June 25, 2009 - The wheels of my suitcase roll across the tile entry way which at this particular moment is an exit way as another trip begins. There is no Willie Nelson singing in my head, "On the road again" nor is there any Tom Petty telling me that we, "Won't back down". No, as I back the car out of the drive and aim for the airport, it's Paul Simon talking about going to "Graceland". Which is close enough, since the destination is Hot Springs, actually a little place, not even a town, outside of Hot Springs.
The Rock Springs Baptist Church, Jessieville, Arkansas is the destination. This trip is to say good bye to Leon and put to rest his earthly remains.
Arriving at the church, after a trip through the back country from Hot Springs, where the service would begin in an hour, I learned that I was to speak on behalf of his union family. For this kind of thing it was short notice. Doing as much public speaking as all of us do, short notice isn't particularly unexpected.
In my professional life, when asked to speak my first response is always to inquire, "how much time can I have?" No matter what the answer my response is always, "Can I have a few minutes more"? When the Pastor told me I was to say a few words, I replied that it would indeed be only a few words.
It's different when one speaks for oneself. It's different when it is about a friend. It's impossible when it's personal about a friend who left such a large and unanticipated hole in one's life.
I try as a speaker to take the listener on a journey just as I do as a writer. Smooth transitions are important in both situations. There were no smooth transitions for me standing behind the pulpit of Leon's open casket. I would begin to travel down a train of thought with my mind barely racing ahead of my mouth and suddenly I would realize where the thought was going and start to well up with emotions: the denial of the reality with which I was confronted, and the overwhelming sense of loss and vulnerability, would require me to change thoughts in mid-stream in order to hold myself together. The bouncing from topic to topic, thought to thought I'm sure was as jarring on those in attendance as it was on me. Leon deserved better.
As soon as I sat down I remembered a millions stories I wanted to tell. Tales Leon had told me that made him laugh every time he told them. Or situations we had shared that had caused us both to laugh.
Larry Washam also spoke having the duty of reading the words written by Leon's grand children. How he managed to get through that I will never know. At one point he read a sentence from one of the children about the sound of Leon's computer bag rolling across the kitchen floor letting him know "papa was home."
Early in Leon's union career, when he was still in the Local that he helped organize, he learned about an elderly couple who had their house, a shack really, catch fire and burn down. Leon approached WeyCo and asked them to donate lumber to rebuild this couple's home. When that did not create the result he wanted, he reached an agreement that if Leon could get enough members to volunteer to work a shift the wood produced during that shift would be donated to the couple. Within a few days Leon had an entire crew lined up. Next he went to the Central Labor Council and found plumbers, electricians, and carpenters (which lets you know how long ago this was; the Carpenters were still in the AFL-CIO).
Shortly thereafter the couple had a new home, better than before and as far as I know only four or five people knew of Leon's pivotal role in the entire event. He never talked about what he did that time or a million times since. He simply saw what had to be done and did it.
In all the years of frustration that pass for the life of an average trade unionist, Leon never once raised his voice in anger. His was a quiet and persistent strength.
We spent many evenings far away from our families and loved ones talking about them and how much we missed them. We shared our love for the outdoors, our dogs, and our wives (not in that order of course).
There are thousands of workers from Virginia to Florida, Georgia to Arkansas who are living better lives today than before because of the sacrifices made by Leon. One of the few things I got right at his service was that he as trade unionist "never gave in and never gave up." He was trustworthy and respectful of all he met. It is difficult to think of higher praise for any person. He dedicated his life to helping others.
There are many stories I didn't tell at that service that I wished I had. The pain of the loss that we all shared and will continue to share was and is still overwhelming. I will never cross the Mason Dixon line again without remembering our loss and his life. Whenever I hear "Graceland" on the radio I will remember Leon and his life's work. I will try to follow the examples established by the way he lived his life.
The wheels of the suitcase on the tile entry way signal the dogs to bark and Bridget to come meet me, another trip over, but this one does not have an ending.
