My Good Friend, Mr. Ed. (Elvin Dwain Manning)
Passed away Dec. 7th at 5:32 Am.
Ed's Remains are buried at D/FW National Cemetery. 2000 Mountain Creek Pkwy. Dallas, TX (214) 467-3374
http://www.cem.va.gov/nchp/dallasftworth.htm
There is a computer Kiosk at the entrance where you can look up the location.
The cemetery is open from dawn to dusk.
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He died very peacefully in his sleep with his son Eric and daughter Laura at his side. He will be missed very deeply.
I reminded Evan, of something that he said many times to us.
"I've lived a good, long life. I've had lots of fun and good times along the way. And I'm not afraid to die. If I die tomorrow I will have no regrets."
He made more friends than anyone could ever imagine. He told me once "If friends were money. I'd be the richest man in the world!"
How True!
Ed, was an unbelievably strong man. Fighting Cancer all these years and keeping a positive attitude about it all along.
When most people would have lain down and given up. Ed just kept on fighting. I think maybe he was afraid to let down his friends by not showing up at his post!
He told the Doctors if there is something New, you want to try on me. I'm your guinea pig.
Someone had to try Chemo the first time. How many lives has that saved because someone was so unselfish to try it and pass on the knowledge.
I don't know how many experimental, Treatments he tried. Some made him very sick, but he was very tough. Ed drove himself to Houston, MD Anderson Cancer Center, took the treatments and later, drove himself home. But usually by way of the Southern Junction. He fought through it and came out in good shape. We though he had it licked.
He is an inspiration to all of us!
He has touched so many of our lives!
I know I've never know a man with such a great outlook on life. When life served him lemons... He made Lemonade, or was it Coor's Light!
I hope I can follow his foot steps, if I'm ever in as bad a way.
MANNING Elvin Dwain (Ed), known to many as Mr. Ed and by his family as Paka, passed away December 07, 2005 surrounded by family at his home in rural Rockwall County. Born July 26, 1931 in Blair, Oklahoma to John William and Ida Mae (Young) Manning, he was 74 years old. Diagnosed with cancer in 1999 he fought it, using every means available, and with the help of some very fine doctors for 6 years. Thanks to the professionals at Texas Hematology and Oncology and M. D. Anderson Hospital in Houston with giving us many extra years with our father. Ed lived variously in Blair, Granite and Hugo Oklahoma, near Hood River, Oregon, Austin and the DFW area in Texas. Including his time in the United States Navy from 1949 to 1953, Ed spent right at 50 years in the service of our country's military, working for various defense contractors. These include: Collins Radio, Texas Instruments, LTV, Lockheed Martin, UTL and Boeing Defense. Ed was preceded in death by his parents, his brother Travis Warren Manning, his sister-in-law Bobby Jean Manning, his sisters Freda Joy Manning and Wanda June Tabor and grandchildren Jennifer Michelle Beazley and Ezekiel Dustin Manning. He is survived by his brother Nolan Howell Manning, his brother-in-law and best friend Roy Lee Tabor, his sons Evan Dale Manning and Eric Dawson Manning, his daughters Gena Marie Graf and Laura Michelle Braun and husband Tom, 5 grandchildren, T. J. Graf, Harvey Bautista, Kathy Lynn Graf, Anson I Manning, Michelle Marie Mole Manning and Eric Daniel Manning, 3 stepdaughters and 2 stepsons. Ed was very active in politics. A lifelong democrat, he served for a time as the Democratic Chairperson of Rockwall County and when too weak to fulfill that roll he served as an election judge and took on other responsibilities in Rockwall County politics. His favorite place to meet friends was at the Southern Junction Steak House in Rockwall County, where he served as the membership committee chairman and was considered the unofficial "Mayor". There he was christened with the moniker, "Mr. Ed", by his many good friends. We will all miss him greatly.
A Toast to A Wonderful Friend. Were thinking of you!
\
Paul, Thanks for taking our Photo!
Just a Few of Ed's Friends!
Very....Few!
Rich, Mike, Ed
Greg, Rich, Ed
When your friends loose their Hair, you just gotta follow the trend!
After Ed lost his, everyone was shaving their head'!
Mike, Clint, Ed
No one would ride the Bull, Till Ed got it going!
Judy dressed in 50's costume with ED.
There's that Tongue again!
And Again!
Strange 50's people sitting next to Ed.
This is Not! Coors Light?
