This morning Oct. 4th 1994, I traveled south to Delta Utah, for a graveside service of close High School buddy. Dane Rawlingson, was living back east at some Air Force base in Illinois. While on my company trip to Kansas City, I received word from my wife that Deb Jeffery David had called to tell me that Dane had died. I did not realize that the funeral was the next day in the neighboring state. There was some mystery as of exactly what had caused Dane's death. He was feeling ill and made an appointment to see a "Base Doctor". Later he felt worse, and his wife took him to the hospital and an hour later he was dead. It turned out that he had some minor and rare liver problem, but compounded with an unusual viral strain, caused pulmonary failure followed by cardiac arrest.
There were 5 of us in High School what paled around. We were all very interested in music and all played instruments in the band and sang in a cappella choir and madrigals. All but one of us had leading parts our senior year in the musical Carousel. Dane was the main lead and Bruce and I played Mr. Snow in the musical Carousel. (it was double casted due the amount of talent, they couldn't pick just one set of leading characters.)
The four of us, and some times Dane during our senior year in high school would each month travel with the high council and sing at different wards and often one of us would give a short talk was well.
I guess we were an unusual group for high school kids in those days, how often could you get high school seniors to sing and TALK in church, willingly. Now try to get them to do it every month.
I remember we prided ourselves on learning a new song for each month even though we went to a different ward (parish) every time. Oh whoops Elder Oaks just told us last conferance to NOT have pride in our singing praises to the Lord. Hummm he must have misread the teleprompter. ;)
Four of the five of us went on foreign speaking missions, Mark to Spanish California, Bruce to Brussels, Evan to China and myself to the center of Christianity, Italy Rome, a city where the ancient apostles once sojourned. Our paths split as we left high school, Bruce and I to BYU, Mark to Trade Tech, and Evan and Dane to Cedar City where they were roommates. But Dane, least my mind is totally failing me, did not go on a mission. From our senior class it is easier to count those that we were all shocked that they ever went on a mission, than it is to name those that didn't go. Dane took another route, he, after drifting through a few years of school, joined the Air Force. He had an excellent career there, got married and traveled the world. I remember at our 5 year class reunion people thought he was in Turkey, but no one was sure. The last time I saw him literally, because the casket was closed in a private family gathering this morning, was at the 10 year reunion. He had all the trappings of successful military career in telecommunications. It was mentioned this morning that he was highly regarded by his military comrades. When word of the World Cup Soccer games were coming to America, Dane was called by name to head up the telecommunications for that event.
His wife was so taken back by his sudden departure from this life, leaving behind 3 or 4 kids that she didn't eat from Monday on, and had not slept much, the night before Dane's funeral in Illinois, she clasped and was hospitalized for a few days and missed the funeral altogether.
There was a small gathering at the old Delta 1st ward building. I snuck into the chapel to see how well I remembered the mural of the last supper that was painted on the back wall. It coud not be saved during renovations some 15 years ago, but at least they tried to save it.
The family had their private casket closing, and then the rest of the extended family, filed past by the widow and tried fruitlessly to give comfort.
We retired to the Delta Cemetery, there a military / Mormon grave side service was held. A flag draped coffin, some 50 or so people, and a 21 gun solute, followed by Taps played by Evan, were all very poignant. Also Danes brother spoke briefly and Evan played a Trumpet solo. Evan seemed distracted, as he checked on the time table, living Joan with his silver trumpet exposed to the damp and chilly air. I retrieved his mouth piece and warmed it in my pocket, having on one occasion played the echo half of taps with Evan, for the military funeral of an old military man in that same cemetery years ago.
As I drove down to Delta, I reflected on what I may say if an opportunity permitted. The program as described by Deb (Jeffry David), seemed uncertain and it played out just that way.
I brought with me the letter of Sullivan Ballou and the children's book "Love you forever" by Robert Munsch and Illustrated by Sheila McGraw. We had three copies of the book that were given to us at the death of Christy Lynne, and my best friend Steve Shaw, read it at our grave side service for Christy. As I drove down the freeway I read the book aloud, practicing saying the words with appropriate feeling, but without emotion. It was not possible for me to do that in the car by myself. I tried to imagine how I could keep my composure in the company of family and friends. I speculated as to what a motorist passing me on the freeway might think if they took a close look at me, with teas running down my face.
