A Son's Memories of His Father

I, of course, knew Johnie Baxter as his son. When he was concentrating hard at work he would often stick out his tongue just a little bit. I can remember trying to learn how to do that myself as a child. Now I do it as a matter of habit (and as I write these words I notice that I am doing it again). And I can recall seeing his father, my grandfather, doing the same thing. I wonder how many generations that peculiar mannerism goes back?

Likewise, I have inherited from him a love for the smell of fresh cut wood. And based on family stories, I know that that trait probably goes back for at least four generations of woodworkers and woodcutters in our family tree.

He was always a diligent worker. He often repeated to me what I have heard his father, also, say: "If it is worth doing, it is worth doing right." He lived by that creed ... and it is worthwhile for us to do the same.

Regrets. I know that he had a few. His first child was a stillborn son. I don't think that he ever forgave himself for it. From things he said to me, he thought he caused the loss of that son because in his youthfulness at the time he required too much work around the farm from my mother during that pregnancy which resulted in the its death. That baby is buried at the Eaton Cemetery where we will be going in a few minutes. And it is my guess that that is one of the reasons he wanted to be buried there, too.

Another regret is that he and his brothers took their father's drivers license away at a much younger age than he continued to drive himself (with me telling him that he should to stop driving). In later years he thought he had been too tough and had not understood all the implications of loosing one's driving privileges. And he wished that he had taken more time to learn about his father's life and family with his father when he was still around to talk to.

Several times when asked to sing at church I heard him tell the story of another regret he had. He and his crew were doing the concrete work on the "new" (now replaced) high steel truss bridge over the Little Black River at Success, Arkansas. I don't know all the details, but there was a young worker who fell and died as an unbeliever / a non-Christian. My Dad always felt a sense of regret for not having spoken to that young man about becoming a Christian. And then, after he had told that story, he would sing in his clear tenor voice You Never Mentioned Him to Me.

He was a Christian man. Several of you here today knew him as your Sunday School teacher. Many of you knew him as the song leader in church services. Until his final years he was a soloist always in demand at whatever church he visited. He was a devoted student of the Bible and his library shelves are filled with various versions of the Bible and many well worn books about the Bible. He took to heart the Bible verse 2 Timothy 2:15 which instructs us to "Study to show thyself approved to God, a workman that needeth not to be ashamed, rightly dividing the word of truth."

Johnie E. Baxter lived the most Christ-like life that he knew how to be ... and that I have ever witnessed. He didn't "waste time" reading comic strips in the newspaper, but he didn't force the same restriction upon his family. He wouldn't play any game using standard playing cards - for him they too closely resembled gambling games - but he loved to play Rook, checkers, dominoes, and other family games.

He loved music. Like his father, he played several instruments: violin, piano, and organ. He enjoyed singing and could sight read shape notes. By the time he was fourteen he had learned shape note singing at the country singing schools held by traveling teachers throughout the area. He met and first courted his wife, my mother, at a singing school at Buncomb Baptist Church. The four part harmony of southern gospel music quartet singing was his favorite and we would drive for miles to see one of those groups perform. Throughout his life he relished attending the monthly singing conventions held at various churches around the Corning area and many of his lasting friendships were made around those singing events. Until about 1965 our family car didn't have a radio; and so as he drove down the road he would sing and tap his foot on the accelerator pedal in time to the songs he would sing. And he continued playing and singing at home up until a couple of years before his death when his mind could no longer keep up with the notes and finger positions of the shaped note music in his song books. One of the most worn pages in his hymnal is Tell Mother I'll Be There.

2011-11-27 10:55:47 RBaxter

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