Home at Last!
Relaxing at home!
The following pictures were taken at the Southern Junction Steak House 12/10/05
Ed's friends came to say Good Bye!
AT 3 o-clock James played a few waltz's in Ed's honor.
Just not enough Good Men to go around!
Mr. ED
We Love You!
And Miss you!
Your Friends......
In
lieu of flowers, please make a Donation to
If
you like, you can commemorate it in Honor of Mr. Ed.
Elvin
Dwain Manning
Or, if you prefer, we will be taking donations at
the Junction for the next two Weeks and will mail it to MD
How
do I make a memorial gift?
You can designate your
gift in memory or in honor of a special person by selecting Memorial/Honor Donation
when you access the Online Donation Form.
You may request a supply of pre-addressed donation envelopes via e-mail to giving@mdanderson.org
Or call (713)792-3450 or 1-800-525-5841 for assistance.
E-mail
giving@mdanderson.org
Mail
The
University of
You
can specify the type of cancer or a specific doctor you want your donation to go
to.
Just
write it on the bottom of the check.
Hematological Malignancies and Blood
and Marrow Transplantation
The departments of
leukemia, lymphoma and myeloma, and blood and marrow transplantation (BMT) are
included under the broad realm of this funding priority.
Mr
Ed had :
Lymphoma is a general term for cancers that develop in the lymphatic system (the tissues and organs that produce, store and carry white blood cells). Some of the promising areas of lymphoma research at M.D. Anderson focus on targeted radiation therapy in patients with relapsed mantle cell lymphoma; the role of CD26, a protein that may have the potential to control tumor growth; and vaccines for indolent lymphomas to prevent disease recurrence.
Here is the online donation Form. You can select a specific fund.
I.E.
: Specific fund or program, specify below * (e.g. Lymphoma)
Below are some of his friends memories.
Richard, I speak for several of us Southern Junctionites when I say THANK YOU for keeping us informed and up to date on the condition of Mr. Ed. I know you will miss him a lot as I thought you two were joined at the hip!! He so touched many of us just w/his simple, easy going way of life. I also remember his facial expressions when the ya ya's walked by. You had to be quick to see it sometimes, he was sneaky!! I will remember the most the many waltz's we danced together. Thank you for being such a good friend Richard, those kind of friends do not come around often and I know he and his family appreciated your kindness. Please let us know the further details as you receive them. Also about taking food or whatever the family might need over to their house. D.S.
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Though I didn't know him as well as many of the regulars at the S.J. he all ways treated me and D.J. as if we did. I've heard D.J. mention his name and legacy to many. Just how he'd prop that boot and had that smile and his growl. That's the way I'll always remember him, the smile on top of that bar stool and the growl when that lovely lady came by. We've both told friends and relatives about Ed, and we always thought that's what we doing when we reached his age, hanging out and having fun. Maybe just maybe the Junction will have a party in his honor this weekend, to celebrate his time with all of us. I'm sure Ed would approve. If so save me and D.J. a place at the bar we'd surely be there. An end to a era. God speed Mr. Ed. J.J.
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Of Ed telling me that I should slow down in dancing with Lori or she would get mad and she did, ED said I told you so, then give me that smile. K.H.
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Well, I have to say, that I will just miss the conversation and just seeing him there, but my all time favorite time spent with Ed was on the dance floor doing the Schottische. He was my only dance partner at the Junction that knew how or would do it. B.R.
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My favorite moment of Ed.... sitting at the bar, in complete silence, next to him. Then a waltz will come on and without one word he takes my hand and leads me to the dance floor. L.M.
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ED ALWAYS THOUGHT OF OTHERS BEFORE HIMSELF, WHEN I WAS GOING THROUGH A COUPLE OF CANCER SCARES MYSELF WHEN HE WOULD SEE ME HE WOULD ALWAYS ASK HOW I WAS DOING AND NEVER TALK TO MUCH ABOUT HIMSELF , BUT AS TIME WENT ON HE WOULD OPEN UP TO ME AND WE COULD TALK ABOUT EACH OTHERS PROBLEMS, WE BECAME GOOD FRIENDS OVER THE YEARS. I WILL MISS TALKING TO HIM ABOUT A LOT OF THINGS ( MUSIC & ETC ) . ED ALWAYS HAD A SMILE WHEN HE SAW A FRIEND ARE SOMEONE THE WAS JUST MEETING FOR THE FIRST TIME, HE WILL BE DEARLY MISSED. ONE OF ED'S MANY FRIENDS P.V.
