Well, it’s nearing 3 in the morning, and I can’t sleep, because I’m thinking of two people we lost yesterday. They ran into that oncoming train called mortality. Just a few hours ago I learned about one.
First, we lost my good friend Gary Stehlow, or “Strop” as
he called himself more than we did. Gary
joined our Long Beach Class of 1971 coming from Pass Christian I believe, with
his two buddies, Jack McDermid and Steve Woodfield, and as I wasn’t native of
Long Beach, I hung out with them, starting life-long friendships. There were even times I thought they liked
me. We used to gather at Steve’s house
on the beach, at least until Camille spread it over west Long Beach, and later
at Jack’s phenomenal house on Beatline Road, sight of the building of legendary class floats. There has never been one pass
down Beatline where I haven’t thought of those days. We’d talk of fast cars and fast women, hoping
someday we might actually experience such worldly things. Just great times. Strop was always in the middle of everything
our class did.
I’ve gotten to see him and talk to him a lot in recent years and watched him battle MS. They tell me he died of a heart attack, but that would only be because MS took so much out of him. His demeaner and enthusiasm never changed, from what I saw. The first time I saw him walking with a cane broke my heart. I think it was the first time I’d seen one of my contemporaries needing help, although others soon followed, and these days I need one from time to time, and I don’t like it.
Gary had a ministry at Parchman Prison for many years and I know he was proud of the difference he made in the lives of many. He was one of those great guys, with a million stories to tell, who came into my life and never left. We always stayed in touch, even in the days when it wasn’t easy to. I know his family and friends will miss him and I hope they don’t mind my sendoff. Gary, you made a difference and you will be missed. I’m thinking of his wonderful wife Anne tonight and what one must feel in these moments.
One of my high school teachers, Mrs. Mary Sessions died in her sleep two nights ago. I have to be honest. I’m taken aback by all the love being expressed for her on social media, because that’s not the way I remember it. She was a commanding presence. She was a strict disciplinarian as I recall. I think we were all a little scared of her, and she taught typing. No one brought picnic baskets. She was a taskmaster, and we drilled and drilled. I remember her class to be one where the light bulb suddenly came on, and I battled it out for fastest typist in the class with the late Danny Niolet, a title a lost.
Around 1980 I was muddling along in the Ford Credit collection department, writing my notes on index cards, and then one day they wheeled the computers in. I remember it like it was yesterday, and can still see those big boxes. Suddenly I was a keyboard superstar with the competitive advantage Mrs Sessions had drilled into me. Talk about an “influencer.” Mrs. Sessions had a huge impact on hundreds, maybe thousands of lives.
Mrs. Sessions’ daughter Beth was in our class and a good friend whom I’ve gotten to reconnect with over the last few years. I know her mother battled cancer (anyone that lived on Lynwood Circle that didn’t?) and I think I’ve expressed to her how much impact her mother had on me. Just another one of the unsung teachers that move our society along. We name roads and bridges after athletes, artists, and celebrities, but I sure have a better idea.
Goodbye to two that made a difference in my life, in completely different ways.
