Funerals in Real Texas

We buried a good friend last week.  I say we;  There must have been 350 people at his funeral.  There were three preachers, a military funeral conducted by the VFW and American Legion, and lots of stories about the deceased.

His name was Larry Joyce.  As one preacher put it, his name could have been a verb.  As in “I have been Larry Joyced.”  Larry was a character in the best possible way to put it.  He did love to pull tricks on folks and nearly everyone had at least one story of his good natured chicanery and antics.

I’ll get to a couple of those stories in a minute.

First, I have to explain a little about funerals out here in Real Texas.  After it was all over and we were headed back home,  my friend riding with me said in a West Texas cowboy drawl:

“Well……I really enjoyed that.”

As a life long Texan, I knew just what he meant.  Such a statement might have been uttered by Larry himself.

Funerals out in Real Texas are not just for closure, they are also a gathering of old friends.  Yes, we do genuinely pay our respects to the departed and grieve terribly for them and their family.  But some of the best visits with old friends we have these days out here in Real Texas come at funerals.  It’s there that we see old friends we haven’t seen in months and years sometimes.

Maybe it’s because we are all scattered and it’s a long ways to anywhere out here.  Maybe it’s because when funerals are held out here, they are a return to the homeland, the heartland, to the places of our memories and coming of age.  We shared all those common but private nuances in our young lives out here in our isolation in Real Texas.

I saw lots of old friends at this funeral; Classmates and former residents I haven’t seen for years, and I shook their hands, kissed them, and hugged a lot of them.  It was really good to see them.  I gathered two of them and told them “I think of you nearly every day.”  And it’s true.  I really do.

It was a shock to us all to learn of Larry’s untimely death.  He was killed in a dune buggy accident.  A group of friends would load up their dune buggies and drive them on dirt roads that go on for a hundred miles or more in remote areas and usually build a camp somewhere for the evening.  It’s a lot of fun to do that sort of thing out here and Larry enjoyed it immensely.

He survived growing up wild and free in a small West Texas town, breaking nearly all his ribs on one side after a horse fell with him and on him,  his job in the oilfields of West Texas, and he survived a tour in Vietnam as a forward observer in an artillery unit.  He was proud of his service.  We were proud of him.

There was a 21 gun salute.  The local American Legion Post 253 and VFW Post 3216 did an outstanding job in their part of the service.  The flag was presented to the family.  We still appreciate such shows of patriotism out here.

There were two professional preachers officiating and then an aspiring Cowboy Preacher stepped up.  He was a young man I have known nearly all his life who, by his own words, “Never in his wildest dreams,” thought he would be following a long time preacher.  He did an outstanding job in front of the crowd, most of whom also had known him since childhood.   He spoke in a clear and confident voice.  I told him later he made me want to attend a Cowboy Church.  He said in an enthusiastic voice, “You need to.”

The young man, Kevin Weatherby,  spoke without pretense and from his heart.  He is good friends with Larry’s son.  His message was that of the Windmill, a familiar site in West Texas.  It turns sideways into a strong wind and does not fall.  It continues to pump out life giving water as our friends pump out love.  It was a compelling message and it connected with the Texas audience.

By the way, Cowboy Churches are becoming more and more popular all across Texas and the southwest, and they reach an audience other ministries might not reach.

Here’s a story for you:

Larry would visit me at the newspaper office on Saturday mornings.  The office was closed and I usually worked alone unless a friend came by.  He sat at my secretary’s desk while I was doing a printing job on an old offset press or letterpress.  We often visited about community affairs or local politics.

I worked as we talked.  I looked over at him after a while, and discovered he had completely emptied the contents of her desk onto the floor.  Every drawer was empty and the contests laid on the floor all around the desk.  I nearly fell over in laughter.  I couldn’t believe he had done that.  The originality of that prank was stunning.  What a hoot!

He was friends with my secretary.  He was friends with nearly everyone he met.

I left her desk that way until Monday morning and was quite eager to confess who had done it.

Here’s another….

Once, when a friend of his was moving, he knew there would be a lot of boxes in the yard and furniture in the carport waiting to be loaded.  He swore me to secrecy and put a classified ad in the newspaper advertising a huge garage sale that day.  Folks showed up at his friend’s house all day long wanting to buy their furniture and household items.  Some folks got upset he wouldn’t sell them anything.  Larry kept a close eye on it all.  He even went and visited with his victim and heard him angrily complain that he didn’t know why all those folks were wanting to buy his furniture.

There are plenty more stories like that.  We will miss all that.

This is Kevin Weatherby’s poem in memory of Larry Joyce:

The Windmill

As I rode upon the way one day, A windmill I passed by.

I saw unnoticed beauty, As it reached up towards the sky.

I never heard it complain too much, Just a little creak and moan,

As it did the job God intended, Out here in the pasture all alone.

There’s a lesson to be learned from them, If you listen to what they say.

When the norther comes a blowin’, Upon the ground you do not lay.

For when that big storm’s a comin’, And the wind it gets too high,

Just turn a little sideways, And let the storm blow on by.

Some say this thing pumps out water, But I say it pumps out love.

Givin’ what’s needed for life, To any cowboy, horse, or dove.

So as we gather here together, On this hot and windy day,

Standin’ around a hole in the ground, In which our friend will lay.

Let us not remember, How his body will turn to dust

Remember the love he pumped out, Still lives in each of us.

Friends are like windmills, Taken for granted till they’re not there,

Flyin’ up to heaven, On one more gust of air.

–Kevin Weatherby

May 2009

As Kevin explained it, Like the windmill which can take an aggravating wind and turn it into water, Larry could take an aggravating day and turn it into a smile.  And, as we all know out here, the greenest part of any pasture is around the windmill. Yes, he was like that windmill.   He could ‘green up’ our day.

In my mind’s eye, I still see him in his car with his girlfriend at age 17 or so.    Both had their smiling faces framed by the car window as they talked to me so many years ago.  I took their picture.  The memory is vivid.

My sadness over losing my friend  is profound.

It was a Real West Texas funeral.  I have to agree with my cowboy friend.

I really enjoyed it.

In fact, we all really enjoyed memories of Larry, our old friends, the inspirational and uplifting messages of hope, the patriotism, the analogy of The Windmill that turns sideways and withstands a strong West Texas wind, and the Real Texas way for the living and the dead.

I’m David Werst

Turned sideways in the wind in Real Texas

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