My dear friend, Ethyl Heryford, died on March 4, 1999. As I understand from her daughter's letter her heart failed, and the end came quickly with no suffering. Remarkably, she lived on her own with help from homemakers and her family. She suffered from arthritis, and had to use a walker or cane, but she had complete control of her mental faculties. Unlike most older people, you had to drag personal stories from her. She preferred to talk about her children, grand children, great grandchildren, and even great great grandchildren, and her garden, which was beautiful. Oh yes, and baseball. When we would write her telling about our sailing adventures she would reply in a few days. We received a letter dated March 2 with a postmark of March 4, her last day. She addressed it herself in a hand that was clear enough for the post office to deliver it. Still it was not her mental and physical health so much as her attitude that made her such a classy lady..
I met Ethyl and her husband Daryl, of course they were Mr. and Mrs. Heryford then, in 1937 when I went to live with my grandparents in Coalinga, California. The Heryfords were neighbors, and I played with their children, Dale and Lavone. My mother was in the hospital at the time and died the next year. The neighborhood children all played together, but I spent most my time with Dale and Lavone. Dale is older than I, but he was my closest childhood friend and is the only one that I have kept contact with. Lavone was and still remains my best female friend. We never dated, except for one dance when neither of us had a date. I still visit her and her husband Ben Rogers, another classmate, also Dale and his wife Aline who live nearby. Still, it was Ethyl who was probably responsible for the permanent closeness that I feel for her family.
The Heryfords put up with me more than one would expect. I played at their house constantly as my grandparents were in their late 70s and though wonderful people their house was not set up for play. We did play there, but spent most time at the Heryfords. I have long felt that Ethyl tolerated me because she also was motherless. This last summer Sandy and I visited her she told us about her own childhood. She was born in the delta region around Stockton California, and her mother died when she was quite young. Her father sent her to live at the Catholic Sisters Academy of San Luis Obispo. She also attended Cal Poly in the same town. She married Daryl in 1920 and they lived in Coalinga where he worked for the Standard Oil Company until in 1966. They built their retirement home in Morro Bay where she lived the rest of her life, alone since 1986.
Ethyl was truly a fine lady, but what gave her unusual class was that she was not judgmental. I have been married three times, and I have taken my wives to visit Ethyl. She accepted them equally with no apparent disapproval of my failures. This is unusual in women of her age as divorce was uncommon in her time. When Sandy and I began our cruising life we sailed down the Coast of California stopping in Morro Bay for a week to rest and do some of the ever needed repairs. Lavone brought her mother down to the dock, and Ethyl climbed on board. I introduced her to Sandy, and immediately she chased me off the boat saying, "Jack, get out of here I want to talk to Sandy." That is class.
I was raised when men did not cry, and I have cried but three times in my adult life. I cried for Ethyl. It was her time to go, but I will miss her so.