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I am so sorry to hear about Ed. He was really a wonderful guy. I know that everyone will miss him at the junction. It won't seem quite the same without him. My thoughts and prayers go out to his family and his friends. You are the greatest person. My heart goes out to you also, I know that you will really miss him. P.J.
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Richard, there are so many fond memories of Mr. Ed it is hard to even begin. Most of the memories of him involve you. I think of the two of you getting me locked in between you two and rocking me back and forth. Then there were the times I stood there and would rub his leg and he would growl really big. That smile of his would light his eyes up and then he would stick his tongue out. He was one of those that when he smiled, he would smile all over. I remember when he was taking his treatments and lost his hair, what a good friend you were and shaved your head to make him feel better about being bald. Richard, there is no way to ever convey to you what this whole group has meant to me. We are all family as far as I am concerned. Thank you so much for keeping all of us informed about his health. Friends like you are rare and I treasure all my SJ friends. Love ya, Glenda
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Thanks for all the wonderful waltz’s we shared! I always looked forward to coming in and seeing Ed, getting my BIG hug and it wouldn’t have been the same without his growl. MMMMMMmmmmmmm! I will miss him sooo much, he was always so much fun to hang out with!
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Like most of you, I met Ed at S.J. I remember the 1st time I saw him. He was wearing a long black trench coat and I thought that he looked like a mean tough cattle drive boss & someone that you better not mess with. But as time went by, his big smile and friendly ways of this big gentle man gave him away as having a heart as big as a beach ball.. Ed fought a courageous battle with cancer for 7 years, but I never heard him complain or ask anyone for a favor, even when he was making two trips a week to Houston for treatments. Not too long ago, I asked him if I maybe could help by driving him to some of his treatments. It got his attention and for a moment or two he was in deep thought, but he never did ask me to take him. He didn't want to be a burden to anyone. A lesser man would have given up and quit a long time ago. He loved life but he wasn't afraid to die. Ed was well respected by people of all ages. Being closer to his age than any other of his S.J. friends, we talked about things his younger friends didn't know about, like the names of a lot of bars & clubs around Dallas he and I both have visited. Of course, all of these places have long been closed. Ed being raised just across Red River in Oklahoma and me on this side of Big Red, we also knew a lot of the same people. As some of you may not know, Ed was a pretty good musician in his days. A couple of years ago, he decided to put some of his music on CD's. He didn't get to finish doing that but he did record a couple of songs on a CD which I have a copy of. I took a picture one night of Ed at his favorite seat at S.J. and I am proud and honored that he selected this picture to put on the cover of his CD. If you have seen this picture, I think you'll agree that this is Mr. Ed as we knew him. He ran a good race, he fought a good fight! He will be missed by so many. It won't be the same at S.J. without him. I'm sure all of you will agree with me when I say that I think my life has been just a little bit better because I knew MR. ED! God bless you ED! My prayer is that you will be in Heaven a week before the devil knows you're dead. W.J.
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I can remember on more than one occasion that walking
into the Southern Junction I would often look to see if Mr. Ed was in his
seat. He would always smile and give all the woman a hug and greet the men with
a good old fashioned hand shake.
I have known him for along time and never NEVER did you ever hear him say a fowl
word about anyone. Just give him his pole and his Coors light and was as happy
as a lark. Mr. ED was the one who many
years ago taught my younger brother to dance and taught me how to Waltz. (the
right way). He will be greatly missed. The Junction just won't seem the same. I
am very honored to say that he was a great man and anyone who ever meet him rather
he knew you forever or just 10 minutes he never knew a stranger. He will be
greatly missed. K.A.
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Like all Ed’s many, many other friends at Southern Junction, I don’t just have one memory of Ed, but many. But for years to come, I will expect at any moment to see him burst through the door with the biggest smile on his face, hugging, shaking hands, and tipping his hat as he worked his way to “his seat”. He smiled through the pain and heartache, long trips to Houston, the drugs, and the chemo. I, too, remember hearing him say “I’ve had a good life. I’m ready to go at any time. No regrets.”
Well, Mr. Ed. If only you knew how many lives you have touched, how many smiles you have put on people’s faces, and how much hope you have given to others, when some thought there was not hope. You have been an inspiration to many and will be truly missed. But the memories will be sweet and long-lasting. Peace at last, Mr. Ed.
