Family Remembrances of the Life of Paul Henry Hampton, Jr.
by Marva Jones Brooks
At a time like this, it is only human to mourn the loss of a beloved relative like Paul, who was the consummate husband, father, family member and friend. He was, quite simply, one of a kind; we loved him dearly; and we will miss him immensely for the rest of our lives, because he is irreplaceable. It is the same human emotion that caused Jesus to weep at the death of his friend Lazarus. Jesus wept!! And so do we.
But in time, it is my prayer for my family that our mourning and grief will wane and soon be replaced by an abiding appreciation that we were blessed and graced to be related to such a spectacular human being as Paul. In fact, having grown up with him and knowing Paul his entire life, it is a profound honor for me to say, without any doubt, whatsoever, that Paul was one of the finest people I have ever met. He displayed his tender and loving heart, uncommon compassion, wisdom and decency with everyone whose path he ever crossed.
All of those traits were, quite simply, a part of his DNA. They all were apparent even when we were children, and they remained with Paul until the end. And not even his long, arduous battle for his health could alter those traits or diminish his infectious laugh and luminous light that lit up our lives. Paul walked by faith all his life and as a result he was able to live as one who knew that even his pain was fleeting and temporary …that only the eternal truths and verities of the faith of our fathers are worthy of our attention. That belief was guiding his earthly pilgrimage, even in our last conversations in the final two days of his life.
Nothing reminds me of this more than the extraordinary way Paul handled his earliest, and most life-altering, tragedy. As a young boy growing up with me in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, he lost his only sister, my beloved cousin and playmate, Judy, to a fatal snake bite while she was visiting our family "down South" in Georgia, our ancestral home. And even though Paul was younger than I, for years afterward he consoled me by reminding me of the tenets of our Christian faith and Sunday school lessons that held out the promise that one day we would all be reunited with Judy and our Lord and Savior, if we were good children.
Paul believed that with all his heart, even as a child at that tragic time, so he led his life assured by these comforting words of Jesus to his disciples:
Do not let your hearts be troubled. You believe in God; believe also in me. My Father's house has many rooms; if that were not so, would I have told you that I am going there to prepare a place for you? And if I go and prepare a place for you, I will come back and take you to be with me, that you also may be where I am.
Just as Paul found life-long comfort in that promise, all of us also are trying very hard to be comforted likewise, now that it is our very difficult task to deal with the passing of our beloved relative.
As we mourn the loss of Paul, I am reminded of a card I received from a dear friend during another difficult time of bereavement. The imagery was powerful and memorable and it is my hope it will be helpful to all of us at this time. The friend wrote that in the traditions of her Eastern European family they thought of Death as a ship that left one shore with the deceased aboard and there on that wharf was much wailing and grief among those who were mourning their loss. Finding it difficult to say good-bye, the mourners cried and remained on the shore until the ship slipped beyond the horizon and was no longer visible. On the other shore were gathered all of the deceased loved ones of the one who had just passed, letting out shouts of great delight and happiness as soon as the ship came into view, knowing that the earthly pain and suffering of their beloved relative had ended and they would soon have the newly-deceased relative among them to share in their eternal joy and gladness.
Because Paul and I were blessed to belong to the most loving family imaginable, I know the ship carrying him to the other side was met by relatives crowding the shore to catch their first glimpse of Paul, one of the undisputed princes our family. There at the center of them were his big sister Judy, their saintly mother Melva Lee and father P. H., and angelic grandmother, Rosa; along with his beloved aunt Johnnie V, uncle T.C. and uncle Clarence, as well as his doting cousins Mildred, Henry and Duane and all the rest who adored him. As he descended the ship to join all of those relatives assembled on shore to greet him, thank God Paul will be able to shout:
I HAVE FOUGHT THE GOOD FIGHT,
I HAVE FINISHED THE RACE,
I HAVE KEPT THE FAITH.
While the foregoing tells of Paul's abiding faith, no remembrance of his life story could ever be complete without mentioning the extraordinary impact the Great Migration of southern blacks in the early decades of the 1900's to western and northern cities like Pittsburgh had on the lives of children of that Migration. In Isabel Wilkerson's recent, highly-acclaimed, Pulitzer prize-winning masterpiece on that Great Migration, "The Warmth of Other Suns", the author beautifully details the lives of both the Great Migrants and their children, like Paul and me, who were the first Northern-born or Northern-reared children in those families.
