Governor Abbott’s Message Tweet Wrinkles and Rips Through (Some) Aggie Hearts

Ever since reading Texas Governor Greg Abbott’s tweet on the Elon Musk platform now called “X,” the words just bear being reread:

With sister state California still on fire, and with hundreds of Texas-based fire and emergency personnel traveling and having relocated to join others in helping deal with a national tragedy, the governor of the great state of Texas, as we always address it, uses a social media platform to threaten the job of a true gentleman, and native Texan, who served our nation in military service, Ret'd. Gen. Mark A. Welsh III, as he has taken on the mantle of the 27th President of Texas A&M.

Let’s review: just two weeks ago this same governor sent condolences to the late President Jimmy Carter’s wife, Mrs. Rosalyn Carter, who he clearly did not know had been deceased since November 2023. I was embarrassed to be a Texan by that episode for two reasons: not only did the “leader” of our state not know that such a grand lady had passed away, apparently not one single person in the chain of command of considering, preparing, and sending those remarks out into the public media channels know this fact either. How many ignorant people does that total in the Texas “Lege”?

The term “Lone Star State” is a frequent moniker, but I can’t help but think that some within the leadership, like some who reside within the state are such isolationists that not only do they care nothing else about the people outside their daily world, they have no education, appreciation, or understanding of the amazing and voluminous differences by which all of us as citizens come together to form the United States of America. They don’t know, and they don’t care. Gov. Greg Abbott is one of those.

Lt. Governor Dan Patrick has similarly used social media and television to hold a Texas A&M faculty member up for both ridicule and speculation that pervades the accomplished woman with the proverbial “cloud over her head” for the remainder of her career, and the retraction of what it was she was “supposed to have said” was back of paper in small font and so belated that the damage was already done. One person’s career being ruined is not to be overlooked. The smoke of false fire lingers permanently. And yet, some people will defend those who commit the offense no matter what.

Gov. Abbott has made more than one public showing of fealty and likely fear-based enthusiasm for decisions made at levels higher than his. As an example, his “instruction” that all U.S. flags will be flying at full staff on January 20, Inauguration Day, to follow lockstep the wishes of the one person who holds the budget of the state of Texas in his singular hands, the recently elected 47th President of the United States.

So, one most ask the basic question: does the fear of withholding funding from a budget of an executive who answers to you make it right? Is it a fit and intelligent way to govern, by fear? Is bullying really required in the field of public service these days? It wasn’t that way before.

I grew up as the daughter of a career civil service employee; my mother was a secretary at Kelly AFB (back when it was alive and thriving), and she worked on the reports of aerospace engineers who would go inspect various engine failures. She had a top-secret clearance as standard procedure in her work.

In the 1960s, no federal employee could wear even a simple campaign button during election season. No home yard could display a political candidate sign by government policy to maintain a strict apolitical environment. “Back in the day” people respected differences of opinion and laws and policies were enacted, and important positive changes came with the Civil Rights Act to give people equal treatment under the law.

Meanwhile at Texas A&M, things developed a little more slowly here. It was not until legendary president James Earl Rudder (together with Texas Speaker of the Senate W. T. “Bill” Moore, Sr, that women were “allowed” to be officially admitted to TAMU ca. 1970. A few girls had been allowed to enroll for classes previously but not in any kind of recruiting capacity or movement. Thanks to Rudder and Moore, I was able to enroll at Texas A&M in 1974 as a freshman in chemical engineering.

Of all the professors I had the opportunity to learn from, only two expressed any level of disdain that I was a woman studying engineering. With the first experience, I learned to label all my papers with initials rather than my first name and all of a sudden, my grades went up. The second experience found a former advisor suggesting that I marry an engineer rather than try to become one. At the time, I remained respectful and found another professor to be able to answer my specific questions on the subject.

My reaction to both was not to take it personally. Even though I was two years younger than my classmates thanks to starting school early, I looked to the long-term outcome rather than the short-term payoff. I never once spoke unkindly of either professor. When I crossed the stage with my B.S. degree in chemical engineering, that day George Mitchell was the guest speaker, the professor who suggested I marry an engineer, jumped off the dais to run and greet me, shook my hand, and I responded sincerely in kind, when he said, “I always knew you could do it!” I said, “Yes, sir, you did, and thank you.”

Flash forward to 30 years later. I’m sitting in a pew at a church in Bryan one Sunday morning, visiting First Presbyterian Church because Emily Pulley was singing. Turns out he entered the pew from the other side and took a place next to me. We shook hands and visited briefly before service started. He asked what I was doing “now” and I told him that I was consulting for three locations of a chemical company in the Gulf Coast area. He smiled and said, “That’s wonderful! I’m so proud of you” and then he said, “If you ever have any overflow work, I’d be happy to help you out!” And I smiled and looked at him straight in the eyes and said, “Yes sir, thank you for letting me know.”

It was not because it was a church, or a Sunday, or anything to do with religion. I was just raised to be a lady first, and I was taught that you don’t always have to have the last word. You just have to have the right ones at the time. You cannot undo years of discrimination against people with laws that are not enforced. However, you cannot undo years of ignorance by removing laws that were put in place in the first place to protect the unprotected.

People sometimes would rather wash away their own inadequacies by searching for logic and reason among similarly unqualified pseudo-intellectuals who commiserate and comment in the dubious “nodding head” like the little bobble heads that traveled in the back of your car windows, also back in the day.

Texas has come under such ridicule for so many things. Former Governor Rick Perry couldn’t remember one of the three branches of government when running for president. At least he released his transcript for A&M. He was elected four times and whatever he did in office, Texas remained tax-free, and a popular destination for businesses to locate their headquarters.

I was fortunate to be able to work my way through Texas A&M as I earned four degrees, one of which is in educational administration, higher education with program evaluation specialty. I say this only to qualify my opinion with credentials sufficient to back it up. I will always remember with respect and regard who some of the truest, best leaders of Texas A&M have been, including Dr. Jack K. Williams, Dr. Tom Harrington, Gen. Earl Rudder, Dr. Robert Gates, and Dr. Jarvis Miller. Dr. Bowen Loftin was beloved by the students but not as much his faculty. To the students, he was a rock star. Your mileage may vary but this is my experience and observation.

As a rule, women as leaders of A&M have made very little impact, particularly in the ranks of vice president or higher. One early 1980s era female VP was remembered for her two-piece blue suits, 1950s white blouses with long flouncy bow to tie and virtually not one word of dissent to utter in any meeting. Another former assistant provost was given the title out of respect, not credentials, because she knew how to clean up the messes of her bosses without calling them out on them, and she never gossiped to others about what she’d done. She had the last laugh if not the last say.

There was another woman, an exemplary dean, championed by her male peers who created much change in her administration, but she did not like being challenged or questioned and exercised just as much “I’m going to remember that” retribution as the infamously notorious John Robert Smith in his role as czar of finance of administration.

By and large, though, not until Dr. Elsa Murano was chosen was it specifically clear that she was far above her comfort zone. Things were fine until (and this is my opinion) she asked for a particular department to pay its fair share of something and then all havoc broke loose. Rather than question her decisions, people questioned why she didn’t use hair spray. Until Kathy Banks came along, we didn’t have another woman in charge.

Thanks to John Sharp, two women were named as “super deans,” Dr. Kathy Banks (Engr.) and Dr. Eleanor Green (Vet. Med.) and one became president. Chancellor Sharp found a willing collaborator in subsuming small schools and rebranding them as Texas A&M ‘at’ the geographic locations. Kathy Banks had two groups of employees, those “fer” her and those “agin” her, and that’s up to the academics to sort out. Her inability to make a simple coherent speech at a Chamber of Commerce meeting was all I needed to hear to understand that she was working far beyond her pay grade as she was clearly out of touch outside the world of academia.

