Lonn Taylor
1940 – 2019
In Memoriam 

Eulogy for Lonn Wood Taylor (1940–2019) given during his commemorative service at the First Christian Church in Marfa, Texas, (their church, St. Paul Episcopal in Marfa, was judged too small for the expected attendees) by Dedie Taylor on August 15, 2019.

– During the AIDS crisis in the 1980s Lonn and I ushered at over 100 funerals, some lasting as long as four hours. We landed up angry at the deceased. We agreed then that whichever of us died first the survivor would give the only eulogy at the memorial service. Which is why I am speaking to you today.

After this service is over there will be a lunch buffet at the Paisano Hotel, an easy walk from here. The sheriff knows we will be parading over there.

Many of you knew and loved Lonn longer than the 35 years I shared with him. I am not going to try to tell you all of his story. I am going to share some of what I know.

Lonn Wood Taylor was one of the best loved men on the planet. And you know why? Because he loved you. Each and every one of you. Vicki Brand forever. He never took it for granted but it gave him a confidence that never left him.

Lonn was a fifth-generation Texan. His folks got to San Augustine in 1830. And I made him join the Sons of the Republic of Texas. He joined the San Augustine chapter so he would not have to go to meetings. Despite those roots, Lonn was actually born in South Carolina, where his father was a highway engineer with the federal Bureau of Public Roads.

It was January 22, 1940 and the worst snowstorm in Spartanburg’s history had brought the town to a standstill. Clason, Lonn’s father, hitched a ride on a milk wagon to go see his wife and new and only child in the hospital.

Lonn went home not only to his parents, but to his Grandmother Taylor, and Fanny, his beloved nurse from his pediatrician who wisely told them that Lonn needed intellectual stimulation. So began the adventure his life became. They read to him, took him on nature walks, introduced him to the theater (he saw Lunt and Fontanne when he was five), took him to concerts, to museums, art galleries, magic shops (he loved magic shops), fishing, taught him to shoot when he could barely hold a gun (he was a very good shot), played and discussed classical music with him, took him to football games, and allowed him to read anything he wanted, which was pretty much everything. When he was eight he gave a book report on the Adventures of General Marbeau, about a Napoleonic General. The teacher didn’t believe he had read the book but thought he had perhaps seen a movie and sent a note to his parents. Of course, he had read the book.

After living in South Carolina and Virginia with vacations in Texas, the Taylors moved to Manila when Lonn was seven. His dad flew ahead but Lonn, his mother, and grandmother went by train to San Francisco to board the California Bear. The first day in San Francisco a hired car and driver took them sightseeing. But then a dock strike delayed their departure by a month. At the end of that time they were walking everywhere and counting their pennies.

That first voyage to Manila took 27 days. It hooked Lonn for life. He was a great sailor and explored every inch of the ship. Last September he and I were on a cruise in the Gulf of St. Lawrence when we hit a terrific storm. Lonn and I were among the few who loved it.

Which brings us to the heart of the Lonn Taylor we all knew and loved. He truly lived and loved every minute of his life, even the hard parts. And he loved each of you. Lonn was one of those fortunate people who need other people. So am I. We married when Lonn was 48 and I was 41. We both knew that we could not be everything to each other. We had interests the other did not share. But we made a pact that served us well in our years together: We did not criticize each other to anyone but each other, and never in public. In private we went at it hammer and tong and were both better people for it.

Lonn needed his friends. He loved his lunches and conversations with them. You cannot believe the number of times some well-meaning busybody tried to get on with the project of the moment. Thank you to all of you who shared those parts of his life.

Lonn died when life was ceasing to be fun. He was in pain but adamantly refused to go to the hospital. He rallied when the Brights came to have drinks with us at 5:00. Two hours later he died in my arms. At home.

Dedie Taylor, First Christian Church, Marfa, Texas
August 15, 2015 

••• 

Homily for Lonn Wood Taylor (1940–2019) given during his commemorative service at the First Christian Church in Marfa, Texas, (the Taylors’ church, St. Paul Episcopal in Marfa, was judged too small for the expected attendees) by Michael Wallens, vicar of St. Paul Episcopal, on August 15, 2019.

– Homily for Lonn Taylor

Lonn Taylor led a long life of story telling and presence here in Far West Texas that makes it harder to realize that he is gone. For all of Dedie and Lonn’s time in this part of the world, people have never known Lonn not to be here. And suddenly he is not.

Not “suddenly” in the sense that his failing health were not preludes to this moment, but “suddenly” in the sense that emotionally we feel the gap, the emptiness, the space he occupied in our lives and hearts and folklore for so long. My impression of Lonn was that of gentleness…a being-ness that always came through although, I knew, of course, he had had crosses to bear and obstacles to overcome and had worked very, very hard all his life.

Whenever I saw Lonn, he never gave any signs of that; only that smile, the crinkly eyes, the soft voice with a beautiful Texas twang, that said welcome, I am glad you are here.

Lonn’s life was a good life…difficult at times. And he died like he lived: a child of God.

When I was in school, I learned the great classic poem on death by William Cullen Bryant, Thanatopsis.

I can’t recite it from memory anymore—-I have trouble remembering but I came across this excerpt that speaks to me of Lonn:

So live that when thy summons comes
To join the innumerable caravan
Which moves to that mysterious realm
Where each shall take his chamber
In the silent halls of death,
Thou go not like a quarry slave at night
Scourged to his dungeon
But sustained and smoothed by an unfaltering trust
Approach thy grave like one
Who wraps the drapery of his couch about him
And lies down to pleasant dreams…

He did so live and did so approach and now the divine dreams are his.

While I am not a historian, history always seemed to come alive and be brought out in the presence of Lonn Taylor. When in his presence, I could not quite push the imagery out of my mind of that grand old man, John Quincy Adams. He reminded me so much of Lonn. The story goes that when that remarkable American was turning four score years, he was hobbling down the street one day in his favorite city of Boston, leaning heavily on a cane. Suddenly a friend slapped him on his shoulder and said, Well, how’s John Quincy Adams this morning?

The old man turned slowly, smiled, and said, Fine, sir, fine! But this old tenement that John Quincy lives in is not so good. The underpinning is about to fall away. The thatch is all gone off the roof, and the windows are so dim John Quincy can hardly see out anymore. As a matter of fact, it wouldn’t surprise me if before the winter’s over he had to move out. But as for John Quincy Adams, he never was better…never was better!

With this he started hobbling down the street, believing without a shadow of doubt that the real
John Quincy Adams was not a body that you could ever enclose in a casket or inter in a grave.

So with Lonn and our faith, of course, gives testimony to that. If, as Jesus said, in my Father’s house there are many rooms, with all of the implications of a homecoming, diversity, reunion, and all of the acceptance, comfort, security, and love we associate with the word home, than as far as Lonn Taylor goes, right now he never was better… never was better.

Peace, gentle man.

Michael Wallens (Vicar of St. Paul Episcopal) First Christian Church, Marfa, Texas
August 15, 2015