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Joseph Alexander Stanley, Jr
My name is Hunter Stanley and I am proud to be Joe Stanley's
son.
My father was an interesting man. He proudly hailed from Jackson, Alabama. He loved everything about that part of
the country. He loved the heat, he
loved spanish moss and catalpa worm trees. He loved the brightness of the moon and the stars and he
loved the Tombigbee River. He
loved to go hunting in places called Pelma's Newground, Buffalo
Bottom, Barnge's Eddy, the Gopher Holes. He loved being on a deer drive and
hearing the same old speech my Great Uncle Delmar Chastain would give before
each hunt. He loved running trot
lines and seining the river for minnows...and the occasional unwanted
Cottonmouth. He loved looking for
sign in the woods...deer sign, Turkey sign...any sign that any living thing had
left... He loved teaching his
little boy the difference between the footprints of a Buck and a Doe. He loved drinking from a particular
freshwater spring. He loved
shaking the nests of squirrels in hopes that that same little boy would finally
hit one with a twenty two rifle that was older than both of us combined. He loved camping on the sandbar and
cooking breakfast over the smoldering garnets of a charcoal fire. He loved the old camp...and he loved
the new one. He loved eating
catfish at places called Overstreet's and Bobby's and Miss Kitty's and Pops and
Ezell's. He believed there was no
finer steak sandwich than the one found at Billy's Burger House on Coffeeville
Road in Jackson...and I'd have to agree.
He loved counting hawks on Highway 5 between Marion and "The
Spot". He loved going to the
family garden with Daddy Doc to pick out his very own watermelon on a hot
Summer day. He loved picking peas
and okra with his mother in that same garden...he was proud of the fact that no
matter how hard he worked, her basket would always outweigh his... He loved his mother's cooking...and so
did everybody else in Clarke County...
She passed away a little over 20 years ago and the old timers at First
Baptist Jackson still talk about her chicken pie. He loved his Daddy's love for community and sense of
caring. He also loved his dry wit
and charm. Once dad borrowed the
family car to go on a date. He ran
out gas and called his father for assistance. Instead of bringing a gas can, the man I called Paw Paw
brought a chain and his old pickup truck and towed Daddy and his date to the
nearest gas station. Daddy was
embarrassed at the time, but he loved telling that story. He loved poetry and he loved music and
he loved numbers. He loved
aphorisms and clever quotes. His
wit, in my experience, was unmatched by anyone I know. He loved Auburn Football. He did not love the University of
Alabama. He loved talking about
how much he did not love the University of Alabama. He loved traveling.
He loved trying different kinds of foods. He loved ice
cream and he loved caramel cake.
He loved playing games with his family. In truth, he would have loved watching paint dry...as long
as he was watching it with his family in the room.
These things shaped him.
He loved Jr and Delmar and Joe and Gene Downey and Rusty and
Mae and Luke and all their spouses and children and grandchildren. He loved Dr Grady Ketcham, and Coach
John Simpkins. He loved Carolyn
Rudder and Ada Chastain and his Grandmother Cora Mae Downey Chastain and his
grandfather, Dock Lamartine Chastain who he and so many others called Daddy
Dock or Papa Dock. He loved his
sister Kay and her husband Billy and their children and grandchildren. He loved his mother Merle and his
father Alex. he loved Katie and he
loved me. He loved our spouses,
Anna and Drew, and even our friends as if they were his own. He loved his grandsons, Alex, Chase,
Hank, Jackson, and Zip...even though he wished at least one of them would have
been a girl... He loved
"Nay" and he loved "Z". If there are angels among us, I believe "Z" is one
of them. God sent her to us...I am
fully convinced of that. He loved
Matt and Kitty Wendling...and they loved him. More than anyone on this earth, he loved his dear sweet
Peggy. He loved her with a fierce
and joyous and reckless and beautiful love.
These people shaped him...and he shaped them.
He loved God and he loved worshipping Him. He loved building relationships and
encouraging others. There were
times in college and Divinity school when I started to question and wrestle
with issues of doctrine and theological perspective. Daddy always, without fail, brought me back to center of
things by reminding me, in a strong but gentle voice, of the two greatest
commandments. I can still hear him
now, "Hunter, just focus on loving God and loving your neighbor and
everything else will fall into place". He never said it would be easy or that it would always make
sense, but he always pointed me in the direction of Jesus' admonition. He believed in the wonder and mystery
of God. He believed that he did
not have all the answers and, for him, that made the whole idea of Faith that
much more wonderful and beautiful.
I am thankful for being allowed to be around that kind of humble wisdom
for so long. He believed that God
loves and protects us and that, while we should strive to do the right thing,
God's forgiveness is bigger than us.
This love and these principles defined him.
How did these things and people and divine love define him?
Dad believed in being tough, but he also believed in love and
patience. He did not put up with
whining or complaining, but if you ever had a problem that you were wrestling
with, you wouldn't find a better listener than Joe Stanley. For example: If I skinned my knee as a child, he would first ask me if I
had damaged the concrete when I fell, then he would tell me that my leg would
stop hurting when I stopped thinking about it... On the other hand, if I had a broken heart or a difficult
decision to make, he would listen to me all night if he thought it would help.
