It was a typical funeral home chapel with fixed, padded pews arranged with a wide center aisle. It was wider than it was deep; bringing the grieving people up closer to the focus of attention than other chapels I have been in. Directly in line with and at the end of the aisle was the mahogany coffin, lying atop a similar dark-stained stand with unobtrusive wheels, raising the casket to a height clearly visible to all. The left side of it was open, revealing a white, satiny lining surrounding a recessed square of material pleated to form a sunburst with the rays converging above and pointing to the chest of the man below.
He was in his U.S. Army Class A green jacket. The nameplate was perfectly aligned over the right breast pocket; REED. Everything about the uniform bespoke Army precision and dedication. However, a very unmilitary golf club handle was situated between the man’s folded hands. The kind of iron it was could not be determined, as the lower portion of the club disappeared beneath the closed right-hand portion of the casket. A blue U.S. Army baseball-type cap lay next to the far side of his head and next to a small, stuffed dog with a puffy heart hanging from its mouth.
People entered sporadically, some walking forward to view the man before sitting alone or in small groups around the chapel. Some talked quietly, while others appeared to be praying. Others simply sat and stared at the soldier-golfer. Annie, his wife, now his widow, in the front row alternated between greeting people and sobbing.
I walked around the room, introducing myself and asking people how they knew Jim Reed. “I served in with him in the Army and we have been friends ever since.” “I knew him from Kiwanis. He was a real go-getter. Really kept the rest of us moving in the right direction.” “ He helped me with our Books for Kids program.” A woman sitting with three adolescent boys told me, “He was a great influence on the kids at the First Tee program.” That explained the pictures displayed on the front table showing a couple of dozen young people behind a sign mad e of golf balls, “Thank You, Coach Jim.” A couple of woman told me they had met him at a garage sale he had one Saturday. He struck up a conversation with them, talked about their mutual love for dogs, and became good friends.
An hour passed and the funeral home employee walked to the front and asked everyone to make sure their cell phones were turned off. The music faded slowly away. I rose and walked to the podium on the left side of the chapel. A few people had walked in at the same time and were standing at the coffin. I waited until they had paid their respects and seated themselves in the right side pews before I began.
As the oldest of the Reed siblings, Jim bore more responsibility and carried more of the burden of the difficulties our family faced as we were growing up in New York. He was always a sensitive person, a trait admired by most, but which also leaves a person open to being hurt. Jim suffered as a result of his sensitivity and sense of responsibility, but as is true with all of us, those hard times and his determination to take control of his destiny also shaped him into the man he became.
My brother lived an interesting life. After dropping out of high school, he boldly hitchhiked around the Southwest working as a short-order cook in various places, including some national parks. After he was drafted, he got his GED and negotiated his way into a tour in Germany. This resulted in him meeting a young German woman with whom he fell in love and who he married. Annie remained the love of his life until the day he died. We saw evidence of this constantly.
While in the army, Jim had to endure some “difficult” assignments, like being the cook at the golf course in Berlin. When it came time to rotate back to the States, he finagled a way to get to El Paso. He liked it here so much, he made it his request for each rotation, though I believe there was one stint he had to do in Austin. Upon retiring from the service, he and Annie settled here.
Interestingly enough, after spending his Army career as a cook, and developing some sought-after baking skills, Jim wanted nothing to do with that line of work. So, he worked in real estate for a while. He started a lawn care business. He built beautiful wood items in the garage. He bought, repaired and sold golf clubs. He oversaw the maintenance of several bank buildings. He got involved with a service club, the animal shelter, supplying books for children and with First Tee.
Jim was a self-educated man. He learned from life because he observed its passing. He learned the craft of writing and occasionally had some of his thoughts and observations published in the local newspaper and on various online sites. Had he been just a few years younger he would have had a blog. Instead, he printed poems, stories and reflections, bound them in notebooks and gave them to family and friends. He would include works from famous figures like Robert Frost and Emily Dickinson, and from not-so-well-known authors like Arthur Wallace Peach and Susan Mallot. He interspersed these favorites with some of his own…
If I may be so candid, I have never understood Jim’s desire to stay in El Paso. More accurately, I have understood; I just have never shared his passion for the desert. He was able to see beauty where I saw barren waste. Though, I must admit, over the years of reading his words and listening to him expound, he has opened my eyes to some of that hidden beauty I had missed before…Jim loved exploring the desert and the old towns that formerly thrived in places most have known existed…
Jim became known around El Paso as a generous, caring man who wanted to ease the burdens of others. Whether he and Annie were having soldiers over for a holiday meal, collecting books for the benefit of children, placing American flags on roads for Memorial Day, or helping little ones learn about developing character on a golf course, he was always giving of himself. He and Annie took on the job of caring for our mother, moving her here from Southern California. That was not an easy task, but they persevered, because that was what family did. Once, he even saved the life of an internet acquaintance, alerting people to the probability that the person was about to commit suicide.
I know I didn’t fully appreciate the benefit of having Jim as an older brother while I was growing up. It was only as an adult, as I began to reflect on my childhood, that I slowly began to realize how much he cared for his siblings and how much he sacrificed for us. This concern for us continued throughout the years. He wanted us all to have the close-knit family we had missed out on in our youth. He was the one who worked the hardest to suggest reunions, keep up the phone and email contacts, and encourage visits. When the possibility of a sibling reunion in Flagstaff came up this last September, he was excited and determined to attend, even though that meant having to arrange for and drag oxygen bottles around with him.
The friends and family of Tio Oso will miss his sense of humor, his insightful writing, his love for what is right, and his thoughtful gifts of time, energy and skillful craft. Though we are not a family that learned to say it well, we loved him.
El Paso Times obituary: http://www.legacy.com/obituaries/elpasotimes/obituary.aspx?n=james-reed&pid=154706960