Paul and his brother Charles; and my big brothers Henry and Duane and I were the guinea pigs in the family: we descended from several centuries of Southerners who had large, closely-knit families with lots of children in rural Georgia. But our mothers had migrated to Pittsburgh where a few years earlier their educated maternal aunt and uncle had relocated in search of better opportunities. There in Pennsylvania they found entire communities where every adult was also a southerner. That was true in Pittsburgh where Paul lived as well as in my little town nearby, where Census data have recently revealed that no adult in that town when I was a child was Northern-born. Because our mothers were the only relatives in the North rearing children, Paul's family and mine spent a lot of time together, as was the custom in the South. During countless Sunday dinners of fried chicken, mashed potatoes and gravy, and lots of other Southern delectables, Paul and Charles and my brothers and I bonded more as siblings than cousins. And we remained close throughout our lives.
Both Paul and I were marked in ways we could not control: I believe it is true that doctors have found black and gold in our blood because we caught "Steeler Fever" like all who grew up in Pittsburgh. Another experience also bonded Paul and me, because we were both the youngest in our family. As such we were the ever-available "go-fers" for our older siblings, and no one was in more frequent need of my services than my older brother, Henry, the oldest among all of us.
Henry's bedroom always had the look of a laboratory where all manner of experiments were constantly underway. Thus, he forever needed someone to run outside and tape electronic wires to first one tree and then another, all the better to hear Rome or Moscow over his crystal set or self-made short wave radio. It always seemed that just as I was at my wit's end in the performance of my endless assistant's duties Paul would show up to gladly relieve me. Henry and Paul were a match made in heaven and even in our last conversation just days ago Paul said the passions of my brothers Henry and Duane, forever influenced him and led to his life-long love of technology and electronics, books and jazz, as well as an unquenchable intellectual curiosity about everything. Thus it was no surprise to us that Henry went on to major in electrical engineering at the University of Pittsburgh and Paul had a wonderful technical career at Pac-Bell, the mere mention of which always made Henry's eyes light up.
Henry and Duane explored every opportunity we had because we were growing up in a big metropolitan area like Pittsburgh and not in the rural South. And they were the pilot fish who investigated the water and then led the rest of us on a merry journey to explore all they had discovered. I could never live long enough to forget the smile of satisfaction and gratitude on the face of Paul's mother when he regaled her with tales of all that he was experiencing with his doting older cousins.
As Paul grew and developed into the splendid human being he became, all of us were proud of the kind of husband he became for Joyce and the fantastic father he was for his beloved daughter, in fact, he was the quintessential family man and relative. And though I hope all of us will recall that Paul has gone home to be with the Lord and relatives he loved with all his heart, it does not mean that we won't continue to have the human need to weep, as did Jesus when he lost his beloved friend. And at those times, Joyce and Taylor, we will continue to be here for you as we have promised Paul we would. Another promise I made to your father, Taylor, is that I will fulfill his long-held desire to take you home to dear Pittsburgh, so you can see the place that indelibly marked our lives as first generation Northerners and children of the Great Migration.
And Joyce, no remembrance of Paul's life would be complete without expressing our enormous thanks to you for the monumental efforts you put into assisting Paul at every step of his extraordinary fight to conquer his illness and see his beloved daughter become a college graduate. As we have told you repeatedly, you were an unbelievable example of a wife living out her vow to aid and comfort her husband, in sickness and in health, 'til death do you part. I have never seen a finer example of one living out that oath. You have set the gold standard that all of us as spouses can only pray we can measure up to in some small way when need be. You have the undying gratitude of all of us for the absolutely magnificent way in which you stood by Paul, aiding him in his every fight throughout his long battle.
May the Lord comfort you and Taylor and keep you in the palm of his hands at this difficult time.
Paul is survived by his loving wife, Joyce; daughter, Taylor; brother, Charles; cousins, Marva Jones Brooks, Andrew Huckaby, and Janet Welch; nephew, Charlie Hampton; and a niece, Ebony Hampton.