What, then, is the point? The fact is that no matter who has been in charge of Texas A&M, some blue-ribbon panel or other, some national search firm has been hired and touted and routed and candidates vetted, and fellow academics consulted on the opinions of the final choice.

What is relevant is that no state elected official has ever had a final say on anything but what athletic conference we play in (thanks again, Bob Bullock, for the SEC). Until today. Yes, TAMU leadership is under the purview of the Board of Regents, each of whom is appointed by the governor. But will he want to fire all of them at once until he reaches consensus "his way"?

When Gov. Abbott decides to play Texas tough guy and threaten, as obtusely as possible, the head of this university to the extent that a statement of clarification is issued that appears to be a “mea culpa” it's a sad day indeed. Frankly, it was the exercising of power that was never granted to Gov. Abbott in the first place. Gen. Welsh is the ultimate commander in showing a level of respect to a man who does not even respect a former president of the United States. Nor does he have a clear understanding of the words "chain of command."

Gov. Abbott showed disrespect to President Carter by being unknowledgeable that Mrs. Carter had predeceased her husband by 14 months and again by being the bobble head who said, U.S. flags will fly at full staff on Inauguration Day, against a permanent tradition otherwise.

My final points are these:

1. Gen. Welsh is the best thing to happen to Texas A&M in decades. He has the respect and consensus of the faculty, staff, and the students. Should anyone attempt to threaten or remove him as University President threatens the sanctity and security of the future of Texas A&M. He is to TAMU as Admiral William McRaven is to the University of Texas, the right person at the right time for two of the greatest jobs in academics.

2. I am weary of politicians who believe their own hype about their own power and who use that power to bully, willfully obstruct progress, and to prevent the advancement of clear thinking and the will of the majority to do what is right in the right situation.

3. I feel comfortable in expressing my opinions in not working for the state of Texas nor Texas A&M University but don’t expect those who do to chime in with an opinion, for obvious reasons—fear of losing jobs. Local business owners and retirees can comment as they wish, though.

My hope for the year 2025 is clarity of thought, wisdom beyond what we are seeing and hearing now, and a corrective course of action where we can all feel free to be as successful as possible without blaming personal failure on someone else. Accountability follows wisdom, and real heroes are made everyday by those who refuse to follow lockstep the words of a leader who is simply not worth respect. In military service, you don’t question your superiors, you follow their commands or suffer the consequences.

Greg Abbott had no military service at all, and the tragic accident which caused him to be paralyzed below the waist occurred when he was 27 years old, so he did have the opportunity to enlist had he wished to before, during, or after college. He chose not to.

Perhaps the phrase “service above self” is unfamiliar around the state capitol these days, although we have some excellent people there indeed, others not so much, but I would highly hope and pray that someone get some common sense fast and shut down the path of destruction that lies ahead should the bullying and threatening on social media continue. Ironic that the media is owned no less, by another powerful person who was not elected to any office seems to hold tremendous sway. Money talks. Yawn.

Words are powerful, but actions speak louder than words. In Gov. Abbott’s case, his best next action will never be an apology to Gen. Welsh, but it should be. True men of Texas know when and how to admit that they are wrong. The others just whine and seek solace among like-minded individuals and sing along to "There's a Tear in My Beer." The future of Texas, and of Texas A&M and the University of Texas is in the hands of a very few people. May God bless each of them with the wisdom needed not to destroy what it has taken hundreds of years to build.

Wayne Osmond Leaves Amazing Legacy of Music, Family of Love and Faith

Wayne Osmond (Light blue jacket) died January 2, 2025, at the age of 73, in Salt Lake City, Utah.

As the headline came across my feed, I stared silently, stunned. Just two nights ago, I was on a deep Osmond Brothers video dive on New Year’s Eve. Yes, while others were in their choice of locations, I was jamming some family-blending harmony. Mock me if you will, I admit it.

Actually, it was a fun way to bring in 2025. I was in a splendid mood as I remembered simpler, calmer times of growing up in the 60s and 70s, surrounded by stacks of my favorite vinyl 45s, later to be joined by multiple 33 albums and hours of committing liner notes to memory.

Of course, Wayne is the second oldest of the performing brothers. In early TV appearances, older brother Alan, handled many of the questions posed by Andy Williams.

Wayne seemed to be the businessman of the group, making sure everyone was on pitch. You can see him listening intently to the blending vocals and he just seemed in charge of quality control. I could be all wrong, but that’s how I saw it.

Merrill did all the choreography—the man can still outdance John Travolta on any given day. Andy Williams’ father, the dad of the singing Williams Brothers quartet, spotted the Osmonds at Disneyland, and recommended their appearance on Andy’s show.

Jay played the drums and was a bachelor for the longest time of any of the brothers, a fact well known among teenage girls who kept track of such availability. However, your chances of becoming an Osmond statistically was greater if you lived in Salt Lake City and were of the Mormon faith.

Then, of course, there was Donny, who grew up to steal the spotlight but never the patience or respect of his brothers. Fame is like that but brothers are forever. Documentaries and interviews abound that reveal behind the scenes dynamics of growing up Osmond.

Sadly, the real-life experiences of the Osmonds were not as idyllic as you might expect, but what survived it all was their love for one another. It’s only understood from the inside out, much like Texas A&M and the “all things Aggie” culture of Aggieland, but this one family has done more to spread the work of their faith and operate on their true faith/belief system than the Osmonds.

Any card-carrying female Baby Boomer will either shyly confess or begrudgingly admit having had photographs of America’s “Original” Boy Band, the Osmond Brothers, on their bedroom walls. From the early days of their first signature barbershop harmony at Disneyworld to early fame and acclaim on “The Andy Williams Show,” the first version of The Osmond Brothers included Alan, Wayne, Merrill, and Jay.

You also know firstborn brothers, Virl and Tom, whose hearing challenges found them not performing regularly, but they were actively involved in business aspect of their brothers.

From Andy Williams’ launch pad, one appearance led to many more and from the opening notes of “I’m a Ding Dong Daddy from Dumas” in 1963, to countless others, the popularity of their TV appearances initiated a robust recording collection and successful touring career that spanned internationally as well as their home base for the Mormon faith at the Salt Lake City Mormon Tabernacle.

Over the years, faithful fans adopted their own “favorite” Osmond. The next video spotlights Wayne, singing lead on “Rainin’,” and it was posted 13 years ago, which is profound to think of other songs on the radio at the time that bear no resemblance at all. Love of music doesn’t end just because an era has passed. It endures.

One of my favorites is “Love Me for a Reason” and virtually any video of this song will show everyone in the audience singing every word along with the brothers, no matter where they perform. The love of sharing music is as important as sitting and listening intently.

Despite the brothers' public appearance that portray the picture of health, there's no way each brother has not dealt with a variety of major health challenges. In 1994, it was discovered that Wayne had a brain tumor but he amazingly made it through surgery and recovery and was able to perform for many years after. Heart disease has not skipped the entire family either, and his passing today was due to "a massive stroke," per his brother Merrill sharing the news on Facebook.

It is hard to say goodbye to a life, a career, or a lifetime career. Over the years the next generation of Osmond Brothers among the cousins has appeared and is not the same as the prior generation but the music goes on.

Watching a video of Donny gently draping his arms around his brother Merrill’s shoulders during his final song of his singing career (April 2, 2022) before Merrill’s final show, his official retirement, my tears flowed as you could see the love and emotion it held, brother for brother, the end of an era officially over for The Osmond Brothers as we’d all grown up knowing them.

As I watched Donny, I shook my head, musing, “It’s amazing that all the brothers are still alive today. When the first one passes away, it will truly be the end of an epic era of music.” To see that headline today was eerie.

