The Great Worrier

By: Stephanie Minter Adamek

Today, the world lost a man who’s byline was in newspapers more than 4,000 times, who was notorious for his ransom delivery in the Reg Murphy kidnapping in 1974, for his partial ownership in the Clayton News/Daily, his VP seat at Cox Enterprises, for his column in the AJC’s Fayette Extra, for his book – Some Things I Wish We Wouldn’t Forget (and some I wish we could), for his friendship with other writers like Lewis Grizzard, Furman Bisher and Terry Kay, for his contributions at UGA and The Red and Black, and for his sweet mama’s teaching skills. For me, I lost a grandfather who adored me (almost as much as he adored his dogs (Sam and Jake, when he was still alive) and my daughter, Abigail). 

It’s very unusual to have a grandparent live as long as Paw Paw did. He was 95 when he passed. As far back as I can remember, he told me it was “my last Christmas with him” and this past Christmas will be the first time in 41 years it will stand as the truth. I don’t think I have many friends who are my age with grandparents still with them after they turned 40. But I was fortunate that God blessed me with time with both of mine. 

Paw Paw was always a little bit of a worrier… well, if you knew him, that is completely false. He worried a lot! I remember when he would break into Mom and Dad’s house if no one answered the door quickly enough. He’d throw his hip into the door and storm in like the calvary to make sure everyone was ok, regardless of your state of dress (or undress). We finally realized it was a futile effort to lock the deadbolt (even though the lock fit the key to their house’s main door) and would just lock the bottom lock instead. It, clearly, wasn’t to keep anyone out… more to buy yourself some time to get dressed if Paw Paw was coming in!

Growing up on a farm, you learn to drive at an early age. I was eight when I was able to be in a vehicle by myself… probably driving the trucks through the hayfields at Anne and Paw Paw’s while Mom and Dad were baling and loading hay. Once, Paw Paw decided to let me drive his car from our farm to his house, a 2.1-mile drive (I’ve looked it up). Highway 92 is treacherous nowadays, but back in the mid-90s, it wasn’t nearly as terrifying. I remember turning on my blinker and, after gauging the distance from the car coming south and where I needed to turn onto McBride Road, went ahead and turned left. Paw Paw slid out of his seatbelt and into the floorboard of the Mercedes. I remember the car coming south didn’t even make it to my rearview mirror until I’d almost made the sharp turn at Jerico Lane! Always a worrier, he was. But I’m not sure what that would good sliding down like that would have done… unless he knew the other vehicle and was trying to stay out of trouble!

I have been on two cruises in my lifetime, both with Anne and Paw Paw and a friend on each. Paw Paw would wear out the walking path when we would sunbathe. I didn’t remember until recently that I’d kept a daily journal on the last cruise we went on together and I did a “Quote of the Day.” My best friend, Lindsey Bailey and I went on a 10-day Mediterranean cruise on a SUPER fancy ship, and, at one point, we apparently lost Anne and Paw Paw. So the quote was, “How do you lose two people on a cruise ship?” Clearly, we weren’t as diligent as Paw Paw about knowing where everyone was at all times… but I have no doubt he knew where we were. That man was the perfect chaperone!

On a trip where I took my girls, Taylor and Abigail, to St. Simon’s to stay at their condo, the two wanted to go on the beach at night to see the ocean. St. Simon’s, at the time (pre-hurricane changing the whole beach, honestly), had a terrifying history of people being lost to the sea – ask Mom to tell you some of her ghost stories and how no one believed her until a magazine did a feature on them, verifying her experiences. Us girls went to the beach, Paw Paw not far behind, wearing glowstick bracelets, anklets and necklaces so we could see where everyone was. I really thought Paw Paw was going to have a heart attack on the spot or blow out his knee running around checking on the girls. I do want to say that no one ever got in the water even close to their knees. But nonetheless, Paw Paw worried.

The man had one crutch, even in the end – his phone. Anne (because at the young age when everyone was trying to give her a grandmotherly nickname, especially Paw Paw, Anne was the most common name I heard) was regaling me with stories of his car phone. I distinctly remember this phone… it was installed in the center console of his old, mid-80s Mercedes, and one of the first “mobile” phones I ever knew of. She told me he would, almost immediately upon getting in the car, pick up his phone, dial out a number, and call back to the newspaper to tell them what he wanted done. This special trait was apparently passed on to Dad because we joke that he can’t even make it to the end of Hill’s Bridge Road before he calls us with another task to add onto the ever-present list. 

We joke that his cell phone was attached to his hand. Even in his final weeks, Anne bought him a new flip phone so he could have it with him. Of course he called folks in the wee hours of the morning, so they would “forget” to charge it for him. His new phone only had one number programmed in it – Rick’s (my dad’s) and Paw Paw had me program it in on one of the last days he was truly present with us. Anne said she would go downstairs to check on him and he would have it cradled to his chest. If you had the pleasure of Paw Paw having your number, you no doubt received phone calls from him just to check in and see what you were doing. 

