Uncle Clayton: Fireball

Uncle Clayton had been married and totally devoted to my father's sister, Anna, for over 68 years.  When she passed away in August, the family knew that he would soon follow.  It was to be on January 4.  Instead of this entry being about his death, I want to describe a little bit about his life, with a highlight on a significant event.


He was a gregarious, big man, filling up the room with his energy.  As a little girl, I remember his good humor, punctuated by a big laugh, and to me, an even bigger cigar.


He and two brothers-in-law (husbands of two other sisters of my father) had gone into business together in Florida.  Uncle Clayton was the man who made the contacts, networking, schmoozing, and dining the clients.  The partners sold the very successful business, and where the other two took their share and enjoyed early retirement, Uncle Clayton couldn't and wouldn't stop working.  He thrived on it, and multiple businesses thrived in his hands.  (When my husband, Greg, told him how much he enjoyed being a substitute school bus driver in his retirement, Uncle Clayton kiddingly scoffed, "Aw, that's just playin' at work!"  But Uncle really meant it.)


After dissolving the last business, he still went to his office every day (even until 90 years old), where he managed his investments, paid his bills, and visited old friends who stopped by to eat lunch and reminisce at his desk.  He looked forward to taking his "Annie" out to the country club, and in their last years, the two, with help from their daughter, Susan, would each be pushed in their wheelchairs into the 19th Hole for breakfast or dinner.


From a small country town in West Virginia, he was reared with a very strong work ethic, acquiring a college degree and serving in the United States Navy during World War II. He was proud of his roots, and to the end, his memory was far better than many half his age.  Except following August, when he would ask after his Anna, forgetting for a moment that she was gone.  


I have some more stories about Uncle Clayton that I won't soon forget -- and I'll be happy to share -- but for now, this profound event:


Having owned progressively bigger boats, he ended ownership with a 38-foot cabin cruiser he would use to take clients out into Tampa Bay.  One client and his wife joined Uncle, Aunt Anna, and her sister, my Aunt Rosie.  Uncle had repeated the story with this:  "When he asked me to let him 'drive' the boat, I should have known better."  


What happened was a near catastrophe.  The client steered the boat improperly in the wake of a passing larger boat.  Uncle's cruiser lurched dramatically, throwing him from the flybridge into the bay, including breaking his arm as he grabbed at a railing trying to stay aboard.  He sank to the bottom of the bay, where he later described himself as being overwhelmed with the most beautiful light and a wonderful calm.  His happiness was short-lived, however, when he heard that it wasn't yet his time.  Later, when the Coast Guard pulled him from the water, they found not only that he was alive, but also that he had no water in his lungs.  From that moment, Uncle had never feared death.  So, in his last days in his nursing home room, when asked, he would say "No, I'm not afraid, because I know what is there waiting for me."  


I am quite sure that his sweet Anna was also waiting for him there, within the light.