I lost my “Other Brother” recently when we laid Henry Teague to rest after a good wrestle with Father Time.  Ours was the longest male relationship of my life, the entire 62 years I’ve marked on this earth, and it seems strange to ponder doing without his gentle humor and patient outlook on the workings of the world.

 

Henry and my sister Nancy have been intertwined my whole life like Bogey and Bacall, Scarlett and Rhett, Romeo and Juliet, red beans and rice.  They had been married a month or two short of 60 years and together since high school when he was a senior first chair trumpeter and Nancy was a freshman last chair.  The band director couldn’t figure out why the first chair was sitting with the last chair trumpet player, destroying all pecking order decorum.  Maybe he would have been heartened to know a day would come when his trumpet section in tiny Crowell, Tx would spawn a college level trumpet in the Arkansas University marching band in their first son, Tim. 

 

Henry had been a constant in the family with constant being the operative word.  He was someone a person could count on no matter what age, sex, personality or problem might define or trouble you.  Henry was a lot less hot tempered than my Daddy and light years more patient than my actual blood brother. He was a brother in the truest sense of the word. I was lucky enough to have Jimmy as my actual brother and Henry as my other brother.  The in law part never really entered the conversation.

 

Henry won his way into my heart the right way in the beginning…with bribes.  In order to take my beloved sister out on a date he had to bring me something, donuts, tootsie rolls, a toy.  One of my first toys I remember and a favorite was a little policeman on a motorcycle frozen forever in a sitting position.  I dreamed up lots of scenarios and conversations in my mind as the little cop kept me busy while Henry and Nancy were able to quietly slip away.

 

Sometimes, he wasn’t so lucky.  There seems to have been many instances where I stood at the door in my diaper yelling “Bo” at the top of my lungs as Nancy Jo and Henry drove off to enjoy a night out.  And there were some occasions where I refused to be left behind and went on the date with them.  I suspect Henry wasn’t as glad to have me along as he made it seem.  That was his gift, making kids feel welcome no matter the circumstance.      

 

Henry was a child of the ‘50s who I recall in white socks and t-shirts in the best James Dean style topped off by what I thought was the coolest touch of all… a flat top haircut.  Even in later years when his hair grew to comb-able length I could still see the flat top with just a little out of focus squint.  I had one myself, complete with the butch wax to keep the unruly front standing straight up.   When I think of him now I still see him walking down the sidewalk in Comanche, Texas on a bright June sun torched day, the coolest guy around.

 

Henry was the Johnny Appleseed of planting ideas in impressionable young boys’ minds.  I can directly link my love of history to listening to Henry explain it first.  I ended up with a minor in the subject in college as he made it seem so alive a life-long thirst was sparked.  He talked directly to a boy, another of his gifts, and made World War II, The Civil War, Texas Independence, The Old West, airplanes, old cars and John Wayne into a wonderful smorgasbord that sparked my own imagination.

 

Henry Teague was a Ford man just as surely as that automobile’s namesake though in later years he owned an outlier Suburu Brat and a couple of Dodge pickup trucks.  But in my mind and his heart, Henry was a Ford loyalist just as my Daddy forever drove Chevrolets.  On trips, my oldest nephew Tim and I would ride with Nancy and Henry.  I would count Chevrolets and Tim and Henry would count Fords.  This was the early 1960s when Detroit iron was the only thing on the road and counting Fords and Chevys could number in the hundreds on a trip across the breadth of Texas.  Henry played despite doing the driving, weighing in on Tim’s side since I had a four year age advantage. Somehow we made it without cell phones or Gameboys and I don’t recall being bored.

 

Nancy and Henry gave me the closest I’ve had to younger siblings with Tim, Kim and Jim.  Tim is only four years younger, Kimberly six and Jimmy 10.  Tim was like a little brother I saw a few times per year, but when we were together it was like three musketeers as Henry was really just a big kid in many ways.  He showed us how to put model cars and airplanes together and was patient enough to let us fish with him, which probably got him accepted by St. Peter on that achievement alone.

 

I remember one Christmas when I was about eight Henry helped me put together my electric train and a little one Tim had with turns and hills based on books, pots and chairs.  Tim was only about four and wanted to participate. Henry, fearing for the survival of the elaborate course he had fashioned, gave Tim the honored task of being the “Whaaa Whaaant”.  Every time the train made a revolution around the track, Tim got to be the siren and yell “Whaaa Whaaant” at the top of his lungs.

 

Keeping boys occupied was another of Henry’s gifts.

