Precious in the sight of the Lord is the death of his faithful servants. (Psalm 116:15)
I had anticipated my next blog post would be lessons from listening, but life has intervened. Rather, death has intervened. Yesterday I received word that Tom Elliott, my closest childhood friend, has passed away suddenly. I can’t say he died “unexpectedly,” because nothing on earth is more certain than death. We deceive ourselves by assuming tomorrow will always come. It won’t. Death may be sudden, but it’s never unexpected.
Tom had a good day on Thursday. He did some farm work, practiced target shooting with a friend, ordered a new crossbow and visited with guests. Then he walked into the house around suppertime and collapsed. His wife told me he was dead before he hit the floor because he didn’t even try to brace his fall. Janet’s CPR efforts were useless, even though she is a skilled and experienced ICU nurse.
I met Tom in second grade, shortly after our family moved to New Concord, Ohio, in the summer of 1963. I remember nothing about how we didn’t get along at first, although Tom later filled in the gap for me. What I do remember is walking home one day from school in second grade. We lived less than a mile from school and I was about a quarter of the way home. It was snowing lightly and I had my face turned up to the sky with my mouth open trying to catch snowflakes. I was literally in my own world. Suddenly, four boys jumped me, beat me up, ripped my shirt, and bloodied my face. Tom had planned it with another second grader and their two older brothers, who were fourth or fifth graders.
Lest this turn into a bullying complaint (it’s not), I should explain further. I don’t remember this, but I had teased Tom and called him names, including “fatso.” If anyone was a bully, it was me. The bottom line is I had it coming. I have no memories of subsequent trauma from the beating. I have never regarded it as bullying.
Back to my story. When I arrived home from school bleeding and crying, my mother immediately drove to Elliott’s house and read Tom’s mother the riot act. I don’t remember that. I don’t remember what happened next, either. But my mom later told me the story with amazement and wonder. The next day, Tom knocked on our front door with the biggest apple my mother had ever seen, asking if I could come out and play.
Very quickly Tom and I became best friends. By third grade it was typical for us to walk home from school together. We would stop at the Muskingum College student union and buy penny pretzels. Then we would stop at his house and watch George Reeves as Superman on TV. Included in our play as young children was the unique game of croquet. Sometimes Tom’s older brother joined us. Denny was merciless as he would “send” our croquet balls into the hinterlands.
Soon Tom invited me out to the family farm. We often rode in their pickup truck. Tom sat in the middle and shifted gears for his father, who had lost an arm in a corn picker. I was amazed at that. I learned to throw hay bales on a trailer and ride a horse. I remember Tom’s favorite horse Missy and his dad’s stallion Chief. The Elliotts lived in town until Tom and I were in high school, when they built a new house on their farm. By then I was spending more time with another classmate on a dairy farm, milking cows and gaining more experience putting up more hay.
As grade school children, Tom and I were unlikely friends. I was thin, frail and studious. Tom was round, strong and irreverent. He taught me how to curse, although I didn’t even know what it was until I called my younger brother a “son of a ______” on Christmas Day one year at my grandparent’s house. My grandmother was horrified. “Do you know what that is?” She bellowed. “That’s swearing.” I was soooo embarrassed. I don’t remember ever swearing at my brother again.
I began to call out Tom’s swearing. I think he cursed just to set me off. Sometimes he called me “preacher.” Every Sunday his family attended the Presbyterian church while my family attended the Methodist church on the same street two blocks east.
The contrasts between us continued. I was a city slicker. Tom was a farm boy. I loved school. Tom hated it. We both participated in Boy Scouts, where Tom excelled. He became an Eagle Scout long before me. Tom Elliott is the reason I achieved the rank of Eagle. I was a weak swimmer. In the final year of my eligibility, I failed Lifesaving Merit Badge at Boy Scout camp because I couldn’t pull the instructor out of the pool. Lifesaving is required for Eagle, so that was the end of the trail for me. But Tom wouldn’t let me give up. Several times after preseason football practice, Tom drove me a hour to the camp where I would practice with him in the water and then try to rescue the merit badge instructor. I failed again and again. Finally, at the very end of the summer, I drug the instructor out of the water just one time. The poor guy signed my merit badge card probably because he was tired of swallowing water. He could have drowned me any time he wanted. So Tom made me an Eagle Scout.
Tom usually was the Scout who pulled the watermelon out of the pool in the greased watermelon scramble on parents’ night at summer camp. On one occasion, Tom hid the watermelon between his legs, swam alone to the other side of the pool and heaved the monster melon onto the concrete. The maneuver was cunningly planned and perfectly executed. The crowd went wild. Our troop ate well that evening.
One side benefit for Tom was that the aquatic director at the Boy Scout camp had a cute younger sister whom Tom got to know. Eventually, Tom married Janet four months after I married Carol. I sang at their wedding.
In the meantime, a neighbor had invited Tom to his church, the Worthington Grace Brethren Church, where Tom heard Jim Custer preach. For the first time, Tom understood the gospel and became a man of strong faith. A few years later Tom participated in a church plant and served as an elder in a C&MA church in Zanesville, Ohio. It was a long drive to church from the farm, so when their nest was empty, the Elliotts resettled in a Baptist Church near New Concord, where Tom remained active until the Lord called him home this week. Tom is the only childhood friend with whom I have remained in constant contact for over 40 years. Carol and I visited Tom and Janet on most of our family trips to Ohio.
When we were young, Tom used to say I was smarter than him about bookish things and God. Now Tom has surpassed me. He knows God far better than I do, for he has seen Jesus face to face. Tom shall not come to me, but I shall go to him.
Prairie Pastor 