Have you ever considered how many people you come in contact with during a lifetime? It would be in the tens of thousands or more but a more interesting question is how many, excluding family, have been life-benders or life-menders for us. That number would be very small. You can think of teachers, mentors, physicians, and ministers, among many others. A few of these touch our lives in an unforgettable fashion, but when such a person dies, there remains the influence they had on us.
This brings to mind a special person in my life, one who few in Roanoke will remember since he moved away 35 years ago. His name was Frank Mayes and for a decade in the 1970s he served as Associate Pastor at Second Presbyterian church. He died on his 79th birthday recently.
I attended his memorial service at First Presbyterian Church in Wilmington, NC where he completed his ministry as Parish Associate. That church is impressive and a fitting climax for a successful career. It sits in the heart of downtown and looks as though St. Patrick’s Cathedral has been transported from New York.
The sanctuary was packed and unlike some funeral services I have attended which sounded like a cocktail party, in this one you could have heard a petal drop from the single floral arrangement in the chancel as the congregation assembled. What inspired such reverence? What made Frank’s life so singular? I will tell you just three things of the many I could mention.
First, there was his compassion. This grew out of his amazing ability to listen; when you spoke to Frank, you knew you had been heard even if he was disturbed by what you said. He had a sense of empathy, of putting himself in another’s place that I have seldom seen matched and never exceeded. He once told me something I remember these 40 years later. He said, “I never take sides in situations like this; I don’t know how they will work out, but I want you to know that, no matter what, I will stand by all of you.”
Second, there was his courage. For the last decade he faced three different malignancies, each fraught with life-changing problems and ultimately overcoming him. I was in contact with him during all of those and not once did I hear a word of self-pity, of complaining, or anxiety about what the future might hold. On the contrary, he commented that he did not fear death but he wasn’t too excited about the trip to reach that final destination.
That leads me to the third remarkable trait: his sense of humor. In the last visit I paid to him, he said he could feel death closing in but wasn’t concerned about going to hell. “I’ve been there and done that in a couple of the churches I served and I ain’t going back.” Second Roanoke and First Wilmington are not on that list.
In a startling recounting of his wit, Dr. Ernie Thompson, the senior pastor, told in his eulogy of a funeral that Frank had conducted. The burial was 100 miles distant from the church, so on the long ride home in the hearse after the graveside service Frank asked the undertaker if he could stretch out in the back since it was empty and take a nap. He couldn’t sleep so he entertained himself by parting the curtains in the rear of the hearse, rising up with arms peacefully closed across his chest and waving to the cars preparing to pass. He probably caused a few heart attacks that day.
Why is this column necessary? Because all of us have had our lives changed for the better by a few people who have touched us. The next time you see one of them, thank them for what they have meant to you. Such gifts we have received should not go unrecognized.
– Hayden Hollingsworth