Source: Bryan-Braker Funeral Home
by Marva Jones Brooks
At a time like this, it is only human to mourn the loss of a beloved relative like Paul, who was the consummate husband, father, family member and friend. He was, quite simply, one of a kind; we loved him dearly; and we will miss him immensely for the rest of our lives, because he is irreplaceable. It is the same human emotion that caused Jesus to weep at the death of his friend Lazarus. Jesus wept!! And so do we.
But in time, it is my prayer for my family that our mourning and grief will wane and soon be replaced by an abiding appreciation that we were blessed and graced to be related to such a spectacular human being as Paul. In fact, having grown up with him and knowing Paul his entire life, it is a profound honor for me to say, without any doubt, whatsoever, that Paul was one of the finest people I have ever met. He displayed his tender and loving heart, uncommon compassion, wisdom and decency with everyone whose path he ever crossed.
All of those traits were, quite simply, a part of his DNA. They all were apparent even when we were children, and they remained with Paul until the end. And not even his long, arduous battle for his health could alter those traits or diminish his infectious laugh and luminous light that lit up our lives. Paul walked by faith all his life and as a result he was able to live as one who knew that even his pain was fleeting and temporary …that only the eternal truths and verities of the faith of our fathers are worthy of our attention. That belief was guiding his earthly pilgrimage, even in our last conversations in the final two days of his life.
Nothing reminds me of this more than the extraordinary way Paul handled his earliest, and most life-altering, tragedy. As a young boy growing up with me in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, he lost his only sister, my beloved cousin and playmate, Judy, to a fatal snake bite while she was visiting our family "down South" in Georgia, our ancestral home. And even though Paul was younger than I, for years afterward he consoled me by reminding me of the tenets of our Christian faith and Sunday school lessons that held out the promise that one day we would all be reunited with Judy and our Lord and Savior, if we were good children.
Paul believed that with all his heart, even as a child at that tragic time, so he led his life assured by these comforting words of Jesus to his disciples:
Do not let your hearts be troubled. You believe in God; believe also in me. My Father's house has many rooms; if that were not so, would I have told you that I am going there to prepare a place for you? And if I go and prepare a place for you, I will come back and take you to be with me, that you also may be where I am.
Just as Paul found life-long comfort in that promise, all of us also are trying very hard to be comforted likewise, now that it is our very difficult task to deal with the passing of our beloved relative.
As we mourn the loss of Paul, I am reminded of a card I received from a dear friend during another difficult time of bereavement. The imagery was powerful and memorable and it is my hope it will be helpful to all of us at this time. The friend wrote that in the traditions of her Eastern European family they thought of Death as a ship that left one shore with the deceased aboard and there on that wharf was much wailing and grief among those who were mourning their loss. Finding it difficult to say good-bye, the mourners cried and remained on the shore until the ship slipped beyond the horizon and was no longer visible. On the other shore were gathered all of the deceased loved ones of the one who had just passed, letting out shouts of great delight and happiness as soon as the ship came into view, knowing that the earthly pain and suffering of their beloved relative had ended and they would soon have the newly-deceased relative among them to share in their eternal joy and gladness.
Because Paul and I were blessed to belong to the most loving family imaginable, I know the ship carrying him to the other side was met by relatives crowding the shore to catch their first glimpse of Paul, one of the undisputed princes our family. There at the center of them were his big sister Judy, their saintly mother Melva Lee and father P. H., and angelic grandmother, Rosa; along with his beloved aunt Johnnie V, uncle T.C. and uncle Clarence, as well as his doting cousins Mildred, Henry and Duane and all the rest who adored him. As he descended the ship to join all of those relatives assembled on shore to greet him, thank God Paul will be able to shout:
I HAVE FOUGHT THE GOOD FIGHT,
I HAVE FINISHED THE RACE,
I HAVE KEPT THE FAITH.
While the foregoing tells of Paul's abiding faith, no remembrance of his life story could ever be complete without mentioning the extraordinary impact the Great Migration of southern blacks in the early decades of the 1900's to western and northern cities like Pittsburgh had on the lives of children of that Migration. In Isabel Wilkerson's recent, highly-acclaimed, Pulitzer prize-winning masterpiece on that Great Migration, "The Warmth of Other Suns", the author beautifully details the lives of both the Great Migrants and their children, like Paul and me, who were the first Northern-born or Northern-reared children in those families.
