Old Man Lawrence

For almost 35 years (and by “almost”, I mean 34 years and 362 days), my Great Uncle Ken was “Old Man Lawrence”. The closest I had to a grandfather (and pretty damn good at it), he was the oldest living member of our Clan - our Patriarch, if you will. At 86 years of age, the youngest (and least crankiest) son of Jack Cassidy Lawrence and his wife Minnie Mae (Robinson), was also the longest living of all his siblings.

Unfortunately, Lawrence men had a habit of checking out early. However, as the years wore on, their chances, or rather their time here on earth, seemed to improve. My great grandfather Jack died at 56 years of age. His wife, my great grandmother Minnie, outlived him by a solid 24 years, burying two adult sons in the process. A younger child, Catherine, had also been put to the ground, the victim of appendicitis at the ripe old age of 10 years old. Anyone (which is almost everyone, including me) that has said “a parent should never have to bury their children!” has forgotten about the 19^th and early 20^th centuries.

“No parent should have to bury their children.” “We had to bury Aunt Edna over the winter.” “I need Monday off – we gotta bury my wife’s mother.” Its funny how we say it but when are we ever standing in circle, around a patch of dirt, pick axes and shovels swung over our shoulders? “So who wants to start?” “Gee Frank, is this really open for debate? ‘Cuz Aunt Edna’s upwind and my eyes are watering. Somebody start fucking digging!”

On a cold February morning, in 1969, my Great Uncle Stan “had to bury” his older brother, Hap. Literally. Uncle Stan was the Sexton and overseer of Cedar Hill Cemetery. The same cemetery where, 32 years prior, my great grandmother bought three plots, side by side, for her and her children. The same cemetery where her father, mother and brothers now resided. The equally chilly morning before, Uncle Stan stood, pick axe and shovel swung over his shoulder, and prepared to dig a new 8’ x 3’ x 6’ home for his brother. That next morning, with the help of Kenny and their younger sister looking on, Stan lowered his brother into the ground. thus claiming his title as "Old Man Lawrence". Stan turned to Ken, placed a hand on his shoulder and told him, "Pretty soon Kenny, you'll be Old Man Lawrence". Three months later, Ken did for Stan as Stan had done for Hap. Old Man Lawrence.

Thirty-five years later Kenneth Ray "Old Man Lawrence" passed from an aneurysm with his family by his side. The last of his generation, the title would now be passed on to my Pop's generation - specifically, his older brother Jack. And there they stood, the next generation, when my Pop's placed his hand on his brother's shoulder and said "Welp. Looks like you're Old Man Lawrence now". My uncle Jack just nodded and replied, "Looks like it". But there was something in my father's voice when he said it. Something distinctly and wickedly him. As though he was thinking "I love you but better you than me". Because what does it really mean to be the "Old Man" of the family? The Patriarch of the Clan? It means, "you're next pal. Enjoy it all while you can". But Old Man Lawrence wouldn't "be next". It would be his smart ass little brother.