No matter what’s going on in life, when there is a passing of an important part of our childhood, it is important to acknowledge the role that these amazing entertainers had in giving us all what we needed and loved at the time. We had joy—abounding, abiding and memories that live on past today.

In conclusion, the course of the Osmond career would include the prolific work of Donny, the popular duo Donny & Marie, who still set attendance records in Las Vegas when they perform, and youngest brother, Jimmy, who joined the group as a regular sooner than he expected and also focused spare time on business merchandising and Osmond Enterprises.

The Hollies may have done it first, but there is no question that no one owns this song more than The Osmonds. Wayne is the first to leave his earthly family behind, survived by his wife Kathlyn, their five children, and grandchildren. Time marches on. God bless Wayne Osmond, and thanks for all the beautiful harmony.

Changes at Callaway-Jones Create New Opportunities to Serve Our Community

For five generations, Callaway-Jones Funeral and Cremation Centers has existed as a family-owned business, starting in 1904 in Palestine, Texas, when Mr. C. H. (Homer) Callaway came into the picture. For 120 years the entity of Callaway-Jones has defined funeral excellence in Texas.

In mid-October 2024, Cody called a full team meeting. His announcement would change my future substantially, and not necessarily badly, but it meant a new way of thinking about what I do and how I do it. Ch-ch-ch-changes again. A new phase in the life of Callaway-Jones was in the offing.

On November 4, 2024, the transfer of ownership to Park Lawn Corporation was signed, sealed, and added to a substantial business entity that has carved out their own niche for operational excellence. Although the legendary business we all thought we once knew came to a screeching halt with the swooshing of pens across paper, the legacy is far from over.

Cody is not one given to emotion when he speaks. In his entire work life at the business, you can’t tell it from his outward persona. For all his work life at C-J, he’s gone above and beyond to serve his family and his family’s legacy. You don’t see through his carefully crafted armor of calm, reserve, and reassurance that we all expect of our funeral directors, but I have seen it.

He’s not perfect; he is exacting and demands more of himself than he does others. Cody has watched as some of his best friends in caskets were lowered into the ground. He stands there as strong as any Marine without shedding a tear, while inside, God only knows how he did it.

Rev. Doug Manning, whose Oklahoma-based family has pioneered the training of life celebrants describes the expectations of those among the grief-stricken as the calm that takes over once the funeral director arrives on the scene. “The funeral director is here. Everything is going to be alright.” It’s true. I experienced it when my mother died. Cody and an attendant arrived in formal suits and respectfully transferred Mom into their care from the nursing home. My best friend from high school was with me and sister friend from town was en route.

My neighbor and dear friend, our church’s children’s minister, had arrived, also in a suit, to pay his respects. Our church’s senior pastor arrived, eventually, in fishing shirt, cargo shorts, and tennis shoes to express his condolences. Another story for another time. As the kids say, “IYKYK”(If you know, you know).

I’d been part of the Callaway-Jones “family” since the late 1980s, although few people I have worked with for almost 9 years even know this. It never comes up and I’m not one given to mark turf. I was blessed going through chemistry graduate school with professors whose grown children were my age and who loved live music as much as I did.

On any given weekend night, you’d find at least 5 different professors’ kids and their spouses and dates out in local clubs where a good 60% of them were up on stage performing and the rest of us were the appreciative listening audiences. Or, one might be running for local elected office, and we’d all be together on a campaign effort. I was “one of them” and as the professors began to age, and I’d relocated back to BCS in 1990 after my career in the Gulf Coast Petrochemical Industry, we saw the aging and eventual passing of our loved ones as time passed as we all grew closer.

The Family Entrance

As circumstances called, I was honored when my adoptive siblings asked my help in writing the final tributes for the newspaper with them alongside or for them, because it’s always hard to get started with blank paper. I typed (on an IBM Selectric, remember those jewels?) and would drive to Callaway-Jones. I loved parking under that huge tree and strolling to the office, going in the family entrance.

From there, the obituaries would get to The Eagle. I remember when Cody arrived to intern with his grandfather, earned his funeral credentials, and assumed control in 2004 at age 24, same age his dad, Mike, was when he took over the business, and the same age that his grandfather, Raymond, had assumed control. There was a beauty in that age symmetry.

Cody’s dad, Mike, died after a valiant battle with cancer in 2004. Mike Jones had a lot of dreams and plans for Callaway-Jones, but Mr. Raymond was not given to change as quickly as he was to studying all sides of a decision thoroughly. When Cody and Chelsea married, they determined to create something special in what we would come to know as the funeral home we are in today on College Avenue (almost median free) across from Mid-Town Bryan and all the excitement of a promising future the location offers.

A Chance to Establish Their Own Identity

Cody and Chelsea immersed themselves in visiting other family-owned independent homes for a year, and decided what would work best. People just seeing it for the first time say they never had any idea a funeral home could feel so warm and welcoming, putting people at ease rather than inspiring discomfort. Lorene remained in the background and carefully watched the books as she had for years, but she provided both continuity and care for the perpetual expansion of the family business.

A New Opportunity to Serve My Community

Cody called me in 2015 and said he was opening a new facility and wanted to offer families a Certified Life Celebrant, who could tell the stories of their lifetime and serve either solo or with a ministerial colleague when families requested it. People from all walks of life come through the doors, and their needs and wishes range extensively from traditional to anything but traditional.

Timing could not have been more perfect. I’d been discontented with being in a volunteer service role in my (then) church for reasons that mattered at the time. I’d wanted to be of service to God, and it was a personal goal, just hadn’t figured out what that would look like (yet). When the call, the answer suddenly revealed itself. I was in.

Nine years later, I’m still here, sort of. Thanks to that call from Cody, I experienced the opportunity to work with some of the most amazing people I could ever have asked to be associated with in a family-owned business where I’m not really part of the family but was always treated as though I was, for as long as that could last. In reality, today I am just a vendor, an independent contractor, and I belong to myself.

A Life Celebrant Does What?

If you know me, you know the answer to that question, some more thoroughly than others. I don’t always get the question “What is it you do exactly?” but the fast answer is that when a loved one dies, it is the intent of that person and his or her family to create a service that reflects the best and happiest times of that person’s life, shares stories that bring laughs and tears, and allows people a chance to share the feelings of their hearts with those gathered.

We use music, readings, poems, personal testimonies, and in some cases, the specific words left behind to be shared that day with all who are present. We gather, relax, and enjoy Diet Coke or Dr. Pepper if that was the favorite drink of the loved one. I tell the story of their life, punctuated and accentuated with family and friends sharing their memories. It’s an honor to serve families in this way, and I have loved doing so all these years now, in addition to my other work in publishing, editing, writing, and marketing.

With pride I share that I was trained by the best—Glenda Stansbury of InSight Institute and her co-instructor, Ty Rose. Throughout the year, they train family-owned and corporate-owned individuals with this calling. I edit memoirs, compose memories, and tell the stories of people’s lives in writing. Beyond that, I work in video storytelling with Nicole Lamb of Water to Wine Productions, and we’ve created some amazing legacies that continue to bring comfort to those who want their stories preserved.

Written tributes range from memory booklets to full-page stories in The Eagle; sometimes a story simply must be told, no matter the length. I’ve edited memoirs and gotten them published for families who want something to leave future generations, as one last gift.

I’m privileged to have worked with funeral directors who have gone above and beyond for families, time and again all because they care so very much about each family. I’m not a rah-rah cockeyed optimist who thinks everyone is perfect, but I’m proud of so many I’ve worked with over the years. I’ve watched people grow in their skills and relocate for one reason or another and I’m as proud of their success because they shine and make the profession great.

I’m not always a first choice, and some are still even uncomfortable with a female officiant, but over time, I’ve found that referrals explain it better than any website words—it’s how you feel when the service is over that is the reason I do what I do here. All our jobs revolve every day about offering comfort, respect, caring, and compassion for the most important times of your life, giving a loved one away from his or her earthly life and saying goodbye.