 

Henry was quiet and unassuming, but he had a subtle and wicked sense of humor.  When I was young I was evidently a little finicky and prone to finding specs in my milk and refusing to drink it until they were removed.  Henry sneaked a plastic frog into the bottom of my glass of milk, something I didn’t detect until I drank down part way and came face to horror with the beast.  I’m not sure who cleaned up the spilt milk but I suspect I cried over it.

 

Another prime example was the prank he pulled at the expense of the saint who was to become my wife. My mother had come up to Henry and Nancy’s house in Little Rock for Christmas 1991 and I was bringing Jan down from Nashville.  The family knew something was up as they hadn’t met anyone in about 15 years. Since Jan and I met at a Methodist church, my teetotalling mother had cautioned Henry about having alcohol available as Jan might be offended.  Henry had taken to calling her “The Church Lady” and prepared a trap.  When Jan arrived from the airport, she was introduced to everyone in the family before Henry.  Henry stood at an ice chest he had prepared divided among soft drinks and beer.  Henry shook Jan’s hand and asked her if she would rather have a Coke or a beer?   Probably due to the nerves of meeting my frightening family, Jan choose the adult beverage.  My mother sank into her chair, defeated at how her son-in-law had corrupted her prospective daughter-in-law.  Jan was forever “The Church Lady” after the incident.  

 

Henry and Nancy were world travelers as long as the world was defined as “See the USA”.  They drove to every state in the union, mostly in Fords, and were still waiting on the bridge to Hawaii to be built when Henry’s diabetes caught up with him.  He had been on dialysis the last three years and grounded from the long distance driving for which he was famous.  The diabetes, coupled with COPD that had taken my father and brother slowly drained the vitality that had been his trademark. He no longer could roam the outback hunting with bow, rifle or musket.  He was a true devotee of fire arms and collected old guns, but I always admired his willingness to give everything a fighting chance.  If you’re hunting bear with a bow and arrow, that qualifies as a sportsman in my book.  He fed a pack of coons for years, greatly enjoying their nightly floor show as they performed for the free supper. 

 

But, the biggest loss that came from his illness was he could no longer spend weeks at a time in a traveler trailer in the deer woods with my sister, Nancy.  Their willingness to test the limits of companionship by sitting around a campfire for hours on end or drive from Arkansas to Alaska was a testament to their special relationship forged in a band hall over sixty years ago.  The two were forever separated only by the “and” between their names as you couldn’t speak of one without the other.

 

My niece Kimberly posted on FaceBook a picture of  Henry’s knife and 71 cents he had in his pocket at the time he went in the hospital for the last time.  Henry was of the generation who carried a pocket knife, drank plain coffee and didn’t want to be told where they could smoke even if that meant COPD someday.   I told my niece when I saw the photo that she needed to listen to Guy Clark’s “Randall Knife” as the song would resonate.  I’ve pulled two relevant passages that don’t follow one another in the song but which summed up Henry as well as Guy Clark’s father:

 

If you've ever held a Randall knife
Then you know my father well
If a better blade was ever made
It was probably forged in hell

 

My hand burned for the Randall knife
There in the bottom drawer
And I found a tear for my father's life
And all that it stood for

 

I don’t know if Henry’s was a Randall knife.  It could have been a Case or another brand, but I know it was a good one as he carried it forever and the blade was a good and faithful servant.  When one comes to end of life as we all must do the survivors try to determine what the person they have lost stood for in life.  I have no doubt when Henry presented at the Pearly Gates he was told to go forth for he was as good and faithful a servant to God and his fellow man as his knife to him.

 

My sister didn’t ask me to speak at the funeral though I would have gladly, or so I thought.  In retrospect, she knew what she was doing.  From the first strains of Amazing Grace I started to cry and had to pray they wouldn’t play every stanza of the song because I wasn’t sure I could gain control again.  I doubt now I could have spoken and took my time trying to gather my thoughts for this article.  This article goes on my Heroes’ section for that’s what Henry was to me. I loved him every bit as much as my blood brother or my father.

 

A few Sunday’s ago, Sandra Clay, the Methodist Minister for “The Church Lady” and I, related a story about a young child having a dream and trying to convince her father Jesus had let her visit her dead grandfather.  The child related how her grandfather wasn’t old or sick like she had last seen him, but younger and with dark hair rather than silver.

 

A major draw of Faith in God is a comfort that when we lose someone to death there will be a chance to see and be with that person again in paradise.  I like the image the little girl espoused that we are made whole in Heaven.  I’m going to latch  on to the image that when I see Henry Teague again he will be walking down a sunny sidewalk, dressed in white t-shirt and jeans, white socks with loafers and sporting the best flat top haircut imaginable. He will be whole again and still one of my heroes.