Paul and his brother Charles; and my big brothers Henry and Duane and I were the guinea pigs in the family: we descended from several centuries of Southerners who had large, closely-knit families with lots of children in rural Georgia. But our mothers had migrated to Pittsburgh where a few years earlier their educated maternal aunt and uncle had relocated in search of better opportunities. There in Pennsylvania they found entire communities where every adult was also a southerner. That was true in Pittsburgh where Paul lived as well as in my little town nearby, where Census data have recently revealed that no adult in that town when I was a child was Northern-born. Because our mothers were the only relatives in the North rearing children, Paul's family and mine spent a lot of time together, as was the custom in the South. During countless Sunday dinners of fried chicken, mashed potatoes and gravy, and lots of other Southern delectables, Paul and Charles and my brothers and I bonded more as siblings than cousins. And we remained close throughout our lives.
Both Paul and I were marked in ways we could not control: I believe it is true that doctors have found black and gold in our blood because we caught "Steeler Fever" like all who grew up in Pittsburgh. Another experience also bonded Paul and me, because we were both the youngest in our family. As such we were the ever-available "go-fers" for our older siblings, and no one was in more frequent need of my services than my older brother, Henry, the oldest among all of us.
Henry's bedroom always had the look of a laboratory where all manner of experiments were constantly underway. Thus, he forever needed someone to run outside and tape electronic wires to first one tree and then another, all the better to hear Rome or Moscow over his crystal set or self-made short wave radio. It always seemed that just as I was at my wit's end in the performance of my endless assistant's duties Paul would show up to gladly relieve me. Henry and Paul were a match made in heaven and even in our last conversation just days ago Paul said the passions of my brothers Henry and Duane, forever influenced him and led to his life-long love of technology and electronics, books and jazz, as well as an unquenchable intellectual curiosity about everything. Thus it was no surprise to us that Henry went on to major in electrical engineering at the University of Pittsburgh and Paul had a wonderful technical career at Pac-Bell, the mere mention of which always made Henry's eyes light up.
Henry and Duane explored every opportunity we had because we were growing up in a big metropolitan area like Pittsburgh and not in the rural South. And they were the pilot fish who investigated the water and then led the rest of us on a merry journey to explore all they had discovered. I could never live long enough to forget the smile of satisfaction and gratitude on the face of Paul's mother when he regaled her with tales of all that he was experiencing with his doting older cousins.
As Paul grew and developed into the splendid human being he became, all of us were proud of the kind of husband he became for Joyce and the fantastic father he was for his beloved daughter, in fact, he was the quintessential family man and relative. And though I hope all of us will recall that Paul has gone home to be with the Lord and relatives he loved with all his heart, it does not mean that we won't continue to have the human need to weep, as did Jesus when he lost his beloved friend. And at those times, Joyce and Taylor, we will continue to be here for you as we have promised Paul we would. Another promise I made to your father, Taylor, is that I will fulfill his long-held desire to take you home to dear Pittsburgh, so you can see the place that indelibly marked our lives as first generation Northerners and children of the Great Migration.
And Joyce, no remembrance of Paul's life would be complete without expressing our enormous thanks to you for the monumental efforts you put into assisting Paul at every step of his extraordinary fight to conquer his illness and see his beloved daughter become a college graduate. As we have told you repeatedly, you were an unbelievable example of a wife living out her vow to aid and comfort her husband, in sickness and in health, 'til death do you part. I have never seen a finer example of one living out that oath. You have set the gold standard that all of us as spouses can only pray we can measure up to in some small way when need be. You have the undying gratitude of all of us for the absolutely magnificent way in which you stood by Paul, aiding him in his every fight throughout his long battle.
May the Lord comfort you and Taylor and keep you in the palm of his hands at this difficult time.
Paul is survived by his loving wife, Joyce; daughter, Taylor; brother, Charles; cousins, Marva Jones Brooks, Andrew Huckaby, and Janet Welch; nephew, Charlie Hampton; and a niece, Ebony Hampton.
