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Eulogy for Clarence B. Nixon, Jr. 4-22-23 to 12-11-06
by The Rev. Clancy Nixon
Given at Mt. Lebanon United Methodist Church
December 15, 2006
www.HolySpiritAnglican.org
Bud's sense of humor was not politically correct, so neither will this story be. On
the long road trips to Fenwick Island Delaware, sometimes we kids would get testy with
each other after we had read all the Spider-man comic books in the back of the Country
Squire station wagon. Dad would tell us to calm down, or else. Or else what?
Somewhere near Denton, Maryland, on the Eastern Shore, was an institution with high
fences topped with barbed wire, indelicately named "Hospital for the Criminally Insane."
The sign said it was in one mile ahead. Dad would say, "You better watch out, or I'll
leave you there." Midge would say, "Bud, no it would be cruel," in mock horror. Then
he actually put his left blinker on, slowed down, and pulled into the turn lane! The first
time he did this, we shrieked in horror, but he quickly pulled back onto the main road,
snickering: Heh, heh, heh. He did the same thing every year. God help me, I did the same
thing with my children on my trips to the beach.
My family and I want to thank you all for coming. I know that some of you have
traveled great distances to be here. My heart is full to see you here: we are a special
fellowship: the fellowship of those who love Bud. Linda, Lisa and Amy asked me to
speak to you on their behalf. I want to invite any and all who would like to join us after
the burial for lunch at Chartiers Country Club, where we will have a time for everyone to
share their Bud stories in an informal setting.
For the longest time, Bud was unflappable. When I came home from college my
sophomore year, college which my father paid in full so that I could study whatever my
baby boomer, radical rejectionist heart desired, which at the time was Hegel and Marx.
Sophomoric passions, I know. I announced to my father that I was no longer a liberal
democrat, which for him was bad enough, but that now I was a Marxist. I swear, Bud did
not flinch, or even raise an eyebrow. He said something like, "Hum! How about that.
Tell me more, son." If he ever worried that I would stay a Marxist for long, I don't know
- he never showed it. I don't want you to worry, either that phase lasted only five
years! Bud had energy coming out of his ears; yet I never heard even a whisper of anxiety
from him. He had this quiet confidence that everything would work out. I call it a kind of
faith.
Linda, our special thanks and condolences go to you. We are so thankful for your
great love and care for Bud. You were the perfect wife for Bud in these last years of his
life. He often said that he could not have lived without you, and we believe it!
Bud had a disarming sense of humor. He was quick with a quip and a smile. He
spoke with authority and with a twinkle in his eye. He would run on and on, about our
ancestors and their plots of land, about tufted titmice, and even Portuguese oil tankers.
He did this not just because he wanted to show off though that was part of it but also
because he was genuinely curious about the world; he was a teacher; he wanted to share
what he had learned. Bud taught me how to shoot a 28 over-under; how to split wood
with an axe at Laurel Mountain; and how to take the bar exam He said, "Son, move to
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Philadelphia, there won't be any distractions there." So I moved to Philadelphia to study,
just like he did.
Gardening was a passion for him. He spoke often of how he had to get his
fingernails dirty. His Zinnias billowed in swells from his place on Ewing Road. He
challenged Grandma Dupre at Seven Springs to geranium growing contests. From her he
learned that you never turn a geranium, but always leave it in the same position.
As I thought about Bud, it seemed to me that there may be a unifying theme to
his life. How about this: Bud loved the things that were handed down to him. Like
others from "the greatest generation," it would have seemed to him an unnatural thing, an
ungrateful thing, for Bud to reject the worldview and gifts of his fathers. He seemed old
fashioned because he was old fashioned. Bud also loved his family, given to him by his
parents, and managed to look after so many of us that I marvel at how he did it all. His
compassion for people in some kind of need, for young lawyers and widows, lonely and
poor, led him to treat so many people as family. [RAISE HAND] How many of you
know what I'm talking about?
He loved his country, given by our forefathers, and gladly fought for her on
distant shores. Amazing, but true, Bud loved the practice of law. Just as his father the
Judge patiently taught him the mysteries of riparian law and title work, he mentored
several grateful young lawyers with the love of a father.
Bud's attention was often captured by wild creatures. As he drove down the
highway, his eyes scanned the horizon, and he'd bend his neck, look straight up and shout
as if it was an emergency, "Lookit the hawk!" Usually I could not see the majestic bird,
but I did worry that his eyes were not on the road! Bud knew that only God could make a
bird. The veteran of Anzio knew that there are no atheists in foxholes. Bud loved the
God of his fathers, the Lord Jesus Christ. Bud understood on a deep level - he really got
it - that all these blessings are gifts from an outrageously generous God, and that his own
role was as steward and servant.
Bud gave us many gifts. One of the family's fondest gifts was Fenwick Island.
We never called it "the house at Fenwick"; we always called it Fenwick, as if we owned
the whole island. We were so at home there, it felt like we did. Dad taught us how to
body surf in the Atlantic. It was always a friendly competition to see who could ride the
wave farthest, and he won almost every contest. He would beach himself like a great tan
whale on the sand beyond the water. When we were little, my Dad would line up his
three kids before breakfast on the deck and have us stand at attention and salute while he
raised the Stars and Stripes and whistled "flag raising." In the evening, he would whistle
"flag lowering" as he lowered the flag alone. He had a way of making everyone feel
secure, that as long as he was there, everything would be all right. That was how Bud
communicated faith and trust. Even though Bud is gone, it is still true: everything will be
all right. The old truths, the old faith, endures.
Today, someone is whistling taps for you, Dad. Soldier, husband, and father;
lawyer, colleague, and boss; mentor, benefactor, and friend. You were all of that and
more. Jesus told the story of three stewards who had been given 1, 3 or 5 talents. I think
Bud was given five, and multiplied them. What Jesus said to that one long ago, and is on
the cover of your bulletin, I believe the Lord says to Bud today: "Well done, good and
faithful servant. You have been faithful with a few things. I will make you ruler over
many things. Enter the joy of your Master's house." Amen.
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