Remembering Claude and Tank
Published 3:43 pm Friday, April 17, 2020
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By Garland O. Goodwin
Remember When column
I am so sorry to lose a great friend so young! Claude and I go back many, many years; don’t remember how we met. I always visited Claude when I went by on the road, because he never stopped working on whatever was on the wheel while we chatted.
He knew his craft in depth; I learned this when I invited him to do a program for us at a Polk County Historical Association meeting. Claude enjoyed producing unique pieces, often whimsical. Of course, he had many “standard” pieces that he kept in stock; he made lots of these while we visited.
Claude Graves was a born showman. His kiln openings were circus events with all sorts of entertainment and goodies to be shared. Each gift of the kiln was admired before being handed to the lucky one waiting eagerly with hands outstretched.
I was fortunate to attend several of these; Claude generously allowed me to bring my books to sell from a table outside. There were all sorts of fellow artisans in attendance, mostly musicians. I especially enjoyed the edibles provided by Elaine and Claude’s Mom, Virginia. I regularly visited Virginia more recently in White Oak’s assisted living facility until her passing.
The old guy just reached his 90th birthday without incident on April 7th . . . strode with confidence to the breakfast table—no doddering or shuffling or grabbing walls for security! First, checking fasting blood sugar—too high! Next, opening my cards in the computer, finding many heartfelt greetings. Fran is almost grieving that her and son Thomas’s best-laid plans for my birthday parties had to be cancelled . . .
But she rallied when I opened her well-kept secret gift: She had cross-stitched Magee’s poem “High Flight” for me! It is beautiful in its simplicity, its blue frame with touches of white suggesting clouds. John Gillespie Magee Jr. was only nineteen when he put his poem together; an RCAF pilot, he had taken his Spitfire to 33,000 feet before completing the poem when he landed. He was killed shortly afterward in a mid-air collision . . . but he was flying the newest Spitfire in a four-plane formation of his friends. He got the canopy open and bailed out, but he was too low for his parachute to open.
I think Fran wanted to do Magee’s poem for me because I loved to take our airplane up into God’s sky and there ponder whatever in our lives needed some Divine wisdom. I landed with assurance that I had been closer to my Maker and my Savior.
We lost another “big” member of our community on my birthday: one James “Tank” Waters. I had met Tank ‘way back when he was with the Sheriff’s Department and had followed his progression to Chief of the Tryon Fire Department.
I had only a nodding acquaintance with Tank, but I deeply love his Mom and her parents. Janet waited on me at Cowan’s Hardware whenever Jim had not come in yet. I remember visiting our friends on Trade Street with my late brother Bill, finding Jim in the grocery, always working. Bill would chide Jim about coming out of the huddle, gleefully rubbing his hands together when they played football for Tryon High. I always wanted to hear Jim’s train whistle and muted trumpet—one more time!
I learned that Pat Cowan also had piano lessons with Mrs. Mazzy. She and Jim passed their musical talent down to Woody. I used to tune pianos for Woody at Tryon Elementary, always marveling at his incredible rapport with his students.
We are gonna have to go on with our lives without two more folks who contributed so much to our community. Sure, we’ve done this before, and recently, but it doesn’t get any easier, does it?