Eulogy for Ben Owen (12 July 1921 - 10 September 2003)
by Frank Owen with help from Lydia Owen Boesch and Wendy Owen Disch

My dad figured there was no need to have a funeral because nobody would come anyway.

The solemnity and weight of this occasion suggest to me that I maybe should borrow a page from the Catholics and deliver this eulogy in Latin.  That would be fine with my dad also, I think, his being such a scholar and with a penchant for the unusual.  "Better give it in pig Latin, Podner," I can hear him say.  "There might be some folks from the Cow Collitch in the audience, and they wouldn't understand proper Latin."  What I ought to do is give it in pig Latin to pay him back for the way he ran Mississippi State down all these years.

My dad was nothing if not unusual, to understate things a bit.  And nothing, not a single thing, was normal in our house.  For example, we were kicked out of the country club because he insisted on letting our do Dalmatians--Charles and Spike--swim in the pool and run on the golf course.  The country clubbers didn't like that.  Yet he finagled and made it so we could go see 101 Dalmatians at the Varsity Theater as many times as we wanted to, using Charles and Spike for tickets.

A family friend, Bobby Raymond, used to attend regularly...Dad, note that I did not split the infinitive...to attend regularly Sunday lunches down at our place, where, oddly, he would only eat casseroles made from canned vegetables, due to his strict regimen as a vegetarian.  One day my sister Marsha caught him eating a big fat hamburger at Wendy's.  "Why Bobby, I thought you were a vegetarian!"  Bobby replied, "Only at your house!"  You see, my dad would only buy groceries marked "Reduced for Quick Sale".  As Bobby explained, "Everything in your dad's refrigerator that should be green is brown, and everything that should be brown is green!"

One summer in his declining years in short order my dad let the family car roll down the Columbus Boat Club ramp into the water.  Another time he set the boat on fire by not being careful when filling it up with gas.  A wry observer pointed out to him, "Ben, most people sink their boats and burn up their cars.  You've sunk your car and burnt up your boat!"

So what was it like being shown the path through life by a father with a proclivity for such eccentricities?  It was weird!  But it was also wild and wonderful.  Life was an adventure where you never knew what was going to happen next.  For him, if the roadway of life got too crowded, he'd drive on the sidewalk.  But even there he had a rationale and justification:  "Legislative business," he'd say as he tooted his horn and waved at pedestrians scurrying out of the way.

He could be the orneriest, stubbornnest, most aggravating person in the world.  He was an expert on everything, even things he knew nothing about...uh, sorry Dad, even things about which he knew nothing.  Here's a tip:  all you folks from the Y who got swimming lessons from my dad...better go get a second opinion.  So even though he would dispense knowledge about subjects above and beyond the range of his experience, he was no fool.  He valued intellect for its intrinsic value and passed this quality on to his children. 

He would want me to enumerate the accomplishments he was most proud of, to hold them up one by one here so that everyone will be clear about what was nearest and dearest to him.

1.    He valued family, his family, most highly and was proud of us even when we didn't agree with him.  He frequently told us all of our lives that all he tried to do was make us into good, solid kids.  Without his family, he would have been a completely different man than he turned out to be.

2.    He valued physical activity, exercise, sports as a creed, not just as a hobby or an amusement.  He jogged even before there was ever such a thing as jogging.  He swam religiously every day there was a remote possibility he could.  The physical infirmities of old age that he suffered during the last years intruded on his daily physical regimen and caused him a lot of frustration.  But he never quit trying and refused to accede to the infirmities of old age.  He died quickly, doing what he wanted to do, and for that I am grateful.

3.    He loved his 12-year career as a representative from Lowndes County.  He enjoyed the role of public servant and worked tirelessly to do a good job for the county in Jackson.  It was a bitter disappointment to him to lose the election in 1975.

Just a little over two weeks ago we took a road trip down to Jackson to visit his old haunts.  He always was trying to find a new, better, quicker way down to Jackson.  As the road network between here and there changed, a new better route might open up.  So we took off, without a map.  He got confused and combined two routes so that we did most of both of them, with the result that it took us about twice as long to get down there.  But he enjoyed the ride and reveled in finding his old desk on the house floor and visiting with former aides.  You'd think he'd never left!

To top it off, from about 10 minutes before arriving in Starkville almost until we got to Jackson, he had all sorts of bad things to say about the Cow Collitch.  For example, "You know, if you go to school there you are not an alumnus or an alumna.  Everybody's an alumni.  I bet they thing that word comes from aluminum."  So here he is running down my alma mater and correcting some State PR person's Latin grammar.

"Now Dad", I said, "you shouldn't talk so bad about my alma mater.  That's where I got my start as an engineer.  Why, I learned most of what I know at Mississippi State."  To which he replied, "...and they don't know what alma mater means either."

4.     He reveled in his role as Pee-Wee football coach, and many young boys in this community passed under his care on their way to manhood.  He had the habit of remembering even grown men by the positions they played as boys on his football team.  Over the past several days, we've heard countless stories from the boys (now men) who had the privilege of being coached by my dad.  All stories have ended that playing for my dad, and his Director of Player Personnel Newton Townsend, made their lives better, even as 5th and 6th graders.

5.    He went out of his way and did the best he could to love and raise our youngest sister, Judith, who was mentally handicapped and who passed away too young in 1995.  He remembered and talked about her disproportionately, even up to his death.  Our family homestead is covered with pictures of her during her short life.

He was a truly historical character in this town.  His passing is part of the passing of an era, where the gaudy colors of the past are being replaced by pastels in the present.  He had such a concentrated color that it bled into my bones and made me a lot of what I am...ask my wife.  And it bled on through me to my son, Ben Owen, a.k.a. Luke, who likes to argue just as much as his Ole Granddad and who often reminds me of his Aunt Judith when he smiles a certain way.

So Dad, requiescat in pace...or for you Bulldogs out there, est-ray in eace-pay.