Source: Bryan-Braker Funeral Home
Family Remembrances of the Life of Paul Henry Hampton, Jr.
by Marva Jones Brooks
At a time like this, it is only human to mourn the loss of a beloved relative like Paul, who was the consummate husband, father, family member and friend. He was, quite simply, one of a kind; we loved him dearly; and we will miss him immensely for the rest of our lives, because he is irreplaceable. It is the same human emotion that caused Jesus to weep at the death of his friend Lazarus. Jesus wept!! And so do we.
But in time, it is my prayer for my family that our mourning and grief will wane and soon be replaced by an abiding appreciation that we were blessed and graced to be related to such a spectacular human being as Paul. In fact, having grown up with him and knowing Paul his entire life, it is a profound honor for me to say, without any doubt, whatsoever, that Paul was one of the finest people I have ever met. He displayed his tender and loving heart, uncommon compassion, wisdom and decency with everyone whose path he ever crossed.
All of those traits were, quite simply, a part of his DNA. They all were apparent even when we were children, and they remained with Paul until the end. And not even his long, arduous battle for his health could alter those traits or diminish his infectious laugh and luminous light that lit up our lives. Paul walked by faith all his life and as a result he was able to live as one who knew that even his pain was fleeting and temporary …that only the eternal truths and verities of the faith of our fathers are worthy of our attention. That belief was guiding his earthly pilgrimage, even in our last conversations in the final two days of his life.
Nothing reminds me of this more than the extraordinary way Paul handled his earliest, and most life-altering, tragedy. As a young boy growing up with me in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, he lost his only sister, my beloved cousin and playmate, Judy, to a fatal snake bite while she was visiting our family "down South" in Georgia, our ancestral home. And even though Paul was younger than I, for years afterward he consoled me by reminding me of the tenets of our Christian faith and Sunday school lessons that held out the promise that one day we would all be reunited with Judy and our Lord and Savior, if we were good children.
Paul believed that with all his heart, even as a child at that tragic time, so he led his life assured by these comforting words of Jesus to his disciples:
Do not let your hearts be troubled. You believe in God; believe also in me. My Father's house has many rooms; if that were not so, would I have told you that I am going there to prepare a place for you? And if I go and prepare a place for you, I will come back and take you to be with me, that you also may be where I am.
Just as Paul found life-long comfort in that promise, all of us also are trying very hard to be comforted likewise, now that it is our very difficult task to deal with the passing of our beloved relative.
As we mourn the loss of Paul, I am reminded of a card I received from a dear friend during another difficult time of bereavement. The imagery was powerful and memorable and it is my hope it will be helpful to all of us at this time. The friend wrote that in the traditions of her Eastern European family they thought of Death as a ship that left one shore with the deceased aboard and there on that wharf was much wailing and grief among those who were mourning their loss. Finding it difficult to say good-bye, the mourners cried and remained on the shore until the ship slipped beyond the horizon and was no longer visible. On the other shore were gathered all of the deceased loved ones of the one who had just passed, letting out shouts of great delight and happiness as soon as the ship came into view, knowing that the earthly pain and suffering of their beloved relative had ended and they would soon have the newly-deceased relative among them to share in their eternal joy and gladness.
Because Paul and I were blessed to belong to the most loving family imaginable, I know the ship carrying him to the other side was met by relatives crowding the shore to catch their first glimpse of Paul, one of the undisputed princes our family. There at the center of them were his big sister Judy, their saintly mother Melva Lee and father P. H., and angelic grandmother, Rosa; along with his beloved aunt Johnnie V, uncle T.C. and uncle Clarence, as well as his doting cousins Mildred, Henry and Duane and all the rest who adored him. As he descended the ship to join all of those relatives assembled on shore to greet him, thank God Paul will be able to shout:
I HAVE FOUGHT THE GOOD FIGHT,
I HAVE FINISHED THE RACE,
I HAVE KEPT THE FAITH.
While the foregoing tells of Paul's abiding faith, no remembrance of his life story could ever be complete without mentioning the extraordinary impact the Great Migration of southern blacks in the early decades of the 1900's to western and northern cities like Pittsburgh had on the lives of children of that Migration. In Isabel Wilkerson's recent, highly-acclaimed, Pulitzer prize-winning masterpiece on that Great Migration, "The Warmth of Other Suns", the author beautifully details the lives of both the Great Migrants and their children, like Paul and me, who were the first Northern-born or Northern-reared children in those families.
