Nelda Dean Lindsey Stephenson Terry

Nelda Dean Lindsey Stephenson Terry

These words are from Benjamin Franklin and come from a letter written in 1756:

“We are spirits. That bodies should be lent us, while they can afford us pleasure, assist us in acquiring knowledge, or in doing good to our fellow creatures, is a kind and benevolent act of God.

When they [our bodies] become unfit for these purposes and afford us pain instead of pleasure, instead of an aid become an encumbrance, and answer none of the intentions for which they were given, it is equally kind and benevolent, that a way is provided by which we may get rid of them. Death is that way.

Our loved one and we were invited abroad on a party of pleasure, which is to last forever. Her chair was ready first and she has gone before us. We could not all conveniently start together; and why should you and I be grieved at this, since we are soon to follow, some day, and know where to find her.”

– Benjamin Franklin

I am sharing this because my mom, Nelda, began this benevolent journey on June 5th, 1936, and left us for her next new journey on August 8th, 2020.

She was strong, vulnerable, intelligent, and beautifully amazing. Not to discount anyone else’s mother because I’m sure every mom has some sainted qualities ordained upon them by their children. I feel, maybe, I didn’t give her the credit she justly deserved often enough.

I began to compose this as some sort of “in the time of Covid” eulogy life story, sharing her childhood on a depression era WWII farm in Alabama, valedictorian in a class of 36 students at a 3 room school house, her secretarial school training, working at the Pentagon, marriage to my Master Sargent Dad, his death and remarriage to My Chief Petty Officer Step Dad and how she raised us often raucous and rowdy kids while being a hard working mom.

I’ve decided that I’m not a particularly good biographer, but I am her son. I guess you can take this as a bio-obit. All I can do is tell you what I know, what was shared with our family, and wish to share about my mom, Nelda.

I know that she only had two pairs of shoes and three dresses as a kid. She alternated the two dresses for school with one pair of shoes. The third dress, and second pair of shoes, was for the soul purpose “Sunday Church Best”. The rest of the time it was dungarees, barefoot, hand me down mud boots, or tractor tire sandals around the farm. She did everything you can imagine on a farm. Feeding pigs and hens, gather eggs, work the garden and pick vegetables for the house, wash and hang laundry on the clothes line, canning, cooking, mending and sewing clothes…all were day to day needs while the men worked the bigger swatches of land full of the “three C’s”’-cotton, corn and cattle.

On a good day you got to swim, go fishing in the creek or shoot things.

She had a love of land. Loved what the earth could provide and what you could give back to it. She taught us the hilarity and value of chicken shit, what ripe feels like, how to spoon scale perch, and cast iron essentials.

“If you could do it in one skillet, or one Dutch oven, you had less dishes to worry about”. She loved to cook for family and friends, entertain or basically hold court at holiday gatherings.

I once put her in one of my chef coats and sat her on a bar stool throne back in the kitchen at Cool River. First Thanksgiving to be served there. We put together a “platoon” sized batch of her “from memory” holiday dressing to go with turkey. (we’re not going to debate, bread crumb vs cornbread, or inside the bird vs outside the bird, or with giblet vs without giblets). Let’s just say its damn good dressing and I got the recipe written down on paper that day.

I remember every holiday it was impossible to get her to sit down to eat until every other person’s plate was full. I think that was part of her depression era upbringing. She wouldn’t stop until we all had full plates. This is why it breaks my heart every time I think about one of the last things she said to me, “Momma can’t cook for ya’ anymore, Robert Louis”.

I knew her condition was grim because she broke when she said it, and she never called me by my given name unless she was serious. It had been close to 35 years since I heard her say my given name.

After graduating valedictorian from her three room school house, mom graduated from a secretarial school at age 18. She was the first in her family to break out of the farm life. She could type 170 words a minute on a manual keystroke typewriter with that bell to remind you to return the carriage and advance the paper. No errors!

Shorthand, was her back up battery, and she got a job at the Pentagon.
I once asked Mom to type a term paper for me my sophomore year in high school. We we’re in her office at the bowling alley and she had a nice new electric typewriter. She sat me down next to her in case I needed to translate my “Sanskrit” left handed writing.

She had 25 double spaced pages typed in less than 30 minutes. “You owe me $25 worth of what-ever chore I give you”, she said “$25 dollars!” I replied.

“Yes, I believe $1 a page is the going rate. A couple of other kids you work with have asked me to type papers, and you’re gonna need to pay more for these services in the future. These skills don’t decrease in value.” She smiled as she rolled her fingers in front of my eyes.

“I suggest you either budget for it or learn how to type.”

I took typing as an elective my junior year. She only charged me $.25 an hour to use the typewriter from there on out, saying, “Paper, Printer Ribbon and Correct Type isn’t free!”

