Eulogy and Memories of
Samuel Isaac Wilson Burr Taylor

Delivered at his funeral
on December 27, 2003

My name is Stanley Taylor, and I'm Sam Taylor's grandson. I'm proud to report that eleven of Grandma and Grandpa's twelve grandkids have made it here today. I know that all of us have many wonderful memories of our times with Grandma and Grandpa, and I'm honored this morning to start off by sharing with you a few of those memories that some of the other grandchildren—my sister and my cousins—have shared with me about Grandpa. After that, I will reflect on my own experiences with Grandpa.

From Stephanie:

My most favorite thing about Grandpa would be the way he laughed. His head would go back, the eyes would squeeze shut, little tears would sneak out and his whole body would shake. I was amazed that no noise ever came out.

From Andrea:

I was about three years old and sitting on Grandpa's lap, talking as usual. Grandpa said, "You sure do have a big mouth," and I immediately replied, "and two big blue eyes to go with it!"

From Kristie:

I remember all the grandchildren going fishing for perch, and as soon as grandpa would cast his line, one of us would call him to take our fish off, and he never got to fish. I still have no idea how to take the fish off the hook myself.

From Kimberly:

I remember fishing for perch in the old pond at Fall River. As we drove through the pasture, I would inquire about the white blocks lying around. Grandpa would say, "Well, that's salt lick for the cows." Of course, my next question was, "Can I try it?"
When we would reach the pond, I was too little to cast my pole over all the weeds, so Grandpa told me to carry the perch back to the bucket. Their fins were sharp and they flopped right out of my little hands. By the time I dropped them in the buckey, they would float to the top.
I also remember all the work we did on the big garden in our backyard. Grandpa would take me out to pick the vegetables and he would give me onions right out of the ground. I gladly ate them, dirt and all.

From Dan:

David and I spent a month of the summer with Grandma and Grandpa. Towards the end of summer, they were ready to take us back to Ohio. Grandpa chased David through the house with a stick. I never saw Grandpa so mad. It was funny.

From John David:

Danny, Grandpa and I were camping at a ford at Fall River. The night before, we had a two-liter bottle of soda that we drank. The next morning Grandpa was making himself some coffee over the fire in an open coffee can. Danny and I thought we would see what would happen if we put the empty bottle in the fire with the top on. Well, we did, and the bottle exploded. It threw fire all over, including into Grandpa's coffee. He was not very happy, but he cleaned it out and drank the coffee anyway.
I also remember one time when Grandpa and drove to the lake in his truck. It was just the two of us. We both enjoyed the trip. We did not say more than two words to each other—not intentionally; it just worked out that way. My mom liked telling the story as if there was something wrong with that, but the two of us didn't see anything wrong with it.

From Shara:

I had a special day with Grandpa at the elevator. He and uncle Steve must have given me ten bottles of pop. On the way back to the lake, of course when we got to the dirt roads, I had to pee. I finally told Grandpa, and without saying a word, he pulled the truck off the road. For a long time I thought he was made at me—he never said a word.

From Doug:

One time I helped Grandpa get rid of hornet nests by pouring gasoline on them and burning them. The problem was, one time I didn't let Grandpa get far enough away before I threw the match at one, and Grandpa got about nine stings.

From Laurie:

One of my most recent memories of Grandpa is the day he was lost in the airport in Houston. When we finally found him hours later, he was puzzled as to the panic, and his reply was: "I wasn't lost. I knew exactly where I was."

When I started thinking about what I was going to say today, I was really having had a hard time. As I thought back through all my fond memories of times with Grandma and Grandpa Taylor—all the good times at Fall River, or when Grandma and Grandpa visited us every winter in Texas—Grandpa was a big part of all that, but I really couldn't think of anything that made Grandpa stand out in those memories.

But then it hit me—for me, that is precisely Grandpa's legacy: he did what needed to be done; he took care of business, without talking much about it and without drawing attention to himself. To him, what he did was unremarkable: obviously, you work hard, provide for your family and love them unconditionally. But his unshakeable commitment to those values is what makes him such an inspiration to me, and to many others as well.

