For the first half of his life, Stanley was the go-to paint and body man in Lindale and surrounding parts. If you wanted your standard issue Ford or Chevy to look on the outside like the lioness she was under the hood, Stanley was your guy.
Stanley had a reputation for turning out tough-looking hot rods. He favored Studebakers, Packards, Corvettes, Indian motorcycles and the AMC Rebel Machine. He could hand-paint stripes so perfect you’d swear they came off a roll, and his flames were not the standard Hot Wheels variety. Stanley’s flames danced off the car like they were coming straight out of the motor. His basement garage on Maple Road drew men, young and old, who loved cars like he did and wanted to see his paint come to life.
I was about 7 or 8 years old when I first met Stanley. It was the early 1970s, and my Aunt Lois and Uncle Frank moved next door to the Walkers and the Elickers. There were five of seven Cordle kids living in a little brick house, and y’all know how that works. Kids find other kids to play with, and my older cousins, who loved fast cars and hi-test gasoline, couldn’t stay away from Stanley. I didn’t realize it at the time, but when I was standing outside the door of Stanley’s basement paint and body shop with my cousins Donnie, Benny and David, I was in the studio of an artist.
Art is something I understand. My wife and kids are painters, potters, sculptors and sketchers. Their work is usually applied to canvas, clay or watercolor paper. Stanley’s canvas was smooth steel and fiberglass.
One of his regular customers once told me that Stanley was the original Fonz, his country-boy cool casting a shadow far larger than his wiry frame and his larger-than-life personality drawing a steady stream of misfits and greasers who basked in the glow of his shop lights.
To those boys, he was a patient teacher and a magician, creating works of art from a spray gun and masking tape, art that would make their buddies jealous.
One of his students was Robby McGarity. While studying a book called Prayer Altars with Robby and some church friends about a year ago, Robby asked if we’d ever met someone who had a prayer altar at work.
None of us could think of anyone.
“I have,” Robby told us. “His name was Stanley Walker. He had him a prayer altar in the back of his shop where he could get down on his knees and spend time with Jesus.”
I hadn’t known that about Stanley, but it sure was good to know.
As he matured in his faith, Stanley also always kept a Bible close. Everywhere he turned there was a Bible nearby, beside his bed, beside the couch, on the back of the toilet and four in his car. Stanley knew the healing and encouragement and truth that came from the Word of God, and even as he struggled to breath in the hospital, he asked Darla to recite the 23rd Psalm to help put him at ease.
The Lord is my Shepherd.
I shall not want.
He makes me lie down in green pastures.
He leads me beside still waters.
He restores my soul.
He leads me in paths of righteousness for his name’s sake.
Even though I walk the valley of the Shadow of Death, I will fear no evil.
For you are with me.
Your rod and your staff they comfort me.
You prepare a table before me in the presence of my enemies.
You anoint my head with oil; My cup overflows.
Surely goodness and mercy will follow me all the days of my life.
And I will dwell in the house of the Lord forever.
Darla asked him if he was surprised that she could recite it from memory. I suspect he wasn’t.
You should know that Stanley has been a continual presence in my life.
Darla and I are the same age. In eighth grade I emceed the Gong Show while Darla and a classmate performed a Captain and Tennille song. I think it was Love Will Keep Us Together, but it could’ve been Muskrat Love. We sat at the same lunch table together in high school, and we shared the same group of friends. I love her.
Haley is younger than me. We both say we remember each other in knee socks. I'm not sure that's a good thing. We reconnected about 20 years ago when I was working at the Rome News-Tribune and she was in her role as director of PR for Floyd.
She offered me a job and changed my life. A few years later, she showed just how good a friend she was when she called me into her office and told me she was worried about me. She thought I might need to see a doctor.
She was right. I know she helped me that day. There’s a good possibility that she saved my life.
Darla and Haley are both talented, creative people, clearly a trait they inherited from Stanley.
Truly creative people can’t put their creativity aside. That was the case with Stanley.
While he liked fast runners and muscle cars in his younger days, once he picked up the banjo, cars didn’t matter much anymore. He’d take that banjo with him anywhere, always ready to pick a mountain tune or old-timey gospel hymn. He said it made him feel close to his banjo-playing Papa Tanner, and he played it claw hammer style, like Papa Tanner did.
Stanley would flash his smile and start to strumming, making friends at every turn and fluttering hearts left and right. Buck and Roy might have made pickin’ and grinnin’ popular, but Stanley Walker owned it.
He also owned the new role of dad to a third daughter, adding blond and freckled Lauren.
Lauren may not know it, but she is the originator of a phrase that has become something of a family and professional legend—class of style.
She was a middle schooler observing her older sisters when she critiqued one of Haley’s clothing choices, telling her she didn’t have “class of style.” That Lauren-ism has lasted 15 years, and it has become a measure for both Haley and Darla, their friends and coworkers. If something doesn’t meet the standard of excellence for how something should be, it doesn’t have class of style. Thank you for that phrase, Lauren.