A Funeral Home is a Business but is a Funeral Business a Home?

Through the 50+ years I’ve studied, enjoyed, worked, and carved out my life here, I’ve been fortunate to know or at least be well acquainted with some of our Brazos Valley funeral business pioneers who created legacies that endure today, albeit with some substantial changes.

As a former member of St. Andrew’s Episcopal Church, I recall the inimitable Marge Hillier. Most Episcopal women are amazing and distinct for setting goals. They’re laser-focused and they work well together. Hillier Funeral Home earned a reputation for excellence and patronage followed, locally and regionally. Relatively few people remember its original location; many among our senior friends recall exactly.

If you knew Memorial Funeral Home back then, you knew Bill and Brenda Zieren. Theirs were the faces you saw, until Jodie Hoyak joined the business and extended the reputation of excellence.

You were doing business with Marge and Russ, Bill, Brenda, Jodie, and ‘not’ the name of the business. Flash back to 1953, when Homer Lacy Callaway Jones and her husband Manley Jones, Sr. relocated to Bryan from Crockett, Texas, and cofounded the business on College Avenue, which occupies the space on which the original building was built.

Why The Change? Why Sell Now?

I don’t know, nor is it my place to ask, but one thing comes to mind. As only children, Cody didn’t have a choice, nor did Mike, before leading the family business, because it was the family business. It’s like being an Osmond brother and saying you don’t feel like performing when the entire family business is built on your voice.

Sometimes, you just “do” because it is expected, directly or indirectly. Of one thing I’m certain: During his time leading Callaway-Jones, Cody made legendary inroads in the profession, he’s considered a leader of small independent firms. Cody gave our community a legacy it took 120 years to build, five generations to operate and sustain, and whatever Park Lawn does with it will be their decision and up to their leadership.

Good news: the majority of Park Lawn’s team are young, energetic and forward-thinking creatives seasoned enough in old-school, but who are not stuck in a rut of “but we’ve always done it this way” to prevent positive changes from happening.

Now What?

With the sale to Park Lawn Corporation, what changes will we see? Many of your same friends, neighbors, and family are there, with a few changes that have happened and some still likely to come, same as any business.

Speaking personally, I’m no longer exclusive to Callaway-Jones, for the first time in my career as a celebrant and life tribute writer. It’s a tad strange because I still remember the old oak tree and the family entry to the “old place,” and here we are in 2025 and I’m free to work where I want.

In my almost nine years at Callaway-Jones, so many of you have gifted me with the most treasured opportunities to serve your families. In some cases, I’ve officiated for three or four members of your immediate family, as time has passed. Those relationships that exist because of Callaway-Jones are precious to me.

I Love to Tell the Stories

Other relationships that I have forged in this community through my days as an arts, health, education, and other volunteer remain as equally important. One of my favorite “bookings” came to me 12 years ago (before I was at CJ) and she said, “when my husband and I die, you are writing the tributes!” I said, “that’s fine, I’m honored you’ve asked, but don’t make any fast exit plans. We still need you all too much!” Fortunately, they’re still here.

Other tributes I’ve written are sitting in C-J files for when they are needed because some parents knew they didn’t want to leave those tasks to their children who would be grieving them. I’m still honored to serve anyone who needs me at Callaway-Jones same as usual.

I’m also open to creating some amazing new experiences for life celebrations for those who want them. In November, I teamed with a friend as we organized an amazing event to honor the spouse of a longtime friend at Cadillac Ranch on a day when the skies were blue, the sun was out, and life was remembered, with military honors presented.

Dear friend Patti Wade, who retired as full-time C-J secretary last year to remain their family services ambassador (and part-time grandma) is the keeper of many stories and memories of some of our unique services at Callaway-Jones. Patti convinced some on-the-fence about a celebrant to give it a try, and she shared her personal experiences with those who wondered about how these services flow.

The funeral directors I’ve worked with presently at C-J are extremely caring people who want you to have exactly what you want for your loved ones’ services. We have a flow of communications between us that is virtually seamless and sometimes we’ve had some tremendous surprises (weather, weather, weather) but it always seems to work out. It’s all about teamwork.

The people you see and visit with today at Callaway-Jones are the ones you’ve been working with for some time now. They’re still your contact points, and still will be. The firm is growing a little, so you’ll meet some new friends along the way, too. They’re aware of you, your needs, they care about the details important to you, and they have genuine hearts of service.

After all, you don’t enter this field of work lightly. The gifts of servant’s hearts are in each one of them, no matter their role or task in our “family” conclave. Not all of us are perfect, and yet at the end of the day…we’ve all done our very best. Frankly, you can say that about all firms in town as no one sets out each day to make your life anything but easier during these times. There’s enough choice for you to decide what feels right for you.

I’m planning to continue serving families in celebration of life or in tributes at Callaway-Jones as long as there’s a demand for them, but I’m also an independent vendor now going forward. You can also find me as a writer/editor/book publisher through my cell or on Facebook (or subscribe to my new blog that will be debuting soon).

A Final Thought

Saying goodbye to a family-owned business was probably the hardest decision to make, followed by the signing of the agreements of same. It took courage, but with today’s business environment, uncertainty suggests placing a treasured business in the larger hands of a corporation who is poised for the long-term, steady for the long-haul, and able to operate with strength.

This community has not heard the last of businessman Cody Jones, far from it. Whatever he and his family do next will be received enthusiastically. They remain an integral part of BCS history and business upon which we face the future.

At long last the underground pipe replacement and fiber optic cable placement disasters of 2022-2024 are over. All that remains is for the City of Bryan to restore the once-perfect landscaping that was destroyed under the auspices of city improvement.

As I say often, drop by Callaway-Jones anytime; the coffee is fresh and everything is still there in its rightful place. Patti saw to that. It’s the way the family wanted. And I can’t project voices from the past, but I certainly imagine that the ancestors would all be proud of how Cody maintained, built, expanded, grew, and acquired additional assets to offer as the Callaway-Jones corporation was acquired by Park Lawn.

As Petula Clark Once Sang

It’s a sign of the times, friends. Even my beloved Porter Loring Mortuaries that so many of my loved ones counted on in San Antonio, a four-generation family-owned business since 1918, sold to SCI a few months ago, and still the Loring family will remain integral in the daily operations of the business.

Anyone who knows me well knows I can generally come up with a song that I think fits the occasion. I think I’ve found the one.

For Cody Jones, Chelsea Jones, and Lorene Jones, with love. Thanks to all of you for taking a legend and leaving us all a legacy. The future belongs to others now, and as they say when one sailor leaves the post, “We have the watch. Fair winds and following seas.”

“It’s Hard to Leave” by Judith Durham (Seekers Version)

Remembering the Light in the Life of Doris Helene White Soares (1957 - 2024)

Attorney Doris Helene White Soares found that her homegoing would be during the Thanksgiving holiday period of 2024. At the age of 67, she was 33 years short of her ultimate goal of living to age 100, a goal she often reminded people was hers. It wasn’t because her mother, Lois Cooper White, had lived 99 years, just four months shy of her 100th that Doris had that as her goal.

She was simply one to note benchmarks of time in even numbers and she liked the concept of what life would look like in the year 2057.

In her lifetime, Doris managed to do what all southern women and mothers of other strong southern women want for their daughters—to shoot for the moon and reach it. Doris was brought up with a love for books, good writing, impeccable spelling, decorum, Southern manners, faith in God, church worship, respect for elders, an appreciation for one’s family roots, a study of her heritage, and one gently charming stubborn streak that powered her to get past barriers, subtle and substantial alike.

We met in 1970, as she was one of 11 students who would cause Keystone School’s 9th grade class to actually have to span six pages of the yearbook that year, as the usually small class sizes experienced a giant growth streak.

