I was at work yesterday morning when the phone rang. It was Pepa. "I just was checking on you to be sure you made it home all right", he said. I told him we were home and unloaded Sunday before they left the lake! After a brief lull, he told me "I guess everyone made it home except Uncle Wilson."

I had received a phone call Sunday evening, just after we had finished unloading from the reunion. It was Rian and he called to tell me Uncle Wilson had died.

Actually Uncle Wilson was not an uncle at all, he was a very close family friend. Initially his family lived about a mile from us as a crow flies, but probably three miles by road. Uncle Wilson farmed, and he worked as a ginner at Acme Coop in Roscoe. His brother-in-law "Button" was the gin manager. This was during a day and time that gin employees and mangers were only seasonal employees. In fact, when Button stepped down, Wilson was hired as the first full time manager Acme ever employed. I can remember the small cinder block building that served as a scale house and office, complete with an old Red Coca Cola box that held those precious small glass bottles of ice cold Coke, a bery popular coffee pot, and the all important domino table. The Coop became a regular morning stop for many, patrons and non-patrons, as they began each day.

Wilson was many things. He was a volunteer fireman. Most gin managers were. I can remember going to many situations (I was a volunteer volunteer), and Wilson was always there. He was also renowned as a cook. I have written before about his clear barbecue sauce and his search for just the right mesquite branch to tie a torn scrap of material to mop on his special sauce. Wilson was also known around town for his ability to cook candies. This was made more unique later in life as Wilson was diagnosed as diabetic and could not indulge in his craft. But that didn't keep him from always having a pocket full to share with friends.

Uncle Wilson's family and mine were linked from way back. My grandad was president of the co-op board when they hired Wilson. Our families attended church together, the kids attended school together. Wilson's oldest daughter Barbara was older than we were, but Jimmy Wilson was just older than Freddy and I. Stacey, the youngest daughter, was just younger than Pat. I can remember many occasions that either we would be at their house (after they moved into town) or they spent time at our home.

My grandad was my Dad's very best friend and after my grandad died in 1969, Wilson seemed to step into that role with my Dad. Later they traveled together and were fishing buddies for many years on community excursions sponsored by chemical companies and the local farm supply. They even sunk a boat together one time! When my Mom and Dad took a trip to Vegas to celebrate their fiftieth anniversary, they invited Wilson and Dortha to go with them! Wison had an old Desoto car, my dad has an old Plymouth and they often talked of one day taking a trip in these vintage vehicles.

After Wilson retired from the gin manager's post, he farmed full time on a larger scale. Often we would join together to harvest or do other farm functions when one's crop or fields were ready and the other's wasn't.

One peculiar perk that became Wilson's defining trait was that he referred to everyone as "Honey". In fact, many nicknamed him "Honey" for this trait.

At one point in time, Wilson brought Jimmy Wilson back to help with the farm, that was like a reunion as Jimmy and Candy had been living in San Antonio. Wilson began taking a lesser role in their operation. The depressed farm economy made it difficult for a young farmer raising a family and eventually Jimmy Wilson, like myself, found it a necessity to find a more constant source of income. With Jimmy gone, Wilson eventually rented out his land and retired. Just a few years ago, with health becoming an issue, Jimmy and Candy moved Wilson and Dortha to Dallas to live with them. In the past year it became necessary to move them into a care facility.

A while back Wilson summoned Candy to his residence and asked her to write his obituary and stressed that she put 2007 as the year because he knew he was going to die this year. Wilson was 89, and with him, a lot of Roscoe's colorful history has passed.

Reflecting on my conversation with Pepa, I should have argued about his statement that everyone made it home except Uncle Wilson.

Uncle Wilson is the only one who made it home.

FATHER, thank YOU for this man and for his life that touched so many. Bless his family and his extended family of friends. Comfort them as only YOU can.