Max

Last summer B. and I took a trip to the exotic land of Battle Mountain, Nevada. 

We went for the annual Rogers Reunion, back to B.’s old stomping grounds.  It was fun for me to visit as the new husband, the new in-law, to be initiated and inundated as one of the family.  We made the mistake of bringing our then-1-year-old niece.  Needless to say, it was a long drive.

The trip reminded me of one of my many homes as a military brat: Clovis, New Mexico.  It wasn’t exactly a thriving metropolis of employment opportunities (of which I was in desperate need at the time) but my time there made an indelible mark on my soul.  I got to really see and experience firsthand a sense of tightknit community among neighbors, friends and congregations.  It was a small ranching community attached to a newly revamped Air Force base.  There was one high school.  They should have built a second high school to help stem the tide of students, but they just built a separate freshman campus, an annex to the main high school.  Why?  Because the town closed down on Friday night; high school football was THE event every weekend.  Everyone seemed to know everyone.  Everyone supported one another.  

New Mexico is called the Land of Enchantment.  And anyone who has lived in one of those small towns, rubbed shoulders with those salt of the earth, wholesome folks, or stood side by side with them and bathed in the natural fireworks display that is a New Mexico sunset knows where the enchantment comes from.

But Nevada has its own enchantment to offer. Battle Mountain is a small mining town out in the middle of the desert.  It has one McDonalds.  It has two grocery stores.  It has one pharmacy.  It has a pizza place.  It has a Mexican restaurant.  It has two hotels.  One of these hotels is attached to a casino called the Owl Club.

A few weeks ago you could have walked into the Owl Club to see a kindly old soul bossing people around, telling wild stories to make the workers laugh, and just make you feel right at home.  This man, Max Rogers, is the reason B. and I made a last-minute trip to good old BM, NV over the holiday weekend.  Grandpa Max’s health had been deteriorating for years.  He and his beloved wife Lorna have battled cancers, illnesses, griefs and sorrows innumerable.  And at last, Max is getting a well-deserved break.

We got the call this morning, and somehow I know there will be a little less color in the sunset tonight.

The world is a little colder, grayer, and more barren for losing Max.  He leaves behind a distraught wife of nearly sixty years and a whopping thirteen children.  Max and Lorna were blessed with a total of 15 children over the years; they didn’t have a family, they had a village.  The Rogers clan is a tribe in the truest sense, and there will be a lot of people to mourn him.

But I try to take comfort in who’s been waiting to greet him.  Two of his children have passed before him and I know, now that his pain is finally over, he’s had quite a welcome.

The Rogers family is a sizable tribe to say the least.  Everyone knows them, especially in a town like Battle Mountain, where they dedicated so many years to growing and helping the community.  I was shocked at how many lives they have touched, at how many people knew and loved Grandpa Max.  The scope of his influence is worthy of a Capra film.  Family members were given free drinks at the bar, baggers at the grocery store offered condolences to us.  Everyone knew.  Everyone worried.  And now, everyone grieves.

I’m just glad we got to say goodbye.

We got to join other family members in preparing for the hard separation.  When we got there he was still coherent enough to talk with us.  B. cried a lot.  I told him we had such a good time visiting him at the hospital on Memorial Day this year, we figured we should drop by again on the 4^th of July.   

“You’re the only way we know how to spend a federal holiday,” I joked.  

 He smiled weakly.  B. sniffed. 

I was glad I could get that smile out of him.   

It felt good to do something, anything to help or contribute.  We left Saturday morning to go back to work and school, pleased but also nervous that he was still holding on for something.  We knew it was getting close.

All of his living children had been able to visit with him and say goodbye except for one son living in Washington state.  He and his wife were finally able to make the long drive down and give their regards on Saturday.

He passed a day and a half later.

I’d like to think that his life wasn’t really in God’s hands until Max put it there, that he was holding out to see his last child, regardless of what God had in the cards.  That’s the kind of man he was.  He wasn’t Godless, he didn’t pick fights with God, but I think if they ever came to a disagreement, he had enough tenacity and will to put up a hell of a fight until the very end. 

I tease B. about her humble stomping grounds sometimes.  Battle Mountain has been jokingly referred to as the armpit of Nevada.  But this second visit gave us time to really tour around.  Every block had a memory for her.  B. told me countless stories about her childhood there.  We know it’s a small Podunk town in the middle of nowhere, but it’s her home.  It’s where she grew up.  It’s where Max decided to set roots and build a family, a home, and a legacy.

A whole town is mourning the loss of a great man today.  I’m just happy to join the ranks of those who knew and loved, however briefly, Max Rogers.

We love you Grandpa.  We miss you.

S