In the 1970-71 year alone, Keystone students who were destined for the “best” colleges around the country faced challenges of their own as the waning days of the summer of love, flower power, and the general transition from AM radio to the more unchartered waters of FM broadcasts marked a time in music where you’d find Dean Martin, Motown, The Beatles (at the height of their scraggly look, transcendental meditation and mountaintop contemplations abounding), The Buckinghams, Neil Young, and a few Canadian upstarts including Joni Mitchell were about to hit radio gold.

Doris entered Keystone with a bang. Our multicultural enrollment was real, but small, but then, again, the Class of ’73 had 10 people, the Class of ’75 had 11 people, and here we were, the Class of ’74 with 32 people. Diversity wasn’t just for statistics; it was for real, and it didn’t need to be “practiced.” It was who we all were, a happy little microcosm of people who were meant to be family for the rest of our lives. Naturally there were disagreements at times, but they were healthy, educational, and often funny or peppered enough with humor to make them a learning experience.

Keystone was not a nerd academy; it was a social experiment of understanding, goal-setting, intense study, relentless pursuit of knowledge simply because you were interested in it, and then, a safe place to be smart without ridicule. Most of all, we tried to be kind to one another, despite our similarities and differences. That was basically all you could ask for in the fall and spring of the early 1970s. Politics was as interesting then as it is today, and we all held strong opinions, which were safe to express without fear of retribution or persecution from our superiors, unlike today’s more volatile environment.

In school, Doris was not a fan of science; she preferred history, English, writing, and she tolerated with grace those who were attempting athletic prowess on the basketball court, because she was an avid cheerleader who knew how to get a crowd going. She fit in easily, but it’s more likely that she managed to project a level of ease where there was none.

Her younger cousin, Trena, had been at Keystone from early elementary days, but Doris also had an older sister, Lois Diane, who graduated from San Antonio Edison High School the same year Doris graduated from Keystone. They were devoted to one another; in 2003, Lois Diane was visiting Doris in Massachusetts when she passed away from cardiac complications in her sleep at the age of 47.

Lois Diane White

Keystone’s junior and senior proms were important benchmarks and Doris kept good photographs and scrapbooks of those rites of passage as well as our high school graduation ceremony, and shared those in our school alumni postings on Facebook.

Elizabeth Lee Newman Easterlin and Lois Diane White

Prom 1973, Doris and escort Rickey Allen

Brenda Chin Chan

Pam Benzaquen Kilgore, '74 who graduated early in 1973, and Dawn Lee Wakefield

Mr. Boling, Elizabeth Boling and Kathy Johnson

Doris' high school senior picture, May 1974, Keystone School, San Antonio, Texas

More than a supporter of HBCUs, Doris’ mother Lois was an alum of Paul Quinn College in Waco, Lois Diane had enrolled at Tuskegee Institute in Alabama right out of high school, son Stephen Cooper was active (in basketball and academics) at Hampton University in Virginia, and daughter Leigh Alexandra did her doctoral research on HBCUs as her research topic. Doris’ father, Leevester, was a mortician, an avid sports fan and music lover, whose primary career was in civil service working for the U.S. Post Office. She described him as “The best man in the whole USA.”

Proud daddy with his girls.

Fittingly, the man she married, jazz bandleader and extraordinary musician, Steven Soares, was the very next best man in her life and they were indeed a perfect match for one another. Grandson Miles Henry rounded out her family and lit up all of their collective lives.

For college, Doris chose Central State University, an HBCU school in Wilberforce, Ohio. She sailed through the academics and social parts of school with grace and ease and was an active soror in Delta Sigma Theta sorority (DST) all of her life, starting with Central State.

Ever a force for good, it surprised no one that Doris would be an attorney in her postcollegiate profession. She represented the Commonwealth of Massachusetts as an Assistant Attorney General in her professional career. Over the years, Keystone reunions would draw most of the 21 of us who graduated in 1974 back to the San Antonio campus built of old Victorian mansions for class-organized reunions in 1985, 1990, 1994, 2014, 2018, and 2024.

1994 Gathering of Keystone alumni, Emily Morgan Hotel, San Antonio, Texas

(Front L to R) Gloria Muro Shaw'74, M.S. (deceased), Dr. Luke Dones'75, Dr. Jack Kent '73, Prof. and Dean Elizabeth Boling '74, Elizabeth Lee Newman Easterlin '74 M.S. (deceased), Doris Helene White Soares, JD '74 (deceased); (Back L to R) Dr. Burton G. Shaw, Jr. '75 (deceased), Dr. Bernard B. Beard '75 (deceased), Dr. Richard P. Meinig '75, Ross A. (Buddy) Logan '74, Dr. Charles V. Mobbs '74.

Doris managed to get to most of these reunions, despite the distance from her home in Boston. Roots and tradition were important to her, plus her mother and sister still lived in San Antonio. Steven Cooper was barely 3 months old when I first met and got to hold him for the first time. Doris made being a wife and mother of two and practicing attorney look as easy as anything. Naturally, it was not.

Steven Cooper Soares and Leigh Alexandra Soares

Alumni reunion weekend, 2014, Keystone School

2018 reunion, Doris Soares, Kathy Johnson, and Mary Newell Pape

In recent years Doris relocated her family and returned to San Antonio as home base to provide oversight and gentle care of her beloved mother, Lois, who lived to age 99, and resided finally in the most exquisite of senior living communities under Doris' perfect supervision. She composed and delivered the most beautiful tribute to her mother when the time came, showing her strength above personal loss.

Mrs. Lois White

It seemed she had only five minutes between losing her mother and a diagnosis of her own cancer. Talk about unfair. She didn't ever turn her sorrow or pity inward. She was too much a fighter for that. In between battling chemotherapy she was a fierce force for the San Antonio chapter of DST Alumnae, and she continued mentoring other young women with hopes and dreams while setting an example for her own family on how to cope with life in faith.

In April this year, thanks to Doris’ insistence on the Class of ’74 doing "something" to mark the occasion of the 50th year since graduation, Karen Cheyney'76 made it happen. They toured the campus and were popular attendees in classes of present-day students who quizzed the seasoned alums about the “old days” of how things used to be.

Pictured from April is our beloved Doris, surrounded by our adored "Mrs. M" (Judy Moczygemba), Stephen Cheyney, Karen Cheyney, David Cheyney, Keystone Headmaster Dr. Billy Handmaker, Doris, Charles Mobbs, and Luke Dones.

Doris had been an honored guest in previous years as well on alumni day and inspired more than a few students to achieve dreams, set goals, and work like all get out, relentlessly to reach them, and then to be humble and modest. It's not every Keystonian who can say that they interviewed Alex Haley for the school newspaper when they were a senior in high school. Doris could, and did.

In a perfect world, no one battles cancer alone. Her Keystone family supported Doris with love, communications, and prayers as a strong constituent group that fell in line somewhere in 37th place behind other groups of those who love Doris. Her family was her core group, her faith in God and lifetime of worship gave her strength to develop her motto and mantra, “Armor on, prayers up, Let’s Go!”

The Soares family, son-in-law Marcus Parker, Doris, Miles Henry, Steven, Dr. Leigh, and Steven Cooper

Her DST sisters, her fellow barristers, her friends from childhood forward, her Jack and Jill alumni, and later parent alumni, on and on, everyone loved Doris.

Read and see Doris’ own words here:

Cervivor Podcast https://www.facebook.com/cervivor/videos/410050134759406

Knowledge + advocacy = survival. The real deal: Black patients have lower survival rates for most cancers, if not all....