Millie Jean
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I'm sorry to hear about Ed. I know that he's going to be missed by a lot of folks. The good news is he won't have to listen to any more of that wrap music crap! The bad news is, he won't be there for me to bitch about it to him. He truly was a great person. A real no nonsense, tell it like it is gentleman, who always seemed to make you smile with just a simple hello and a hand shake. I'm sorry that I didn't get the chance to know him better; but I'm sure grateful for the time that I did know him. Please extend my condolences to his family. I'm sure he'll be waiting for all of us with a cold beer and a smile when we catch up with him. Take care. K.M.
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Thank you for the great tribute to our friend Mr. Ed. When I was playing with the house bands at the Southern Junction, one thing I always looked forward to was getting to see Ed. On the slow nights, when most everyone else had gone home, just having Ed sitting out there listening was enough to keep us inspired to try and do our best. When we’d come off the stage, Ed would always have something nice to say that would make us feel appreciated. As I watched him interact with the other employees and patrons, I could see that he treated everyone the same way. I don’t think there is anyone who worked there or just hung out there who wouldn’t consider Ed a friend. I’ll miss him, as I know a lot of people will. D.K.
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I have known Ed for many, many years. I first met Ed at "Cajun Catfish" in Rockwall. He always gave me a hard time because of my career as a Police Officer, and we shared a few laughs about it over the years. Life took me away from this area for a couple of years and I walked back into S. J. just to see who all was there last year. Who was the first person to see me and stick his hand out, MR. ED! He put his hand on my shoulder and asked me to sit next to him. We drank a few beers (I know that's a shock) and caught up on old times. Mr. Ed, always made me feel like a good friend and that he was glad to see me....In my line of work that's a rare commodity.. I learned a lot from Mr. Ed from how he treated people with respect and a kind word no matter where he was or how bad he felt. I always listened to his advice on matters over the years. The world has lost a great person and we have all lost a GREAT FRIEND!! His friendship will be missed by all, I know I will miss the times we shared. May God Bless Mr. Ed and his family in this difficult time. JWH/413
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To the family of Mr. Ed Manning: I didn't have an opportunity to ever meet "Mr. Ed" but I usually read obituaries everyday and just wanted to say your father seemed to be a GREAT man based on the many comments and memories posted in the website honoring him. I'm sure you and all the others will truly miss him! God bless each of you and may Mr. Ed rest in peace.... Vanessa Pleasant. Dallas, TX
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Thank you, Richard, for the great tribute to my Dad and thanks to all the folks who've said so many wonderful things about him. It is truly heartwarming to know that he touched so many lives in such a positive way. The task fell to me to call all the people on the list he made out and notify them of his passing. What could have been a great chore actually brought me great happiness. Everyone had great things to say about him and I could tell that they meant every word. It was so hard to not just break down and sob across the telephone line. I knew that Dad was greatly loved, but the huge outpouring of praise caught even me by surprise! I will probably never know another soul who will be so sorely missed by so many. Bye Dad. You've earned your rest.
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If you have a favorite Memory of Ed.
Please email it to r_thackerson@hotmail.com and I'll include it here.
You can also type you comments here and Submit. It will email me!
See more great pictures of Mr. ED.
Post Time Club Web page Dedicated to Mr. Ed.
The following are some Very touching stories from www.52best.com
You can subscribe and they will email you a great tear-jerker every Friday!
* Thanks for the Time *
It had been some time since Jack had seen the
old man. In the rush of his busy life, Jack had little time to think about the
past and often no time to spend with his wife and son. He was working on his
future, and nothing could stop him.
Over the phone, his mother told him, "Mr. Belser died last night. The
funeral is Wednesday." Memories flashed through his mind like an old
newsreel as he sat quietly remembering his childhood days.
"Jack, did you hear me?"
"Oh, sorry, Mom. Yes, I heard you. It's been so long since I thought of
him. I'm sorry, but I honestly thought he died years ago," Jack said.
"Well, he didn't forget you. Every time I saw him he'd ask how you were
doing. You know, Jack, after your father died, Mr. Belser stepped in to make
sure you had a man's influence in your life," she said.
"He's the one who taught me carpentry, I wouldn't be in this business if it
weren't for him. He spent a lot of time teaching me things he thought were
important...Mom, I'll be there for the funeral," Jack said.
