I booked off a couple of hours from work this morning to attend Clive Schaefer's funeral at Snow's Funeral Home in... well, is it Clayton Park or Bayer's Lake? I have never quite figured out where one starts and the other ends.
Krista Cook showed up at the same time I did. We ended up sitting together. We were the first ones to arrive. By 9:45, others started arriving. By 10, when the family was seated, I'd estimate that the chapel was about 40% full, maybe 45%.
The funeral was nice, and very respectful. It is too damned hot to do anything tonight other than type these words in and go to bed, or I would scan in the bulletin and put it up for you. But there were some hymns and prayers and a very good eulogy from Clive's step-son, Richard. The minister was an honest enough man to admit that he didn't know Clive, but he said that he would have liked him had he met him. Sigh. They always say stuff like that.
After the funeral, there was a reception in the kitchen. I had a chance to speak to a couple members of the family and to meet some of the former radio co-workers of Cliver's. I had actually met Mike Cranston and Wayne Adams before, long ago, and it was nice to see them again. Duane Lowe was there, and we chatted for a moment. I met Jim David, Ron Roberts, and Alex J. Walling and Orv Pulsifer. I met a woman named Patricia who worked at CHNS in the mid 1960's with folks like Clive and Mike Duffy and Bob Oxley. Her on air name was Sgt. Michelle, apparently, and she had a sultry voice that gave suggestive traffic updates. I would love to hear what they sounded like.
All too soon, it was time for me to return to work. I did so, but on the drive thereto, I reflected on Clive's life, which was rich with incident and well-lived. There was Clive, the radio titan. There was Clive, the talented musician. There was Clive, the tennis player who could kick the ass of people half his age. There was Clive, the family man. There were more Clives, I'm sure. I wish I could have met him 10 years ago, when he was more hale and hearty and when I could have had a good conversation with him about the old days. By the time I did meet him in '09, he was in no condition to have such conversations.
The offer still stands, by the way. If anybody reading this, ever, wants to leave a respectful comment about Clive's radio work, I will be happy, delighted even, to post it here, either as an actual blog post, or as a comment on an existing post.
Tomorrow is another day, and the relatives and friends of Clive must pick themselves up and dust themselves off and go on with their lives. But they will do it with the knowledge that a piece of Clive will always be with them. Their lives are richer for having known this man, and his was richer for having known and influenced them. They will never forget him. He was loved.
See you tomorrow.
Bevboy
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