When I was fourteen years old, I spent the summer in Wichita with Grandma and Grandpa, working the wheat harvest with Grandpa at the Kechi elevator. It didn't strike me as odd at the time that this 69-year-old man with a stiff leg was working hard sun-up to sun-down six days a week. As far as I knew at the time, this was just what Grandpa had always done. But I think I'd have a hard time today at age forty keeping up with that pace he set at age sixty-nine.

That summer, I learned the meaning of an honest day's work. We started the day with a big plate of Grandma's crusty eggs fried in bacon grease, then drove in Grandpa's old pickup to the elevator. To this day, I clearly remember the smell of Grandpa's work pickup. And I can see him sitting in the office at the elevator, and when grain trucks came in, he'd take his long brass grain probe out, climb up the side of the truck, and fill it with grain. And of course, there was the pop machine in the elevator office. Whenever we kids would visit the elevator, Grandpa always let us get whatever we wanted from the machine. For me, it was always Mountain Dew.

Anyway, our first job that summer, which Grandpa helped with, was to clean the moldy old grain out of the silos in order to prepare them for the new wheat. We climbed down into the bottom of the silos and shoveled the grain into the auger. It was probably 120 degrees in there, and had the worst smell I've ever encountered. The first time we did this, I spent the first thirty minutes emptying my stomach.

I already knew how to drive that summer, and I got to drive the trucks around the elevator. But there was one feed truck that was a totally new experience to me: it didn't have any brakes. To stop, you had to drive up to a building really slowly, gently bump into the building, kill the engine and leave it in gear so it wouldn't roll away.

That summer, Grandpa expected me to work just as hard as the other, older employees. But I later learned that Grandpa was also looking out for me a little. I thought that standing in the sun on top of train cars for hours on end was pretty hard work, but whenever Grandpa had to leave the elevator, I discovered that some of the more seasoned employees felt I was getting preferential treatment. When Grandpa was away, my duties changed drastically.

During these times, I became familiar with the worst ongoing job at the elevator: loading bulk ground hog feed into the truck. You parked the truck under the chute, and as the feed was ground into flour-like consistency, it dumped into the truck. But someone had to stand in the truck bed and spread out the feed with a shovel. After twenty minutes of loading a truck in the summer heat, I was white from head to toe! I would blow myself off with air from the air compressor but would still be blowing white mud out my nose for a couple of hours afterwards.

I know Grandpa was proud that I wanted to work with him that summer. And I was proud to work with him. And I try now to pass on to my own kids the values that I learned first-hand from Grandpa that summer--hard work, providing for my family, having high expectations for my own kids but watching out for them at the same time.

Almost forty years ago, I was baptized in this very church. During my childhood, I went to church occasionally with Grandpa and Grandma. I had the good sense to marry a lifelong Methodist, and eventually, my wife Katie began to bring me around. As I started forming my own life of faith, I began to appreciate the basis for Grandpa's admirable character: his own faith. It's that deep faith that helped him to be a lifelong pillar of this congregation, to drive the van for "the old folks" when he himself was in his 80s, and to care for Grandma unfailingly in her final years.

Underlying Grandpa's work ethic and his unconditional love for his family was a deep and steadfast belief that all will be well in the end. Today, we're remembering the good times that each of us had with Grandpa, but let's not forget that throughout his life, he dealt with the same types of adversities that we all face from time to time. Those tough times really are a test of our faith. But Grandpa passed those tests with flying colors. Even in the toughest times, I never once heard him raise his voice in anger, complain about anything, or talk badly about anyone.

Now that I have a family of my own, I try to practice the lessons that I learned from Grandpa: to provide for my family and to love them unconditionally. I try to gently guide my children in the right direction, but I know that at some point, they're going to choose different directions. When that happens, I'm sure it will be tough, but, like Grandpa, I'll try to continue to show them unconditional love and have faith that it will all work out right in the end.

I think today we can take comfort that for Grandpa, all is indeed well in the end. Amen.