In a communication where she was reviewing the list of people (so far at that time) who’d passed away among our group, here’s what she said 9 years ago:

Doris Soares: "Just reading this list (thanks for the link, Dawn Lee). How sad to recall all the changes in the past 41 years since I bid farewell to Keystone. Know that the names and faces of everyone who made up my world there for high school never fade---get blurry, maybe, but never disappear."

True enough, Doris…you are always a permanent part of our happiest memories.

So, today as we sit here we are reminded that if you were active in the faith that Doris had, she believed in God’s perfect timing and plan for all his children, in the hereafter where you are reunited with those who have gone ahead of you and even if you’re not of that mindset, you just know that somewhere in a garden of goodness, where there is love, there is Doris.

For all who believe and count on eternity, a new cheerleader has arrived on the scene, bustling with energy, filled with joy, and 1,212 good ideas. Put her to work, Lord, and when you can spare her a little, please help us by having her keep an eye out on all of us. We could use the backup.

Doris, it was a privilege to know you and call you my fellow Cobra and I thank you for all the shared memories of important times we had. And, for your homegoing soundtrack, let's revisit those happy times where we all had...Pieces of April to hold onto.

Love, Dawn Lee

Here are some of Doris’ writings about her navigation of her journey with cancer. She never fails to acknowledge her core team: husband Steven, daughter Leigh and son Steven Cooper, aka “The best cancer posse in the galaxy” and her “first line of defense.”

https://www.curetoday.com/authors/doris-helene-white

You’ll see photos of Doris on her journey and some of her reflections in her own handwriting.

https://cervivor.org/tag/doris-helene-white/ In her own words:

“This journal is so much more than frequently illegible cursive words. No, these pages are quite often a battle cry, this warrior’s call to arms against the most unexpected enemy: her own cells. These pages are like an old-timey, gutbucket, blues chart from backwoods juke joint—a full-throated, belly-wail of agony and joy, growled by one who knows the score (literally and figuratively) and ain’t afraid to tell you all about it. And, always, always, that hard-cover book is my hymnal, sketching lines of praise to Him in Whose armor I outfit myself every day. This little unassuming book contains uniquely metered lyrics of love and faith and strength.

I will write my way out of this Egypt. The inked lines will chart the path to my Red Sea….”

As a final reminder, she took her civic duty seriously ALL of her life. She voted early in the 2024 election, just to make sure. This photo, while not looking anything like the Doris we know, love, and remember, is one I cherish just as much as any of the others. She did it her way!

With ever an eye on the future...Doris will be watching over, and listening carefully to the arpeggios and allegros of young Miles Henry...the future looks bright!

The Healing Heart and Hands of Marcy Halterman-Cox, D.C.

This following collection of memories is written because my heart is broken at the loss of a precious friend, Marcy Halterman. We’d been friends for almost 40 years since she moved here, and yet we didn’t have time in our worlds to hang out as I'd have liked, as our lives went so many directions.

Still, the predictability of my back requiring adjustments kept Marcy and I in semi-regular contact until she eventually had to quit working on me, but even then, she gifted me with two others who are mine today to see me through.

To anyone who has lived in the Brazos Valley, who arrived from somewhere else, you know for certain that a community is blessed when you have medical and health professionals who embrace the field of healing, as not simply confined to those with M.D. and D.O. and other initials following their names. In Bryan-College Station for over five decades now, we have been a community abundant in healing professionals. And fortunately, many of these professionals willingly and openly recommend healing professionals as making valuable contributions to a person’s well-being as part of a caring medical team.

Marcy Halterman was distinguished and qualified in several areas. It was never that she was a professional student. She simply loved learning, reading, discussing, exploring, and wanting to know more about how she could help others on her journey here.

We first met in the office of the late Dr. Kevin Schachterle, my original chiropractor here. Kevin introduced me to Marcy with a glowing but gruff description—"if I’m not here, she will take just as good care of you as I do.” Marcy and I both burst out laughing.

I asked him, “Did you warn her about me, that I try to do my own adjustments first and then come crawling in here to put me back together?” He smiled knowingly and I figured he had. Still a young man, Kevin was delighted at the prospect of business continuing while he hacked around 18 holes at Pebble Creek.

In our first adjustment session, Marcy and I found out just how much we had in common. Birthdays close together, a lifetime appreciation of music, love of reading good books, a great shared sense of humor and relying on chiropractic, virtually all of my life (another story for another time).

Over the years, we were both still in school, graduate school for both of us, and she gave great adjustments. Besides Kevin, Marcy was the only one I’d ever let work on me.

During our sessions I learned over the years that she had become a certified yoga trainer, and she was constantly interested in learning new things. While she did that, she figured she’d challenge herself to master the profession and that’s where a one-shot appearance as a lawyer’s witness in a personal injury case piqued her fascination with the law and she earned her law degree at night from South Texas College of Law in Houston.

Later on, when I had need of discussing a legal topic, I discussed it with her and found her amazingly proficient. When Texas A&M’s School of Rural Public Health came into being, she thought that was brilliant and ultimately earned her M.S. in Public Health.

She was self-deprecating about her additional credentials, but I urged her not to be and not to apologize for simply wanting to know more and then have the credit for spending the time and making the effort.

It would be a while before Marcy met the man of her dreams, Russell Cox, and they were a terrific team. Adding children to their family was beautiful as they are both compassionate caring people, perfect to be parents. I had the distinct pleasure of meeting her dad when he came to town one year to visit his daughter. I was lucky enough to have him give me a few adjustments “old school” and they were exactly like the ones my original hometown chiropractor used. Marcy had the same gifts.

Long before the TENS units were ever invented or before the massage guns were thought up, there was a simple technique using your hands (and elbows) to go up and down your spine and release the calcium that had collected there and allowed the muscles to knot up and nerve endings to yell.

Ultimately because business relied on the number of patients you could see in a day, chiropractors began adding massage therapists to their referral list or brought them on in their offices to get your body ready for an adjustment that would last a lot longer than your not having the vertebrae ready to relocate.

If you’ve never had a chiropractic adjustment before, there’s nothing to fear and it feels better, not worse, after you’ve had it. If you know, you know how helpful it can be. Going from nerves on end to calm and relaxed is worth an adjustment, bigtime.

Marcy never yelled at me for waiting too long to come see her; she was so patient, fun, and we really enjoyed our sessions, sharing good news about mutual friends or catching up on life progress each time. She had great regard and respect for our community’s aestheticians, massage therapists, and fellow chiropractors.

One day life changed for both of us, in ways we never expected it would. Sadly, Kevin Schachterle suffered a debilitating heart attack at age 48 (or so) and he was in the hospital with not much time expected. She called me and said, “Now’s a good time for us to go up there if we want to say goodbye.” We met up there and went in the room and gave him a good rendition of what it was like when we were all at his clinic in College Station. Telling stories, laughing, and remembering when. Kevin laid there unresponsive, but we liked to think he could hear us.

We sat together at his funeral, mostly in disbelief as he was only 48 years old; he had so much left to live for, a loving companion and her daughters, and brothers and mother in Iowa…and now it was all gone. Although a formal funeral was slated for Iowa, the family held one here in town at the funeral home for local friends to pay repects.

It was indeed well attended but the minister who officiated struggled a little to realize that his middle name was Gene, so it was not his first name. The minister kept referring to him as “Gene,” and Marcy and I kept elbowing one another in disbelief. You’d have to know Kevin to know he’d have found that hilarious.

Well, he found a way to let us know. As the minister went on about the things written in the obituary, we noticed that there was a little music coming from up near the front of the room. Kevin’s sweetheart had placed a little automated bear that beat a cymbal and danced a little on top of the piano there near where his photo was displayed.

Without anyone touching or moving anything near it, the bear just all of a sudden came “to life,” and started whirring and twirling on the top of the piano and the gentle snickers in the audience came to life with laughter and it was a great break in an otherwise solemn, blue occasion. After it was over, I specifically told Marcy, may our names always be known, even to strangers, so they get it right at our funerals!

