The Day She Was Remembered

by Ed Grisamore
In his July 10th Telegraph column, Ed Grisamore compared Ruth Cheves’ memorial service with the Michael Jackson service held the same week. The column is a classic and appears here in a in a slightly abridged form -- Dr. Bob

There was no gold casket in the sanctuary at First Baptist Church on Thursday morning, only a gold picture frame.

There were three dozen roses and two candles at the altar. A needlepoint bookmark, made by Ruth Cheves, rested against the pages of an open Bible. There were no TV cameras on the steps, no paparazzi at the top of Poplar Street. Nobody pulled out a Blackberry to dispatch details of the funeral on “Twitter.”

I sat in the third pew, with my wife and mother, and listened to the tributes, scripture readings, beautiful music and heartfelt eulogy. If only the world could have seen this, too, I thought.

Four days ago, the planet paused to watch Michael Jackson’s memorial service. About 30.9 million viewers tuned in — more than for Ronald Reagan’s funeral but less than Princess Di’s — as if it were a ratings contest. Only about 100 people attended Ruth’s service. I’m sure Miss Ruth never would have approved of turning her farewell into a box-office attraction, anyway.

I did not watch the memorial for the “King of Pop.” Although I applaud his humanitarian efforts, his rather bizarre lifestyle was hardly worthy of hero worship. (Frankly, he lost me after the Jackson Five.) He was, however, an extraordinary talent. I’ve never seen anybody move like M.J.

Miss Ruth never married and lived alone. I once served as her deacon. For years, my family invited her to join us at Thanksgiving. She was born in 1918, grew up in Fort Hill, went to school at Fort Hawkins and joined First Baptist Church when she was 6 years old. She never caused a ripple of trouble, except for some mischief the time she and a few childhood friends waxed the trolley tracks with soap, causing a slight derailment.

Ruth was a pioneer in working with special needs children. Her studies in the field were among the first published in the U.S. She spent 16 years in the Christianity department at Mercer.

She was an avid reader and served as our church librarian. She loved crossword puzzles and classical music. She never needed a dial on her radio. She kept it planted on FM-89.7, the local public radio station.

In 1974, she was the only Georgia woman (and one of 132 in the country) asked to contribute a needlepoint panel for the United Nations in New York. She put 40,000 stitches into her square, which represented Russia.

No, I wasn’t much of a Michael Jackson fan, but I did belong to Ruth’s fan club. Her memorial service replicated the way she lived her life. No fanfare. More substance than glorification.

She was one of those saints who lived her life, served her Lord and would have been proud of the way she was remembered.

(Used by permission of the Macon Telegraph)