“I’ll never forget you, you’re a sweet memory.
It’s all over now, don’t worry ‘ bout me.”
— Song lyrics, Don’t Worry ‘Bout Me, by Marty Robbins
Too often these days, I ramble on about old times, family and friends. Remembering stories about those who cross my mind. A name recalled in conversation. Someone rooted in the memory of an old song.
Like the song I heard last week that reminded me of Dorothy.
Dorothy Beggs left this life and her beloved hometown of Naples, Friday, Aug. 27, 1999. Services were the following Monday. Many things said about Dorothy at her funeral, I remembered.
“Dorothy was a caring person who expected nothing more of anyone than to be themselves and do their best,” the preacher said.
That, I knew. I knew it because I passed Dorothy’s desk on the way to mine every morning, and she always had something to say. Always with a smile. We both worked for Dan Hampton in Naples during the mid 70s. Dan operated a building business with offices in the back of his parent’s lumber yard on Main Street.
She might offer a compliment for a job well done some days. Others, it might be an occasional admonition. That perhaps I was capable of a little bit more or a little bit better than she observed.
And she was always right.
I also remembered that anytime Dorothy detected a kind word might make someone’s day better, you could count on her for that as well.
As I sat among the crowd assembled to celebrate Dorothy’s life that Monday afternoon 24 years ago, one day in particular that she made somebody’s life better came to mind, Aug. 8, 1974. The day Richard Nixon resigned his presidency. Dorothy was what my grandfather would have called a “Yellow Dog” Democrat. As such, she was also a hard-core supporter of Congressman Wright Patman. As was a generation of loyal East Texans who returned him to office for 24 consecutive terms, from 1929 to 1974.
I was a young conservative Republican who had voted for Nixon in the first presidential election in which I was old enough to cast a ballot. Therefore, it was natural that Dorothy and I often jousted on political views. But always with laughter and respect … back when sensible people with differing opinions could do such things.
I remembered that friends meant more to Dorothy than politics. On a day she could have delighted in the misfortunes of a Republican president, she stopped me as I passed her desk where her radio was recounting the resignation. “The news is bothering you, isn’t it?” she asked.
I confessed that it was. “Sit down,” she said, turning off the radio. “We can worry about work later. Let’s talk.” And it wasn’t politics she began to talk about, but about the good in humanity that often seems to be overshadowed by the desire of some folks to bring down others for petty faults no different from their own shortcomings. I listened. And she didn’t let me go until she was convinced that I had at least a little different slant on the day’s events.
When I returned to the Monitor in 1998, Dorothy was among the first to come by the office and “welcome me home.” She was also usually the first to report an error in the paper. Not to chastise or to criticize, but because “Someone must have given you the wrong information,” she would say. “And I just wanted you to know the facts.”
I smiled, listening to her eulogy that day years ago, when the mention of her exuberant dedication to the Naples Buffaloes was recited.
I knew that, too. I knew she was a proud graduate of Naples High School who loved the Buffaloes — class of 1952 if I’m remembering correctly.
There was one thing, however, that I had forgotten about Dorothy until I heard Marty Robbins’ classic country tune “Don’t Worry ‘Bout Me” filling the First Baptist Church sanctuary. It may have seemed a little unusual for a funeral service, but it would not have been a proper celebration of Dorothy’s life without her favorite song.
In a column published in The Monitor when Dorothy passed away, I noted, “I’ve crossed paths with many of ‘the gang’ from Hampton’s. I’ve seen Mr. and Mrs. Hampton, Dan, Dorothy, Dennis Allen, and “Booger Red.” Norman Carter came by the office, but I missed him. I’ve even thought it might be fun to have a ‘Hampton Builders reunion.’
“I guess the idea will have to wait,” I concluded. “Dorothy’s walk on earth ended last week. I, like many others, will miss her. And I suspect I’ll never hear the song, ‘Don’t Worry ‘Bout Me’ again without thinking of her.”
It was her favorite song, but in her absence, it’s also likely the words by which she would have wanted us to remember her. While she worried about others, she didn’t want anyone worrying about her.
That, I had never forgotten.