She always fought for her value and made sure she was never undercut. I feel her husband’s understood this quickly, or got educated fast. That’s why she fit in to the military life. She deeply loved men in uniform. She also loved the travel, the consistency, precision and the life-long military, bowling and bridge wife friends she made along the way. BTW…mom was a Diamond Life Master in the American Contract Bridge League and carried a 170+ average in bowling for many years. There are a few pics of her rocking a bee-hive or Jackie O hairdo while serving as an officer in the NCO Wives Club. She enjoyed the heck out of working in the Eisenhower administration when she started at the Pentagon, but she loved JFK. I mean, come on! They both were military guys!

She was also a closet Democrat locked up in a Republican Military household and didn’t come out to the family until 2008.

My mom had two kids with each of her husbands. She has two grandchildren and three great grandchildren. She also has a younger half-brother, Oscar Davis, along with his family in her home state of Alabama. She admitted to me once that my dad’s death truly broke her heart and my step dad’s death truly left her lonely, but she felt fortunate, and loved her grand and great grandkids fiercely. Her most intense laughter was always around the grand kids. They brought out moms huge heart.

My mother Nelda lived the life she was given to its fullest. She lived with passion and fervor. She loved family, friends, food, music, the occasional Schlitz beer and Salem cigarettes (it was a thing in the 60’s and 70’s)

She would pour her soul in to Sunday dinner, even if she had a long work week, and you made sure to make it to the table before getting called a second time or you got the second servings and had to wash the dishes.

Based on my stature, you know I usually made sure I helped cook or called folks to dinner, except… when she tried to appease my stepdad with calf liver and onions one Sunday. I kindly stayed away from the table for as long as I could. I remember the upheaval made by stepbrothers before I entered the kitchen. They screamed at the top of their hatred for liver and onions. I ate the onions and potatoes in silence and left the liver solitarily in the middle of the plate. My older sister Natalie did the same. Much to my step dads disapproval, liver and onions never made an appearance at the kitchen table again. I tend to think that decision was more out of love than the price of wasted liver and pierced eardrums from screaming twin brothers.

There were times my mom lived vicariously through my adventures and travels. She asked me about my trips to Europe and wanted to know everything. She wanted to know about the different cities I visited while traveling to open restaurants or do poetry. She wanted to hear about living in Kansas City, and Atlanta. She even wanted to know about my room mates and people I met. I’ve never seen such a shock turned to enlightened grin when I told her about living in an apartment with a Hispanic pen & ink artist from south Texas, and a drag queen from Portland Oregon. She immediately made an excuse to come to the restaurant where we all worked, just to meet them. She fell in love with Adam, the drag queen, and his feelings for her were mutual. She also cried hardest when I told her he died from AIDS.

I wish she had more of her own adventures. When my stepdad retired from the Navy, she didn’t get to travel as much unless it was with her women’s bowling team, the Sun a Guns, to the National Bowling Tournaments. Most of those tournaments were in different cities in the United States, and a couple were in Canada. She always came home happy for the adventure (or the brief escape from the day to day), and you could see her joy when she arrived home, plus there was always a little something for us kids from every trip.

But because of the long wonderful life she did have, Natalie and I are here. She has a legacy in her grandchildren. Because of her, the world has a chef, a former city government employee, a hotel manager, a caring special needs granddaughter, a machinist metal worker, and a couple of pretty hard working student great grandkids that have brought her nothing but joy.

We have lived our entire lives never doubting that we were loved by our mother Nelda. She was resourceful, supportive and had an endless supply of love for family.

I was able to have discussions with my mother (and my grandmother) at times, over the years. They shared countless stories about their lives, some difficult, some dark, some joyful and some just down right hilarious, but they inevitably ended with unwavering support and faith, even if my mom had to give someone a Mr Spock high eyebrow stare down to defend herself or family.

In preparation for this eulogy, we were flipping through stacks of Polaroid pics and black & white memories, drifting through conversation and processing wishes. In July, mom said, “I just got a new homemade ice cream maker. We need to get everyone over to your house, do some bbq, make some ice cream and let the kids go swimming.” Even near the end, she was wanting to bring us all together at a family summer gathering built around good food and fond memories. Looks like Labor Day weekend will be that time and she’ll be there in spirit, patiently waiting,
until we all… have a full plate.

I would like to close with Mom’s favorite Bible verse and farewell

In Psalm 23, we read:

The Lord is my shepherd;
I shall not want.
He maketh me to lie down in green pastures:
he leadeth me beside the still waters.
He restoreth my soul:
he leadeth me in the paths of righteousness for his name's sake.

Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death,
I will fear no evil:
for thou art with me;
thy rod and thy staff they comfort me.
Thou preparest a table before me
in the presence of mine enemies:
thou anointest my head with oil;
my cup runneth over.
Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me
all the days of my life:
and I will dwell in the house of the Lord forever.

“While our mother, Nelda, is no longer present in physical form, She will live on in the hearts and minds of those present and those that could not be here with us today, and by carrying our mother, grandmother, great grandmother in our memories, she becomes immortal. Let’s resolve to go out in to the world and to our lives from today’s gathering inspired to live better lives thanks to our mother Nelda’s example and dedicate ourselves to the higher causes that she held dear.”