Paul and his brother Charles; and my big brothers Henry and Duane and I were the guinea pigs in the family: we descended from several centuries of Southerners who had large, closely-knit families with lots of children in rural Georgia. But our mothers had migrated to Pittsburgh where a few years earlier their educated maternal aunt and uncle had relocated in search of better opportunities. There in Pennsylvania they found entire communities where every adult was also a southerner. That was true in Pittsburgh where Paul lived as well as in my little town nearby, where Census data have recently revealed that no adult in that town when I was a child was Northern-born. Because our mothers were the only relatives in the North rearing children, Paul's family and mine spent a lot of time together, as was the custom in the South. During countless Sunday dinners of fried chicken, mashed potatoes and gravy, and lots of other Southern delectables, Paul and Charles and my brothers and I bonded more as siblings than cousins. And we remained close throughout our lives.
Both Paul and I were marked in ways we could not control: I believe it is true that doctors have found black and gold in our blood because we caught "Steeler Fever" like all who grew up in Pittsburgh. Another experience also bonded Paul and me, because we were both the youngest in our family. As such we were the ever-available "go-fers" for our older siblings, and no one was in more frequent need of my services than my older brother, Henry, the oldest among all of us.
Henry's bedroom always had the look of a laboratory where all manner of experiments were constantly underway. Thus, he forever needed someone to run outside and tape electronic wires to first one tree and then another, all the better to hear Rome or Moscow over his crystal set or self-made short wave radio. It always seemed that just as I was at my wit's end in the performance of my endless assistant's duties Paul would show up to gladly relieve me. Henry and Paul were a match made in heaven and even in our last conversation just days ago Paul said the passions of my brothers Henry and Duane, forever influenced him and led to his life-long love of technology and electronics, books and jazz, as well as an unquenchable intellectual curiosity about everything. Thus it was no surprise to us that Henry went on to major in electrical engineering at the University of Pittsburgh and Paul had a wonderful technical career at Pac-Bell, the mere mention of which always made Henry's eyes light up.
Henry and Duane explored every opportunity we had because we were growing up in a big metropolitan area like Pittsburgh and not in the rural South. And they were the pilot fish who investigated the water and then led the rest of us on a merry journey to explore all they had discovered. I could never live long enough to forget the smile of satisfaction and gratitude on the face of Paul's mother when he regaled her with tales of all that he was experiencing with his doting older cousins.
As Paul grew and developed into the splendid human being he became, all of us were proud of the kind of husband he became for Joyce and the fantastic father he was for his beloved daughter, in fact, he was the quintessential family man and relative. And though I hope all of us will recall that Paul has gone home to be with the Lord and relatives he loved with all his heart, it does not mean that we won't continue to have the human need to weep, as did Jesus when he lost his beloved friend. And at those times, Joyce and Taylor, we will continue to be here for you as we have promised Paul we would. Another promise I made to your father, Taylor, is that I will fulfill his long-held desire to take you home to dear Pittsburgh, so you can see the place that indelibly marked our lives as first generation Northerners and children of the Great Migration.
And Joyce, no remembrance of Paul's life would be complete without expressing our enormous thanks to you for the monumental efforts you put into assisting Paul at every step of his extraordinary fight to conquer his illness and see his beloved daughter become a college graduate. As we have told you repeatedly, you were an unbelievable example of a wife living out her vow to aid and comfort her husband, in sickness and in health, 'til death do you part. I have never seen a finer example of one living out that oath. You have set the gold standard that all of us as spouses can only pray we can measure up to in some small way when need be. You have the undying gratitude of all of us for the absolutely magnificent way in which you stood by Paul, aiding him in his every fight throughout his long battle.
May the Lord comfort you and Taylor and keep you in the palm of his hands at this difficult time.
Paul is survived by his loving wife, Joyce; daughter, Taylor; brother, Charles; cousins, Marva Jones Brooks, Andrew Huckaby, and Janet Welch; nephew, Charlie Hampton; and a niece, Ebony Hampton.