As busy as he was, he kept his word. Jack caught the next flight to his
hometown. Mr. Belser's funeral was small and uneventful. He had no children of
his own, and most of his relatives had passed away.
The night before he had to return home, Jack and his Mom stopped by to see the
old house next door one more time.
Standing in the doorway, Jack paused for a moment. It was like crossing over
into another dimension, a leap through space and time. The house was exactly as
he remembered. Every step held memories. Every picture, every piece of
furniture....Jack stopped suddenly.
"What's wrong, Jack?" his Mom asked.
"The box is gone," he said.
"What box? " Mom asked.
"There was a small gold box that he kept locked on top of his desk. I must
have asked him a thousand times what was inside. All he'd ever tell me was 'the
thing I value most,'" Jack said.
It was gone. Everything about the house was exactly how Jack remembered it,
except for the box. He figured someone from the Belser family had taken it.
"Now I'll never know what was so valuable to him," Jack said. "I
better get some sleep. I have an early flight home, Mom."
It had been about two weeks since Mr. Belser died. Returning home from work one
day Jack discovered a note in his mailbox.
"Signature required on a package. No one at home. Please stop by the main
post office within the next three days," the note read.
Early the next day Jack retrieved the package. The small box was old and looked
like it had been mailed a hundred years ago. The handwriting was difficult to
read, but the return address caught his attention.
"Mr. Harold Belser" it read.
Jack took the box out to his car and ripped open the package. There inside was
the gold box and an envelope. Jack's hands shook as he read the note inside.
"Upon my death, please forward this box and its contents to Jack Bennett.
It's the thing I valued most in my life."
A small key was taped to the letter. His heart racing, as tears filling his
eyes, Jack carefully unlocked the box. There inside he found a beautiful gold
pocket watch.
Running his fingers slowly over the finely etched casing, he unlatched the
cover.
Inside he found these words engraved: "Jack, Thanks for your time! Harold
Belser."
"The thing he valued most...was...my time."
Jack held the watch for a few minutes, then called his office and cleared his
appointments for the next two days.
"Why?" Janet, his assistant asked.
"I need some time to spend with my son," he said.
"Oh, by the way, Janet...thanks for your time!"
~ The Author is Bob Perks who is also a Professional Speaker, Vocalist,
and member of the National Writers Association with his web site being: www.BobPerks.com.
Bob also has a new story web site at: www.iwishyouenough.com
where readers can sign up to receive three stories per week with his message
"I Believe in You!" ~
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* What My Father Wore *
What my father wore embarrassed me as a young
man. I wanted him to dress like a doctor or lawyer, but on those muggy mornings
when he rose before dawn to fry eggs for my mother and me, he always dressed
like my father.
We lived in south Texas, and my father wore tattered jeans with the imprint of
his pocketknife on the seat. He liked shirts that snapped more than those that
buttoned and kept his pencils, cigars, glasses, wrenches and screwdrivers in his
breast pocket.
My father's boots were government-issues with steel toes that made them
difficult to pull off his feet, which I sometimes did when he returned from
repairing air conditioners, his job that also shamed me.
But, as a child, I'd crept into his closet and modeled his wardrobe in front of
the mirror. My imagination transformed his shirts into the robes of kings and
his belts into soldiers' holsters. I slept in his undershirts and relied on the
scent of his collars to calm my fear of the dark.
Within a few years, though, I started wishing my father would trade his denim
for khaki and retire his boots for loafers. I stopped sleeping in his clothes
and eventually began dreaming of another father.
I blamed the way he dressed for my social failures. When boys bullied me, I
thought they'd seen my father wearing his cowboy hat but no shirt while walking
our dog.
I felt that girls snickered at me because they'd glimpsed him mowing the grass
in cut-offs and black boots. The girls' families paid men (and I believed
better-dressed ones) to landscape their lawns, while their fathers yachted in
the bay wearing lemon-yellow sweaters and expensive sandals.
My father only bought two suits in his life. He preferred clothes that allowed
him the freedom to shimmy under cars and squeeze behind broken Maytags, where he
felt most content.
But the day before my parents' twentieth anniversary, he and I went to Sears,
and he tried on suits all afternoon. With each one, he stepped to the mirror,
smiled and nodded, then asked about the price and reached for another. He
probably tried ten suits before we drove to a discount store and bought one
without so much as approaching a fitting room. That night my mother said she'd
never seen a more handsome man.
