Y’all settle in.

There are a few places in this world where life gets real. You know what I mean. Where rubber meets the road. Hospital rooms, church altars, courtrooms, gravesides, and bars at two a.m, to name a few.

Delmar Maples was my co-worker for my cumulative years at Co-op. He didn’t say much, but that’s ok, because what he said counted. He always, always, said “Good Morning,” (which seems to be becoming less common these days). If yes or no was adequate, that’s what you got. I think the first time we ever really had a conversation was when he was showing off his first grandson, he carried him all over the store, grinning ear to ear.  Delmar was a small man, with ropy muscled arms, dark eyes, and a scraggly beard. He was never without a mesh-backed “old man” hat that he carefully folded down in the center, essentially making a crown around his head. He traveled with a limp & a whistle.

Delmar changed the oil in Patsy many times, & filled a bunch of propane tanks for me & the rest of Sevier County. He didn’t complain or ask for a break in the rain & sleet & snow. He simply bowed his head to the weather & kept working. He crushed boxes too, & I’m ashamed to admit how many times he saved me from losing inventory…I tend to get in a hurry & throw out boxes that still have product in them. Oops.

His longtime companion, Margaret, would call & ask to speak to him & you would think their house was burning down & everybody they knew was in it by the way she carried on. I would take the message to Delmar & he would just shake his head & trudge in to call her. I got used to her after awhile, nothing was ever wrong, she was just excitable. Delmar was exactly the opposite.

We all began to worry about him when the knot came up on his neck & began to grow…he seemed to think it was gout. Do you think this tough little man would go to the doctor? No. He waited until he couldn’t swallow anymore. He clocked out & that was the last time he did.

Delmar was a very sick man, and we all knew it. I visited him in the hospital not long after that, and honestly, I wouldn’t have given him ten minutes, let alone more than a year. But the day following his hospital stay, he got up, put his uniform on, gathered his lunch box & was headed out the door when Margaret caught him. Devoted to work till the end, he would plead to stop by the store to and from their trips to doctors in Knoxville. Co-op was his family, it was in his blood. He told everybody it was “the best damn job he ever had”.

I didn’t know until the obituary was printed & hanging on the time clock that he served with the Marines. He went to Vietnam. I gleaned the information that he earned several medals while fighting. That explained a lot, as Joe Woods observed. We all learned something. He was buried in his dress blues, with his Co-op uniform shirt & black cap by his side. David Newman (fuel truck driver, among other things) officiated last night, and had visited Delmar frequently since he became sick. He was quick to reassure us all that Delmar was right with the Lord because…well, sometimes it was hard to tell. But for someone who saw things that nightmares are made of & kept them inside all these years, it ain’t no wonder.

But they sent him off right. The singin’ was pure & clear, old hymns that the mourners joined in on, the preachin’ was true and reassuring, and the prayers were heartfelt & humble.

I never knew the feeling of driving in a funeral procession until today. It touched my heart, seeing everyone pulled over with their lights on. Through my tears, I noticed one man had even gotten out & put his hat over his chest. That means a lot.

We traveled to Caton’s Chapel, a beautiful drive, especially coming through Mitchell Bottoms & the line of grievers wound our way through the old mountains. The cemetery covers the side of a steep hill, overlooking the gorgeous panorama of farmland & the Smokies. We stood in the shade of an old oak as the last rites were said over our quiet friend. The honor guard fired their 21-shot salute, the trumpet was played, and Margaret wailed in her grand children’s embrace. Brion squared his shoulders while mine shook. The flag was presented to his son. The doves were released and that was the best dang burial I ever attended. I hope Delmar approved.