Nine years ago, memories and missing

Uncle Mike, me and Susan in the bar at La Fonda, Santa Fe. Cuba Libre in the glass a few years ago

"Quartermaster Clark. Shipmate," said the white clad sailor as he concluded and presented a folded flag  nine years ago. Another sailor played taps.

A few minutes earlier at the Santa Fe National Cemetery,  I had given the eulogy for my favorite uncle, Michael Henry Clark, WWII and Korean War U.S. Navy combat veteran.

I've written about him and this many times as the years go by, and the memories pile up. I have a photograph of him teaching me, then a first grader, how to kick a football in Fort Worth. He was headed Korea. 

Now I miss most the late night stories in his apartment where he lived for years, across the Taos highway from the cemetery. Every night you could hear taps played at 9 p.m. And I miss the laughter and too much Cuba Libre as the night went wore on. I still have one of those glasses sitting on a shelf. 

A photo of he and Susan and I sits on my desk. I may need a Cuba Libre tonight.

Saludos, Sailor. 

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My post from nine years ago:

A Sailor's Final Port of Call

Eight year ago Veterans' Day memories

Salute to a sailor on veterans' Day, Susan and I with my Uncle Mike in LaFonda, Santa Fe, early 2000s. --Leith Laws photo

Some days seem unsettled, at first for no apparent reason, even on a pleasant, peaceful back porch day like this.

 Friends' Facebook posts have begun showing up, mentioning Veterans' Day tomorrow and featuring old photos of loved ones, parents and ancestors who served in the military.

Though I'm not a veteran, I come from a long line of veterans who served four countries in North America: the armies of the 13 colonies before there was a United States, the Republic of Texas, the Confederate States of America, and  obviously, the United States of America.

Most recently of course, my favorite veteran is my oldest son Vance Clark, retired after a career with the Air Force.

But what got me to thinking, and why I realized I felt unsettled, was that eight years ago today, I spoke at the funeral of my favorite uncle, Michael Henry Clark, at the National Cemetery in Santa Fe.

I've written about him many times over the years, and won't rehash that, but he and all the other veterans deserve a salute and a "Thank you." 

Thus this brief writing, and remembrance, and bringing peace, even with some sadness, but more with price and thankfulness to what had been an unsettled day.

A favorite photo, above, he and Susan and I at the bar in La Fonda from a few years ago is on a shelf in my office/studio room.

If you care to read my comments at his funeral on that day eight years ago, on that sailor's final port of call, here are two links:

• A sailor's final port of call
• Reflections on a final port of call

Saludos, mi tio. Gracias.

And, also to M/Sgt. Vance Clark, USAF Ret. (Photo from his retirement ceremony)

Memorial Day stories and discoveries-II

Santa Fe National Cemetery

Untold stories on Memorial Day in Santa Fe National Cemetery--Pvt. O'Leary

At Santa Fe

Cemeteries draw my attention, like magnets, because they prompt curiosity and imagination as well as a sense of mortality. And national cemeteries bring humility and admiration, especially for me at Santa Fe where we buried my favorite uncle, Michael Henry Clark almost eight years ago.
Mike, a long-time resident of Santa Fe, world traveler and U.S. Navy combat veteran of both WWII and Korea, had rescued me during a dark period of my life, and as the  years passed, I was able to care for him also. Visiting him was always an adventure in story telling of family, of travel, and living.
He lived within sight of the cemetery where he's now buried, and I often visited the cemetery looking at the names on the grave stones. He mentioned one of a  soldier that is a particular source of wonder and untold stories waiting to be discovered.
I've written about Mike and this cemetery many times. So this is abbreviated, for today, in memory, with a salute.
I've photographed it many times, in good weather and in snow. I come away asking myself, "I wonder, I wonder." There are often fresh flowers on this grave. I'll leave you to wonder also.
Next--An unexpected veteran's grave in Waurika.
Earlier--(Or just type "Cemeteries" in the search box for more posts):
https://clarkcoffee.blogspot.com/2013/05/a-soldiers-rest-memorial-day-and-rose.html
https://clarkcoffee.blogspot.com/2015/05/p-rowling-cemeteries-on-backroads-i.html

Reflections on a final port of call

I asked if I could open the urn, and the funeral director said yes. I was in the visitors center-headquarters of the Santa Fe National Cemetery, and I'd come to bury my favorite uncle, Michael Henry Clark. I carry his name as my middle name, and I believe he and his oldest brother and my dad, Terrence, must have been the closest of all the five brothers from Comanche, Oklahoma.

