A Memory of Emory

Emory StubblefieldI was sorry to hear about Emory's passing away and wanted to convey my condolences to you, his family. While I do not know any of you personally, I did get to know Emory just a bit over the years. I appreciated his straight-forward business practices and tolerances for the likes of me. Being of a creative bent and somewhat of a cheapskate, I have enjoyed pawing through his ever changing collection of treasured cast-offs. Somehow, he always seemed to know of some forgotten corner where a particular part I was after for some hair-brained project I was working on might be hiding. I always was amazed he let me dig around at will to see what I could find that was helpful to my goal. There was a level of trust he was willing to extend, born of an older era, that I rarely encounter these days. Whether it was climbing around on a precarious pile of junk that would make any insurance adjuster gasp for breath or telling me to bring whatever part didn't work for me back in a couple days for a refund if it didn't work, Emory seemed to 'know' something about people.

One day, when he was missing one of his helpers, Emory was trying to accomplish a task that required a bit more muscle. I was walking past, looking for some broken piece of potential when Emory shouted out, "Can you drive that thing?" waving a gloved hand at the large forklift. Having grown up on a farm and operated all manner of tractors and loaders, I thought I could probably do the job so I answered, "I think so." Now, I might have been a familiar face to Emory but I doubt he knew my name or much about me. But somehow, he knew a heavy equipment operator when he saw one and I was recruited for the task. As I climbed the 4 or 5 steps up to the cab and reached for the key, he added. "The brakes don't work so well, so be careful."

I swallowed hard and decided to make the best of it. His assessment of the brakes proved to be generous; there were no brakes at all. But I moved with calculated caution and managed to accomplish the task to his seeming satisfaction without killing anyone or damaging property. To me, the instance said volumes about what Emory thought about people. If you were reliable, honest, and direct with folks, he expected they'd return the favor.

As superficially as I knew him, I'll miss seeing Emory and dealing with the force of his personality. I admired his obvious toughness in the face of injury and his advanced age. Though it limited him, you could still see the burning drive of his work in his eyes and hear it in his voice. He seemed to be a man fortunate enough to find his purpose and pursue it until the very end. A fortunate man, indeed.

I wish all the best and happy memories come to you as you remember Emory's life. May the pain of his passing be more bearable as you hear from people like me who's life he touched.

Sincerely,
Lafe Bissell