You see, I have this terrible problem where I talk “too damn fast” (Paw Paw’s words, not mine) and he couldn’t understand me. More times than I can count, Anne or even Dad would tell me that, after he hung up with me, he had no idea what I had just told him! The problem was, I would try to slow down how I talked when I was on the phone with him! I promise, I did. Abigail and I would just laugh when we had to repeat ourselves though… we knew. Even though Paw Paw had hearing aids at one point in his life, they were worn in his shirt pockets more than his ears. I think he told Anne that he could hear better without them… and I’m pretty sure she mumbled under her breath that that was not the case and would have benefitted her tremendously if he wore them properly. 

I’m not sure how many others were privy to them, but Paw Paw was pretty good at texting too. I was wildly impressed with his texting skill simply because it he used a flip phone and had to do it the old-school way. This is a skill that has long been forgotten as the smartphone emerged. If he had even a small typo, he would get frustrated and call you instead. That was the editor in him. And something that he always corrected me on when I was growing up – grammar. In today’s world, grammar is an adornment that is no longer a required thing. I would get frustrated (with myself) because I couldn’t remember the proper way to say something… and I still forget now. But now Dad corrects me… thankfully. We can’t let down the legend of the AJC!

His gift of journalism was, no doubt, passed along to Dad… some have even said he’s surpassed Paw Paw (Paw Paw’s words to me a while back). I don’t have that journalism gift, but more of the editorialist side of writing. I love to write… and I love to edit. Dad will send me press releases now and even had me help look over Paw Paw’s self-written obituary. That love was passed on, along with the desire to make sure the truth was in writing and not considered libel or inaccurate in any way. So, I guess the love of research is also in my blood. But I love writing like Paw Paw’s later works… his columns he did when Dad was the Bureau Chief at the AJC’s Fayette Extra and his excerpts in his book. A little bit of comedy (and self-deprecation) mixed in with facts and a personal point of view. Paw Paw was a gifted storyteller, and I hope that never gets lost in “new” media. 

Paw Paw loved to write letters to everyone, and those of us with one (or many) in a keepsake file, know they were always typed up on beautiful stationary, often thicker than regular paper, and cream in color. He would sign them and mail them out like you were an important executive in a multi-million-dollar corporation. 

As someone who also loves to write, there’s a notorious sound that comes from the keyboard that a lot of people who don’t enjoy writing can’t stand to hear… it’s the backspace button being hit repeatedly. I have been with him at his computer in the basement as he was trying to get a letter written for a friend, keys clacking and backspace-backspace-backspace. I don’t feel so bad, now, when I have to hit it a lot… Paw Paw and Dad both hit that backspace just as much, probably because we can type faster than most. 

My job was always to be the IT person – getting his email back where he could find it, setting up the printer, fixing his iPad or Macbook, etc.. All jobs I had no professional training in doing but knew how to do it from trial and error in my own endeavors. He or Anne would slip me $20 and tell me, “Until you are better paid…” but I did them because I wanted to do them. I’d end up putting the money to something for Abigail most often or towards buying treats for the dogs the next time I was there. In fact, the last time Abigail and I were both there and he could still talk to us, he told Anne to give us “a little something” out of his billfold – $20 each. I don’t think I’ll ever spend that $20… it’ll go with my buckeyes he gave me when I was little and all his letters that I’ve saved over the years. It’ll be a treasure among all the other goodies.

It’s hard to say goodbye to someone, and I’ve never had to do it with such a close relative. But today, I was able to give him a kiss and tell him that I loved him just a couple of hours before he took his last breath. A few days before he started to really decline, he told one of everyone’s favorite nurses, Ms. Renee, that he was at peace with his life and was ready to go. We couldn’t ask for anything more. It was time for him to go… 95 years is a long time to be here. In fact, at his 95^th birthday, he told us it was a good age to die… anything after that was overkill. A little dramatic, but in true Paw Paw fashion! He was ready, even if we weren’t quite there yet.

I always believe people and animals come to see you in certain forms… there’s a bumble bee that’s been in the house since yesterday and was buzzing around and hovering over me last night when I was working on stuff for Paw Paw. So I guess it’s him… hovering, busy and worrying!

I have no doubt that he is sitting on a front porch in heaven, with Jake by his side and a BIG box full of treats, flip phone in hand, calling to “check in” on his friends and family who passed before him. Maybe he’s teaching his mama and daddy how to use it. Or maybe he’s sitting in front of a typewriter, writing more stories for us to read when we get to see him next. I know they’ll be grammatically correct, without typos, and humorous, as always. 

Goodbye for now, Paw Paw. 444 555-666-888-33 999-666-88.

• Stephy Boo (AKA Your Boo Bear/Boo Rabbit)