Day 119 - A Tribute To The Fallen

On Friday, June 12th, 2009, one of my faithful supporters was sadly taken from us. Shirley Hoyer, life mate & adored companion of my beloved grandfather, died suddenly and quite unexpectedly of a massive heart attack. Her passing leaves a hole in many hearts, and she will be deeply missed. Shirley was a cherished family member and faithful member of my support staff. She offered frequent encouragement of my aeronautical passions, and assisted other members of the staff by printing the contents of this blog for my less-than-computer-savvy grandfather so that he too could have a glimpse into the daily life a fledgling pilot. So dedicated she was, that with each update she, albeit inadvertently, reprinted the blog in its entirety. This suggests to me that a massive anthology exists somewhere in Mt. Juliet (each stack a little taller than the previous), and that the proprietors of various paper manufacturers and office suppliers are quite pleased with her performance.
Kidding aside though, her passing gives me cause to reflect upon those that have helped, loved, and supported me, and have since departed. In no particular order, the following are brief tributes to the other fans of the Lloyd whom, like Shirley, are no longer with us today.

Mary “Nana” McCormack – My dear grandmother. A staunch supporter of my aviation career, to be sure. Some of the fondest memories I have of my most primal fantasies of aviation revolve around the commuter flights I took to Tuscaloosa to visit my grandmother. Nana was one of my biggest fans; so much so that she thought everyone else was a fan, also. This is how ended up on several memorable adventures, to include breaking in to a closed museum because HER grandson wanted to go in, run-ins with law enforcement for illegally detonating pyrotechnics within the Tuscaloosa city limits because HER grandson wanted to, and getting stranded in Montgomery after I decided that a cross-town bus ride was in order (apparently we didn’t catch the part about it being a one-way trip). It was just beyond Nana’s comprehension that the driver would not go out of his way to return THE Joey to his point of origin. “But this is my grandson! MY grandson!” Do you see where I get my delusions of grandeur come from?

Bob “Papaw” Lee – Avid fan, loyal defender, faithful supporter of my aspirations, and huge contributor to my warped sense of humor and obnoxious-- err, I mean, creative forms of self-expression. Throughout the formative years of my life, Papaw nurtured my eccentricities by purchasing for me the loudest, most obscenely obnoxious toys and gadgets that he could find (a trumpet comes to mind), and providing me an endless stream of grouchy old man-isms to add to my repertoire. After all, what is a pilot without a penchant for toys and noise and the obligatory dry sense of humor? But more than that, he was a devoted advocate of my success, and vicious opponent to any that stood contrary to it. Just ask any one of the endless stream of umpires that he mercilessly heckled, harassed, and berated throughout my Pee Wee baseball career. The only man I ever knew that got thrown out of a Little League baseball game.

Bill Gilley – Without a doubt, one of the most intelligent men I’ve ever met. Truly a genius. Mr. Gilley knew something (usually a lot) about everything, and there was not a day that we were together that I didn’t learn something. Mr. Gilley played a vital role in my continued success by igniting certain flames within me that would eventually grow and manifest themselves in ways that would have far-reaching impacts on my life. Mr. Gilley introduced me to public service through the American Red Cross, and also ignited my enjoyment of teaching by ushering me into service as a Lifeguard Instructor. These pursuits would later serve as a catalyst for my foray into EMS and firefighting. He was also an amazing supporter of my passion for aviation. Whether it be from bringing souvenirs from his annual trip to Sun ‘N Fun, or just endless conversation as we rode all over creation in that little black car, he always evoked my passion for aviation and offered relentless encouragement. His confidence in me was astounding, as he was primarily responsible for the Red Cross (much to their continued dismay) appointing me both the youngest Board Member and Lifeguard Instructor in county history. I point out this fact not to draw attention to myself, but to illustrate the stellar support that I enjoyed from Mr. Gilley. All that happened solely because he went out on a limb and believed in me. Or perhaps it was a subversive plot to exact perpetual retribution on the organization by releasing a madman into the ranks. Either way, I like it!

Jim “Pa Jim” Braxton – The man that taught me how to drive (and operate) a fire engine, and also the first person to ever dub me “Alan” of Two And A Half Men fame. I also suspect him to be the architect of a vast global conspiracy, considering that everyone in the English-speaking world now apparently draws the exact same parallels between me and the fictional character. Thanks, Jim. And while not a direct link to my aviation career, Pa Jim has indirectly impacted it in immeasurable ways. He taught me so many things in the time we spent together. These include, but are not limited to, how to cuss at passing cars on wreck scenes, how to outrage blue-haired old women, how to run a rolling blockade on a highway, and how to sufficiently mortify any curious passerby from ever again inquiring about the severity of a car wreck. (“Yeah, there’s 10 or 12 dead up under there. There’s bodies everywhere. Get on outta here.”). More importantly though, he gave me life lessons. He taught me about calm and calculated control, leadership under pressure, and valiant decision-making against insurmountable odds. This education has been applied to my flying with fantastic results. And as is the case of the other watchdogs, more than one individual met comeuppance and the wrath of Pa Jim after messing with me. Two years departed now, Jim’s spirit and his trademark skid lid hat go everywhere with me. The photo taken of me and the rest of the department honor guard during his funeral is one of my most prized possessions, and sits on my dresser in Jasper at this very moment. And I still hate a paper route.


Ok, so before you condemn me for disrespecting the dead by utilizing humor in their tribute, let me just ask you one question: How exactly do you think I got like this? I didn’t just wake up this warped, it takes the fantastic input of very special people. People like the ones listed above. The aforementioned statements utilized humor because all five of my departed fans would have wanted it that way. They each had a hand in molding the person I am today, and they each would appreciate a light-hearted approach to the amazing lives they led. Besides, this post isn’t for you, anyway. It’s for them.

So anyway, Shirley, we’re gonna miss you. Thank you for everything did for me, and thank you for accomplishing the unimaginable task of keeping my grandfather on the straight and narrow for the last 16 years. He means the world to me, and I thank you for looking after him. I’m sorry that you, Nana, Papaw, Bill, and Jim won’t make it to the finish line with me, but just know that this one’s for y’all.


Joey

AUTHOR'S NOTE: For some reason, in the original post, I stated that Shirley passed away on February 12th. In fact, she passed away this previous Friday; well into the month of June.