Rich White Trash

by Judi Taylor Cantor

  VF was dozing. An IV drip was in one arm, various sponges, ice water, tissues and lotions beside him. As Iris approached the bed, he opened his eyes, but couldn’t speak. He was so shrunken from his starvation, his skin so terribly irradiated. He rubbed his head, then pulled on his left hand which lay useless by his side. Iris felt his scalp—it was rough and radiation-burned. She took lotion from the bed stand and gently rubbed his head. Then she changed his pillowcase and sat close to him, holding his “good” hand. As the tape played, she looked closely at his hands with their long, unlined fingers, perfectly manicured nails and marveled that she had never noticed how magnificently sculpted his hands were.

  “Daddy,” the tape said, “I love you. I am so sorry I have not been with you physically these past weeks, but I have been with you in my heart and will always be with you. You are my all. Look what a wonderful life you have had. You went to Texas’ finest law school. You survived World War II. You commanded the Texas American Legion. You’ve achieved your greatest dream—to have this land and the O-Bar. You have beautiful, strong children and grandchildren, and loving friends.

  “You will be carried on eagle’s wings to see your mother. Will you tell her hello from me? I love you, Daddy.”

  Iris cried softly as VF continued to squeeze her hand at certain words—“the land” “your mother” “I love you.”

  VF then fell into a deep slumber.

  Iris kissed her father. She stood and savored the privilege of being with him for several minutes. Then she tiptoed out of the bedroom, gently closing the door. She and Vicki talked quietly about his care. Vicki had, after all, convinced Virginia they had to have a nurse. His name was Roman and he came every day to adjust the morphine level. Richard helped with the diapering and bathing, and moving VF from lying to sitting up in the bed.

  “God bless you, Vicki,” Iris said, as she hugged her sister.

  “I don’t think it will be more than a week or two.” Vicki looked exhausted.

  They hugged again, holding each other for a long time as Iris wept.

  “Travel safe,” Vicki said, tears welling in her eyes.

  “Vicki, I will remember this forever. Thank you so much. I’ll call tomorrow to let you know I’m safe and sound. We’ll talk.”

  Chapter Four:

  See you at Sunset, Roommate

  December 23, 1994

  Friday, December 23, 1994 was a crystal clear day in Austin, Texas with a mild breeze and sixty-nine degrees. A perfect day for a funeral. VF never thought he really “made it” but you wouldn’t know it to see the luminaries lined up at St. Mary’s Cathedral in downtown Austin. Some thought VF had held out just long enough so that he could have his funeral in his favorite Catholic church when it was elaborately decorated for Christmas. Kill two birds with one stone. The profusion of poinsettias of all colors filled the deep, illuminated womb of the cathedral—lipstick red at the altar, pink at the entrance, and white in the alcoves that held the remembrance candles.

  It was standing room only. People of all ages and walks of life sat in the pews and stood at the back. Velvet aisle toppers indicated dignitaries’ seats. The Wild Women sat together, just behind the family. VF’s casket was parked at the altar and topped with a cascade of white roses tied with burnt-orange velvet ribbons, symbolizing his devotion to the University of Texas.

  Father Joe stood at the pulpit. “All stand. Please feel free to sing as the music moves you. You will find the words to On Eagle’s Wings in your program.”

  Mysteriously, Father Joe did not stutter when he was officiating.

  Music swelled, paper rustled as people caught up, and the cathedral was alive with voices and incense in the final verse:

  And He will raise you up on eagle’s wings

  Bear you on the breath of dawn

  Make you to shine like the sun

  And hold you in the palm of His hand…

  The American Legionnaires, dressed in their respective military uniforms, filed down the middle aisle and were seated at their reserved pews. They were followed by a color guard that marched ceremoniously down the same aisle, parted at the altar, and continued to stand on each side of the casket, staring straight ahead.

