My cousin, Buddy Reaves, died on September 7. He was my dad's first cousin, the son of Grandma's brother, Wilton. I wanted very much to be there for the funeral, but a week ago Eli had an accident, knocking two teeth loose and scraping away 5mm of his gums. The lacerations inside his mouth are particularly troubling because it makes for a lot of places where infection could set in. All is healing well, but we are daily keeping watch for an abcess that would result in a baby root canal or even pulled teeth. I just felt I couldn't take Eli far from his dentist and pediatrician right now.
I miss Buddy a lot. And my heart is really with the rest of the family, all in grief. From afar, I tried to figure out how to help. I know that when my parents died, I craved stories about them. The day after Buddy died, I sat down and wrote this for Buddy's loved ones....
(I changed it just a little before posting it here.)
A few years back I came through the door to an Arkansas family gathering carrying my toddler niece on my hip. She was busily chattering at me, so I was a bit distracted. Out of the corner of my eye I could see that the kind person holding the door open for me was wearing blue overalls and a white tee shirt, so I said, “Hiya, Buddy!” But it wasn’t Buddy. It was his little brother, Jimmy. That got a big laugh from Jimmy, who simply patted me on the back and let it go with a grin. Buddy, though? He was in seventh heaven because now he had something BIG to tease me about. He made sure to point out to me that he wore v-neck tee shirts while Jimmy wore regular neck shirts – a helpful way for me to tell them apart in the future. All afternoon, every time I said anything to him, Buddy would interrupt with, “Now, you do know you’re talking to Buddy, right? Now this here v-neck is the way to know….”
At suppertime I found my revenge in a piece of plastic wrap. I put a little Saran over the opening of the pepper container, hidden just under the shaker top. If I live to be a hundred, I’ll never forget Buddy’s bafflement as he shook and shook and shoooooooooook that full pepper shaker yet nothing would come out! Alas, the pepper incident didn’t keep him from teasing me about telling the brothers apart or tee shirt necklines, though. So on later visits to Arkansas, I brought Buddy little gifts – a pack of v-neck shirts, a pepper grinder, gourmet peppercorns. (Those last two gifts were so fancy-smancy that he just looked at them and said a dry, “Uh huh.”)
To know Buddy was to laugh. I always admired that he could wind his way through a story to end with a darn funny punchline yet was so much better at keeping a straight face than I am. Sometimes, though, he’d try so hard not to show he was tickled that his eyes would get watery. I loved that. I loved his stories. The night Buddy died I couldn’t help but think of that old saying that “When a person dies, a library is burned.” I know Buddy is in a better place now and I’m deeply thankful for that, yet I get sad thinking that he took an awful lot of stories with him. He’d shrug it off it you complimented him, but he was one of those dyed-in-the-wool, old-time storytellers that you rarely find anymore.
After losing my dad to cancer in 1992, I looked forward to seeing Buddy even more because I knew I’d hear a few stories about when he and my dad were growing up. When Buddy would get going, the classic family characters of my grandparents’ stories breathed and lived again – Grandpa Lovett, Grandma Myra, Aunt Bill, Mert the farm horse, and the rest. I could curl up on the sofa and listen all night to Buddy spin stories like the one about visiting Uncle Frank Trammell at work. He was caretaker of Shady Grove Cemetery and child-aged Buddy stole Uncle Frank’s lunch that had been put in the creek to keep it cool. I am going to miss Buddy Stories more than I can say.
There are an awful lot of fun and happy memories that come to mind when I think of Buddy. But the Great Tree is one of my favorites. He told me about a huge old virgin pine tree in the river bottom. Tree lover that I am, I was terribly intrigued. So even though that tree was about three miles from the middle of nowhere, one time when I was visiting Arkansas he came and got me not long after dawn. We rode down the deserted highways and then bumped our way through dirt hunting roads and finally overgrown logging traces, the briars scraping at the sides of his truck. At long last we came to the great tree. I think he could tell it was a sort of church-like spot for me because he didn’t crack a single hippy joke when I hugged it. He just stood there quietly enjoying how much I liked what I was seeing. It was so beautiful and peaceful out there in the woods and Buddy looked right at home. That’s my favorite way to think of Buddy – a woodsman at home beneath the trees, a good ol’ guy going the extra mile (through the boondocks) to do a kindness for someone.
A few years later, I married an Air Force officer and wouldn’t you know that meant a move far away from the South I love so much. Seven months into married life and four months pregnant, suddenly there I was in Northern California trying to make sense of summers without rain, grocery stores without grits, and a new home thousands of miles from all my family and friends. One day when I was at home alone unpacking, the phone rang. It was Buddy. He wanted to make sure I was doing okay in “that land without cornbread.” With a wonderful husband for support and a sweet baby on the way, I was doing okay. But I was even better after that phone call.
A few months later, we gave newborn Eli my paternal grandmother's maiden name as a middle name -- Reaves. I’m deeply proud of my roots. In my career, I keep my maiden name in honor of my paternal grandpa and all our kin. My son's middle name is in honor of my paternal grandma and all our kin on that side of the family. Eli’s name reflects the steadfast love of all my Arkansas family and the place where my father was raised. When Eli was four months old, I brought him to Arkansas to touch his roots and meet his folks. I still get misty-eyed when I think of Cousin Jimmy gently holding my child so his little feet could touch the land where generations of Reaves loved and lived since before the Civil War.
On that trip, Buddy wasn’t feeling well and was afraid to get too close to Eli in case he might make him sick. But we brought Eli over to his place and Buddy came out on the porch to get a peek at this new kinfellow. Buddy talked to Eli a little bit, telling him a couple of stories about the grandpa he would never have the chance to meet. Eli sat in his infant seat, waving his feet and smiling up at Buddy. It was the only time they met, but I’m so grateful that they did. Even if he doesn’t remember it, I hope somehow Eli soaked up a little more family love that day to carry with him his whole life.
And do you know what Eli was wearing the day he met Buddy? Tiny denim overalls. I looked high and low for an infant-sized v-neck shirt, but I never did find one. But you know what? Eli’s little regular-neck tee shirt gave Buddy something to tease him about. I’m glad Eli had the chance to get teased by the best.
With love to Norma, Jimmy, Martha, and Diana, but also to all Buddy’s children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren.
See that bemused expression on Buddy's face? That was pure Buddy, a part of his comedy routine. He'd give you that dubious, slightly condescending gaze just before breaking into a sunny grin and saying, "I love you!" (Buddy and Eli, April 2009)
See? Bemused. Buddy's expression says, "Why in the tarnation do you have that camera out again?! (February 2007)
But then he sweetly and patiently served as a "hand model," letting me take umpteen photos of fresh chicken eggs.... (February 2007)
Buddy Reaves: Black Pepper King (February 2007)
Touching Reaves Soil...
(Eli and Cousin Jimmy, April 2009)
Just look at the mud on that truck. Looks like somebody had woodsman adventures! (Buddy and me after church one Sunday in 2007. Earlier that day I realized I'd forgotten to turn off my cell phone when it suddenly rang in the middle of the service. I was horribly embarrassed. As I scrambled to turn it off, Buddy slid over several spaces on the bench away from me, pretending not to know me...until he gave me a big wink and then slid back over to throw one arm around me for a hug.)
(Hiya, Arkansas family! Do you have copies of all these photos? If not, let me know and I'll put them on Picasa for you to download.)
