Mack Williams:  A man resting against a tree

Published 12:00 am Saturday, November 12, 2022

Upon the recent anniversary of the early death of my father, Bernard Williams on Nov. 5, 1966 at age 60, my thoughts return to him; as they do at other times, and especially at this time of year.

The first 15 years of my life coincided with the last 15 years of my father’s; but when I was 15, his path veered off in death like those comets of high parabolic paths which we never see again(in this lifetime).

He was wiry, physically, but always honest, never “wiry” in his dealings with others.

I get my love of jovial conversation from my father. I have many memories of riding around with him on visits involving both business and friendship, the two often combined, due to his nature. He enjoyed joking and bringing laughter!

My father demanded respect for himself, others, and the ultimate “Higher Up! “I remember him sitting on our granite front porch steps, advising my brother Joe and me: “Don’t listen to anyone in this life who will wrongfully say there is no God!

As a bit of a “refresher,” I wrote some years ago about my father working for Southern Railway at the Spencer yard, the same place “Danville’s Old 97” was headed in 1903. But that was long before my father worked there, as he was just getting born in 1906, during the Theodore Roosevelt Administration.

My parents (Bernard and Lorraine Williams) and brother, Joe lived in Danville before moving to Salisbury, where I was born. I remember seeing an old 1940s’ photograph taken of my father during the fall of one of those years before they moved to Salisbury. He was dressed in a suit and fedora hat, sitting and resting against a tree at the same Danville Ballou Park where I exercise walk today.

My mother never particularly cared for that photograph, since my father was puffing on a big cigar when the shutter snapped.

On my walks in that same park, I sometimes wonder which tree might be the one against which my father rested on that early 1940s day. I attempt to make my own crude calculations (guesses)at this, considering the passing of years and my sketchy knowledge of tree growth over time.

In my walks, I’ll sometimes pause at a tree which I consider of the appropriate width and height, thinking: “Maybe?” Sometimes I see a tree which split and grew off in separate directions, as the case with my life and his afterlife. Whenever I see the local city crews at work removing an old dead, or wind-damaged tree; or when I happen upon an old stump in the park, I think: “Perhaps I’ve found it too late!”

If that tree is no more, then it probably perished from accident or disease, the same kinds of reasons seen on the death certificates of men, who on some past beautiful fall day, enjoyed resting against a tree.