  As people took their seats, Father Joe began the service. “I, together with my family, are overcome with joy today because we celebrate the life of Colonel Vincent Frank Landry with YOU. We are grateful for your expressions of kindness and your stories about him which many of you shared last night at the wake, and your delicious gifts of food that have nourished us during our sadness…

  “Thank you. May God’s light shine upon each of you.

  “This morning, we will not have a traditional Mass, but we will have a communion of sympathy and coming together to celebrate Colonel VF Landry’s life, and to appreciate the gifts he bestowed. After the service, the burial will be at the family cemetery at Silvercreek Ranch. You are invited and welcomed this evening at 5:30 pm to the dining hall for a covered dish dinner with family and friends.

  “You, our dear friends, help fill the sudden emptiness we have felt these past few days. Thank you again for sharing your day with us.”

  The organist began “How Great Thou Art,” while the soloist sang.

  A pretty Texan whispered to her friend, “This may take a while.”

  “Didn’t you think they were Eye-tal-yun?” her friend asked.

  “No, Jewish.”

  “Even worse!”

  The music ended and people shifted in their seats. Father Joe introduced Congressman J. J. “Jake” Pickle, a short, officious though friendly looking politician, dressed in a serious blue serge suit, who walked earnestly up to the lectern above the friends and parishioners.

  “You know,” Jake began, “it was just today I realized I’ve done VF a terrible disservice. I’ve always thought he was a member of the VFW, and now I need to set the record straight for my law school buddy.” The audience laughed. “Vince, I stand corrected as I see comrades of yours from the American Legion where you were the Texas Commander-in-Chief. Probably your greatest legacy was the creation of Boys State.” Jake went on to explain how VF and he had stayed in touch year after year, VF campaigning for him, writing him consistently about this or that political issue, and always showing up on Memorial Day with his kids to plant flags on vets’ graves.

  The next speaker was the distinguished tall, thin, handsomely attired Vincent Waggoner Carr, the former Democratic Speaker of the Texas House and Texas Attorney General. This was a man in control. His beautiful thick, wavy hair with a wisp of grey in front, and his suit and shoes said, “I’ve made it.”

  “I believe I’m the only non-Longhorn here today…” All smiled, some silently raised their “Hook ‘em” fingers, everyone relaxed. His charisma was infectious. “Apologies to all… Like my good friend, we shared a dislike of our first names. But we did love Jesse James, that famous outlaw. In fact, VF had the revolver that shot Jesse and I was very jealous. I remember us talking about which smoking gun was more important. As someone very close to the Warren Commission, I wondered if it was the one that shot JFK or the revolver that assassinated Jesse James….” Speaker Carr continued telling about some of the cases that his office had and VF, an Assistant Attorney General at the time, won for the “Great State of Texas.” People nearly applauded as he left the pulpit.

  Father Joe led the assembled in the Prayer of St. Francis, while the organ accompanied. “Please stand.”

  Lord, make me an instrument of Thy peace;

  where there is hatred, let me sow love;

  where there is injury, pardon;

  where there is doubt, faith;

  where there is despair, hope;

  where there is darkness, light;

  and where there is sadness, joy.

  O Divine Master,

  grant that I may not so much seek to be cons
oled as to console;

  to be understood, as to understand;

  to be loved, as to love;

  for it is in giving that we receive,

  it is in pardoning that we are pardoned,

  and it is in dying that we are born to eternal life.

  Virginia did not join in the prayer. She was still in denial. Why would I pray for someone who has not died? Various members of the family cried softly as they read the prayer.

  Father Joe asked all to sit. He announced the last two speakers—VF’s dearest friends--rancher Verlin Callabasos and lifelong buddy Fred Wiseman.

  Verlin was dressed in his Sunday cowboy boots, bolo tie, starched white dress shirt and pressed jeans. Verlin spoke about VF’s love of the land, and how he knew VF must be happy in heaven with its magnificent view of the Earth. “I don’t know if I’d say that VF was a great rancher. He was a successful rancher. But I wouldn’t douse my shorthorns in DDT without slickers and gloves…”

  People in the know sighed gently at this suggestion that VF had brought on the brain tumor with his careless behavior.

