In his 1995 book,
The Five Love Languages, pastor Gary Chapman outlined five ways to express and experience love that he called "love languages": gift giving, quality time, words of affirmation, acts of service (devotion), and physical touch. Everyone expresses themselves in each of those five languages to some extent, but almost everyone favors one above the others. The morning of August 21st, at age 91, my family lost someone who expressed herself through acts of service more than almost anyone else I have ever known.
When Alberta Jane Tuttle was born on August 29, 1925, in Summit, New Jersey, her father, Alfred, was 32, and her mother, Edna, was 30. Alberta and her big sister, Lyle, were raised in New Jersey. Their father, who had served as a bugler in the infantry for three years before World War I, worked as a manager for a chemical plant during the Depression. Their mother was a tough-but-sweet homemaker who had supported her five sisters before marrying Alfred; I wrote a bit about Edna's family in
an earlier post.
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Alberta "Bert" Tuttle
Columbia H.S.
1943 |
Alberta graduated from Columbia High School in Maplewood, New Jersey, Class of 1943. The Second World War was well underway, and a number of her classmates and faculty enlisted; the school yearbook was full of advertisements for war bonds and calls for victory.
At the end of World War II, Alberta married a tall, handsome sailor named Russell Hudson Clark on March 2, 1946, in Irvington, New Jersey, in a service held at the Reformed Church in America by Rev. Harry A. Olsen. The young couple honeymooned in Washington, DC, before moving out to Middletown, Ohio, but they soon moved back to New Jersey.
In fact, movement would turn out to be a defining characteristic of the household of Bert and Russ Clark.
When I showed an interest in family history, Grandma sent me a partial list of all of the places they had lived. She could only remember 33 moves between 1946 and 1984, but she assured me that there were more. They moved from New Jersey to Texas, to Arkansas, back to Texas; to California, Arizona, back to California; to Colorado, followed by a trip to visit New Jersey before moving back to Little Rock, Arkansas - and that only brings us up to 1962!
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Alberta & Russ
2 March 1946 |
Somewhere between the end of the war and becoming a father, Russ became a preacher, and many of these moves were to follow his calling. I have written before about him, describing him as
A Fire in the Desert. Bert went with him everywhere he traveled. Along the way, they had three children together, and I am sure that they have stories to share about growing up in so many places.
Russ would find work in a place, and settle for a while. He might find a church that was looking for a pastor, and they might go live in that community. Alberta could play the organ, and so she would accompany the choir or the congregation, and he would preach. But there was always another call from elsewhere that he needed to follow, and she would go with him. Eventually, the kids grew up and it was just the two of them, always traveling.
It didn't matter where they were, whether you were in their home or they were in yours; Grandma would be busy. She loved to take care of her family. She was forever bustling around the kitchen, cleaning up, playing with the children, singing - always showing us all how much she loved us through those acts of service.
I discovered a few years ago that one of Grandma's ancestors,
a surgeon named John Green, was a founding member of the First Baptist Church of Providence, along with the famous Roger Williams, who also established the colony that would become Rhode Island. Baptists place the conscience of the individual at the center of their faith, and Williams's conscience drove him to avoid organized religion - even if he was the one who organized it. In many ways, I could see Grandpa as a spiritual successor to Williams, always seeking, always following his calling. Grandma, as a committed Christian wife, following her own conscience just as fiercely as he followed his.
I know how important it is to my surviving family to mention the fact that Grandma was a strong Christian. She certainly was that, without question. A few years ago, I was going through some intensely difficult troubles, and she called me to make sure I was okay. I could tell that it broke her heart that we were 3,000 miles apart and that she couldn't come over and help with the children or do something to show her love. All she could do was ask, "Have you considered just giving the problem to Jesus?" Being a humanist who has no belief in the supernatural, I couldn't honestly tell her that I had. But being a humanist also means that I treasured the fact that she would dive in and exhaust herself trying to make things better for everyone around her before finally accepting that there were some things she could not fix.
That ferocious, patient love was what made her a great lady.
That philosophical stuff would have all been beyond my understanding when I was young. All I knew when I was a kid was that seeing Grandma and Grandpa Clark was an adventure. They always had a new house in a new place, or if they were between houses, they would have a different motorhome or trailer to live in. As we got older, we learned what they meant by "disability" and "fixed income" when they talked with the other adults at dinner.
She wouldn't complain, but sometimes we could tell that all of the moving around was hard on her. She would talk about finding a church home, putting down roots, and having a house she could call her own. Sometimes they even stayed on a piece of property long enough to build a house, and she could get her organ out of storage and set it up in her living room. I particularly loved the visits when she had room for her organ because she would play and sing those old revival hymns that made such a grand first impression on the churches they visited.
After Grandpa died in 2002, Grandma's life was not the same. How could it be after 54 years of life together? There was a brief time when we wondered what she would do next, and how she would adjust. We worried, but we should have known that she would find a way to feel useful.
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| Alberta and Sherwin, 2004 |
In September 2004, she then married Sherwin Nichols. In many ways, Sherwin reminded me of Grandpa; he had mobility issues, and some severe health problems, but he loved my Grandma, and most importantly, he gave her someone to take care of again with her ferocious intensity. She finally had a home where she could install her organ in a front room. By this time, it was old and the circuitry inside was fragile, so it didn't get played much, but at least it had a stable place to rest.
When Sherwin died in 2008, he and his family were generous enough to leave her his house and enough to live on. Grandma married a third time, once again choosing a preacher, but this time, she joked, she was marrying a much younger man - he was only 85! They were planning to buy a house and move to the north of Phoenix to get away from the heat and the city.
In 2011 her sister, Lyle, died after battling dementia for several years. Having watched Grandpa battle with Alzheimer's Disease before his death, Grandma told us that biggest fear was that she would lose her mind and not know who any of us were before she died. She worried that any time she forgot a name or misplaced something that it was a sign, but as far as I know, she was still fully herself when she began suffering from an elevated heart rate last week and went to the hospital.
She died at four o'clock in the morning on August 21, 2017, in a hospice in Surprise, Arizona, at the age of 91 years, 11 months, and 21 days. I will always remember her for her music, her laughter, and her constant, steady service to everyone she loved.
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| Grandpa & Grandma Clark, bound for their D.C. honeymoon |
