By T.L. HEADLEY, MBA, MA, MA, BA
Everyone’s lives are marked in terms of moments – captured in photos or videos, or perhaps only in the memories of those who share in them.
Late last night, I learned of the passing of Ralph Waite. To me, Waite will always be John Walton, patriarch of the Walton Clan in the television series from the 1970s and 80s. Waite was one of those iconic figures to people of my generation.
I still remember watching that first Waltons movie, “The Homecoming” — which featured Andrew Duggan and Patricia Neal as Ma and Pa Walton. We watched it on a fuzzy old black and white television, with the signal that was fading in and out. Still it was very special. It told the story a Depression-era family that was growing increasingly worried about whether the father would get home in a driving snowstorm at Christmas.
Waite was not in the original movie, but when the series premiered the next year he and Michael Learned, along with Will Geer, Ellen Corby and Richard Thomas and the rest of the cast, quickly became like real members of our family.
I saw a lot of my family in the Walton family. Our family was tight-knit. The passing years were marked by Sundays at church, church picnics and dinners on the ground, and the end of summer was always the big family reunion at my great-grandparents’ home that celebrated my Great-grandmother Mandy Davis’ birthday. It was nothing for 600 or even 700 people to show up – all family – for the big day. Entire churches would cancel services so the members could attend the reunion and people from across the country would plan their vacations around “coming home” for that weekend.
My grandfather and grandmother were in many ways my world. Every Sunday we were expected – the whole family – to show up after church at my grandparents’ for Sunday dinner. Usually 20-30 people would be there and if you weren’t, you had better have a good excuse.
My grandmother ran the house. Women cooked and served the men who ate first together. Then they served the kids and then the women ate together. For that matter, we had assigned seats at the table based on our “rank” in the family – the oldest son on one side of my granddad’s chair and the oldest grandson on the other side. The first time I took my soon-to-be wife Kim to my grandma’s for Sunday dinner, I forgot one important thing – to tell her about the way my grandmother handled dinner. We were all talking in the living room and then my grandmother told us dinner was ready. I got up and went to my seat and Kim joined me and sat down beside me. The problem was, that was my first cousin’s seat. My grandmother, who was carrying a big pot of dumplings to the table, stopped in mid-stride and looked at Kim – who she was seeing for the very first time – and said “Kim, I need you in the kitchen … now.” To her credit, she got up, went to the kitchen and helped the other women with the meal. I was sitting there thinking … “Well, I’m going to miss her” – figuring she would be mad. She never said a word – until we got in the car to take her home. Not three turns of the wheel and she let loose.
“I have never seen people so sexist… yadda, yadda, yadda.”
I just drove until she slowed down and then I turned to her and said, “are you finished?”
She just glared…..
I looked at her and I said quietly… “Darling, you saw only what you think you saw and nothing could be further from the truth. The truth is that my grandma runs that house and we love her but we men live in sheer terror of her.”
My grandmother grew up in the Depression. She grew up on a farm as part of a big family. Times were hard. She would tell stories of making her own dresses and curtains for the windows. She always kept a garden, canned and always had meat in the freezers. Grandma Walton was the same kind of woman. Like Grandpa Walton to his grandkids, my grandfather, though he died in 1982, was my buddy. Saturdays were always “our time.” When I was little he would load me up and take me with him to get his check at the company store at Yolyn. We would eat there and then stop by the Trailways Depot in Logan to visit his friends for a while before coming home — great times that I take with me to this day. He was a deacon at my church as was my dad.
My dad was a hard worker. He worked construction for the mining industry, primarily as a lineman and electrician. After suffering two heart attacks in the early 1970s, we went through a few years of hard times while he was off from work. Unlike many people, though he got his disability social security, he chose to go back to work once he was medically cleared and he was so happy the day he got the news. The first thing he did was get out his lineman’s boots, belt and spikes and go out into our yard to climb a pole. He worked another 15 years before finally retiring. Like Pa Walton, he simply wouldn’t give up.
My mom – she is still the center of the world for my brothers and sister and I – was my best friend growing up. She taught me to read before I even started to school by reading Bible story books to me, trailing her finger under the words. She was always there when I needed her. My family was my rock. It was watching the Waltons – watching John Boy dream of becoming a “writer” – that first stoked my interest in the profession. I watched “him” tell the story of his family in these little snippets of time – these moments that became the television series. I learned how to write and tell the stories of people I met.
Over the past few years, I have lost several members of my family – several voices have been stilled as I watched days turn into years. One of the things that has become important to me is to make sure these stories – these voices – are heard by my kids and hopefully someday my grandkids. We no longer have those big family reunions and that is a shame. My kids and the children of my cousins will never have the memories I carry with me of those days. Sure, they will read my words and see the photos but they will wonder who all those people are, unless someone tells them their stories.
Memories such as these are the concrete that holds families together. And sadly that is something missing from today’s America.
John Walton was a “fictional” character brought to life by Ralph Waite, but his story was the real story of so many Americans of the “Greatest Generation” – my grandparents’ generation. Waite left his mark on the memories of millions of Americans. He became a part of our families – a big part of the moments we shared when I was a child. Through his story, I learned of the stories of my parents and grandparents and great-grandparents. They would watch the Waltons and then talk about their own experiences, bringing to life their own stories – my family history. So I thank Ralph Waite and all the rest of the cast of the Waltons for helping that to happen. May you rest in peace.
Good Night John.
About the author: T.L. Headley is a journalist and public relations professional specializing in the energy industry and economic development. He holds an MBA from West Virginia University and an MA in public relations/journalism from Marshall and is working toward a Ph.D. in Education. He is 2001 graduate of the state Chamber of Commerce’s Leadership West Virginia program. He is a native of Lincoln County.
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