We laid Charlie Brooks to rest last week.
It was hot by the time we got to the grave site in the cemetery of the Pittsboro Baptist Church. We didn’t tarry; the preacher said what needed to be said there and we went into the church fellowship hall.
Thank you, Mr. Carrier.
Truth be told, what needed to be said and sung had already been done so by the time we left the sanctuary en route to Charlie’s final resting place.
It was somewhere around 1958, give or take a childhood or two, when I first met Charlie. He and one of my brothers were in the same class at school, and he was my bus driver. We lived along busy US Highway 64, east of Pittsboro, long before there was a bypass. Charlie would come along and pull half onto the shoulder, fling open the bus door and wait for me to make the 30-yard dash across the front yard.
Always had a big grin and a hearty welcome when I got there.
Somewhere along the line, we both finished growing up, at least physically. One day, I don’t and can’t remember when, I went with my dad to Charlie’s small engine shop south of town. There, Pa, the man I remember so well, the one who was sharper than I thought he was when I was a boy, introduced me to the world of chainsaws.
Pa was already dancing with Arthur Ritus, and eventually, he would turn that song over to me. But, for the moment, he could wield a chainsaw saw so he made a deal with Charlie. At the time, it was a Poulan. Even today folks will debate or even argue with you about how to pronounce that word. Is it “Polan”(kind of like the country) or “Poo-lan?”. Probably the latter since that’s how the fellow who started the company pronounced his last name.
Anyway, one came home with us, and it lived a good life. Eventually, Mr. Ritus took over more and more of the dance until Pa finally cut off the music. It was then I started feeling my oats and took that saw to Charlie and traded it in on a big ‘un. I loved that thing. Could cut a tree, saw the lengths, split and stack the wood quicker than you could say “Here comes Peter Cottontail.” Today, unfortunately for me, I’m looking for all the words to that song.
That was the first of I-don’t-know-how-many saws that came from Charlie showed up at my place. And for years and years afterward, every chain saw, lawn mower, garden tiller, leaf blower, string trimmer, you name it — if it had a 2-cycle engine or even a gasoline one, it had lived with Charlie for a while before it came to my house. I’ve been known to go to Charlie’s to get some engine mix oil and come back with a new saw.
I loved Chalie and loved going to his shop. Somebody referred to him as a “Pittsboro icon.” I think that’s probably true, although he wouldn’t profess to be so. He’d be the first to say he was far from that, far from perfect, far from being a role model. He, like all of us, had his quirks and rough spots around the edges. He could be stubborn, bull-headed even. And if you look up the word “opinionated” in the dictionary, you’ll see his picture there.
But he never did it with an evil or mean heart, and I think that’s the key to life. It was for him. Charlie knew two things: God is, and he’s not Him. Charlie knew that was a mystery but it didn’t stop him from believing it and proclaiming it.
For you see, in that shop, in addition to equipment – new, used and being repaired – and the parts and products for them all and the best wood stove in the free world, the one I’ve more than one nap in front of, Charlie had a keyboard over in a back corner. What he didn’t have was the first music lesson ever, but he didn’t need it. Played by ear and could make that thing talk. Charlie could play it all – country, old standards, early rock and roll – but mostly the great old hymns of the faith. His faith.
It didn’t matter to Charlie if it was just me or another friend and him in the shop or if the place was full, he’d give a Gossel presentation at the drop of a hat. I thought about all that the other day, as it was my privilege to say a word at his funeral. And I thought about how he used his talents in the right way despite his humanity.
The shop is long closed. Charlie wasn’t able to do much in the last period of time. He left home last Dec. 28 and never got to go back. Now, I wonder if folks run chainsaws in Heaven. I know the Book says there’s lots of singing that goes on. But if there’s wood to be cut and chains to be sharpened and carburetors to be adjusted, they’ve got a good man on the job.
And likewise if there’s a keyboard to be played.
Bob Wachs is a native of Chatham County and emeritus editor at Chatham News & Record. He serves as pastor of Bear Creek Baptist Church.