They opened the small black box and I reached inside to touch the clear plastic bag that held the sandy-white chalky remains of the old sailor. I did so, and shut the urn. I don't know why. I just did. The last time I'd touched Mike was to say goodbye at the veterans home at Walsenburg on Memorial Day.  We'd spent the day together, telling stories, eating, me wheeling him around in his wheelchair.

Last week we went up the hill to bury him. After reading the obituary I've posted earlier, and reading Psalm 23, I made the following remarks.

We gather here in sadness and loss to celebrate and honor the life of Michael Henry Clark.

While we mourn, I know there’s a big reunion at a bar in heaven where Mike and his four brothers are laughing and swapping stories again.

I prefer to think of Mike like this, of the many stories that he told and the many stories of ours that we all know and can laugh about.

Mike brought travel, stories and laughter to us all.

I have pictures of me in diapers being held by him in his WWII Navy uniform, of him teaching me to punt a football, of camping. Growing up in Albuquerque, my brother Jerry says there was always excitement when Uncle Mike was coming—he brought gifts and stories and we had midnight breakfasts just to keep listening. In the last 10 years I can tell you stories of him picking up hitchhiking veterans and pueblo residents, and many more retracing these years.

I know you have many more than I do, having known him as his adopted family who adopted him.

Isn’t that a great gift to us all?

Remember his big toothy smiles, large Clark ears and nose, easy laughter, Depression era toughness and stubbornness as he taught generations of young people or stocked his pantry with enough food to feed the US Navy, as he navigated life, a sailor docking his ship in Santa Fe.

As a friend told him, “Mike you couldn’t have found a better place to park your magic carpet.”

Stop a moment and think of one of those happy memories and stories, and laugh with him one more time…..

When I last saw Mike on Memorial Day, he said to me, “Terry, live every day.”

Mike Clark did that.

Now his remains are just across the road from his apartment of 32 years. He didn’t care where he was buried but I told him earlier it had to be here…where the sound of the bells of St. Francis Cathedral and taps at 9 p.m. will touch his grave every day.

He always said to me, “You couldn’t have come at a better time. You’re home.”

Mike is home.

On the last day of his life, we chatted away in the afternoon, and he told me to tell Jo and Lynn and Mon how much he missed and loved them. Later he watched the World Series and was being put to bed, chatting away, and probably flirting, with the nurses.

They sat him down on the edge of the bed. There was a sound, and they laid him down and he was gone.

When I’d call every week, he’d always say, “Don’t forget me.”

We can’t forget you, Mike.

Santa Fe is just not the same without Mike Clark. We miss you.

Saludos, sailor.

God, thank you for Mike Clark. Comfort us with the many good memories of the years we knew and loved him. Amen.

The next morning I went up the hill again to take photographs of the resting place of his ashes.

Graves of those cremated at Santa Fe National Cemetery, with Santa Fe Baldy and the Sangre de Cristos in the background,t he view Mike could see from his apartment across the road. Mike's temporary marker is the closes name tag five right of the orange marker.

Mike's ashes final resting place, the temporary marker at right.

Michael Henry Clark

U.S. Navy

QM2S

WWII Korea

Sept, 4, 1922

Oct. 24, 2011

And what is eerie about this, as I post it, my blog music starts playing Ravel's Ports of Call.

A sailor's final port

The old Indian waited until the rest of the people had moved off from touching the small black box urn that held the ashes of Michael Henry Clark.

The committal center at the Santa Fe National Cemetery

The small crowd of about  50 people had gathered at the Committal Center at the Santa Fe National Cemetery at 2:15 p.m. Nov. 10 under clear, but brisk November skies. Across the road, over rows of white-gray gravestones marching in military precision, you could just see the apartment where Clark,  who died Oct. 24 at age 89, U.S. Navy combat veteran of both WWII and Korea, had lived for more than 30 years until last November.