Subconsciously that day I determined to be more involved in “getting things right in funerals,” as a dear friend asked me to help her get an obituary written for a loved one. That was the beginning of my frequent trips to Callaway-Jones to take them copies of tributes I’d written for what became a large group of parents of my friends, hand-carried before I owned a fax and had only a typewriter.

Through the years and the adjustments were the only times we had to carve out time to share what was exciting and important in our lives at the time. She listened, we laughed, we planned, and we encouraged one another to keep striving for what was possible in our respective careers.

Eventually Marcy had cofounded a chiropractic clinic that changed locations and personnel a few times but at each point along the way, she affiliated with individuals who possessed that same determination to heal, encourage, and instruct patients on being good to themselves, to put themselves as a priority for care. She (and they) held space for us until we had time to do that ourselves.

Marcy was a lifelong learner, not a professional student, and every time something interested her, she studied it and went all-in to earn credentials for the field. She was a lovely young woman, outstanding personality, never met a stranger, and kind. She was selective though about those in her world. One day she spoke of “Russell” and her faced glowed.

I knew he was “the one,” and she had truly found her soulmate, one who cherished her and created a world where they flourished together. Then came the addition of Aine and Eva and their world was perfect.

Russell’s work at the Cancer Clinic and Marcy’s at College Station Chiropractic encompassed a “world” of healing in our community that is unparalleled. One glance at the Callaway-Jones guest book proves up that statement.

Beyond her office, you could often find Marcy out and about in the community as a volunteer who loved and supported the arts—from the Arts Council of the Brazos Valley, to the Brazos Valley Symphony Orchestra, to the American Heart Association and Hospice of Brazos Valley, she supported the organizations that benefited our community with her gifts of time, talents, and resources, but did so very modestly.

Another of our mutual friends was quite a dynamo in the world of the arts and despite her senior age (at the time we were veritable youngsters comparatively), we marveled at her ability to keep on going like the “Energizer Bunny.”

It mystified both of us as anyone else would have simply stopped being so giving of their time when they were undergoing several health challenges as she had been. She was a role model for us, unquestionably and the three of us would occasionally check-in for news of the other.

Another turning point came in my world when our mentor died unexpectedly and had made no plans for any arrangements, nor had her husband. I was at my desk one morning when the doorbell rang and it was our local JP, telling me I’d be receiving a call shortly as he had heard that I was going to be making all the arrangements for our friend’s funeral.

He’d heard that conversation when he was officiating at their home. Sure enough, my phone rang, and it seemed that (despite my not having seen our dear friends in over a year), the husband decided I’d know exactly what to do to plan her funeral and create two separate services for local and out-of-town friends.

Since someone else had that much faith in me to do what I’d only done once before, I went ahead and did it. Marcy attended one of the services and we were both bemused that I was chosen to fill this special role. I said, “Well, it’s different than Kevin’s service for sure!” We smiled.

Life changed and yet life was consistent. I’d been busy in my church and Marcy and her family were delighted in their church home and being a family. Each time she showed me the latest pictures of the girls, I marveled at how she was able to “do it all,” and make it look easy. That was on par for a Cancer crab; her birthday was July 9th, just 66 fast years ago.

We never discussed her health challenges in all the years I knew her. The time came when she could no longer work on me as she had some unspecified (to me) condition where she was not as strong as usual. Happy to just see her and visit in the hallway, I received my adjustments from her colleagues, who now have their own practices, and we’d catch up in between.

She’d been active in yoga and had been teaching sessions at local facilities and was always interested in the whole-body healing and treatment. She then became interested in rural public health, in nursing in general, and cupping, as just three areas of interest. By finding treatment areas where she could remain active, Marcy was always at full speed, it seemed.

It’s not “alternative” medicine, I am describing. Rather, it is a healing nature of individuals who study the body, the mind, the heart, and the interactions of our central nervous systems, the endocrinology, interworkings of the various organs, and the most powerful central processing centers of all, our minds and hearts. Put them together and you have the human body in one neat package.

Fast forward to Hospice Happening a few years ago; it was there that she told me, finally, that she was recuperating from battling cancer. Her attitude was lovely; she smiled brightly, and projected both bravery and the faith in God that kept her steadfast all of her life.

I wanted to cry to think she’d battled that disease without my knowing it. That’s ego talking, but I would have at least wanted to offer more prayers in her behalf, if only to reciprocate the level of care and compassion she’d shown me as her patient. Or at least a chance to thank her for a friendship I had cherished all these years. Somehow I thought there would still be plenty of time for that.

Again, I’m only one of longevity rather than daily contact. Yet, everyone who was Marcy’s patient can attest to that feeling of close, dear friend that she made each of us feel irreplaceable in her world and in her heart.

She was able to keep up with life for all of our worlds, and she asked for nothing in return. About a month ago, a memory of something came up and she was on my mind again. I called her clinic and asked to speak with her. The receptionist indicated that she wasn’t there, and she was not seeing patients right now.

That confirmed my worst fear. The cancer would not let go. Those born under the Zodiac sign of Cancer are by nature lovers of family, spiritually driven, dedicated to healing when they can, and devoted friends.

The “moon child” is often in tune with the people and their surroundings to be able to have great empathy. With a strong sense of humor and a positive attitude, the idea of new challenges to conquer always presents an exciting opportunity to those born under the sign of the crab.

Thinking how we lost Marcy on Friday, followed on Saturday by Rhodes Scholar Kris Kristofferson, led me to think of one of his greatest movie roles in “A Star Is Born.” And, in that movie is a Paul Williams-Kenny Asher composition that somehow captures the spirit and heart of Marcy Halterman-Cox. Appropriately titled, it seemed custom made for her, it’s called “The Woman in the Moon.” Farewell for now, Marcy; keep shining your light and guiding us on our paths and thank you for so often showing us the way.

"Only in Iola" Kickoff Celebration Includes Ms. Mary Lee Crocker Parnell as Featured Poet

[Third in a 3-part series]

“Hold fast to dreams, for if dreams fly, life is a broken wing bird that cannot fly.” ~~ Langston Hughes, “Dreams,” 1923

On Saturday, May 4, another in a previously unimagined series of dreams came true for octogenarian poet, Ms. Mary Lee Crocker Parnell, on Main Street in Iola, Texas, some 85 years after her serendipitous arrival in town, as an adopted 3-year-old, chosen by a woman who worked hard to give the little one a good home and much love that would last her a lifetime.

Often, we have no idea what our choices today can mean 20, 40, or even 80 years from now. That one gift of love has been regenerated thousands of times ever since that day.

“Home” for Ms. Mary Lee began in Iola, a town of 330 in Texas’ scenic Brazos Valley, sort of halfway in between Dallas and Houston, if you navigate a few curvy farm-to-market roads.

Her mother bought the local hotel and ran it and the restaurant, and Mary Lee loved being there until she was a young adult who left home to marry at age 17. Through the years, she’d still find time to come back and visit.

Currently, the recent widow is a resident in a Bryan nursing community, having moved from North Zulch where her favorite church there still maintains a vital presence in her daily and weekly prayer life through the kindnesses and thoughtfulness of its membership.

As you’re already aware, today Ms. Mary Lee is a published poet and author with two volumes to her credit, thanks to her team of friends and admirers from Sand Prairie Baptist Church. Before the event, Ms. Mary Lee was joined by beloved friends Beth Ganza, Marcia Odom, Sherrie Magness and Richard Ward (photographer) at Mallett Bros. BBQ for the special occasion.

The gentle notoriety and delightful affirmations Ms. Mary Lee received at a special occasion at the church in 2022 were sufficient to last forever, but thanks to Ms. Betty Sue Wooderson Moore, who grew up in Iola, she mentioned to Shanalee and show producer Tammy Corwin, of WMP Multi-Media Network, that they really needed to meet Ms. Mary Lee as one of Iola’s true gems among their history.