And because of his love and his openness and his humility, I
can say, without hesitation that I could and did talk to him about
anything. How many sons can truly
say that about their father? Sure,
there are plenty of very good men out there. Men who love their children in healthy and wonderful
ways. But how many of them have
the kind of relationship with their sons and daughters that Katie and I had
with ours? I fear that we took it
for granted. Now, as we grow older
and have sons of our own, we both realize just how rare that trust is...and how
blessed we are to have been exposed to it for so long. Dad was approachable. I hope and pray that I will be able to
foster the same sort of relationship with my children and Katie with hers.
He taught Katie and I to be strong but to be kind and he
taught us by example. He loved and
protected us with great zeal. He
did not allow us to brag on ourselves, but he bragged on us plenty. He wanted us to be approachable and
caring. He made us look people in
the eye. He and Mom believed that
if they could teach us to put others first...to hang on those two
aforementioned commandments...then everything else would fall into place.
He taught and lead by example. I've watched him rub shoulders with men society has deemed
important. I've watched those same
men speak freely with Dad. I've
watched them being drawn to him like a magnet. On the other hand, I've been with him in areas and with
people that society might not deem so important...and he had the same
effect. It was uncanny to
watch. Everyone loved him. Waiters and waitresses would take care
of him as if they were related to him.
He had this way of setting people at ease. He was at home talking about C.S. Lewis or Louis
Grizzard. It was not a salesman's
trick, but it was genuine caring.
Genuine and authentic caring and love. Loving neighbors...regardless of their social standing,
their gender, their race, their sexual orientation. We've heard countless stories of the fairness he displayed
while he was a manager with Bellsouth.
Dad, even though he might be in complete disagreement on a political or
spiritual level, was able to relate.
I watched it happen with a tattooed waitress in Asheville, NC, and a
hardened farmer in rural Alabama.
It was truly uncanny. This
is the sort of love Jesus put in him and if Dad were standing here today, he'd
give credit where credit is due.
He loved us with a careful, protective, zealous love.
He loved Katie by being what a father should be to a
daughter. He was always
available. Katie is pretty and
smart but, even if she wasn't, he would have told her she was. He modeled for her what she should
expect from a man. If it hadn't
been for Dad's model, I doubt she would have chosen so fine a man as my
brother-in-law, Drew Cochran. I'm
very protective of her - so those aren't empty words. When Katie got married, Dad committed to take lunch to her
once a week so that he could sit with her at her place of employment to share a
meal. He loved her deeply and
dearly.
He loved me by simply being present and persistent. He taught me to hunt and fish and how
to throw a ball. He also
encouraged me to pursue my love for writing songs and poetry. He enjoyed listening to things I had
written...no matter how bad they were.
If I asked him to read a book, he would, without fail, read it. He would be honest about his opinion of
it, but he would read it. He met
me for lunch on a weekly basis as well.
In college, I had a failed attempt to be a ski bum in Colorado. He met me at the Birmingham Greyhound
Station at 3am. I had ridden a bus
for 48 hours from Vail, CO. I was
standing with my new buddies - one of whom was holding his prize fighting
rooster under his arm (see- I have a bit of my dad's magnetic authenticity as
well - I'm just not as good at pointing it in the right direction!). Dad never uttered a word of "I
told you so" but, like the prodigal's father, he embraced me on that cold
morning and drove me home.
He loved my mother more than I have ever known any man to
love a woman. They survived
Vietnam...and they survived Baton Rouge.
Not quite the same but Mama always said south Louisiana was like another
country. Mama has said several
times over the past couple of years that she was unaware of just how much he
did for her. He handled
everything. He helped around the
house and in the kitchen. He took
care of finances and yard work and made sure that she knew she was precious to
him on a daily basis. When he was
able, he would cut fresh fruit for her in the mornings and simply spend time
with her. He loved her and she
loves him. I will say that, while
she will deny it, my mother is an easy person to love and if Dad could be
standing here speaking, he would make that very clear to everyone here. She is a precious and generous soul and
she has insight into human suffering that many of us will never know. She is a true hero to our family and we
hope that we can somehow attain a fraction of the strength she has displayed.
I'll end with something I heard yesterday. A dear friend's father passed away the
day before Dad did. Anna and I
attended the funeral. It was at St
George Greek Melkite Catholic Church.
The priest shared something I thought to be profound. He said that the devil loves funerals
because he wants you to think, "this is it...this is the end". He went on to say that, in the early
Christian Church, funeral attendees would not greet each other with "I'm
sorry", but they would say "the Messiah comes...Christ is
risen". Dad would understand
our need to grieve our loss, but he would want us to say, "the Messiah
comes...Christ is risen". He
would want his life and legacy to point us towards the hope and renewal of the
Gospel.
Thank you from the bottom of our hearts. Our family loves each one of you. Daddy loved each one of you.
"The Messiah comes...Christ is risen".
