Hello, those of you still our there. It is almost 3 am, must be Monday morning. We do so much enjoy and appreciate the postings on the website. As I read, memories overwhelm me, and I want to answer everyone individually – there is much to say, to each of you. Those who didn’t leave an email address, will track you down somehow. For now, we will settle for a general overview of the last three days.
Friday is a distant blur. Cindy and I got up early to meet with the Library people – we were not very clear on how the library memorial to Henry would function. The very nice lady who helped us, not completely understanding the situation, said, “oh, Mr. Cook. He is in here about every other week – we have not seen him lately – how is he?” So…. as the conversation proceeded, we discover that Henry played tennis with her dad. For somebody who spent so much time in his chair in the Dodger Den watching three ballgames simultaneously on three TVs arranged side-by-side, he was pretty well connected.
For those interested, the simple way is to send a check to the Fort Smith Library, 3201 Rogers Avenue, Fort Smith, Arkansas, 72903, and write on the memo line - Henry Cook Memorial.
This is information I should have included in the obituary in the paper. Sorry, didn’t think of it at the time.
After the library, we stopped at Yeager’s – I like to go there because is it junky and disorganized with narrow aisles with items piled almost to the ceiling, and a bit dusty, and real workers driving construction dirty pickups shop there, and, it reminds me of shopping in Kobar. This day, we bought three small size shovels and a simple flat-nosed medium shovel – all with nice wooden handles. These items were for the cemetery the next day. Put those in the car; numb, what ARE we doing here?
After double checking at the funeral home, about seating and music arrangements, we went home to prepare for The Gathering. We set up a table in the foyer, covered with one of Henry’s needlepoint rugs that Janie Haas and Pam Weimer got him started on, and placed there symbols of his terrific life – his Aramco hardhat, the huge brass Saudi coffee pot the drilling foreman gave him, pictures of the Berri thirty four fire that started in April of 1979, and a picture of a beaming Henry, George Covey, and Van Goff standing in front of the smoldering wreckage when the fire was killed three months later.
Also a Brooklyn Dodger bat, a ball that he hit a single off of Clem Labine in a game at Dodger Camp in 1988, a play of the day cup award, a plaque from 1992 Camp in “special recognition of the 131,400 miles logged in addition to 360 hours spent in the air traveling to and from Saudi Arabia to Dodgertown…” And, a sign in Arabic and English “IR 0556 and the U Drives”, and the home plate presented to him by the U Drives with all the players names engraved, and some Cracker Jacks! And a wonderful portrait of him. And, his Haliburton metal briefcase with Aramco drilling stickers on it dating to 1973. How many times did that thing travel back and forth to Houston, to NYC, and to many drilling sites in Saudi.
We fielded many phone calls, and welcomed many people arriving at the airport this day. Henry would have been appalled at the money spend on airline tickets for this weekend. Well, things were running under their own momentum by now.
The Gathering was a wonderful wonderful wonderful time of hugging and kissing and some tears, and considerable eating, as many neighbors, and family and friends from all over the states, came together to remember this great guy. So many people – and we felt the spirit of so many who could not attend.
Saturday was the day. Even with the early start – last minute setups at the funeral home at 8am, was a good trick to return home, get dressed, and back there in time for the 11 am service! This seemed as though playing a game – with Henry sitting there in that old black recliner reading and pretending he did not hear all the commotion going on around him – which is what he did every time I was organizing a piano event.
We arrived to the astounding sight of six U Drives men – how handsome they are as they’ve matured – standing against the back wall of the foyer. This scene took my breath away. (for those who wonder, they were H. Weimer, G. Haas, J. Sizer, B. Erickson, T. Smith, D. Welshenbaugh, six of the original team.) Beyond the glass divider, the chapel was nearly filled with friends and family.
The Celebration Service was simply wonderful. If one must do this, I would consider this event the best Celebration Service ever.
