He smiled and told stories. He sang and played guitar. He
drew and he painted fantastic scenes with complex themes. In some ways, Howard
Coker was an unremarkable man; and probably the happiest. His favorite quote
was, “Time don’t wait on nobody.”
He was in the army and served during the Korean War. He
never saw combat but he built pontoon bridges. I never knew where these bridges
were or how many he was involved with. The story he told the most was that he’d
play anyone’s guitar while taking breaks during boot camp. He did not have one
of his own at that time. He told how Elvis Presley gave him a guitar at some
point during his early months of training. There is no picture of the guitar.
Howard said it was stolen before he even got out of boot camp. Of course I
always wondered if this was one of Howard’s “Big Fish” stories, but I always
went along.
After the war, Howard came back home to Powder Springs and
started working with Tommy Barnes, Ray Padgett and Billy Hall in the
landscaping business. One spring day in the early 1970’s, Howard was cutting
ivy vines away from a house with a chainsaw. Naturally, the saw got tangled in
the vines and he nearly lost his leg as a result. His recovery took over a year
and when he did go back to work, Tommy gave him a really easy position as the
landscape caretaker of the personal residence of J. Leonard Reinsch, the
president and CEO of Cox Communications. The Reinsch family treated Howard like
one of their own. Mr. Reinsch would give Howard his retired fedoras, shoes and
jackets. Howard worked for Mr. Reinsch for the remainder of his career and one
day, he just stopped going in. He had bought some land in Cedartown and decided
he’d build a cabin.
Howard shoveled out a hillside by hand and started there
with his cinderblock walls. In that back wall, he built in an iron stove for
heat. The one room cabin was crude in every way. It had two windows and one,
solid door. He still lived in his mother’s home in Powder Springs and he’d
drive to Cedartown to work on his cabin once or twice a week. As soon as he
managed to get a metal roof up, he’d go up and spend the night. He’d talk about
the rain on the roof and how he loved that sound. He found the perfect girl to
share the cabin with. Thelma was one of a kind. She was as tough as Howard and
she was the only one I ever knew who could keep him in line. I’ll never forget
my first trip up to the cabin. There was a lake down below where we fished.
While Howard maintained there were catfish in that lake as long as his arm, all
I caught was a cold. Bill and I were there that Saturday and it started
raining. We sat in the rustic old cabin and listened to the rain on the metal
roof. It was as amazing as Howard said. Going home that day, the old green,
1958 Chevy squeaked as Howard tried his best to maneuver the ruts coming down
Everett Mountain. The wipers were squeaking too. With the rain and wind, it
almost seemed as if we were out at sea. At the foot of the mountain, we came
upon two long-haired hippies staring under the hood of an even older car than
Howard’s. Of course Howard pulled over to see if he could help. They tried to
get their car going but it was no use. The two hippies, dripping wet, climbed
into the back seat with Bill and me. I was terrified. I think Bill was too. As
soon as Howard started rolling again, one of the hippies leaned forward and
reached into his back pocket. I looked over at Bill and he looked at me. I’ll
never forget the look Bill gave me. We were both considering whether we should
open the door and just roll out right there. Thankfully, it was a comb and not
a knife.
Howard carved and painted and drew. He allowed nature to
reclaim his old cabin. A few blocks remain to this day. He spent several years
in the old home-place. He rode his bicycle everywhere he went and he was a
familiar sight around Powder Springs. So much so that he inspired our local
historian to write a story about him. He was harassed for riding his bicycle on
the sidewalk once. Myra called one of her friends at The Powder Springs Police
Department. He assured her that Howard would be an exception and he was allowed
to ride on the sidewalk from then on.
After many joyful years in the old farm-house, Howard’s
mental health finally declined to the point where he could no longer take care
of himself. Myra and I found a nice facility for him and we oversaw his care as
much as possible through the years. A few years ago, I took Susan by to see him
and I asked, “Howard, do you remember Susan?”
“I remember Susan Hayward.” Was his reply.
We got the call yesterday evening. Myra and I headed to Cedartown.
On our way, we noticed lightening in the distance. When we arrived, the power
was out at the facility and two workers came out to the parking lot with
flashlights. Walking in with us, they told us that the power went out the very
moment Howard died. We made our way to his room and one of the flashlights revealed
that his clock had stopped at midnight or noon. Either way, I think it was
Howard’s way of saying that sometimes, time does stop.
After making some arrangements, we headed out and there on the sidewalk, watching the power crew
working on the lines, was an elderly man on a bicycle. What an odd thing to see
in the middle of the night. I saw it. Myra saw it. I don’t know; but it gave us comfort.
