The Coat of Many Colors

Dear Boo and Bubble,

Several posts back, I mentioned one of your great granddaddy Schaefer’s best friends, Charles Sterling, who was affectionately known to all as “Sweetie.”  You may recall that we always watched the Christmas parade from his office window at The Greenville News

Many traits come to my mind when I think of Sweetie - the ever present twinkle in his eye; the slight wheeze that underscored his ready laugh; his marvelous sense of humor that fostered many a practical joke.  But Sweetie had one other significant trademark.  He was a snazzy dresser who much preferred bright colors and pastels in his sport jackets and pants to the more somber browns, grays and blues that most men wore. 

At a party, you might spot him in a soft pink jacket with powder blue pants accented by a yellow tie, or maybe a green jacket with yellow pants and a pastel polo shirt.  On anybody else, it might have looked out of kilter, but on Sweetie it worked.  When the multi-colored madras fabrics came to market, Sweetie embraced the fad. I think what he wore, more than anything, reflected who he was – a lighthearted, generous free spirit who found absolute joy in his family and friends.

Way too soon for all of us, Sweetie died. I don’t remember the exact year, but things were never the same afterwards.  A few weeks later, his widow Mary called granddaddy Schaefer and asked him if he would like to look through Sweetie’s clothes to see if there was anything he might want.  It was a very thoughtful gesture and very intuitive on Mary’s part.  She knew that Sweetie would take great delight in having his best buddy perpetuate his fashion statement.

Granddaddy’s closet was utilitarian and suggested the fact that he was both an attorney and frugal.  He selected his suits for their appropriateness in either court or church.  You might find color in a sweater or two folded on the shelf above the hanging rod, but that was about it.  When he came home from Mary’s, he carried several vintage-Sweetie sport coats, pants, shirts and ties.  Putting them in the closet, it looked like an artist’s palette with yellows, pinks, blues, and greens lined up one next to the other on the hangers.

Some time after that, Mamaw Mary and Granddaddy Schaefer were chosen by the First Baptist Church congregation in Greenville as messengers to the Southern Baptist Convention.  They were very active in the church, but had never accepted appointments as messengers before.  This time, though, they were motivated by two factors – the attempted coups by right-wing fundamentalists to take over the direction of the Baptist denomination; and the location of the convention.  It would be in Houston, TX, which was Mamaw’s birthplace.

They decided to combine their convention duties with a visit home for her, taking a few weeks to drive along the Gulf Coast through Alabama, Mississippi and Louisiana as they went.  As the time approached to leave, Granddaddy began to plan what he would take to wear. He made some selections from Sweetie’s clothes and carefully packed them in his suitcase. 

They arrived in Houston, checked into a hotel and found their way to the Astrodome, where the convention would be held.  The influx of fundamentalists had swelled the number of messengers to almost 20,000 and they couldn’t believe the sea of humanity swirling around the Astrodome.  They checked in and received their credentials which included the paddles used for voting on any resolutions or policies brought forward for consideration by the convention.

A couple of days into the meeting, Dad decided to break out some of Sweetie’s clothes.  He picked a light pink sport jacket and some green pants with a soft yellow polo shirt.  Not wanting to break the ambiance of the ensemble with black, brown or white socks, he did something unheard of for him.  He slipped his bare feet into his loafers. 

They grabbed up their credentials, left the hotel and went to the Astrodome.  It had become apparent that this particular convention was actually a battle for the soul of the Baptist denomination.  The fundamentalists had not only changed the makeup of the Southern Baptist Convention, they had brought with them a set of issues never before considered by the whole body.  Among them were the exclusion of women from ordination and the exclusion of gays from the faith.

On this particular day, the major business would be the resolution on gays.  The procedure was to raise your paddle either for or against the resolution when the question was called.  After hours of tirades about the sinful lifestyle of gays and their willful and wanton alienation from God, the call finally came for a vote. 

The messengers in favor of the resolution prohibiting gays from inclusion in the denomination produced a sea of paddles waving enthusiastically throughout the Astrodome.  The nays produced only a handful, including Mamaw and Granddaddy.  The number was so minuscule by comparison that the location of each paddle stood out like a sore thumb and the vast majority of messengers duly noted who these dissenters were.

After the vote, Granddaddy leaned over to Mamaw and excused himself to go to the bathroom.  He stood up and began sliding down the packed row of seats to the exit.  The occupiers of the seats had not failed to notice how your great grandparents voted and they drew themselves up into tight balls as Granddaddy’s pink jacket, green pants, yellow shirt and sockless feet passed by.  He made his way to the men’s room where a long line of messengers spilled out from the entrance into the hall.  As he came up to the group, they observed him and his rainbow attire and, like the parting of the Red Sea, split right down the middle, giving him unfettered access to the urinals waiting behind the wall.

The men already inside the restroom became apoplectic as he strolled in. 

He grinned and nodded knowingly to the flustered, paranoid fellows.  It was all he could do not to break into all-out laughter.  Granddaddy knew that Sweetie’s spirit was there, though, sitting right on his shoulder, enjoying the heck out of the situation.