Before I expose my innermost and secret thoughts about railings, I must confess to a vision in my mind that has persisted for almost 50 years. Those of you who follow the fortunes of the Carr family will recall that of the eight children, four were boys. It was my mother’s greatest wish that each one of those boys would become a Baptist preacher. Unfortunately, she was sadly disappointed by what happened.
A fellow named Sol ran a pool hall in Clayton, Missouri. Charlie, the oldest son, played pool there and bet on games and, even worse than that, drank some beer during Prohibition. So Charlie was let out of the Baptist preacher sweepstakes. Earl was the next in line and he followed Charlie’s footsteps into Sol’s pool hall. Having two sons playing pool and drinking beer was almost more than my mother could stand. The third son, Laurence, died before his twelfth birthday from appendicitis and pneumonia. I of course was the fourth son, bringing up the tail end of the family offspring. It was not hard to discern my distaste for religious affairs, which started when I was six or seven years old. So that let me out and it left my mother with no one from our family to become a Baptist preacher.
Lillie Carr, my mother, died nearly 50 years ago and because she was both saved and sanctified, I believe it is safe to assume that her current residence is in Heaven. No one ever issued a certificate for her being saved or sanctified; it was self-proclaimed. But at this late date, I assume that the saved and sanctified business is the state of the record.
My vision goes on to find me in the pulpit of a Baptist church, delivering the eulogy for the town drunkard, the town gambler, or for the town lover of every female. During my eulogy, which according to Baptist standards must take an hour, I envision my mother looking over the railings which confine the Heavenly host to Heaven. I am quite aware that every resident of Heaven has a pair of wings. I assume that if they lose their balance and are cast beyond the reaches of the Heavenly platform, they will fly back up to their original perch. But my mother is now approaching her 129th birthday, at which time arthritis may appear in her wings. Therefore, the grand commandant of Heaven has provided a railing.
Looking over the railing at the church where I am delivering the eulogy, Lillie will take great pride in pointing out that at least her final son was preaching. At this point, I am sure that my words would not carry all the way to Heaven, so that Lillie could enjoy the a cappella performance, including all of the hand gestures. In an effort to hear what I had to say about the town drunkard or the town lecher in the eulogy, it could be that Lillie would lean against the Heavenly railing so far that she might fall off. And so, arthritic wings or not, she would be obliged to fly back to her original perch. The fact of the matter is that I have received no invitations to preach at a eulogy for the town drunkard, the town drinker, the town gambler, or the town lecher. But that does not alter the fact that we owe railings a great deal for protecting us and contributing to our comfort.
For example, the house in which Miss Chicka and I reside is a split level. My memory tells me that there are four sets of stairs that take us from one level to the other. In a good many cases, when it is necessary to use a bathroom, there are steps to be climbed or descended to achieve that end. But railings provide a great assist in ascending or descending. They can be leaned on or pulled on or simply used as guides.
On the outside of the house there are two walkways where I have had wrought iron railings constructed to assist people trying to negotiate the few steps there. Aside from the assist they give the walker, the railings also tell the snow shoveller that he has reached the edge of the walkway.
The last railing we had constructed was to the basement. The six steps leading to the basement, where we have a gymnasium, are difficult to traverse. Art Taylor, our handyman, constructed a wooden railing that may not win a prize at an art show but for several years has gotten the job done.
In the final analysis, it strikes me that railings are items that require no repair. They also require no upkeep. They do have their sanitary problems, however, in that the birds we feed sit on the wrought-iron railings and poop on them. From time to time, this has to be washed off but that is a small price to pay for the comfort, convenience, and help that they and the birds provide.
In the final analysis, it seems to me that railings go unappreciated by humankind. Railings ask for very little. They are not temperamental. From time to time, they may be washed to improve their appearance but they require no regular updates such as lubrication or adjustment. Railings are there to provide assistance and to comfort us. They ask for nothing in return. Given this set of circumstances, it seems to me that these railings are deserving of a tribute. I am going to encourage my wife as well as myself to tell the railings in this house and its walkways that we really appreciate them. That is the least that we can do for something that offers so much help and takes nothing in return.
And so you see, my vision of Lillie in Heaven has had a practical effect. It has resulted in this tribute to railings, which is long overdue. For myself, I have no thought that I will ever be saved or sanctified or a resident of Heaven. But that should not prevent any essay writer from paying tribute to the railings that comfort and guide us every day.
E. E. CARR
June 15, 2009
Essay 391
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Kevin’s commentary: An easy favorite. Something so simple becomes a thousand words. I’ll let this one stand for itself.