  “He was a man of conviction and ACTION. Years ago, we worked together to save St. Ignatius. When that man had a goal he was on it like ticks on a mule. And he cared deeply for his close and devoted family. They loved each other,” Verlin punctuated each word and punched the air.

  Betty, one of the Wild Women, gave Dottie an amused look and whispered, “Really? He’s never been around that family!”

  Then Fred Wiseman spoke. He was 6’3” and looked the role of a JAG with close-cropped, parted blonde hair and handsomeness resonant of a 40’s movie star, with a sideways smile and crisp blue eyes.

  “Whether you talk about VF’s serving five great Attorneys General, or being father to seven beautiful kids, or rounding up..”

  “Wait,” PJ said to Betty “seven kids? What’s going on?”

  “Shush,” Betty murmured, “I’ll tell you later.”

  “…his shorthorns, or making mustang grape jelly, or that terrible potion he called ‘wine,’ or his writing biographies of heroes, or his great law cases where he saved the Colorado…there’s more. Whether you knew about the students at UT Law who loved him so much they gave him a Winchester with all their names engraved on it—whether you knew any of these…”

  At this point, Fred’s voice faltered. He put aside his notes, wiped his eyes and looked squarely at the assembled.

  “What he TRULY was, was a member of a band of brothers. No one knew about his secret mission behind the lines in Czechoslovakia in the Great War, when seven out of nine were killed and Bill Casey made him change his name to ‘Landry.’

  “Yes. Landry. It had been Krejci, but his commanding officer thought he needed a name that sounded American. Landry fit so well. He was a man of the soil. Born to parents who spoke Czech, and raised on a land grant farm, he became a tough prosecutor, and a no nonsense defender of the environment… more than anything else he was the truest, and the best friend a comrade in arms could count on. He and I grew up in the same small Czech community and we came to UT together. Him in bib overalls because that’s all he had. We flipped burgers at Al’s on the drag. VF said if we had a job in food service we’d never go hungry!

  “We sold bibles in the summers, mainly so that we could steal some long distance time by shimmying up the telephone poles and tapping the lines to call our girlfriends and family.”

  The assembly laughed.

  Fred continued. “We picked cotton on break. We did everything we could to get through college, then graduate school. Then we did all we could to get through the War. He had big dreams. He wanted to marry the most beautiful girl he ever met—Virginia, and raise a family in his Catholic faith, and someday get a nice piece of land. Mission accomplished, my best friend. You’re the greatest guy I’ll ever know. See you at sundown, Roommate. “ Fred saluted.

  When Virginia heard her name she looked up and for the first time, her eyes welled with tears. Vicki handed her a tissue.

  All was very quiet except for Fred’s footsteps that echoed off the oak steps from the lectern to the marble altar where he stopped below the giant crucifix, bowed, and crossed himself, then made his way to his seat.

  Father Joe asked all to stand to sing Amazing Grace. “The words are in your program. We will sing all three stanzas.”

  After the first stanza, the pallbearers escorted the coffin to the front of the cathedral, followed by the color guard, then the family, then the Legionnaires.

  People who followed out of the church continued singing:

  I have already come;

  ‘Tis Grace that brought me safe thus far

  and Grace will lead me home.

  The State Troopers escorted the hearse and accompanying limos for the family to the Landry cemetery.

  The Landry Family Cemetery stood on a hill about a tenth of a mile from the Silvercreek Ranch welcome sign, past the “no trespassing” and “shut the bloody gate” (VF’s souvenir from Australia) signs. It was a modest cemetery. An acre fenced with wrought iron, a strong interlocking gate and an old-fashioned molded iron half-circle sign with the Landry name. An ancient, massive oak stood inside the grounds to the right, bringing welcome shade to much of the entire acre, depending on the sun’s trajectory. VF and Virginia’s dual granite headstone lay grandly in the middle of the graveyard, with ample room for eight children and their spouses and children. A lovely, long grey granite bench sat proudly at the left, nestled in a grove of short cottonwood trees. Manicured boxwoods framed statues of the Virgin Mary, Joseph and baby Jesus in an alcove along the far side of the plot.

