Mr. James Manuel Strickland's Obituary
STRICKLAND, JAMES MANUEL Born February 24, 1925 in Tell, TX and passed away November 15, 2009 in Garland, TX. Eulogy for James M. Strickland November 18, 2009 I wanted to share an excerpt from a writing James composed back in 2005 sharing moments of his life, stories you may know or some you don’t, but that give insights into what has shaped his view of the world and what has been most important to him. “I was born on Tuesday, February 24, 1925, at home, in Tell, Texas, the first of four children born to a country Baptist preacher, and the US Postal Service Post-Mistress of Tell, Texas. My father experienced a severe head injury from an on-the-job accident and he died at age 46 when I was just 4 years old, my younger brother Clark was just 2 and our twin Sisters Martha and Mary were only 3 weeks old. I grew up milking cows, slopping the hogs, gathering eggs, and plowing the South forty, first with a team of horses and later with a small Ford tractor. We were poor as church mice, but so were our peers. Early Christmas trees were dead peach tree limbs, decorated with strands of strung pop corn. Notwithstanding our poverty status, I had a happy childhood. Summers were best except for the dust storms. Mondays were laundry day. Clothes were separated by color, and beginning with the white clothes, they were respectively placed in a big black pot filled with boiling water laced with homemade lye soap. Clark and I took our turns punching the clothes and stoking the fire, which by the way, was fed by meadow muffins which are dry cow chips, the green ones were a little, well, awkward. Winters were cold. Our 3 room house consisted of a kitchen, living room, and bedroom with an outhouse out back. Home was heated by those dry meadow muffins in a potbelly stove. My brother and I took turns getting up mornings to start the fire, and then back to bed, til the house was warm. Saturdays were bath day for the whole family. My sisters bathed first and followed by us boys. Then it was Mom’s turn. I have to believe that she had fresh water for her bath. My brother and I milked 6 to 8 cows every morning and again at night. Mom’s favorite cow – Spot would not, for a long time, allow anyone to milk her but Mom. Eventually it was my chore to milk Spot. One evening I attempted to usher Spot into a stall for milking. Spot was not cooperating. In frustration I picked up a pitch-fork, raised it over my head and struck Spot squarely on top of her head. Spot collapsed to the ground. My first thought was that I had killed Mom’s favorite cow, and just what kind of excuse was I going to offer, and just how much water would it hold? I didn’t have time to give much consideration to my problem, because to my surprise and decided relief, Spot staggered to her feet, good as new, and lived to a ripe old age. As I remember this tale, I praise the Lord for his mercy and goodness not only to me but to Spot and to Mom. I never had any more trouble with Spot, nor did I relate this story to Mom until one day when I was in my mid 50’s. In our teens my brother and I worked for neighboring farmers, pulling broom corn. Pulling broom corn was a nasty job. By the end of the day our clothes were covered with so much sap that they could, when dry, almost stand alone, but they were not washed until the pulling season was over. The day began after most of the morning dew dried on the broom corn, and lasted until sunset, with time out for your own supplied brown bag lunch. World War II was under way when I graduated from high school in the spring of 1943. At age 18, I dutifully, but reluctantly, registered for the “Draft”. The morning we were to drive 45 miles to Tucumcari, New Mexico, where I was to report, we awoke to a 12 inch blanket of snow. The faithful, but brakeless, old “1936 Ford” made the trip without incident. I was selected for special training as a “Field Lineman”, where I was taught Morse code, the rudiments of coding and decoding messages through a special mechanical gadget. Each day its setting had to be changed, and there was never an excuse for error. Upon completion of basic training I was ordered to the European front, however the Germans surrendered at that time so I was redirected to the Philippine Islands. Arriving in the Philippines, I was assigned to the 71st Joint Assault Signal Corp, on the island of Leyte, and assigned to the Motor Pool. Our motor vehicles were water proofed in anticipation of the invasion of Japan. However, the dropping of the Atomic bomb shortly after my arrival there changed all those plans. My next 18 months were spent processing Japanese prisoners for return to Japan. Wednesday afternoons we headed for the beach to swim and frolic in the ocean. A really soft life. After the Japanese prisoners were all shipped home, I was assigned to a military police unit, and charged with guarding our own soldiers who were court marshaled and sentenced to jail time. This was not a fun thing. Eventually I was shipped state side, courtesy of the Merchant Marines. Upon arrival in San Francisco the first thing we country boys decided to do was head for a grocery store and purchase a quart of milk, 1 for each of us. There was almost nothing the army could do to make powdered milk palatable. Upon arriving home from the Army, I went to work in a bank under a G.I. training program which paid some $85.00 a month. On this grand salary, I purchased my first car, a 1949 black Plymouth, 2-door. I totaled the car within the next 3 months, and sustained a crushed bone in my upper left arm, and a severed nerve system that controlled my left hand. The Good Lord came to my rescue with skilled doctors who helped repair the crushed bone and reconnect