Clinton Roy Attaway

March 30, 2018 (Friday )
I preached my first sermon in 1948, and after assisting other preachers at funerals, I conducted the first funeral on my own in 1952. The last funeral I have conducted took place last year. I have preached or sung at 917 funerals so far. As you might imagine, each one has brought its own kind of emotions. Some have been harder than others. Funerals don’t necessarily have anything in common with other funerals.

My cousin, Clinton Roy Attaway, died this week. I was informed today. He was 88. As boys, we were very close. He came to Wanda’s funeral in 2002; that’s the last time I saw him. I had a heart attack at that time and for a long time after that he called me occasionally to see how I was doing. I have not seen him since. Even though I had not seen him except at funerals in 16 years, I knew where he was and thought of him often. Knowing he died leaves a gaping hole in my heart. We were close friends ever since we were toddlers.
As children and young men, we spent as much time as possible together. All we cousins got together at regular family reunions–at Herman Park, Morgan’s Point, Clear Lake, Spring Creek, etc. At times he and I rented bicyles at Herman Park, bought ice cream on South Main, and rode into the woods where the Medical Center is now, ate ice cream and threw rocks at big frogs. Several times we rode the train to Galveston, spent the day and returned to Houston. Then we would go to work at the Majestic Theater downtown, where we were ushers. On many days after school we would go to the YMCA downtown, swim, shoot pool, wrestle, play ping pong, you name it. Then we would go to work at the huge palace of a theater, which was in its heyday then. Modern life has a way of splitting up people and sending them in different directions. Even so, I always felt like we were aware of each other and thought about each other. We were pals. No need for cards or expressions of sympathy for me; just pray for his wife, Helen, and family.