Hopefully the fellow doing the recording caught it all on tape. I have got to stop here – however, a summary, in my “concise” manner – has anyone read down this far?:
Began with the telephone recording on our answering machine – if you have called the house, you “get it”. It’s been a variation of this message for the last 25 years. You know, “This is the Chairman of the committee…retuning the Dodgers to Brooklyn …send in your 20$ dues…”
The eulogies were
History – read by 11 year old granddaughter Olivia – she did well, this girl who lost her Pop - a summary of the obituary
family – stories of growing up with Henry by his brother John. Warm hearted stories – the tobacco chewing incident – loving tribute
drilling – comments by Mike Miller – what can we say here? Words fail me -Tender and respectful – and to think Mike considered not coming, what a loss that would have been
the U Drives – Coach Welshenbaugh - his performance in story form was truly and event – Clank Crew was paid his due (just so you know, Chuck!)
Dodger Camp – Sal Larocca and Vinnie Priore stood together, holding each other up, and with those wonderful NYC and NJ accents, so highly accentuated when heard in the Bible Belt, reminisced about Henry stories at Camp.
Music was selections that Henry listened to. People asked me later if I simply chose classical music. No. Henry was vastly educated in classical music – self educated, he listened and read and listened, he loved it –these were pieces that immediately came to mind, although there could have been hundreds or others, every one has an “our” memory association. Jason and Liz Johnston did this wonderfully well.
President Pete Titsworth offered remarks concerning the Savior, the resurrection, our purpose on this earth. So appreciated his time and his presence there.
the two hymns were lead by Doug George, long time friend and a man who could stay with Henry on occasion when I had to run an errand. Henry would say to him, “I appreciate your having to be here, and not trying to make conversation!” Doug would say, “I’m here, whatever you need, otherwise I am happy here, companionably and without conversation, reading.”
Prayers – offered up by my sister Trieste and husband karl Bently.
My brother Berne conducted. The final sequence was Alan Anderson leading out in singing the Star Spangled Banner, for patriotic, happy –to-pay taxes Henry, after which we shouted, “play ball!”
Peter carried the urn to the waiting VW Bug, Cindy held the urn in her lap, and after much hugging and kissing of those in attendance, we caravanned to the Alma City Cemetery, about 20 miles away. Henry’s ancestors, the Cooks, Humphreys, and Wilsons are there.
The impromptu ceremony at the gravesite was a fitting ending. Adele read The Celebration Poem written for Henry by drilling foreman Walt Perryman, who, sadly, could not attend. She wore the black hat, and remembered to bow. Mementoes were placed beside the urn – with some very personal notes. The gravesite was dedicated by Steve Hammontree, Bobby’s dad.
Then, it was time for the shovels. Each grandchild in turn placed a shovelful of dirt in the site. When it was my turn, I didn’t think I could do it, I did, but could not look up and say what I wanted to – I love this man, he has taken total care of me and our children….
Many others took a turn, several making personal comments, before depositing their shovelful of dirt. This turned into a lovely ritual ending of the Celebration of a Wonderful Man. The kids took over where the adults left off – filling the hole quickly, and then running through the empty field behind us to reappropriate some flowers that had blown against the fence. Then, all the little kids ran through the far end of the cemetery, like deer, jumping fallen headstones and laughing in the bright sunlight. Life is still good.
The Bar-B-Q dinner at the house was a gigantic feast, and delicious, much of brought in by the church ladies. We talked far into the night – the groups ebbed and flowed as people tried to hear all the stories – the Abqaiq teachers, the U Drives, the neighbors and friends, the family, the token drillers in attendance. We could hardly let go of each other.
We started some goodbyes last night. Today was a lengthy goodbye, as groups left starting at 6 am, and about every two hours throughout the day we were waving goodbye. Tonight, well, actually, it is about dawn, I am tired and numb and warm with friendship and love from so many friends, and surrounded by the kids and the six grands. This seems like a repeat of the feelings when we retired. We knew it, we lived it, but it always felt not quite real, it seemed a long repat and we would be returning soon to Saudi. Now, he is gone, but wishing not for long; that he will be back in the Dodger Den, reading TIME magazine and watching three ballgames at once, and telling me that, with all that sugar, I don’t do anybody any favors by taking them cinnamon rolls!
Love to all - Bonnie and Cook Family