the tendons in the top of my hand, enabling me to regain 75% of the use of my hand. The Lord was still looking after me. Even though I was in and out of the hospital for more than a year, the Bank found a place for me to work. Counting money, typing, and handling heavy trays of silver enabled me to learn new skills and rehabilitate my disabled hand. In time I came to realize that I was low man on the totem pole and was interested in the top of the ladder. I was familiar with the work done by men who came to examine the bank, so I applied for and received an appointment with the US Treasury Department as an Assistant Bank Examiner. The only drawback to this job was that I had to travel a lot and experience a lot of greasy spoons. I occasionally dated Marie, the roommate of Lorene Rosa. One day I called Marie but Lorene answered and told me that Marie was out on a date or out of town. Lorene was her sweet self on the phone, so I asked her out and she accepted. I was a little vain in those days and wanted to look my best, so I took more time than I should have, and was late. So late in fact that Lorene had changed her clothes and put on a pair of the most awful pair of pedal pushers, with green diamonds on a white background. After making my apologies, Lorene finally agreed to go out with me that evening. Being a big spender I took her to a popular drive in. We had a great time, or at least I did. I realized that I wanted to see a lot more of this young lady, but I wasn’t sure about the pedal pushers. So I made a request – If you should ever go out with me again, will you please not wear those pedal pushers? We started dating every week-end that I was home from my travels and were married in California 6 months later. Before we were married I purchased a new 1955 Ford Fairlane, which we drove to California “chaperoned” by my mother. Lorene was teased by her coworkers about having to take my mother on our honey moon. We spent our honey moon at Lake Arrowhead near Riverside, California – Mom was not invited. Arriving back in Dallas we moved into a one bedroom apartment. There was an episode at our new place that caused a real strain on our relationship. Lorene popped over to the apartment of Mary Cook, whose husband Charles was a co-worker of mine. Charles asked Lorene what I was doing. I was, of course, at home trying to be a good husband and wash the supper dishes. After all Lorene had cooked, and she was and is an excellent cook, so it was only fitting that I should wash the dishes. Well Charles Cook all but broke his neck getting over to our apartment to verify that I was indeed washing dishes. My cultivated male chauvinist reputation was ruined, and to say that I was unhappy is a gross understatement. I was MAD. Lorene delights to this day in repeating this story. The Lord is always good. James Richard, our first born came to delight our home on October 8, 1956. Jayne Beth came to bless our home on October 31, 1965, and four years later, on October 10, 1969, Margaret Ann became the 3rd blessing that God granted to us. I experienced a variety of career changes over the years; I took college courses, acquired a license to sell life insurance, and a real estate license, neither of which turned out to be my cup of tea. I tried several multi-level ventures without success and I ended up in retail sales. First, mens wear, then home accents and furnishings, even fine jewelry. I made it to age 65, and retired, yet worked as a relief manager for a couple of self storage facilities after retirement. In the spring of 1991, I was convicted that Saturday was the only day that God ever set aside and blessed as the Sabbath. I joined the Seventh-day Adventist Church, a choice I have never regretted. Perhaps if I had made this decision years earlier, I might have had a more meaningful influence on my family and children. There: You have my resume. I’m not much in demand in the work arena. However, God is still good all the time. I enjoy good health. I take no medications, just a few herbs and/or vitamins. Thank you Lord for a faithful and ever loving wife, children and their extended families. May the Good Lord continue to keep and bless us all.” Reflecting on this history, James life may have seemed like a simple one, well the things in his life that he felt important were indeed simple, his family, his church, his garden, a glass of milk, his old Dodge pickup, an old hymn on the piano, or a pair of white suspenders. If you know him, you know these things were critical to his enjoyment of life. He held very high ideals and worked hard to uphold these thru his life. He taught his children responsibility by his example of hard work and dedication and the importance of holding yourself accountable. He never expected perfection, but he did expect your best. While he may have enjoyed nice clothes and old cars, it is apparent that all along his life’s journey, he stayed centered on the Lord. There were times James may have disagreed with you whether it was the type of furniture for the family room, the way to make pancakes, or views on politics or religion, but know this….everything he did or said came from a place of love, care and concern for our welfare and ultimately our salvation. James has been so many things to each of us. The things he taught us will live on with us and continue to shape our lives. James has been a blessing to all the lives he has touched and we thank God for this. We are so glad to have had every moment with him that we have been given.
What’s your fondest memory of James?
What’s a lesson you learned from James?
Share a story where James' kindness touched your heart.
Describe a day with James you’ll never forget.
How did James make you smile?