A Story Worth Telling

Captain John Hance Making a Return Visit

It was Halloween, 2012. Darkness had fallen, and with it, the temperature. Through the branches of ancient pines a full moon was visible, steadily ascending over the Shrine of the Ages Chapel. The south rim of the Grand Canyon was a short hike away. Surrounding me were stones, some large, some small; some polished, some weather-worn. With me was my wife, walking carefully in the dim light of the kerosene lantern to avoid twisting one of her twin titanium knees. Our guide was Captain John Hance, a Grand Canyon pioneer, one of the very first settlers to call the Grand Canyon home. Captain Hance is known for two things:

 

1. Promoting the Grand Canyon to tourists; and

 

2. Telling tall tales.

 

Oh, yeah . . . did I mention Captain Hance died in the flu epidemic of 1919? Or that he was the very first person buried in the Grand Canyon Pioneers Cemetery where we stood, his grave marked by a tall, thin stone?

 

He did, and he was.

 

Actually, it wasn't the real Captain John Hance - just a talented impersonator.

 

So he said.

 

As the would-be spirit of Captain Hance led us slowly, silently, in the darkness, he often set his lantern down in front of a headstone and began to speak. "Each person's life is a story and needs to be retold" he said at each stop.

 

And then he would tell the story of the person whose earthly remains we stood near.

 

"These are the graves of pioneer photographers Ellsworth and Emery Kolb" he said. "Kolb Studio clings to the edge of the Grand Canyon to this day."

 

"This is the grave of William Wallace Bass. He set up a stagecoach line to bring tourists to the Grand Canyon. There were two liars in this area in his day, and he was both of them!"

 

Mixing the somber with the humorous, the spirit of Captain Hance ended our guided tour at his own grave. "I'm sure glad you visited the Grand Canyon" he said. "You may not have heard, but I dug it!" (Did I mention Captain Hance sometimes stretched the truth?)   But he wasn't joking when he said, in closing, "Our time here on earth is short. It is important to retell the stories of those who have come before us. Make sure YOUR story is worth telling!"

 

Twenty-four hours later my wife and I had just finished eating carry-out bbq in a motel room in Page, Arizona when my wife's phone rang.  It was bad news.   My mom's life story had just ended, suddenly, unexpectedly.  After spending a beautiful day with my dad and brother,  like the gentle way she lived, she gently left this life. "I think it will be exciting to see what's next" she once said.

 

And now she is.

 

Born in Detroit, Michigan on January 14, 1930, my mom married my dad on September 19, 1947 in Vinita, Oklahoma. She was 17. He was 18. Within 3 years they had two babies, both boys. In September we helped celebrate their 65th wedding anniversary. Like all lives, hers wasn't always easy, wasn't always happy.   But she was our rock.  My mom left this life on November 1, 2012 in Jefferson City, Mo.   Her story will continue to be told in the lives of her children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren.

 

It's a story worth telling.