In 2003 my late mother, Helen Bay Gibbons (1921-2015), wrote this sweet tribute to her younger brother, Earl Maxwell Bay (1927-2018):
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| "Uncle Bud" Earl Maxwell Bay (1927-2018) |
April 13, 2003
Dearest Bud:
Your most generous tribute and expressions of love in your letter of March 23 touched me deeply. What a very special man you are! I am highly honored to be your sister. Your entire life has been one of thoughtfulness and kindness to others. Thank you for all you have done for me, and now for this appreciated but not truly deserved letter. Frank was touched by it also, and said, “Be sure that letter is preserved. Why don’t you include it in your personal journal which is a bound book each year, so it won’t be lost.” It is a treasure!
I have long recognized that putting ideas and events in written form gives them an increased power and permanence lacking in spoken form. Your example of writing such messages to each of your children and grandchildren has got me thinking that I ought to do the same thing in our family, to let each loved one know how precious they are to me and to Frank.
My memories of you from your birth are sweet and warm. Bernice could not pronounce the word “brother,” so called you “Little Budda”, and in spite of Mama’s urgent efforts to insist that we call you Maxwell, you became known as “Budda” and then as Bud. You far outshone me in courage, even though you were more than five years younger. We were trying to handle a feisty cow who didn’t like our leading her new calf away from the corral to the window of our house to show it to Bernice who was quarantined with scarlet fever. You were only about five years old, but I turned the rope over to you.
When Dad had to leave town to find cash-paying work, you were the one to milk the cows, and do other manly chores for Mother when you were in your early teens. You were so willing and so dependable. You moved to the big West High School as a senior, I believe. What a change from Piute High! What an adjustment being the new kid, having to defend yourself from bigger bullies. One night you and other teens were milling around in front of our house late one night, and the neighbors complained about the noise. You were the one who went to apologize to the neighbors.
You got a job working for peanuts, washing windows at a downtown store, and ushering in a theater. When I told you goodbye at the train station, you whispered to me, “Don’t worry about money.” I exhausted my limited cash while coming home from my mission on a bus (in order to stop in Phoenix and meet Frank’s mother en route). So when my friend and I stopped in Flagstaff to see you while you were there in officer training in the Navy, I soaked you for my share of the hotel room. You never complained, although you were hardly rolling in dough.
You worked your way through the university and became an engineer, while you and your beautiful Betty were young, struggling parents. You saved and worked and bought your home at 4629 South 1130 East. You were always there for your brothers and sisters.
When Elvon suffered an accident out in the boonies somewhere, you did not hesitate but drove directly there to bring him back to the hospital in your station wagon. Years later, he tried to start a business as a building contractor, and was stiffed by a company for whom he had built a big store. He did not have sufficient capital to manage such a delay, as he had planned to pay for materials for other projects from the payment of the completed project. He was in serious financial difficulty, and he told me that you had gone to him and offered to borrow money on your own home to bail him out. He knew that even that was not enough, so refused your offer. I think it was a source of pride to him that he gave up his own new home, his business, and worked to pay off all his debts without cheating his creditors. But he was touched, and so was I, by your loving generosity, so typical of you.
When Dad was critically ill in the VA Hospital, and we were called to his bedside in the middle of the night, we all gathered to be near him. Charlotte came with her son James Hill, his wife, and their son who was ready to enter the mission field. The nurses and doctors were worried because there were so many of us. (Usually, they had patients with no one who came to visit. The medical staff decreed that to protect our father, we could not enter his hospital room until he fell asleep. Then, quietly, two at a time, could slip into the room for a minute or two without disturbing him. Charlotte announced, “The out-of-town people go first.” Elvon was irate. “I will see my father before any out-of- towners.” Charlotte backed down, and we all got to see him briefly. Finally, he passed the critical stage, and one by one everyone went home to bed except you and Mary and me. I sat by his bedside for an hour, and then you said you would stay the rest of the night. So you got in your car, followed me home and then followed Mary to see that she made it OK, and then returned to sit with Dad the rest of the night.
After his death, you reluctantly assumed the duty of executor of his estate. The attorney who was helping us was concerned that there would be a family struggle, with all the Bay children and all of Charlotte’s children who had been sealed to Dad in their adulthood. Because of your diplomatic approach, Charlotte’s children told you, “We don’t want your father’s money. All we want is his good name.” You, however, insisted that they receive what he had specified in his will. Dad had specified that Charlotte could remain in the home until her death. However, she did not want to remain in the home, so you added her name to the list of the seven of us, handled the sale of the home and split the money eight ways. There was absolutely no squabbling in our own family over who got what piece of furniture or other assets. It was because we all had perfect trust in you, and valued our relationship with one another far above any physical legacy. The lawyer was amazed at the lack of ill feelings in the disposition of the matter.
For years, you were always on hand to help Uncle France. No natural son could have been more kind to him. You again reluctantly assumed the heavy duty of managing his estate, paying his bills, dealing with the accountants and legal matters. (I was going through a time of physical anxiety and pain and did not think I could handle it. Instead, you and Betty helped me , gave me encouragement that my pain was not going to be permanent. Betty taught me some helpful exercises, how to “crawl like a dog” to get up from the floor. She did me more good than the doctors).
Even after your near-fatal heart attack, you were doing things for Uncle France and for Florence, taking them to the doctor, picking up medicine, etc., at the risk of your own health. After her death, you often spent the night on Uncle France’s couch to be there to help him get safely to the bathroom. You supervised his treatment in the hospital and his move to St. Joseph’s Villa, and we promised him that he would not have to die alone. I was so grateful that the Lord enabled us to keep that promise.
Then came the very difficult task for you as administrator of his estate, following his wishes as to the generous disposition of his property and money. What a headache! It took a year. Again, your natural talents of honorable kindness, diplomacy, and tactful confidentiality, assisted by Betty through the whole process, enabled you to conclude the settling of the estate. I never could have done what you did, and did so well.
Since receiving your wonderful letter, I have reread your Personal Statement of Faith. What a treasure that is! Your powerful witness of the truth, your honest and effective descriptions of your values and your faith will have greater influence that you can now know in the lives of your descendants for many generations. Those written words of testimony along with your personal written tributes to each of your children and grandchildren will live through the generations to strengthen your family. It has far more value than any monetary or physical treasure you could ever bestow. I value your words and so will my descendants. You have set a high bar for all of us to achieve.
What you have done for me, has been repeated over and over for other members of the family—Mary, JaNel, Paul, and Phil—and their offspring. You have blessed us all in ways too numerous to recount. We are all honored to have such a man as you—a true Saint, a true Christian gentleman—as our brother. God bless you always—you and Betty and your beautiful family.
Much love,
Helen