  The funeral home had set up the green carpet, 100 folding chairs, a speaker system, the lectern, and the carefully carved and draped grave.

  Family and friends stood inside the cemetery as the funeral director passed out holy cards with the final prayer, a responsorial hymn. The flag-laden coffin was taken from the hearse by the pallbearers and placed on the transit elevator.

  Father Joe walked to the lectern with a rosary laced in one hand. “Please be seated if possible. In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and the Holy Spirit. Amen….”

  He paused to gather his strength. He had chosen this version of the 23rd Psalm from the Vatican’s psalm book. Everyone began in unison:

  The Lord is my shepherd;

  there is nothing I shall want.

  Fresh and green are the pasture

  Where he gives me repose.

  Near restful waters he leads me…..

  Surely goodness and kindness shall follow me

  All the days of my life.

  In the Lord’s own house shall I dwell

  For ever and ever.

  All said “Ah….men” as if one voice.

  “Please stand,” Father Joe said.

  Seven soldiers stood at attention and fired three volleys in unison, the 21-gun salute. Taps rang out.

  “Damned fire ants,” Iris said under her breath. “They’re stinging me! It’s frickin’ December!”

  Vicki chimed in, “I told the funeral company to spray for the ants before they put down the covering.”

  The color guard stood on each side of the coffin, carefully removed the flag, folded it ceremoniously, handed it to Virginia, and saluted. Virginia nodded, and handed it to Vicki.

  “If you have a prayer card, please respond where noted,” Father Joe asked. The casket was lowered.

  Father Joe: “Eternal rest grant unto them, O Lord.”

  All: “And let perpetual light shine upon them.”

  Father Joe: “May they rest in peace.”

  All: “Amen.”

  Father Joe: “In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit.” He took the rosary and placed it on the coffin. He handed a crucifix to Virginia. Family members took handfuls of d
irt and tossed them onto the coffin. Richard cried quietly.

  People filed out of the cemetery and stood by their cars. “I feel I need to say something,” PJ, one of Virginia’s Wild Women friends said to Mary. “He was bigger than life.” Fred, VF’s best friend, remarked, as he overheard her, “It’s hard to just let him rest.”

  “You’re Fred, right?” PJ asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Your remembrance of VF was so moving. So you grew up together?”

  “Yes, my mother and father were his teachers at our two-room school, Scott’s School, in Flatonia, until we both went to high school. My family lived at the school.”

  “What was it like, growing up in that area?”

  “Well, my life was very different than VF’s…. My family taught, and my dad was very mechanical. He not only was the smartest person I’ve ever known, he could fix anything. VF’s family farmed for a living. Farming was rough work, and VF was a tough guy. He broke horses, rode his pony to school. He was a skinny guy, but he could really stand up for himself. I remember once we were playing football—very different than today’s football. We had no equipment and we played barefoot in the sticker burrs, those thorny burrs so prevalent in the grass in Texas. Anyway, VF was our kicker and he would just ball up his toes and kick that damned ball as hard as he could. Once it was overinflated, and he broke his big toe! He did not let anyone know how much it hurt. He just tied a bandana around his foot and kept playing.”

  A mysterious lady walked up to Vicki, looking as if she was a model for a senior citizen Lancôme ad.

  “Vicki, I know how much you loved your father,” the Lancôme lady said.

  “Yes, more than everything.”

  “I loved him too, like a brother. We grew up in the same community. I’m Faye.”

  “Faye?” Vicki was thrilled. “Aren’t you Fred’s sister?”

  Faye nodded.

  “I’ve heard so much about you. Dad always talked about you. Why have I never met you?”