It is so hard to say goodbye, especially to really good people who leave us too soon. And twice over the last ten days, I have tasted that pain. But as painful as those goodbyes were, they were also amazingly uplifting celebrations of what it means to be a really good person and of the amazing difference they make in their corner of the world.
The first goodbye was to a pillar of the community named Howard Brown, the owner (and for several decades the publisher as well) of the Kenosha News, who was a vibrant force in all kinds of organizations in our community, especially those that helped the poorest and most vulnerable members among us. It says something about the kind of life he lived that we felt cheated – like he had been taken from us way too soon – even though he lived to the age of 85. But when someone does so much good for others, and brightens the world in which he lives, we do not want to let him go, no matter how long he lives. In the eloquent sermon given my Rabbi Feingold, she quoted the author of Ecclesiastes, who said: “The eye never has its fill of seeing.” There is always more to see – more to do – more to experience – and especially in his case, more to give. So much more to give.
Mr. Brown was a trustee of Carthage College for a quarter century, so his memorial service was on campus, and it’s estimated that about 1000 people came to pay their respects. It was one of those events where everybody who was anybody seemed to be there . . . present and former mayors, legislators past and present, corporate CEO’s, non-profit directors, members of the media, educators not only from Carthage but from Gateway and UW-Parkside as well . . . and on top of that, many citizens of the community whose lives one way or another had been touched by the man affectionately referred to as Uncle Howard. Someone during the service quoted these words from his widow Betsy: Howard sprinkled kindness wherever he went. Truer words were never spoken.
Something else was said during this service that really touched me deeply- but it wasn’t about Howard directly, but about his wife and children. It must have been Rabbi Feingold who said that Howard could only do what he did because of the way his family generously shared him with the rest of us. I was so thrilled that someone thought to acknowledge them in that way- and it also made me realize that if anyone had ever lived out those words, it’s my wife. Not that I deserve to be mentioned in the same sentence as Howard Brown when it comes to changing the world for the better, but whatever good I’ve managed to accomplish in my little corner of the world has only been possible because of Kathy. And I’ve always known that to be true but never really exactly how it was true until I heard those words about Betsy Brown and her three daughters.
Howard Brown was everyone’s greatest fan- and had the most eloquent way of letting you know how special he thought you were. Whenever he and I crossed paths, he never failed to say how much he admired my work on the Morning Show, which was great to hear- except that after awhile I noticed that he never had anything specific to say about the show (never, for instance, naming any specific guests) — which led me to wonder if he really was listening to the show or just wanting me to think that he did. And then one morning, I interviewed Stephen Pastis, who is responsible for a comic strip called “Pigs Before Swine” – and in my introduction to the interview, I said that the strip was seen seven days a week in the Milwaukee Journal Sentinel. When I got back to my desk, there was a voice mail waiting for me. . . from Howard . . . informing me very politely that “Pearls Before Swine” also appeared every day in the Kenosha News. (I had looked for it there and somehow missed it.) I was mortified at my error and aired a correction right away. . . and it was only later that day that I realized that in that one simple phone call, Howard had confirmed that he did indeed listen to the Morning Show. And to this day, I am still smiling about that.
Howard Brown’s memorial felt like a service honoring a much admired head of state, but the funeral for Ava Carol Hodges felt like the funeral of a cherished friend or family member. She was the wife of Woody Hodges, one of the most beloved members of Carthage’s music faculty – but she was much more than that. She was one of Kenosha Unified’s mostly highly regarded elementary music teachers as well as a fine church organist. But mostly she was just about the nicest person you could ever hope to meet- a warm-hearted woman who made everyone around her feel a little bit better about themselves and about the world. Surely everything was going to turn out fine if people like Carol Hodges were around. And she was the kind of gifted and committed teacher who left a very deep imprint in the lives of her many students.
One of my favorite stories about Carol stems from the wedding of her younger son Scott, a former voice student of mine. Carol was a carrier of the disease hemophylia, so she and Woody made the decision that they would have children through adoption, and they could not have been more devoted parents to Eric and Scott. Not too long before Scott got married, he was able to find and connect with his birth mother, with the enthusiastic blessing of Woody and Carol. And when it came time for his wedding, one of Woody and Carol’s highest priorities was that Scott’s birth mother be accorded an honored place at the service and reception, right beside them. It was remarkable- and yet, if you knew Woody and Carol, it was not the least bit surprising because it was such a clear reflection of what kind of people they are. And I remember thinking at the time (and many times since) that I wish there had been a way to take every single uptight mother-of-the-bride or mother-in-law-of- the-bride or stepmother-of-the-bride who has ever spoiled an otherwise joyous occasion with their selfish and childish fretting about places of honor and other such nonsense (and I’m sure there have been fathers, fathers-in-law, and stepfathers who have done the same) and lined them up at Scott’s wedding and reception and said “Look at how it’s supposed to be done!” Of the hundreds of weddings I’ve participated in (or by now is it thousands?) this one is among my very favorites because of this beautiful and inspiring story at its heart.
I think it was a couple of years ago that Woody and Carol were told that the cancer she had been battling for so long was simply not going to be beaten – but they walked through this last chapter with courage and grace that was remarkable and yet not the least bit surprising if you knew them. And one thing that I especially admired about Carol is how she continued to do music at her church for as long as her ebbing strength allowed it. Even after she could no longer play the organ, she continued accompanying the choir, at least on those anthems where the piano part wasn’t too demanding. And the last time she felt up to playing for the choir was on an anthem which she and Woody had bought as a memorial for one of their parents- a setting of Psalm 121 – which ended up being sung at her own funeral a few weeks later.
Carol spent her last days in a place called Hospice House, where she was given tender, attentive care. . . and I am so thankful that I took the time to visit the morning of Friday the 6th. About an hour after I left, Carol died peacefully with Woody at her side, her long struggle finally over.
Her funeral was an amazing celebration of her life – and unlike Mr. Brown’s funeral, which had no music at all save for prelude and postlude, this service was bursting with music. The church’s senior choir and bell choir both offered anthems . . . a gifted quintet of brass students from Carthage played on the hymns . . . and Corinne Ness, Amy Haines, Sarah Gorke, Paul Marchese and I offered up a suite of pieces from Mendelssohn’s Elijah, plus I sang and played Malotte’s Lord’s Prayer. David Schripsema filled in as conductor, and his wife was at the organ. Every bit of the music was chosen by Carol and Woody, from the exultant opening hymn (Joyful, Joyful, We Adore Thee) to the poignant closing hymn (I love to tell the story.) And through it all, Woody sat in the front pew, in between his two sons, drinking it all in with profound gratitude. It was a powerful reminder that music is something to which we turn for our most joyous celebrations….. and in our moments of heartbreak as well……. and when it is offered up by people we love and who love us, it becomes a still more powerful and transformative gift.
Farewell, Carol Hodges. Farewell, Howard Brown. . . two amazing people who made the world a much better place.
pictured above: I snapped this picture of the First United Methodist Church bell choir playing an arrangement of “Jesus loves me” for Carol Hodges’s funeral. They played beautifully. To the left is the tympani played by Carthage percussionist David Bedell, who was there with five of his schoolmates who comprise the Cielo Brass Quintet.