Charlie

A young Charlie William Baker

When you hear the word “Charlie” what’s the first thing that comes to your mind?  Is it the women’s perfume entitled “Charlie”?  Perhaps, it is the infamous Charlie Brown. Each of us will have something different pop in to our head when a word is set before us and we are asked to think of what comes to mind first.  When I hear the word “Charlie”, the first thing that comes to my mind is my Grandpa, and in particular the way in which my Grandma would say his name with that certain inflection in her voice that only she exhibited.  So, for this blog, I have decided to share a little about my Grandpa – the one and only Charlie in my life.

Born on December 22, 1918, in rural Harnett County, North Carolina, Charlie William Baker was number seven of ten children born to Edd Franklin and Pattie Jones Baker.  His childhood was not one of wealth or pristine.  Growing up during the era of the Great Depression, as I can only imagine, could not have been easy on anyone, but specifically for a large family whose father’s occupation was basically that of a sharecropper.  Charlie would tell you that he really didn’t pay much attention in school.  Matter of fact, he actually would tell you something to the effect of that he went nine years and never got out of the fifth grade.  I imagine he was probably one of the sneaky school kids who just went because they had to go and probably exuded a lot of mischievousness.  He eventually dropped out of school and started working on farms and other odds and ends jobs.  He attempted to enlist in the military during the draft for the Second World War, but due to extremely poor eyesight, he was turned away.

In his early 20s, as he was outside, he saw a dark haired, slender female walking, and he made the comment to some of his friends “that lady is going to be my wife.” I can only imagine that they probably thought he was a little crazy, but sure enough, in 1939, at 20 years of age, Charlie got hitched in Dillon, South Carolina, to Blannie Estelle Wood – the dark haired, darker complexion beauty who was of Native American Indian ancestry.

Together, Charlie and Blannie had six children of their own, and their lives were lived in simplicity but also with much humility.  They provided for their family (and subsequently their grandchildren and great-grandchildren) as best as they could.  Since Charlie did not have much schooling, he struggled with reading and even writing, but Blannie ultimately was his saving grace as she helped him learn how to read and taught him many valuable lessons, which is very impressive for someone, who herself, only had an eighth grade education. 

After retiring from Wicks Lumber Company and enduring major open heart surgery in the early 1980s, Charlie began to work at Pullen Park in Raleigh, North Carolina, where he worked until he was 92 years old.  (Now THAT is an incredible work ethic!)  Even after Blannie’s death in 2001, Charlie continued to work and share his love for his Lord and Savior Jesus Christ.  If you ever encountered him at Pullen Park, where he often operated the kiddie boats, he’d likely slip you a free admission ticket through the gate, play you a tune on his harmonica, but ultimately, you didn’t get past him without him witnessing to you and sharing God’s love.  He was not scared of what people might have said or thought about him. He was extremely comfortable in his own shoes.  (Oh, to be more like my Grandpa!) But, he just wanted everyone to know about Jesus.

Shortly before turning 95,
Charlie donned my Uncle's
Harley -- no he didn't drive it,
but he probably could have!

For me, growing up, I was always initially apprehensive around my Charlie.  His personality could be a bit dominant at times, in comparison to my very soft-spoken Grandma.  He would often take my cousins and me on pick-up rides through the back country roads and while we likely drove him absolutely insane, he still would willingly take us.  After my Grandma died, we continued to go and spend time with him on Sunday afternoons.  It was in those latter years that I really began to gain a better appreciation for not only my Grandpa Charlie, but for older people in general.  You can see the struggles they face in their later years – sickness and health issues but above all loneliness.  Those times spent with my Grandpa are moments to cherish.  I may not have said much during those Sunday visits, but I often observed his mannerisms and listened to him tell stories of his childhood or present day events.   

In late August of 2012, at 95 years old, Charlie was rushed to the hospital and in to immediate surgery due to issues with veins in his legs.  Miraculously he survived the surgery, which is almost unheard of for someone at his age.  As the hours turned in to days, Grandpa’s condition slowly began to deteriorate.  It was eventually determined that while he did survive the surgery, his body likely rejected the actual procedure and treatment. 

Sadly, on September 12, 2012, a few months shy of turning 96, we lost our Charlie.  We may have physically lost him, but his spirit lives on. He is ultimately in a much better place – a place he wanted to go – his home, his Heavenly home.  Unbeknownst to me, my Mother (who was Charlie’s only daughter and one he often referred to as his eyeball), confronted me with having a small part in his funeral.  The initial thought overwhelmed me.  She asked if I’d either play the piano, sing or speak.  Music tends to make my emotions flow much more than speaking, so I agreed that I’d speak if I could share some humorous stories to make people laugh and not cry, as Charlie would have wanted us to rejoice in his home going.  I have spoken in a variety of settings before, so I wasn’t in the least bit worried about speaking in front of people, but as I wrote my notes on what to speak on, it was so hard to narrow down the stories, and when I finally did deliver my monologue, it was inspiring to see just how many people came to celebrate his life and shared in those same memories. 

While Charlie may not have been the most book-smart human on this Earth, he was by far one of the most knowledgeable and smartest men I have ever met.  He knew the Bible inside out.  He could “piddle” (as he called it) and make just about any little craft.  He loved to dust - albeit with the leaf-blower!  He loved to share his stories and just enjoy time with his family and friends.  He was a hard-worker.  He was a careful driver (yes, even at 95 years old, he was still driving!).  He set an example that many of us should revere and respect.  If you ever met my Grandpa Charlie, he more than likely left an impression upon your heart.  There are days I wish that phone would ring and I’d answer to hear him ask me, not hello, how are you, but “can you tell me how to spell” such and such word.  Small things like that make you smile, they make you laugh, they make you cry, but ultimately, they are footprints upon your soul.  Footprints that last a lifetime. 

May you all find a Charlie in your life - it doesn’t have to be someone physically named Charlie, but may you all find someone that leaves a legacy behind and leaves invaluable footprints upon your soul. 

To my Charlie, who is up in Heaven, I can’t wait to see you again.  I’m glad you’re no longer suffering and hurting.  I picture you now in God’s Angel Band performing a song on your harmonica and singing a tune of celebration and joy.  Thank you for the legacy you left behind for your family, and thank you for being an example to me.  I love you, Charlie, Grandpa. 

A few of Charlie's angels