The view from the committal center, toward Mike's apartment, light adobe about center near top of hill,
with the great blue hulk of the Sandias in the background.

They came to pay their respects to him, mostly the many members of the  Romero family that had adopted Clark, and he them as a family, including Jo Webb, his long-time girlfriend and her daughter Lynn. Also there was his best friend "Mon" Moneno, who had helped care for him so much up until he had to move a year ago from the apartment to a veteran's home in Walsenburg, Co., and other Santa Feans,  people who knew him and had worked with him. They sat in folding chairs facing the urn, and gathered behind them, thinking about this life-long friend who brought laughter and stories and adventure to their lives.

And the old Indian, Candalario Lavato of Santo Domingo pueblo, and his wife, a Tesuque Indian.

After brief comments by a nephew, the three blue uniformed U.S. Navy sailors of the honor guard took over. Beforehand, two of them greeted the vehicle that brought the urn and the flag with stiff salutes, and marched it up the small hill to a table in front of the crowd.

Then they crisply unfolded the flag and held it over the urn, sunlight streaming through the red white and blue. The third member of the guard played taps. The two then refolded the flag, carefully creasing each fold, until it was complete. White-gloved salutes followed, every detail planned and foreordained.

One marched to the center, turned on a dime, approached Jo Webb, sitting in the center of the row of chairs, knelt down on one knee, and presented her the flag.

"On behalf of the President of the United States, and a grateful nation," he said, with a few other words, concluding with "Our condolences."

He stood,  saluted once more.  His final words were, "Quartermaster Clark, Shipmate."

The crowd gathered around the urn in a last attempt to say goodbye, and moved off, chatting, planning a big afternoon meal of celebration. The nephew stood there, and touched the urn one more time, when Mr. Lavato approached, dressed like everyone else against the chill--jeans and coat--except with a beaded headband. The 92-year-old WWII Army veteran, who had fought America's enemies, had worked with Clark at the Institute of American Indian Arts years ago. There the native Oklahoman Clark had helped the native American fight administrators, and as a long time teacher, was welcome at all the feast days or any other time in the northern pueblos of New Mexico, but especially that of the Lavatos.

He faced the urn, stood at attention, and quietly raised his arm to his weathered forehead, and snapped a final salute.

Michael Henry Clark

Funeral services for Michael Henry Clark, 89, will be at 2:30 p.m. Nov. 10 in Santa Fe National Cemetery with military honors. His nephew Terry M. Clark will officiate.

 A long-time teacher at the Institute of American Indian Arts in Santa Fe, he died Oct. 24 in a Colorado veterans home at Walsenburg. Well-known in many of the pueblos of New Mexico, he lived in Santa Fe until November last year when age forced his move.

A world traveler, he was born in Comanche, OK, Sept. 4, 1922. He was the fourth of five sons of Erle T. and Cuba Jon Miller Clark of Comanche.

Before joining the U.S. Navy in WWII, he ran away from home with friends hoping to get a job in Washington, D.C. and Richmond during the Depression. In the War he served as a signalman, Petty Officer second class on PC1212 on anti-submarine patrol in the Caribbean.

After the war he earned both bachelor’s and master’s degrees in English and history from the University of Colorado. Reactivated during the Korean War, he served on LST 975 that was in the first invasion wave of landings on the beach at Inchon. He was transferred to Gen. MacArthur’s flagship, the USS Mt. McKinley, as the “best signalman in the Navy.”

He later taught high school English, history and other subjects at Espanola. He also taught at Casper, Wyo., and in Oregon. He was hired by the U.S. Information Agency to teach English to university students for five straight years in Ecuador, Libya, Iran and Mali.

He returned to the U.S. as a teacher of many subjects at the Institute of America Indian Arts in 1965. He was a member of the Santa Fe VFW and American Legion. and served in the Oklahoma National Guard as a youth.

He was preceded in death by his parents and four brothers—Terrence Miller, Lewis Watts, Rex Thweatt and Champ.  He is survived by many nieces and nephews. Rogers Funeral Home at Alamosa is handling arrangements.