“I live for death.”

Gary says that with a twinkle in his eye, when he tells me he’s heading to a funeral home yet again. He never misses the local radio newscast, which ends with obituaries. It’s the first page he turns to when the newspaper is delivered. Always has been,

Gary wants to know who died. He wants to pay his respects.

He wants to tell stories.

My husband will go to the funeral home when so many others find ways to squirm out of it. He doesn’t worry about whether to say “my condolences” or “you have my sympathy.” Because he will have a story to share.

When he heard on the news (and saw in the paper) that Jim Uebelhor passed away a few days ago, Gary told me a story.

It was one of those stories that told a man’s story – his worth – in just a few words. I now know all I need to know about that fine man.

This is the story that Gary would have shared at the funeral home with Jim’s loved ones if the COVID-19 self-isolation wasn’t in place, making that impossible:

This was back in the ’80s or so, Gary told me. I was at the farm, talking to an ag salesman when a Uebelhor TV truck drove by. It caught the salesman’s attention and he said, “That’s a good bunch of people.”

Years earlier, the salesman had a console TV in the Ferdinand shop for repairs. This was back when there were replaceable tubes and TVs were worth repairing. He lived a few towns away, but decided it was worth the trip to get the Uebelhors to make the repair.

Meanwhile, one of the salesman’s children had a sudden medical emergency; it was touch and go for a while. It took months before the teen was out of the woods.

During that time, the TV was returned from the shop. But no bill.

Months later, the salesman remembered he hadn’t paid for the TV repair. He called Jim Uebelhor, who told him, “You’ve had enough going on – we won’t worry about that now.”

This went on for several more months. Eventually, Jim promised to send a bill, but he just put one together and didn’t drop it in the mail until more than a year had passed.

Jim was just that kind of guy.

When I told Gary I wanted to blog about this story, so it will still be told and maybe his family will see it, he didn’t hesitate: I’ll be sure to stop by their store as soon as it’s open again so I can tell them in person.

Until that day comes, we send our condolences to all who loved Jim and hope they know that the lines would be long at the funeral home if public gatherings were allowed. Because Jim was just that kind of guy.

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