DUNCAN

Duncan

It seemed as thought everyone knew Duncan.  And anyone who knew Duncan loved him.   And, he left this earthy world to join our Heavenly Father too young for those of us left behind.  He was 68—but only eleven days from his sixty-ninth birthday.  His passing really got to Steve as Steve is fifty four days older than Duncan. 

I last saw Duncan about six weeks ago, left on my adventure to the North and came home to find out that he was very ill, indeed.  He left us to go to his to his eternal home a couple of weeks after I returned home.

Duncan had fought his way through a myriad of ailments and illnesses over the last several years.  Diabetes.  Heart. A bout of cancer. Partial leg amputation.  He was doing well and had gotten good reports from his doctors for about a year.  But about a month ago, cancer reared its ugly head once again, this time attacking his lungs.  He was on the “prayer list” for the two Sundays I attended church and passed on the afternoon of the second one.

He was sweet, funny, gentle, great smile, stubborn.

His stubbornness showed in his tenacity of fitting his various ailments.  But, it showed in a gentle way as well.  After his leg amputation, when he was able to drive once again, he drove his white Dodge truck as though there was no challenge.  He had an automatic lift in the back that would pick up his wheel chair and bring it to the ground.  He would never accept help in this process.  Well, except a couple of times, he actually allowed me to close the tail gate on the truck as he wheeled away.  He quickly progressed from this chair to a prosthesis. Today, wonderful work is done with these aids—almost like one’s own limb. The Masonic Lodge held a benefit earlier this year for a lad in town.  Duncan was there.  He showed off his leg and enjoyed the attention the ladies gave it…asking any who wanted to touch to so do.

An elder in the First Presbyterian Church, he was also active in the local Masonic Lodge—Past Master (served twice), Past District Deputy, Past Chairman or Member of various state committees.  The other Elders (Kriss, Kay, Kathy and Dave ) were “honorary ball bearers.” 

I went to his calling hours.  Steve and I went to his funeral.  Steve said he had never been to a bigger funeral in his life (probably true as he goes to very few).  Duncan’s, however, was huge by our standards—well over two hundred people.  Just about everyone from the tiny church had paid their respects either at his calling hours or at the funeral (many at both).  At the funeral there was a reserved section for his Masonic brothers…filling six or seven rows (several were seated elsewhere in the congregation with their spouses).  Many others had been there the night before.  His Pastor and a co-worker who was also a Pastor (a long time friend who eulogized Duncan) conducted the service at the funeral home. 

A grave side service was conducted by the Masonic brothers.  I found it interesting that two brothers on their beautiful trike Harleys did all the traffic control through the town to the cemetery.  Catfish and Drifter.  The funeral procession was, as one can imagine, quite long.  A few years back, the world seemed to understand the proper etiquette for funeral processions, but not so much today.  However, the first Harley pulled out to the left and pulled across the road.  No one could get by.  The entire caravan moved out with, of course, headlights turned on.  A few vehicles moved out from side streets, etc.  Fortunately, the road was two lane, and their impatience did not interfere.  The distance travelled was only a couple of miles.  Not too many turns impeded the progress.  But, at the one light where traffic could have severed the long line, Catfish pulled his Harley across that lane of traffic.  There doesn’t seem to be police escorts very much these days.  So, the Masons did a great job of traffic control within the town.

At the cemetery, Steve joined the other brothers, presenting his sprig of acacia at the proper time.  The service was very moving and touching.  The last grave-side service presented by a Masonic body that I witnessed was my Dad’s in 1986—twenty five years ago. (I have participated in many Eastern Star graveside services, but the Masonic ones have been more allusive)  At my Dad’s service I had held it together pretty much until Steve laid his acacia, and then I burst into tears.  Gig Yodkins comforted me at that time.  He was big burly former policeman.  His Dad and mine served on the police force together.  His Dad had perished in the ’55 flood when Gig was a young man.  His Dad’s badge had been retired.  But when Gig decided to join the police force, the badge was “unretired” through Gig’s years of service.  It was “re-retired” afterwards.  This service brought back those memories…thoughts that had not surfaced in years.  Thinking of my Dad made me really have to fight an outburst of tears.  I did shed tears for Duncan, but I certainly did not want to make a scene.

Duncan, through God’s “Amazing Grace,” I look forward to seeing you once again.