Mrs. Billie Abernathy Spencer Eulogy

Billie Abernathy Spencer

There was a summer, more than a decade ago now I suppose, that was the driest summer on record in Commerce. I truly think there was a rain once in June and then not again until September that particular year.  The trees and grass went dormant and we would run from the air-conditioned cars into air-conditioned houses.  Several days of over 100 degree temperature and just a tough summer with everyone talking about how hot is was and how we would never complain about wet and cold days in the winter again.

Everyday I would drive into my little carport across from Otha and Billie about 5:30 p.m. after work.  Billie would be outside, in her house “duster” dress, and watering this same patch of dry dirt to the side of their house.  Day after day, same time, same place, she would water this patch of dirt—no flowers or grass there, just moist dirt.

Finally, against my better judgment, I walked over and said, “Billie, why are you watering this same patch of dirt every day?” 

She had this way of trying to tell a funny story and would get halfway through and then stop and do a soundless laugh—her head would bob and you knew she knew what was funny but you had to wait until she could get it out and she enjoyed the joke in her mind:  “Well,” she explained, “Our German Shepherd Jennifer is getting old and feeble and I want to have an easy access grave if by chance she dies this week.”

She loved dogs. She tolerated cats.  Loved wild birds and knew all their names. She loved Mitzi and Lady Bird (taken from the side of a Texas Highway so her adoption was part of the State’s beautification efforts hence the name, Ladybird) and Jennifer (who had to have tranquilizers during rainstorms) and my favorite, since I gave her to Otha and Billie: the beloved Rosie (named because she came from the Rose Capital of Texas—Tyler).  Rosie loved children and would try to bite fireworks to protect children.  Rosie bit several copperhead snakes and her face would swell and Billie would administer Benadryl tablets to save Rosie.   Billie and Otha would let Rosie come in on cold nights and sleep by the fire and all was right in the world with that scene playing in my mind.

I never asked Billie about her own name.  Is that on her birth certificate?  Is it a shortened version of something else?  Was her Dad’s name Bill or William?  Whatever the case, I think it fit her perfectly.  She was given a down to earth name and became a down to earth gal.  She lived her life well.  She laughed often.  She played like she was grumpy sometimes, but I learned early on just to be quiet for a long time and she would talk out herself out of her brief grumpiness and make a joke about it.

I liked her laugh—after the silent, head bobbing laugh, Billie had a high pitch cackle of a laugh that was contagious and would help drown out my own Late Night Talk Show Laugh that I unfortunately have developed, so it was a good laughter arrangement partnership.

Billie, in all the years I lived next door, never once said a cross word about Otha. She loved him and I can’t recall them ever being apart, even for one night, the entire time I have known them.  He would write books and do projects and she would edit the drafts and make suggestions and question facts.  He would dutifully check his notes and make sure his facts were correct immediately—sometimes getting up from the lunch table to go make sure he or Billie knew the right story before continuing with the details.  He was a journalist and very much a “who, what, when, and why” kind of guy.  Billie was more of a ‘how does that make you feel’ type of writer, so they collaborated well on many projects.

I loved our Happy Hours the most; sometimes just the three of us, sometimes with Mary Shepherd or Virginia Taylor, Sarah Grace Pullen, the Cobles, the Garretts, Paul Roosevelt, Shirley Erb or Fred Tarpley or just about anyone who stopped by.  And, lots of folks were always stopping by their house.  Former students, folks who had once lived in Commerce, relatives, friends of relatives and sometimes complete strangers were all made to feel welcome, offered a cup of coffee or a single malt scotch and a comfortable seat and engaged in intelligent conversation.

The topics of interest to Billie were:  The Cowboys—but not so much after Tom Landry except during the Aikman years; the Rangers—now doesn’t that say a lot about someone’s optimism who after 35 years remained a true Ranger fan for unexplained reasons every season thinking ‘this could be their year’, good books whether they were Biblical research or light romance reading or mystery novels—Billie was a voracious reader (I’ve never used that word in a sentence before but it’s the only one that truly describes her.  She kept a list of the books she had read because sometimes she would forget she had read the book and get halfway through it a second time before she realized it.) And, I’m glad the Rangers had a good season for Billie’s final season.  That’s a nice touch.

She loved her children and grandchildren.  Otha and Billie would cherish the phone calls from Johnny and Mary, each running to the extension phone so that they could hear the conversation firsthand rather than be retold afterwards.  They did me this way, too, and I felt initiated into the family.

Johnnie, his wife Joanne, and their children, made visits in the summer and for weeks ahead of time; Billie would make a list of activities (fishing, riding the lawnmower with the blade taken off, and trips to Cooper’s drug store ice cream counter) and all the food she planned to cook.  The happiest I ever saw Billie was once on her deck behind the house.  She was watching Johnnie, Joanne, Gwendolyn and William fish from the dock and someone had just caught a perch that wasn’t much bigger than the minnow but everyone was hooting and hollering and that’s the moment of pure joy that describes Billie’s life.  I think our lives are to find those moments of pure joy for our souls and that wonderful feeling of the precious moment is how I will remember Billie Spencer.

I have never been to their home without hearing about something about their children, grandchildren or daughter in law.  Never.  That’s how proud Billie was of her finest love, her first and foremost love, her family. 

Now, I know this is a primitive thought, but it helps me.  My theory is that when we do something good during our lives, then the folks we love in Heaven are brought to a window by God to watch us…never when we’re messing up….only on the days of goodness.

I’m sure Billie will be brought to the window many times to see all of you and know that she will have that joy in eternity.