It began with the song Hot Rod Lincoln. Ronnie Brackins was my friend, although he would have never admitted it. But the crowd in the parlor testified to Ronnie’s overall likeability. I was outside, marveling at his John Deere parked at the porte couche, and every time the attendants opened the glass doors I could hear the laughter and boisterous conversation inside. I signed the book and added ‘Co-Op’ in parentheses. I never really knew Ronnie’s children, so I didn’t go up front, instead slipping into the pew beside Robin and Jerry. It is the official Co-op pew. As we sat there, I remembered well another funeral we had attended for another tire shop employee years ago.And then I had to grin, because I remembered the more recent time I’d sat here- the funeral of Joe Woods. That was the time I’d got in the wrong car, mistakenly thinking it was Robin’s, and instead it was piloted by a guy with a nose ring and a young lady with some pink hair who were horrified that a stranger was attempting to climb in their backseat at Food City soon after they parked. I was even moving their Christmas presents out of my way. I digress. So here comes Margaret, and boy was I glad to see her. She is one of the sweetest women to ever work at the Co-op. I haven…