If the first part of his life was about fast runners, the last few years were about growing tomatoes and Jesus. Like his banjo, growing tomatoes made Stanley feel close to his granddaddy. The harvest provided him with gifts and conversation starters, but he didn’t need them. Stanley never met a stranger. He loved to tell stories and listen to other people’s stories. That skill served him well after he put his faith in Jesus.
Stanley followed Jesus’ example of caring for and loving the meek, weak and forgotten, which left him without a lot of resources but a wealth of people who loved him. He’d give you his last dollar if he thought you needed it, and his house was filled with cards and notes from people who benefitted from his big heart.
In his later years, Stanley’s hard-living younger years caught up with him. He was diagnosed with COPD and lung cancer, challenges that would have put a lesser man to bed, but not Stanley. He continued to work, and he kept the roads hot driving to look after and love on others. If he was not driving, he was home playing a role that he relished: grandfather and papa. In serving as papa, Stanley further connected with the man he revered, Papa Tanner.
Here’s what I want you to know. You don’t really say goodbye to people like Stanley. He leaves behind memories, stories, songs and treasures that will cause him to live on in the hearts of those who knew him. And, he’d be the first one to tell you not to cry. His faith has already landed him safe in the arms of Jesus.
My guess is he’s picking a banjo on a street of gold somewhere up in Corvette heaven.
You should know that Stanley has been a continual presence in my life.
Darla and I are the same age. In eighth grade I emceed the Gong Show while Darla and a classmate performed a Captain and Tennille song. I think it was Love Will Keep Us Together, but it could’ve been Muskrat Love. We sat at the same lunch table together in high school, and we shared the same group of friends. I love her.
Haley is younger than me. We both say we remember each other in knee socks. I'm not sure that's a good thing. We reconnected about 20 years ago when I was working at the Rome News-Tribune and she was in her role as director of PR for Floyd.
She offered me a job and changed my life. A few years later, she showed just how good a friend she was when she called me into her office and told me she was worried about me. She thought I might need to see a doctor.
She was right. I know she helped me that day. There’s a good possibility that she saved my life.
Darla and Haley are both talented, creative people, clearly a trait they inherited from Stanley.
Truly creative people can’t put their creativity aside. That was the case with Stanley.
While he liked fast runners and muscle cars in his younger days, once he picked up the banjo, cars didn’t matter much anymore. He’d take that banjo with him anywhere, always ready to pick a mountain tune or old-timey gospel hymn. He said it made him feel close to his banjo-playing Papa Tanner, and he played it claw hammer style, like Papa Tanner did.
Stanley would flash his smile and start to strumming, making friends at every turn and fluttering hearts left and right. Buck and Roy might have made pickin’ and grinnin’ popular, but Stanley Walker owned it.
He also owned the new role of dad to a third daughter, adding blond and freckled Lauren.
Lauren may not know it, but she is the originator of a phrase that has become something of a family and professional legend—class of style.
She was a middle schooler observing her older sisters when she critiqued one of Haley’s clothing choices, telling her she didn’t have “class of style.” That Lauren-ism has lasted 15 years, and it has become a measure for both Haley and Darla, their friends and coworkers. If something doesn’t meet the standard of excellence for how something should be, it doesn’t have class of style. Thank you for that phrase, Lauren.
If the first part of his life was about fast runners, the last few years were about growing tomatoes and Jesus. Like his banjo, growing tomatoes made Stanley feel close to his granddaddy. The harvest provided him with gifts and conversation starters, but he didn’t need them. Stanley never met a stranger. He loved to tell stories and listen to other people’s stories. That skill served him well after he put his faith in Jesus.
Stanley followed Jesus’ example of caring for and loving the meek, weak and forgotten, which left him without a lot of resources but a wealth of people who loved him. He’d give you his last dollar if he thought you needed it, and his house was filled with cards and notes from people who benefitted from his big heart.
In his later years, Stanley’s hard-living younger years caught up with him. He was diagnosed with COPD and lung cancer, challenges that would have put a lesser man to bed, but not Stanley. He continued to work, and he kept the roads hot driving to look after and love on others. If he was not driving, he was home playing a role that he relished: grandfather and papa. In serving as papa, Stanley further connected with the man he revered, Papa Tanner.
Here’s what I want you to know. You don’t really say goodbye to people like Stanley. He leaves behind memories, stories, songs and treasures that will cause him to live on in the hearts of those who knew him. And, he’d be the first one to tell you not to cry. His faith has already landed him safe in the arms of Jesus.
My guess is he’s picking a banjo on a street of gold somewhere up in Corvette heaven.
Bill, this beautifully-written eulogy makes me regret the fact that I did not know Stanley. Walker. What a fine man he was; and what a good friend you were to him!
ReplyDeleteA beautiful tribute to Stanley, Bill❤️🙏
ReplyDelete