That meeting took place in April, 2024, and Shanalee interviewed her on camera, providing thoughtful questions and allowing generous time for responses. Others interviewed in that same time frame —The Matriarchs—include Robin Trant Johnson of Rubye Jewels; Laura Parunak Cole of Crazy Horse Upholstery (a former U.S. Army Apache pilot); Betty Sue Wooderson Moore, who spent every summer of her childhood growing up there; Rita Marie Marczewski, who was born in Chicago but was delighted to find Iola as quickly as she could; Rita’s daughter, Cheyenne Hyman, who has lived in Iola her entire 21 years so far; and of course, Ms. Mary Lee.

One chair was left empty for former Iola resident Nelda Mccollum, who Shanalee said took her under her wing and made her feel as though she’d always belonged at home in Iola. Mrs. Mccollum died before the show’s debut, so there was an empty chair on the set to keep her place there.

The kickoff party was held during magnificent (and sweltering) sunshiny breaks in a rainy weekend where flooded roads had receded sufficiently to allow traffic into and out of Iola exactly when it needed to be. Close to 100 people attended to meet the crew, husband and wife directors Jens and Nateila Delport and assistant director Jonathan Pietrykowski. Everyone came away with a signed poster and appreciative smiles.

That afternoon they showed clips of episode one, generating a sweet sense of gentle pride in their hometown that will endure long after 2024.

And then inside the Mercantile at Main Street Market, Shanalee invited attendees to gather around so that Ms. Mary Lee could recite one of her poems, “A Vision of My Heavenly Home,” which she says came to her in two segments two years apart, the first eight lines having been given her from the Lord in June 2017, and the final two lines came to her out of the blue in July 2018 (Vol. 2, pp. 19-20, “Down Through The Years in Poetry,” Vol. 2). You can enjoy that moment on this YouTube video.

It sounds simple to say, but the reality is knowing and trusting that a poem will become complete when you feel it truly is complete and to be able to wait 13 months for how it should end to arrive in front of you is a journey of faith on its own.

The concept of a Christian poet being able to proceed in faith to compose works that pay tribute to that person’s faith are special but not extraordinary. The story of Mary Lee Crocker Parnell’s life prior to her having her dream come true—to be a published author and poet—is absolutely astounding.

No part of Mary Lee’s early life and childhood would indicate she was bound for a weekend like this one. In fact, what she might expect, all things being equal, was an ordinary, calm life of slight routine. A happy life in fact, but nothing extraordinary. And yet, her faith in God is what made the difference.

People who seek to read works of faith are frequently searching for affirmation, encouragement, and inspiration to hold on and deepen one’s own spirituality, particularly in daily life challenges we encounter. Frequently in our daily pathway, when our progress is blocked or our route is detoured, despite our best efforts or intent, we search for writings that meet us where our pain and fear live.

Ms. Mary Lee’s words resonate so well with people who’ve had the chance to proceed, anchored in faith, and just need a bit of bolstering from time to time. And yet, this woman has, statistically speaking, so many personal disappointments and health challenges that no one should expect her standing up and moving forth to serve as a paragon of strength, and yet, here she is, as a beacon of faith.

We all know some senior citizens who can give you 12 fast examples of how they are experiencing pain, isolation, abandonment, fear, loss, or inconvenience as their body begins to rebel against their best intentions. It’s normal, natural, and to be expected to be aware of our losses. Maybe it’s how we take the chance to be uplifted when good things happen, to distinguish how today is better than yesterday or vice versa.

And then, there’s Ms. Mary Lee, whose trademark smile could light up a city block. When she sees you have come to visit her, there’s such an amazing countenance about her that bespeaks her appreciation for your taking the time from your schedule to be there with her.

She registers her delight with an adorable lilt in her voice as she exclaims her trademark phrase, “Oh, my goodness!” that brings an instant smile the moment you hear it.

For the kickoff event, Ms. Mary Lee was driven from Bryan to the event by longtime family friend Richard Ward (partially hidden behind the camera), who also brought Marcia Odom and Beth Ganza, dear friends from Sand Prairie Baptist Church and fellow church member Sherrie Magness drove over for the occasion. Ms. Mary Lee is a beloved octogenarian—and the Sharboneau family treated her with such beautiful grace and dignity that it was so heartwarming to witness.

One last thing to consider—for two days prior to the event and for at least another day following the kickoff, severe thunderstorm, flooded out, impassable roads, and accidents that rerouted several usual travel pathways ceased long enough for planes to arrive with out-of-town special guests among the show’s directorial and production team. And as if on cue, the sun broke through and dried things off and allowed event organizers to place sufficient plywood down to keep special guests and the crowd out of mud damage…only in Iola, right?

In the preview of the episode of “Only in Iola” in which she is slated to be included during Season 1, her episode is called “The Matriarchs.” A sneak preview, shown during the kickoff party special event, notes Ms. Mary Lee’s philosophy on aging gracefully and what and how she would like her legacy to be.

After just a moment’s thought, when Shanalee asked Ms. Mary Lee about what she would like to be remembered for or about, Ms. Mary Lee said, “I’m grateful I’m still here. I know Jesus and I’m going go my heavenly home one day when it is time. I love to help people and whatever I can do to help anyone, I want to do.”

Continuing, Ms. Mary Lee said, “People in nursing homes can get so lonely. I’ve always cared about people, and I see every day where people who live where I do can get so excited when someone comes to see them. The residents of nursing homes need people who love other people to come and visit them there.”

In concluding, one of the matriarchs of Iola had this to add: “One mission we have on Earth is to tell others about Jesus’ love for us and how he gave His life for our salvation, and that one day we will all be together in Heaven. That’s what I am trying to do in my poetry: share the good news.”

You can get copies of Ms. Mary Lee’s poems for yourself or others in person in Iola at both Rubye Jewels (7221 Main St.) and the Mercantile at Main Street Market (7216 Main Street), and if you’re out of town, the Mercantile is the exclusive sales outlet to order them by mail. For info, reach out to Dawn Link at MercantileMainSt.TX@gmail.com

The first episode of “Only in Iola” debuted on Thursday, May 4th (it’s available at any time that day on demand and then going forward).

"To watch the show on your Roku channel, show producers recommend the following steps from their Facebook page:

⁃ Search for "ONLY IN IOLA NETWORK on the Roku Channel Store.

- Add the channel to your Roku device.

- That's it! You're ready to catch all the action.

For added guidance see the a 2-step photo to aid in the Roku app search

If you’ve tried before to watch on your Amazon Fire Stick, and there was a glitch, show producers recommend the following steps from their Facebook page:

1. Uninstall the Only In Iola Channel from your Fire device.

2. Delete channel from your cloud.

3. Search Only in Iola and download the NEW channel that will show a date of May 10th.

4. Open channel and you will see the new navigation options. Episode 1 is in the season one section." [Info from the Facebook page for "Only in Iola."]

New episodes drop each Thursday; a second episode drops Thursday, May 16th. All episodes remain on the site in case you miss out on checking in on Thursdays.

Tune in and be uplifted. You’ll be glad you did. Congratulations and well done to the Sharboneau family for relocating to fulfill their goal to reprioritize their lives: God. Family. Texas.

Special thanks to Richard Ward for sharing his lovely photos of Ms. Mary Lee and her contingent of dear friends.

Related Posts:

"A Journey of Faith in Verse with Ms. Mary Lee Crocker Parnell," click here.

"Dreams Come True: Ms. Mary Lee’s Book of Poems," click here.

Review of “Only in Iola” Delivers Quality Content with Gentle Humor, Destined to Build Audiences," click here.