Source: Bryan-Braker Funeral Home
by Marva Jones Brooks
At a time like this, it is only human to mourn the loss of a beloved relative like Paul, who was the consummate husband, father, family member and friend. He was, quite simply, one of a kind; we loved him dearly; and we will miss him immensely for the rest of our lives, because he is irreplaceable. It is the same human emotion that caused Jesus to weep at the death of his friend Lazarus. Jesus wept!! And so do we.
But in time, it is my prayer for my family that our mourning and grief will wane and soon be replaced by an abiding appreciation that we were blessed and graced to be related to such a spectacular human being as Paul. In fact, having grown up with him and knowing Paul his entire life, it is a profound honor for me to say, without any doubt, whatsoever, that Paul was one of the finest people I have ever met. He displayed his tender and loving heart, uncommon compassion, wisdom and decency with everyone whose path he ever crossed.
All of those traits were, quite simply, a part of his DNA. They all were apparent even when we were children, and they remained with Paul until the end. And not even his long, arduous battle for his health could alter those traits or diminish his infectious laugh and luminous light that lit up our lives. Paul walked by faith all his life and as a result he was able to live as one who knew that even his pain was fleeting and temporary …that only the eternal truths and verities of the faith of our fathers are worthy of our attention. That belief was guiding his earthly pilgrimage, even in our last conversations in the final two days of his life.
Nothing reminds me of this more than the extraordinary way Paul handled his earliest, and most life-altering, tragedy. As a young boy growing up with me in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, he lost his only sister, my beloved cousin and playmate, Judy, to a fatal snake bite while she was visiting our family "down South" in Georgia, our ancestral home. And even though Paul was younger than I, for years afterward he consoled me by reminding me of the tenets of our Christian faith and Sunday school lessons that held out the promise that one day we would all be reunited with Judy and our Lord and Savior, if we were good children.
Paul believed that with all his heart, even as a child at that tragic time, so he led his life assured by these comforting words of Jesus to his disciples:
Do not let your hearts be troubled. You believe in God; believe also in me. My Father's house has many rooms; if that were not so, would I have told you that I am going there to prepare a place for you? And if I go and prepare a place for you, I will come back and take you to be with me, that you also may be where I am.
Just as Paul found life-long comfort in that promise, all of us also are trying very hard to be comforted likewise, now that it is our very difficult task to deal with the passing of our beloved relative.
As we mourn the loss of Paul, I am reminded of a card I received from a dear friend during another difficult time of bereavement. The imagery was powerful and memorable and it is my hope it will be helpful to all of us at this time. The friend wrote that in the traditions of her Eastern European family they thought of Death as a ship that left one shore with the deceased aboard and there on that wharf was much wailing and grief among those who were mourning their loss. Finding it difficult to say good-bye, the mourners cried and remained on the shore until the ship slipped beyond the horizon and was no longer visible. On the other shore were gathered all of the deceased loved ones of the one who had just passed, letting out shouts of great delight and happiness as soon as the ship came into view, knowing that the earthly pain and suffering of their beloved relative had ended and they would soon have the newly-deceased relative among them to share in their eternal joy and gladness.
Because Paul and I were blessed to belong to the most loving family imaginable, I know the ship carrying him to the other side was met by relatives crowding the shore to catch their first glimpse of Paul, one of the undisputed princes our family. There at the center of them were his big sister Judy, their saintly mother Melva Lee and father P. H., and angelic grandmother, Rosa; along with his beloved aunt Johnnie V, uncle T.C. and uncle Clarence, as well as his doting cousins Mildred, Henry and Duane and all the rest who adored him. As he descended the ship to join all of those relatives assembled on shore to greet him, thank God Paul will be able to shout:
I HAVE FOUGHT THE GOOD FIGHT,
I HAVE FINISHED THE RACE,
I HAVE KEPT THE FAITH.
While the foregoing tells of Paul's abiding faith, no remembrance of his life story could ever be complete without mentioning the extraordinary impact the Great Migration of southern blacks in the early decades of the 1900's to western and northern cities like Pittsburgh had on the lives of children of that Migration. In Isabel Wilkerson's recent, highly-acclaimed, Pulitzer prize-winning masterpiece on that Great Migration, "The Warmth of Other Suns", the author beautifully details the lives of both the Great Migrants and their children, like Paul and me, who were the first Northern-born or Northern-reared children in those families.
