Martin is dead
A good man dies and his passing in mourned by those that knew and loved him.
By Nedroj Walker
My mother's younger brother has passed away. Uncle Martin was a figure of my youth. As an adult we had little contact. This was in part because I am a strong religious bigot, which fits my Norman background. To clarify, I look down at all who unquestioningly follow any religious dogma.
John Lee Hooker, the bluesman, died more then three years ago. He was my uncle's boss and friend. They played together. He on a few occasions waved my uncle onto stage to preform. So it is not a stretch to say my uncle was a bit of a bluesman too.
I respected him a great deal for this aspect of himself, but he had another that burned me. Jehovah Witnesses come to doors with their plastic smiles. I don't like them. Of all religions only The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints do I dislike more.
He became a Jehovah Witness and I couldn't come to terms with that. This was a mistake. My mother has learned a great deal about the last few years of his life this month. In short my uncle knew a measure of peace because of his church, and he himself helped others even as his self abused body gradually failed. His church helped him give a damn and I must be thankful to them for this.