As I drove I read twice the letter of Sullivan Ballou. I had read it in Sunday School as a 2 and 1/2 minute talk two years previously on the 4th of July. That day I lead the congregation in the Star Spangled Banner, since I was Sunday School chorister, I could do that. The three main points seemed so poignant to me as it related to Dane, that often I was over come with emotion to the point of most of my body becoming numb and tingling, as if my all my arms and legs had fallen asleep at the same moment, while driving down last 2 lane steatch of road to Delta. This same condition in even a stronger fashion had happened to me before, but as of this writing, I am not going to tell the circumstances, or what I was writting about at here.
There was no place for this short talk in the haphazard program, so I will deliver it post post mortem as it were......
Dane and I shared many life experiences. We were both the last child of 7, from much older parents. I never remember speaking directly to Dane about this, but we both understood what it was like to be part of the children of the "generation gap". We had parents in their 60's, less energetic, athletic and enthusiastic about doing things with their youngest child. Dane and I also suffered from trying to live up to the achievements of our older brothers, whom were also each others same age, and exceed us scholastically as well as extracurricularly. Dane's brother was the student body president, and my brother was a star player on the 2nd place team in the state basketball tournament.
The Dane I knew, was the high school boy with the wry smile, while planning or after being caught in mischief. I must in all honesty say that I have not kept in touch with Dane since High School, but our experiences up to that point had many parallels. I do not know of Dane's current level of loyalty to our country, as well as his family must know, but I find it hard to imagine anyone who grew up in this valley, being anything but patriotic. I also feel that anyone raised how and when we were, could depart from Delta a hardened atheist. The Christian examples, from all religions, were exemplary to at least instill a soft spot in anyone's heart for some flavor of deity. I know nothing of Dane's current family life, but I know of the kind of loving home and parents he came from. Oh maybe not Ozey and Harriet, but strong family ties, existed even through the most stressful teenage years.
The letter I am about to read you has those three themes running through it. Many may have heard this before, all the better. Your minds may more easily drift allowing you see parallels with Dane's life.
A week before the battle of Bullrun, Sullivan Ballou a Major in the 2nd Road Island volunteers wrote home to his wife in Smithfield.
July 14, 1861 Washington DC.
Dear Sara,
The indications are very strong that we shall move in a few day, perhaps tomorrow. And lest I should not be able to write you again. I feel impelled to write a few lines that might fall under your eye when I am no more. I have no misgivings about or lack of confidence in the cause in which I am engaged. My courage does not halt or falter. I know how Americans civilization now leans on the triumph of the Government. And how great a debut we owe to those who went before us through the blood and suffering of the revolution. And I am willing, perfectly willing to lay down all my joys in this life to help maintain this government, and to pay that debt.
Sara, my love for you is deathless, it seems to bind me with mighty cables that nothing but omnipotence's can break. And yet my love of country comes over me like a strong wind and bears me irresistibly with all those chains to the battle field. The memory of all the blissful moments I have enjoyed with you come crowding over me. And I feel most deeply grateful to God, and you, that I have enjoyed them for so long. And how hard it is for me to give them up and burn to ashes the hopes of future years. When God willing we might still have lived and loved together, and see our boys grown up to honorable manhood around us.
If I do not return, my dear Sara, never forget how much I loved you. Nor that when my last breath escapes me on the battle field, it will whisper your name. Forgive my many faults and the many pains I have caused you. How thought less how foolish I have sometimes been. But Oh Sara, if the dead can come back to this earth, and flit unseen around those they love. I shall always be with you, in the brightest day and the darkest night. Always. Always And when the soft breeze fans your cheek, it shall be my breath, or the cool air, your throbbing temple, it shall be my spirit passing by. Sara do not morn me dead, think I am gone and wait for me, for we shall meet again.
Sullivan Ballou was killed a week later at the first battle of Bullrun.
I realize that in our church there is much talk of eternal families and the great beyond, which is all good and well. But for us it is very much in the future. We, here and now, defiantly feel a loss. We just can not let that loss control our lives.
Yet I would extort you all in the coming hours, days and years to not avoid the grief and sorrow in Dane's passing, but embrace it. Cherish it, savor Dane's memory in your private hours of grief.
Let that grieving process heal your soul, not diminish it.
We must think of Dane, as being gone, and wait for him, for we ALL shall meet again.
Dane Rawlinson 1974
Written by Perry Porter, partly in the car on the way to Delta and added to after I got home. I was going to get his wife's address from Deb (Jeffery) David, and send her a copy of the story, but that was just one of many good intentions that lacked followthrough. Since I made this story a web page on Feb 11 2001, I can quit procrastinating and e-mail Deb the URL and she can forward it to Dane's wife if she has an address. (I called her and she didn't have any address or number for his widow.)
Ciao Perry
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