I just want to talk about my brother.
Mr. Charles Nix, the man who ‘discovered me,’ -- as I like to say -- once began a column for the LaGrange Daily News with those words.
I say he ‘discovered me’ with a little laugh. What I mean is that he ran up onto Grandma and me one day broken down in her still-running 1956 Ford on the side of the Roanoke Road. We were headed out to see my Uncle Raymond. Mr. Nix not only stopped to help us and guide us to safety; but as we talked he said he’d arrange an interview for me with the LDN editor Ms. Andrea Lovejoy, once he found out I was ‘kind of a writer’ and thought I had the makings for a famous columnist. That was in 1997. I’m not famous yet, but we’ve certainly could lay claim to a little infamy.
When Grandma and I got to Uncle Raymond’s house just over the Alabama line, he told me he liked Charles Nix’s writing, and he added, “He had one column I’ll always remember. It began with, ‘I just want to talk about my brother.’”
I never forgot that nice little first line, either. And even though we’ve kind of gone around the world to get to it – which is very fitting in this case, as you will see – for today I just want to talk to you about my brother. I am more than honored to do this.
When I say ‘brother,’ I am not talking about my two Bowen brothers Tim and Wayne. I am referring to one of those brothers you don’t meet until three or four years after you’re born. Tim and Wayne have been my brothers since 1956. I didn’t meet Ryan Howell until, say, 1962 – a little before, maybe, or a tad later. Truth is, I have known him as long as I can remember.
Ryan lived in Birmingham most of his life. We would see each other when we were younger when we went up to Birmingham for their “Spring Meeting” that always ended on Easter Sunday every year. Mama would buy us all new clothes, we would get all spruced up – or “High Karate’d” up – and we’d head up to Birmingham to hear the preaching of the eloquent Lynwood Smith, the greatest storytelling preacher to ever come along.
The Howell family included Ryan’s mom and dad and four girls: Melondy, Angie, Donna, and Janet – and they became a part of our lives early on through church gatherings. At the first, I’m sure I liked a couple of his sisters a lot better than I liked Ryan.
You understand.
When we were teenagers, Ryan, Coca-Cola Mike, and a bunch more of us all had good times when we would go to Roanoke for a singing school every summer, held by Mr. Dorsey Yarbrough. That was down Ryan’s alley, because everybody who knows Ryan knows he could sing with any of ‘em.
Years later – after Ryan and I found the only two girls in the world who were misguided enough to marry us – Ryan and his new wife Sandy moved to Houston where the amazin’ blonde and I were living. Together again, we all continued making our mark on the world. For a while we attended the same little Aurora Street church of Christ on the north side of town – and I can tell you that my tenor got a lot better sitting in front of the greatest and most enthusiastic tenors I’ve ever known.
Now, I can tell you today about this other brother of mine and his sweet wife, but words here will never do justice to who the two of them really are. Besides his singing, Ryan is one of the greatest storyteller ever, too – I mean the kind that feels it would be a sin to leave out even the slightest detail in a story. To my knowledge, he never erred from the straight-and-narrow in that regard. I suppose I may have inherited a bit of Ryan’s long-windedness myself, as you see here, but I can’t hold a candle to Ryan Howell on telling a story with absolute, unflappable and unmerciful, detail. He told a story in vivid flying colors, laughing every step of the way, but that isn’t even all of it. Sandy, as vivacious as Ryan but far more lovely, to be sure, is a super good talker, too, and she will jump in and say, “Oh, Ryan, don’t forget the part about …”
When Ryan and Sandy showed up, you always wanted to make sure you had a Snickers bar in your pocket. A couple of his daughters told me the other day how they remembered all of us in the living room laughing our heads off and telling stories. Those moments were magical. There was always us, with Ryan – my big friend who was as silver-headed as Charlie Rich – Sandy, the Southern girl with the world’s biggest and best smile – and often best friends Coca-Cola Mike and Glory – all together. It was always right. It was always perfect.
Those were the days my friend.
Ryan and Sandy lived in Houston near us long enough to have two girls – Lauren and Brittany – and then they decided to move back to Birmingham. There their baby girl Andrea came along. Their family was set, Ryan was back to his home church and to his parents and four sisters (that’s right--he has four sisters and three daughters), and he worked at Fed Ex until just a few years ago.
We all stayed in touch all through the years – but not nearly enough to satisfy any of us – and had a full day together here in LaGrange just a year or so ago. Since that visit, Ryan’s health began to slip. It was a number of issues, and he spent several weeks in the hospital over the past month. He and I talked some while he was there, and he was in great spirits, as always. That was Ryan, of course. He was never any other way.
This past Monday morning I was just heading home from my work in Oklahoma when Marilyn called:
“Mike called,” she said, “I have some bad news.”
“Oh, no, not Ma Ma,” I said, with a deep sigh – thinking of Coca-Cola Mike’s ninety-eight-year-old mother we love so much in LaGrange.
“No,” she said, “It’s Ryan Howell. Ryan died last night.”
My heart dropped.
I pulled over on the side of the road at the first exit. For a few minutes there, I spent a little time with Ryan, my friend, just as before.
So, you understand this week when I say I just wanted to talk about my brother. But you know you can’t tell that story all at once, not such a story as this. We’ll have to tell you the rest at the next sitting. But what would you expect in a story about this particular good friend and brother? You’d probably expect a long story with plenty of unassailable details, told with enthusiasm in vivid flying colors.
My buddy Ryan wouldn’t have it any other way.
November 6, 2020
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