Until the sun grows cold

And so it was that a church filled with people gathered to say goodbye to Armand Wigglesworth last week. As I sat on the steps at the very back and looked out over the large crowd, I marveled at his life and his incredible determination to live it as long and as fully as he possibly could. Hit with any number of serious ailments over the years, he survived what would have defeated many others in the same situation. The average person would not have found the strength to carry on. But Armand was anything but average.

Most of you will have read his impressive obituary and will have been amazed by all that he accomplished. I know I read for the first time about many facets of his life that surprised me.

In the words of Mayor Leefe, “When I think of Armand, one word in particular comes to mind. Service.” He was so actively involved with so many organizations it’s hard to imagine how he ever found time to write. His many columns and books will be his ‘monument that will endure till the sun grows cold’ and we are very fortunate that he took the time to record our history.

Missing from the group gathered at the service were so many other well loved members of our community. Many had passed on before him and others were simply too elderly to manage such an occasion.

My mother, Dorothy Mulhall Killam, fell into the latter category, but she spoke at length about him. Armand would have been 90 this August, but Dorothy remembers and refers to him, as ‘a younger man.’

Her first recollection of him was when at the age of four, he and his parents moved into the building next door to her on Main Street. Dorothy’s father owned the men’s clothing store located in what is now Seams So Simple and she lived above where Wells Rare Books is. Armand’s father, a plumber and his mother Mabel (owner of the lovely Mabel’s Ladies Store), moved their only child into the flat over the drugstore and Chinese Restaurant, which stood where Home Hardware is.

Like most of the children in town, Armand took music lessons from my grandmother and Dorothy recalls how he and a “lovely group of boys that he always hung out with…. good boys… never in any trouble,” formed various bands over the years and kept themselves “incredibly busy with one thing and another.” They especially liked fixing up old radios… a hobby he carried through his life.

It is strange for people of my mother’s age to watch as lifelong friends and faces disappear. I suppose it could be said of most generations, but it seems that that one in particular, saw more monumental changes in our cultural and social history than any other before them. The effects of two wars.

The advent of so many technological changes and advancements. People going to the moon or just flying across the oceans for pleasure. Television. Medicine. Internet. The list is endless.

They have witnessed a decline in family life, religion, manners and a personal sense of responsibility, as the world became so broad and accessible on the one hand and yet so very impersonal on the other.

And I, thankfully, have witnessed them…. These wonderful people, so it is with great sadness that I watch them go. There will never be folks like these again. Armand. Maddie Keay. Charlotte More. Doris Kay. Claire Bird. Elizabeth Day. Max Harding. Lester Clements. Len Pottie. Doug Hemeon, that list is endless too.

Well dressed men with a strident walk, holding doors open and greeting everyone they met with a cheerful “good day.” Women, hair perfect, dressed in carefully considered outfits. I can still hear the rustling of slips on nylon stockings, the sound of strands of pearls rubbing together, the clack of heels at the church Christmas Tea & Sale and remember the smell of subtle perfumes.

In later years, the faint sound of ice clinking in a glass of rum, as laughter filled rooms full of comfortable friendship and shared lives.

It’s easy to be nostalgic. Too much so perhaps, but it’s also easy to forget. Armand spent a huge part of his later life compiling stories and information about our community, so that we knew and understood our past. So that we wouldn’t forget.

So, though “death comes to all” as Emerson put it, “great achievements build a monument” and Armand’s monument is his writing. Thank you Armand… be assured, we won’t forget.