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’t laid eyes on her in a coon’s age. She looked exactly the same. Instantly, I remembered a story from her years working with Ronnie.
Margaret worked the gas window. In the old days, it was part of the office. After a remodel in 2001, the gas window became adjacent to the tire shop when the office moved to the back, between the warehouse and showroom. This meant Margaret was now interacting with tire shop employees and patrons regularly.
And the tire shop loved nothing better than a good joke.
And more often than not, Ronnie Brackins was the mastermind of said joke.
So Margaret had a headache. She was sitting at her desk with her head on her arms and her eyes closed. Ronnie, ever solicitous, asked if she was ok.
“Oh, Ronnie, I’ve just got the worst headache!”
Ronnie, never one to miss an opportunity, asked what she had tried to get rid of it.
Standard fare. Tylenol, Advil, whatever.
“Oh, the best cure is orange peels,” he advised, gravely serious.
“Orange peels???”Margaret asked with wonder. I should add here that Margaret is very, very gullible.
“Oh yeah, orange peels. Haven’t you ever heard of that? I remember my granny used them and swore by it! Must be an old mountain cure. I can’t believe you’ve lived here your whole life and never heard of using them.”
“Well, what do you do with them? Boil them and stand over the pot?”
“Oh no, you just put them in your ears.”
“In your ears?? Now, Ronnie. You’re going on with me!”
“I’m not!!! I’m telling you, my granny did it, and my momma too!”
“So I just peel an orange and cram the peelings in my ears?”
Ronnie nodded enthusiastically, excited that his plan was coming to fruition.
Next thing you know, Margaret had located her an orange, or at least the peelings (or maybe Ronnie did to speed the process along), and had them dangling from each ear canal like orange snake earrings, merrily ringing people up as they pumped their fuel.
This went on for hours.
Ronnie came out of the shop to turn in a ticket and couldn’t hold back any longer, looking at poor Margaret, blissfully oblivious to the joke. He broke down in hysterical laughter, and finally told her the truth.
Ronnie almost died on that day in 2001.
But instead he passed away Monday, twenty years later, surrounded by his legacy: his children and grandchildren.
I worked with Ronnie for several years. He liked me because I had the good sense to drive a Chevrolet pickup. Although he almost killed me once.
I was new. Ronnie did alignments in the first bay. The door from the tire shop showroom into the tire shop swung a little wildly and I was too short to see through the plate glass at the top… and I’m not a very considerate person, anyway. I would never work out in food services. Anyway, I was hell bent on running a ticket out to the board and banged through the door.
Ronnie, as I said, worked in that first bay. He had a dually truck on the racks for alignment. He had the machine nearly calibrated and was working on the final tire alignment when I swung through. The door whammed the machinery attached to the front tire on the passenger side, sending all measurements askew.
Ronnie hollered as the computer began to beep alarmingly.
I apologized profusely, knowing it was bad. I had been careless. It was a tight fit there anyway, with a regular vehicle.
Ronnie simmered down and we went on about our day, him starting over on the truck that he’d already spent about three hours on.
A few hours later, I had to run another ticket out. And once again, I failed to remember the truck that Ronnie had been slaving over just inches from the door.
Yes, I hit it again. Yes, Ronnie cussed. Yes, I cried and ran for cover.
It took us about a week to speak again.
Ronnie’s good friend was Danny and I guess I can tell this now that they’re both dead and gone. On their lunch hour, they would frequent the local city pool and watch the girls in their bathing suits like a couple of dirty old men 🤣🤣
And now that I’ve told that, I can tell you that Ronnie raised three kids all by himself and did a bang up job. They’re all well and have a strong work ethic and sense of self. The three of them took turns speaking tonight, in lieu of a preacher, because Ronnie didn’t frequent the church house for his sermons. He got them on the farm, in the woods, and on the lake. But not to worry, he knew the Lord.
His oldest son said Ronnie was every dad any of us had: he was the strongest, bravest, most protective, meanest, and hardest working man alive. He was hard on you but would tell you he loved you and that he was proud when the day was done. I corrected him in my mind- only the most fortunate have dads like that.
I kept looking around the parlor for Rick, his brother. I keep forgetting Rick passed this past February. I’d say they sure did shake and howdy and then got down to work in Heaven under the direction of two Fathers.
Ronnie’s health began to decline around the time Darrel left, and he began disability. I would save wheat pennies for him and he’d come in for cattle feed and salt and we’d trade out money.
The children were mystified this week as they began going through his possessions. They found a multitude of hats and a surplus of ammo and knives, but I wasn’t surprised at all. I wonder what they’ll think when they find the stockpile of wheat pennies.
The service started with Hot Rod Lincoln and ended with Free Bird. We had plenty of tears and laughs along the way. The service was continued at the farm, Jack Daniels in attendance. They joked that Ronnie was cremated so he wouldn’t have to attend his own funeral. He never did like being out in public.
I’ll miss you ol’ buddy, and I’ll see ya later. 🍻