I lost my Uncle Luther last month.
When I was a child, my dad's brother was a dashing Air Force officer who would occasionally visit our little duplex on the banks of the Duck River in Columbia, Tennessee. I remember he smoked sweet-smelling pipe tobacco and told stories that seemed straight out of the wild blue yonder.
As a career Air Force officer, he was stationed in places all over the world Germany, Japan, Taiwan, the Philippines. When I was in sixth grade, I chose to make a report on Taiwan, and Uncle Luther sent me pamphlets for my assignment. This was decades before the internet made research a snap, and so his help - albeit by snail mail - was vital.
In our little Tennessee house, I remember sitting on shag carpeting and listening to Uncle Luther's stories and thinking that he was the most well-traveled man in the world. His ever-present pipe and observance of cocktail hour also made Uncle Luther the most sophisticated person I knew. When I was very young, I remember seeing a James Bond movie and thinking Uncle Luther was Agent 007. I also thought he was the father on the TV show "The Addams Family."
Several times during my youth, Uncle Luther's family would visit us in Columbia. How eight people slept in our small house still puzzles me. Aunt Nell would scramble eggs for us after my mother left for her bank-teller job. Meanwhile, Uncle Luther would tell stories about the price of goods and services overseas.
A little family history: Uncle Luther was the second youngest of four siblings. His father, Raymond, was an elementary school principal and his mother, Helen, kept preschool children in her home to earn money. They were perpetually lower middle class.
Luther and my father, Blair, were especially close, although they were 10 years apart in age. (Blair was older.) When my dad came back from his military service in the Korean conflict, he helped Luther get established in college and got him a part-time job at an A&P grocery store. Talking to Uncle Luther in recent years, I got the idea that he considered Blair almost a father figure.
It became apparent to me through the years that although he was one of the younger siblings, Uncle Luther became the caretaker of his tribe. When his oldest brother was dying, it was Luther who helped him out. His sister, who sometimes had money needs, called on Luther as a banker of last resort. And my father, who died in 1993, became disabled after his Army service and looked to Luther for lifelong love and support.
The Tennessee Kennedys always considered Uncle Luther's accomplishments a point of pride. And it wasn't just about his military career. It was clear to everyone that Uncle Luther was special. He had a gentle spirit and a kind heart.
Once, a member of our family told me that I reminded her of Luther. I still rank that as one of the highest compliments I have ever received. Both of my sons lean toward tenderheartedness, and they remind me of my favorite uncle, too.
A few months ago, Uncle Luther called me about an article I had written. I told him how much his call meant to me. He signed off by saying, "I love you."
In my heart, the words resonated like the dinner bell at our ancestral country home in Maury County, Tennessee. I think Uncle Luther knew his life was winding down, and he wanted to go on the record about his feelings for those in his extended family.
I remember once when he was visiting me in Chattanooga, Uncle Luther paused in front of my father's funeral flag that is mounted inside a frame. He doffed his baseball cap and stood in silent tribute.
In coming days, I, too, will pause and meditate on my Uncle Luther - whose abundant life deserves a rich remembering.
Email Mark Kennedy at mkennedy@timesfreepress.com.