I attended the funeral service of another senior Nokomis stalwart yesterday.  Mr. Rease Seales was 92 years old when he died.  Rease’s son, Eddie, is an old friend of mine.  Eddie and I were in the same grade in school and went through all our school days together, but having grown up within a stone’s throw of one another in the rural community of Nokomis, our friendship extends even back to pre-school days.  Only a week or so earlier, the mother of another Nokomis chum of mine was put to rest.  Jim Lee’s mother, Ms. Pauline Lee, died at the age of 87.

I have written a great deal about my growing up years in this place called Nokomis.  It is a place and time which holds a special corner in my heart.  No small reason for this is the fact that there were a fairly large number of boys my age who were growing up in Nokomis during the 1950’s and early 1960’s, and the close bonds of friendship we established in those days has held strong through the years, even to the present day as we all move into our 60’s.  We played in the woods, fields and long the dirt roads of Nokomis together as boys and embraced the label that was often put upon us as “that Nokomis bunch” when we went off to school and mixed with kids from various other outlying communities.

On those infrequent occasions when we find ourselves together, such as the funeral service of an aged parent, our repoire and conversations seem to fall comfortably into place as we rehash old stories and jibe one another about the wide range of idiocyncrasies and eccentricities that have become a part of our individual characters.  On the recent occasion of Ms. Pauline Lee’s funeral service, I was approached by Van Johnson’s younger brother, Jerry, who is no less a colorful character in his own right than Van.  Jerry, a tall, handsome fellow well over six feet, with a soft-spoken, sincere manner about him that is a cross between a skilled used car salesman and a fervent Pentecostal preacher, touched my elbow and leaned in close as he nodded his head toward his brother, Van, who stood a few feet away in the crowd that was exiting the funeral home.

“Lloyd,” Jerry intoned (you can always tell when one of the Johnson boys is about spin a yarn, he will say your name first);  “Lloyd,” Jerry said, “Don’t you think Van is dying his hair?”

Well, as it were, my brother, Ronnie, and I had only moments earlier speculated between us as we sat together in the service about Van’s hair.  Although Van has denied dying his hair to me several times over the past few years (Yes, I asked him!  Such is the nature of the Nokomis bond that we feel free to ask one another such questions), Ronnie and I had already agreed that it is quite improbable that Van’s hair is as black as he has it.

“Jerry,” I replied, raising my index finger to signal that I was about to say something profound, “Ronnie and I were just discussing that very thing.  Yes, I do think Van is dying his hair, but did you know that he denies it?”

“Yes, I know he denies it,” Jerry said, “but Lloyd, do you remember what color Van’s hair was when he was young?”

“Jerry,” I replied, “Van used to have blonde hair.”

“That’s right,” Jerry retorted, slapping me on the shoulder for emphasis.  “His hair used to be blonde.  Now Lloyd, have you ever seen a young, blonde-headed man grow old and his hair turn black?”

“I never have,” I agreed.

Presently, Ronnie saw Jerry and I talking confidentially and looking toward Van and he wandered over to see what we were talking about.  “Are ya’ll talking about Van’s hair?” Ronnie asked, grinning.

Jerry moved in close to Ronnie and put his long arm around Ronnie’s puny old shoulders.  He leaned in.  “Ronnie, don’t you think Van is dying his hair?”

“It sure looks that way,” Ronnie said.  “But you’re his brother, so you tell us.  Is he dying his hair?”

Jerry threw up both hands and exclaimed, “Ronnie, I swear to God, I don’t know.  He says he doesn’t, but I think he’s lying, don’t you?”

Well, Ronnie and Jerry and I tentatively agreed that Van was lying about dying his hair.  It just did not seem right to us that Van’s hair should be so black.  Not a gray hair in his head, except for his facial whiskers, of course, which were amply gray.

And so, as we all gathered again at Mr. Rease Seales’ pre-funeral viewing, Van walked over to where Ronnie and I were standing.  He gently placed his hand on my elbow, leaned close, and said, “Lloyd, I want to ask ya’ll something.”

“Okay Van,” I replied.  “What is it?”

“Well,” Van said, “Jerry told me that you and Ronnie both approached him at Ms. Pauline’s funeral and asked him if I dyed my hair.  Jerry said he could not deny that he thought it entirely possible that I dyed my and had admitted as much to you boys.

“Well,” Van went on, “I want to tell you this.  Jerry asked me the other day if I could trap him a coon to train for a pet and I told him I would.  Last night Jerry called me and asked me if I had caught that coon yet.  I told him I had and Jerry said, ‘Well bring him over.’”

I should mention here that Van Johnson is a master at capturing wild animals and training them as pets.  Even as a young boy, Van always had a pet bird sitting on his shoulder or a pet squirrel that would run up and down his arms.  Van is an expert animal trainer and that ain’t no lie.  I swear to God!

Anyway, Van continued:  “Nossir,” I told Jerry.  “I’m not giving you that coon until you call Ronnie and Lloyd and tell them that I don’t dye my hair.”

“Well,” says Ronnie to Van, “First of all, I remember that encounter just a little differently than Jerry told you.  It wasn’t me or Lloyd who brought up the subject of you dying your hair.  It was Jerry who brought it up to us.  He came right up to us and asked if we thought you dyed your hair.”

“That lying Sucker!” Van exclaimed.  “He said ya’ll brought it up.”

About that time, Jerry came sauntering down the hallway and walked up to join our intimate gathering with a mischievous smirk on his face.”

“Jerry,” Van said, poking his index finger into Jerry’s chest.  “You lied to me and you ain’t never getting that coon now.”

“Who me?” Jerry shrugged.

“Yes you,” Van said.  “You told me that Ronnie and Lloyd brought up that I was dying my hair and they have now done told me that it was you who brought it up.”

Jerry smirked and dropped his eyes at the embarrassment of being caught in a lie, then looked back up at Van.  “Well, you do dye your hair, don’t you Van?” he asked pointedly.

Van reared back and indignantly blew out his chest, threw up his right hand with the fingers joined, and exclaimed solemnly, “I swear to God, I do not dye my hair!”

“It sure looks like you do to me,” I said.

“Me too,” Ronnie agreed.

Jerry reached out and gently rubbed Van’s face whiskers with his fingertips.  “You see all these gray hairs here on his cheek?” Jerry said.  “It’s just hard to believe that the hair on his head is so black, ain’t it boys?”

Van stalked off in total denial, leaving the three of us laughing.

Now I just want to say that vanity is not unique to any of us.  I’d dye my hair too if I thought I could get away with it, but if I was approached directly about it, I don’t think I’d keep lying about it like Van does.  I swear to God I wouldn’t!