The funeral was grand and somber, enthusiastic and reflective. Though there was so much chat and buzz about Michael on facebook, I counted 8 or 10 classmates at the funeral. Most of those were from out of town. Robert Guy, Robbie Walters, Linda Green, Charles McCoy, Craig Sexton and myself….we drove in. I picked up Walter at his trailer in the country, out near the Cape Fear river. I’ve never been in it, and never been invited in. The family has a little cabin deeper in the woods on a spring fed pond. I slept there.
Anyway, picked up WC and then Martha Claybrook and they led me out past places I used to know, with street names that were familiar but nothing else. The AME Zion church was modern 70s brick that looked out over a big asphalt parking lot. The hearse in a soft blue sat outside and 30 minutes early people were wandering in. I introduced myself to the minister who was robing up outside the sanctuary. He was tall and dignified, a commanding presence not at all off putting. I don’t have a problem with that, he told me when I asked about filming.
So I did from the back of the church. And there was Michael, his profile clear from the open casket. I knew him not because I recognized him, but because I knew he was the one dead. That man staring at the ceiling with his eyes closed was Michael Evans. The speedster, the pusher, the guy in your face forcing his way into your space. He challenged norms in the 70s, and he knew as he danced in and out of the new found integration that we were wearing new shoes. And we hadn’t decided exactly, if we liked em.
But the church filled up. The nurses in white and regaled by their senior years helped people to their seats and stood in the aisles and passed out tissues. As needed.
It came in right at an hour, with good music from a spirited choir, testimonials from several including well spoken words from Michael Jr., his son. The Minister drove home a spirited eulogy, building and building and finally done. Everyone clapped. In the end, they rolled him out to choir song, the congregation in great dresses and hats, suits and shined shoes followed behind walking in what seemed like slow and big strides. Pausing and hugging outside in the bright midday sunshine. Waiting for the guys in safety vests and the organization of cars to parade to the gravesite.
We drank that night at the Huske Hardware pub.