Gathering for Jim Brock's funeral in 2009. Jim Brock was a good friend of Maraley McMichael's father, and she kept up a correspondence with him.
Headstone for J.W. Brock, father of Jim Brock, who was born in 1827, served as a doctor during the Civil War, and fathered Jim Brock at the age of 78. Jim Brock died at 106 in 2009 in his hometown of LaRussell, Missouri, but he had time in Alaska in the 1950s, where he formed a friendship with Maraley McMichael's father.
Maraley and Gary McMichael's visit to LaRussell, Missouri, in late 2009 coincided with the funeral of Jim Brock, a friend of Maraley's father with whom she maintained a correspondence for many years.
My husband Gary and I were snowbirds back in 2009. Having left our kids' families in Colorado, we headed to Texas by way of Branson, Missouri. We found a nice RV park in Carthage to park our truck and travel trailer, which was only 15 miles from LaRussell, the small-town home of one of my dad's good friends, Jim Brock. I wanted to go to Jim's house to visit and give him a program from Dad's memorial service, rather than enclose it in our Christmas card to him.
Jim and Dad worked together at Chugach Electric in the 1950s and they enjoyed hunting together. His wife Murriel painted Alaska scenery art. They left Alaska in 1959 and returned to his home state of Missouri. I was only 4 years old when they left and don't remember them from the 1950s, but in 1977 Gary, our year-old son and I made a month-long road trip around the Lower 48 states and visited Jim and Murriel at that time. This began our yearly Christmas correspondence exchanges. Murriel died in 1984. Dad had also shared with me some of the letters and articles Jim sent to him.
I knew his daughter lived with him and that he was more than 100 years old. I had called his phone number the night before and again in the morning... with no result. I had no physical address, only his P.O. box number. When the daughter didn't answer either time, I became concerned. Perhaps he was ill. By the time we unhitched the truck from the travel trailer and drove to LaRussell, it was late morning.
First, we went to the little post office, but it was closed for lunch. A postal patron suggested we walk across the street to the feed store, and they might be able to tell us where Jim lived. When I gave my request to the clerk, she immediately walked away to a nearby desk and said she had the info handy... which I thought was a little strange. Then she glanced up and looked at me and said, "You did know he passed away?" The info she was trying to locate was directions to the cemetery service scheduled for 1 pm. It was 11:45 a.m. He had died on Nov. 25.
That is how Gary and I found ourselves attending a funeral where we knew absolutely no one. "What proof do I have that we even know Jim?" I asked Gary. "Is there such a thing as funeral crashers?" We parked in a long line of vehicles in the Stone Cemetery near Diamond, Missouri. After seeing the lone bumper sticker on our truck (Eat Moose: 12,000 wolves can't be wrong) and seeing our Alaska license plate, the fellow who parked behind us walked up and introduced himself...to see if we wanted to talk about bear hunting. Within moments, he'd produced his latest deer hunting photos to share. He happily introduced us to Jim's nephew (who turned out to be the owner of the feed store) and other family members.
I have never gotten so cold attending a graveside service as I did that day. A canvas tent provided a little shelter, but the temperatures were near freezing, and a bitter north wind brought the chill factor. After the service and the family photo, we were able to visit with family members. I learned that Jim's daughter didn't answer his phone because she had become ill two days prior and was in the hospital. One of the two Carthage Press reporters attended the funeral and he asked us a few questions. He said he would send us a copy of the article he planned to write and handed us a business card. (The other reporter was in Springfield to cover Sarah Palin's book signing tour stop that same day.) I took a photo of the ancient-looking headstone of Jim's father...next to Jim's more modern headstone.
Back at our truck, I gave one of our bed and breakfast brochures to the wife of the man who noticed our bumper sticker and license. They wanted our address. She said, "Isn't it interesting...we've always wanted to travel to Alaska and here you are from Alaska, and it was Jim that brought us together." Ironically, Gary and I visited with many people...just not Jim.
Then we went to a Chinese buffet for lunch and to thaw out and then spent the rest of the afternoon in the "Civil War Museum" just off the Carthage Town Square.
We decided to stay two more nights at that RV park. We weren't in any hurry and travel trailers and high winds don't mix well. The next morning we went to a small café in Carthage for breakfast. When the waitress came to our table, she said, "I know you...". I replied that I didn't think so...that we were just visitors. She then said she recognized us from our picture in the newspaper! She even brought a newspaper to our table to show us.
The front page featured an article about Palin's "Going Rogue" book tour and directly under that was part one about the death of one of Jasper County's oldest residents, 106-year-old Jim Brock. It was titled "Alaska friends of LaRussell man arrive in time for funeral" and more than half of it was about Gary's and my connection to Jim. I don't know how the reporter got so much from the few questions he asked us. He quoted me at the beginning and the end of the story and several times throughout...and it was all accurate. Perhaps he used a tape recorder. The story continued to Page 8, where we found a 4-inch by 9-inch photo of ourselves. No wonder the waitress recognized us. We went out and bought a copy. And true to his word, the reporter mailed copies of both the Dec. 3 and 4 issues to our Slana, Alaska, address.
According to part two of "A Life Well Lived" by John Hacker in the Dec. 4, 2009, issue of the Carthage Press, Jim was born in 1903 and was famous for being "a living, breathing history book." He shared stories about his father with schoolchildren, told tales about Alaska to neighbor boys, and "left a legacy of smiles and history wherever he went." His father, who was 78 when Jim was born, was a doctor in the Civil War. Until his death, Jim was one of very few Americans still alive that was offspring of a Civil War veteran.
The article said he was out mowing his lawn on the weekend of Halloween...just a few weeks before his death. I was disappointed that Gary and I didn't get there in time to visit with Jim, but I felt privileged to attend his funeral, and my life was enriched by learning more about one of my dad's good friends.
Maraley McMichael is a lifelong Alaskan now residing in Palmer. Email her at maraleymcmichael@gmail.com.
