice was:
"We should live act and say nothing to the injury of anyone. It is not only best as a matter of principle, but it is the path to peace and honor." And , "Duty then is the sublimest word in our language. Do your duty in all things as the old Puritan. You cannot do more; you should never wish to do less. Never let your mother or me wear one gray hair for any lack of duty on your part".
Signed , Robert E Lee ( in a letter to his son G W Custis Lee).
Can you imagine an elementary school text book today that dares begin with a prayer, much less with a letter from General Lee?
It was fun and interesting to view pictures of "modern medical techniques", such as the photo of boys at a sanitarium who were working outside barely clad, in order to soak up the healing rays of sunlight. I enjoyed the pictures of then modern locomotives and steam ships. It was sad though, to see that some of what seemed like such good advice to young readers all those decades ago, is now removed from todays school textbooks in the name of political correctness.
So, the past few days were spent looking back. I mourned the loss of a dear uncle, the passing of a family farm, and I mourned the loss of real education. Looking back can help us make better decisions moving forward; as long as we don't spend too much time in the past. I have learned from this week, again, that life passes quickly. That nothing lasts forever. That decisions made today can either help us, or weigh heavily upon us for a long time.
I learned a deeper appreciation for the present. I want to make good use of the time, and the lessons I have learned...from past teachings.