Paul and his brother Charles; and my big brothers Henry and Duane and I were the guinea pigs in the family: we descended from several centuries of Southerners who had large, closely-knit families with lots of children in rural Georgia. But our mothers had migrated to Pittsburgh where a few years earlier their educated maternal aunt and uncle had relocated in search of better opportunities. There in Pennsylvania they found entire communities where every adult was also a southerner. That was true in Pittsburgh where Paul lived as well as in my little town nearby, where Census data have recently revealed that no adult in that town when I was a child was Northern-born. Because our mothers were the only relatives in the North rearing children, Paul's family and mine spent a lot of time together, as was the custom in the South. During countless Sunday dinners of fried chicken, mashed potatoes and gravy, and lots of other Southern delectables, Paul and Charles and my brothers and I bonded more as siblings than cousins. And we remained close throughout our lives.
Both Paul and I were marked in ways we could not control: I believe it is true that doctors have found black and gold in our blood because we caught "Steeler Fever" like all who grew up in Pittsburgh. Another experience also bonded Paul and me, because we were both the youngest in our family. As such we were the ever-available "go-fers" for our older siblings, and no one was in more frequent need of my services than my older brother, Henry, the oldest among all of us.
Henry's bedroom always had the look of a laboratory where all manner of experiments were constantly underway. Thus, he forever needed someone to run outside and tape electronic wires to first one tree and then another, all the better to hear Rome or Moscow over his crystal set or self-made short wave radio. It always seemed that just as I was at my wit's end in the performance of my endless assistant's duties Paul would show up to gladly relieve me. Henry and Paul were a match made in heaven and even in our last conversation just days ago Paul said the passions of my brothers Henry and Duane, forever influenced him and led to his life-long love of technology and electronics, books and jazz, as well as an unquenchable intellectual curiosity about everything. Thus it was no surprise to us that Henry went on to major in electrical engineering at the University of Pittsburgh and Paul had a wonderful technical career at Pac-Bell, the mere mention of which always made Henry's eyes light up.
Henry and Duane explored every opportunity we had because we were growing up in a big metropolitan area like Pittsburgh and not in the rural South. And they were the pilot fish who investigated the water and then led the rest of us on a merry journey to explore all they had discovered. I could never live long enough to forget the smile of satisfaction and gratitude on the face of Paul's mother when he regaled her with tales of all that he was experiencing with his doting older cousins.
As Paul grew and developed into the splendid human being he became, all of us were proud of the kind of husband he became for Joyce and the fantastic father he was for his beloved daughter, in fact, he was the quintessential family man and relative. And though I hope all of us will recall that Paul has gone home to be with the Lord and relatives he loved with all his heart, it does not mean that we won't continue to have the human need to weep, as did Jesus when he lost his beloved friend. And at those times, Joyce and Taylor, we will continue to be here for you as we have promised Paul we would. Another promise I made to your father, Taylor, is that I will fulfill his long-held desire to take you home to dear Pittsburgh, so you can see the place that indelibly marked our lives as first generation Northerners and children of the Great Migration.
And Joyce, no remembrance of Paul's life would be complete without expressing our enormous thanks to you for the monumental efforts you put into assisting Paul at every step of his extraordinary fight to conquer his illness and see his beloved daughter become a college graduate. As we have told you repeatedly, you were an unbelievable example of a wife living out her vow to aid and comfort her husband, in sickness and in health, 'til death do you part. I have never seen a finer example of one living out that oath. You have set the gold standard that all of us as spouses can only pray we can measure up to in some small way when need be. You have the undying gratitude of all of us for the absolutely magnificent way in which you stood by Paul, aiding him in his every fight throughout his long battle.
May the Lord comfort you and Taylor and keep you in the palm of his hands at this difficult time.
Paul is survived by his loving wife, Joyce; daughter, Taylor; brother, Charles; cousins, Marva Jones Brooks, Andrew Huckaby, and Janet Welch; nephew, Charlie Hampton; and a niece, Ebony Hampton.
Source: Bryan-Braker Funeral Home
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