Later, though, he donned the same suit for my eighth- grade awards banquet, and
I wished he'd stayed home. After the ceremony (I'd been voted Mr. Citizenship,
of all things), he lauded my award and my character while changing into a faded
red sweat suit.
He was stepping into the garage to wash a load of laundry when I asked what even
at age fourteen struck me as cruel and wrong.
"Why," I asked, "don't you dress 'nice,' like my friends'
fathers?"
He held me with his sad, shocked eyes, and searched for an answer. Then before
he disappeared into the garage and closed the door between us, my father said,
"I like my clothes."
An hour later my mother stormed into my room, slapped me hard across the face
and called me an "ungrateful little twerp," a phrase that echoed in my
head until they resumed speaking to me.
In time they forgave me, and as I matured I realized that girls avoided me not
because of my father but because of his son. I realized that my mother had
slapped me because my father could not, and it soon became clear that what he
had really said that night was that there are things more important than
clothes.
He'd said he couldn't spend a nickel on himself because there were things I
wanted. That night, without another word, my father had said,
"You're my son, and I sacrifice so your life will be better than
mine."
For my high-school graduation, my father arrived in a suit he and my mother had
purchased earlier that day. Somehow he seemed taller, more handsome and
imposing, and when he passed the other fathers they stepped out of his way. It
wasn't the suit, of course, but the man.
The doctors and lawyers recognized the confidence in his swagger, the pride in
his eyes, and when they approached him, they did so with courtesy and respect.
After we returned home, my father replaced the suit in the flimsy Sears garment
bag, and I didn't see it again until his funeral.
I don't know what he was wearing when he died, but he was working, so he was in
clothes he liked, and that comforts me. My mother thought of burying him in the
suit from Sears, but I convinced her otherwise and soon delivered a pair of old
jeans, a flannel shirt and his boots to the funeral home.
On the morning of the services, I used his pocketknife to carve another hole in
his belt so it wouldn't droop around my waist. Then I took the suit from Sears
out of his closet and changed into it. Eventually, I mustered the courage to
study myself in his mirror where, with the exception of the suit, I appeared
small and insignificant.
Again, as in childhood, the clothes draped over my scrawny frame. My father's
scent wafted up and caressed my face, but it failed to console me. I was
uncertain: not about my father's stature - I'd stopped being an ungrateful
little twerp years before.
No, I was uncertain about myself, my own stature. And I stood there for some
time, facing myself in my father's mirror, weeping and trying to imagine - as I
will for the rest of my life - the day I'll grow into my father's clothes.
~ The Author is
Bret Anthony Johnston
~ DADDY'S EMPTY CHAIR ~
A man's daughter had asked the local minister to come and pray with her father.
When the minister arrived, he found the man lying in bed with his head propped up on two pillows.
An empty chair sat beside his bed. The minister assumed that the old fellow had been informed of his visit.
"I guess you were expecting me, he said."
'No, who are you?' said the father.
The minister told him his name and then remarked,
"I saw the empty chair and I figured you knew I was going to show up," "Oh yeah, the chair," said the bedridden man. "Would you mind closing the door?"
Puzzled, the minister shut the door.
"I have never told anyone this, not even my daughter," said the man. "But all of my life I have never known how to pray."
At church I used to hear the pastor talk about prayer, but it went right over my head. I abandoned any attempt at prayer," the old man continued, "until one day four years ago, my best friend said to me, "Johnny, prayer is just a simple matter of having a conversation with Jesus. Here is what I suggest."
"Sit down in a chair; place an empty chair in front of you, and in faith see Jesus on the chair.
It's not spooky because he promised, 'I will be with you always'.
"Then just speak to him in the same way you're doing with me right now."
"So, I tried it and I've liked it so much that I do it a couple of hours every day. I'm careful though If my daughter saw me talking to an empty chair, she'd either have a nervous breakdown or send me off to the funny farm."
The minister was deeply moved by the story and encouraged the old man to continue on the journey Then he prayed with him, anointed him with oil, and returned to the church.
Two nights later the daughter called to tell the minister that her daddy had died that afternoon.
Did he die in peace?" he asked.
Yes, when I left the house about two o'clock, he called me over to his bedside, told me he loved me and kissed me on the cheek. When I got back from the store an hour later, I found him dead. But there was something strange about his death.
Apparently, just before Daddy died, he leaned over and rested his head on the chair beside the bed. What do you make of that?"
The minister wiped a tear from his eye and said, "I wish we could all go like that."