Day 113, Year 5: In Memory of My Brother
Date: Tuesday, February 16, 2010
Weather: Hot, Hot, Hot
Location: Bolgatty Hotel Anchorage, Cochin (Kochi), India
It is 7:30 pm and it is still 90 degrees F inside the boat. A week ago the temperature inside at t his time of the evening would have been in the mid-80’s. That was hot, but this is stifling. We have to keep the fans blowing directly on us all the time. There was a nice breeze outside during the day. But no complaints. We both prefer hot to cold.
I want to thank everyone that sent messages of support to me. I will write each of you individually, but it might take a day or so. Just know that I am so appreciative. I talked with family this morning and hope to talk to my brother’s sons and their families tomorrow morning. My brother’s funeral is at noon which is 1:30 in the morning here, so I will talk with them about 9 pm at night their time. I wanted to get home from the mountains so I could talk with family while they are gathered together, but somehow talking to them makes it even harder than ever for me to feel okay about being here instead of there. But I am here, and I’ll just have to make the best of it. I wrote what I am calling An Ode to Dickel (a nickname) in memory of my brother’s life. I think his two sons are going to read it at the funeral and I want to share it with you. Here’s my tribute to my brother, Richard Lee Martin.
When my brother Dickie was a senior in high school, he played the role of Frank Butler in the 1953 Nitro High School senior play, “Annie Get Your Gun.” I was six years old at the time, and sitting in the front row. I was totally enthralled with the play and with my brother’s starring role. One of his classmates gave Dickie a painting of him front and center singing “The Girl That I Marry.” Unfortunately, that painting has been lost, but it will be forever imprinted in my mind. I can still hear Dickie singing, “The girl that I marry will have to be as soft and as pink as a nursery. The girl I call my own will wear satin and laces and smell of cologne . . .” A decade later, my brother found “that girl” and married my sister-in-law, Conda. She was the love of his life and she stuck with him all through the years. They had Tommy and Todd, and now eight grandchildren. I last talked to Dickie to congratulate him on the birth of his newest grandson, Kyler Channing, just a little more than a week ago. He will not get to see those grandchildren as they grow through the years, but I hope that those grandchildren will always carry with them the same wonderful memories of their grandfather, as I have wonderful memories of my big brother.
Dickie was almost twelve when I was born and many of my very first memories of life are centered around him. There was the time when we caught a green snake in the back yard and somehow let it ‘escape’ up brother Bennie’s pant leg. When Dickie was in high school he seemed to care less about girls, but they were always trying to get his attention. We had a mother cat that had more kittens than we could deal with, so when Dickie was trying to find someone to take those kittens, there was always a line of young girls willing to take one. They always wanted boy kittens so they wouldn’t have to deal with the babies, so Dickie would let them pick out the kitten they wanted, then pick it up and flip it over. He’d get this very serious look on his face, take a close look and say, “Yep, this one’s a boy.” Of course, he had no idea, but we got rid of lots of kittens that way. When it was time for my first day of school, Dickie took me by the hand and carried the old dark red stuffed rocker to the trash dump. He told me I was too old to be rocked because I was a big girl now, and on my first of day school, it was not my parents that walked me to school, but it was my big brother Dickie. On Wednesday nights when I was little, a whole bunch of Dickie’s friends would gather at our house and watch the Gillette-sponsored boxing. I thought I was just one of the guys and would bet my dime on my pick of the night. And then the really exciting day came when he got his first car, a bright red and white 1955 Chevy Belair. He’d take my long braids and stick them under a baseball cap that he put on my head, backwards of course, and off we would go in that car. I don’t think my parents ever knew he was taking me along when he was drag racing on the Old Winfield Road, but as a first grader, I thought this was the coolest thing in the world. Dickie wanted me to be able to play the piano so badly and he paid for me to take lessons. Year after year, I never got beyond playing “Scampering Puppies” as a recital piece, so he finally gave up on that dream. Then the time came when he was called into the Army. I have a picture of him standing in the doorway with his suitcase saying goodbye. I was devastated. But he would send letters home and while he was in Germany, he sent me this beautiful orange mohair sweater. I thought I had died and gone to heaven until my father told me nice girls don’t wear orange. Well, that didn’t stop me from wearing that sweater. When I was in high school, I wrecked my dad’s new baby blue and white Rambler. I stopped at an intersection, looked to the right and then to the left. And there was Conda and Tommy, so I waved and then drove across the intersection without looking back to the right. Not the best idea I ever had, because I was hit broadside by an oncoming car. I wasn’t hurt, but the car sure was. Daddy was just a little more than upset with me, but Dickie came to my rescue. And this happened over and over as the years went on. Dickie was always there for me when I needed him.
The memories go on and on, but the last memory I will share is about salmon cakes and potato salad. These were some of Dickie’s favorite foods but they had to be made just the right way. The onions had to cut just right and you had to use Heinz apple cider vinegar. No other brand will work. So look out up there in Heaven. If you don’t know how to make salmon cakes and potato salad the Dickel way, you’ll soon be shown how . . . because it’s “a family tradition.”
