I was deeply saddened to hear of the passing of Rev. Joe McCoy this past week. Preacher Joe was my pastor at the First Baptist Church of Maynardville for eight years. That was the time of life when I ended my undergraduate education at Lincoln Memorial University and began my career as a Union County educator.
I attended Preacher Joe’s funeral service just last evening. I have never attended a funeral service that was more of a testimony to the life lived by the one being eulogized.

Preacher Joe once said that the best advice he ever received was from a seasoned pastor when he announced his call to preach—"Love the people.”

And he did that so well. I certainly knew that Preacher Joe loved me. He was not one to “put on airs”. He was humble, plain-spoken—one fine, old-fashioned country preacher. (I always loved to hear him preach about the stoning of “Brother Stevens”). During his funeral, my mind went back to so many fond memories of that wonderful time of life when I was privileged to have him as pastor.

Once a leader of the church’s daughter was “acting up” during a sermon. The child’s father was carrying her out for correction. The child looked over her dad’s shoulder and said, “Help me, Preacher Joe!”
Once in a sermon Preacher Joe said, “I ain’t up here telling you no fairy tale like that one about them three bears that blowed them pigs’ house down.”

On another occasion Brother Joe was preaching about the command not to forsake the assembling of ourselves together. He said, “Do you know that we’ve got members of this church out in the woods this very morning hunting deer?” Yes, I knew that, as did several other people, including the two deacons and their wives sitting close by whose son and son-in-law were the Bambi seekers referenced.

Another time Brother Joe said in a sermon, “If you ain’t Baptist, you ain’t nothing!” Later he discovered I was dating a member of another denomination. Not only was the girl not Baptist, the denomination to which she belonged was not one with which Baptists often see “eye to eye”. The preacher came up to me at a church dinner, clapped his hand on my back, and said in his deep, booming voice that I loved so much, “Brother, I’ve been praying that you don’t marry that [girl from another denomination].”

Let me just say that, no matter how much I so desired, I didn’t wind up marrying that [girl from another denomination]. Joe McCoy is one preacher that I definitely would have reached out to for help with getting a prayer through to God.

Consequently, not only did Preacher Joe’s prayer get answered on that one, but the mother of the girl [from another denomination] cashed in on that one as well!

I remember another time that the preacher sacrificed practically an entire Saturday to help me move when I bought my house. How he, Adrian Shoffner and I agonized while getting that heavy, bulky deep freeze down the basement steps! Though it was enough to literally make a preacher cuss, Brother Joe maintained his composure, though the stress of the situation could be seen on his face. Many years later, when Brother Joe came to the last anniversary service of the First Baptist to date, he said to me from the pulpit, “And Ronnie, if you ever move again, don’t call me to help you move that freezer!”

I thought back to the time almost twenty-one years ago when Preacher Joe officiated at my mother’s funeral. He was such a comfort to his congregation in times of sorrow. How soothing it was to hear him say, “Bless you, dear children.” I remember during Mother’s funeral that Preacher Joe reminisced of the time when I would drive several of the women in Mother’s Sunday School class to lunch after the Sunday morning service. He thanked me during his eulogy for doing this.

Preacher Joe need not have thanked me. I’m certain I got more enjoyment from those delightful, saintly ladies’ company than they received from the trips. I don’t exactly remember quite how this “tradition” came about. It was just something that developed over time. Those times were all the sweeter as I knew they wouldn’t last forever.

One of the ladies who frequently joined us for those Sunday afternoon lunch trips was Preacher Joe’s mother, Granny Ruth Cook. She and my mother became the very best of friends. I have Granny’s picture on my library shelf, along with the set of praying hand bookends she gave me for the library in my new house.
Another that comes to mind is Bessie Bridges. Ms. Bessie lived a couple of doors down Main Street from the First Baptist. Ms. Bessie never failed to attend any service of the church until her health began to fail. She was a quiet, little lady who served as her Sunday School class secretary and treasurer, never forgetting to send a card or flowers to the sick or bereaved.

And there was Nell Hartgrove. Many older Union Countians will remember Ms. Nell working the drugstore counter at Wise Pharmacy, located next door to Bailey’s Department Store across the street from the present Union County Clerk’s office. Ms. Nell had a wonderful sense of humor. Many years ago, we were eating at Edward’s Restaurant, located in the same building where Bell Aire Grill in Hall’s is now. On one of our Sundays at Edward’s we had a new waitress. That was probably our longest lunch, as the poor girl couldn’t get any of our orders right. Then, more agony when it came time for the bill. Every time the waitress would correct the bills, mine got lower and lower, and Ms. Nell’s got higher and higher. After about the third “correction”, Ms. Nell looked at her bill and said, “God! I’m gonna have to get a job!” Not long after that, there was a tremendous crash from the kitchen. Ms. Nell said, “They’re busting every dish in this place.”

Winnie McDonald (the wise, wonderful former Union County Historian) was often in our group. Ms. Winnie was one of Preacher Joe’s high school English teachers. She said of Brother Joe, “He’s my favorite preacher. He butchers the English language, but he’s the best preacher I’ve ever heard!”

Ms. Winnie used to tell a story about a man who had a speech impediment. He once got a strategic part of his anatomy caught in the crack of a church bench. The poor fellow jumped up in the middle of a service and hollered, “O my tod! O my tod! Not my Tod up above but my tod down below!”

Never can I forget my neighbor who lived up Walker Ford Road from me. Aunt Ola McPhetridge was the eldest of my Sunday diners. She always sat in the front passenger seat, and that was a marvel, as my mother didn’t willingly give up her seat of honor for anyone. On one of our trips, I got a speeding ticket on Maynardville Highway on the way to Knoxville. As the trooper handed me the ticket through the window, he looked over and saw that Aunt Ola was not wearing her seat belt. “Just remember, sir, it’s your responsibility as a driver to ensure the safety of your passengers by making sure they wear seat belts.”

Poor Aunt Ola agonized that she was the reason I got that ticket. I don’t think I ever convinced her that the ticket was only for speeding.

Several times Aunt Ola said to me one of the nicest things I was ever told. When I would drive her home after a Sunday lunch, I would help her to her back door. She would often say, “I hope somebody is as good to you as you are to me when you get to be my age.” That statement alone made any insignificant sacrifice on my part more than worth any small effort I expended.

Rev. Joe McCoy preached the funerals of most of those wonderful senior ladies that so enriched my life. His passing closes the book of a most rewarding chapter of my life. If I could repeat any part of my life, I might very well choose the Sunday that Preacher Joe preached the best, most enjoyable sermon I was ever blessed to hear from the pulpit of the First Baptist Church of Maynardville. Perhaps that very afternoon a few of those wonderful women from the TEL (Timothy, Eunice, Lois) Senior Adult Sunday School class of the First Baptist would join me for a ride on a sunny summer afternoon for a bite of lunch. And I’d be reminded once again that God’s in His heaven, and all’s right with the world.

ANSWER TO QUESTION OF THE WEEK # 58
Why did the mathematician not want to hear any jokes about circles? (ANSWER: They’re pointless.)

QUESTION OF THE WEEK # 59
What is the most common personality trait of tight rope walkers? (See next week’s article in historicunioncounty.com for the answer.)

EMAIL THOUGHTS

If Adam and Eve were Cajuns, they would have eaten the snake instead of the apple and saved us all a lot of trouble.

Blessed are the young, for they shall inherit the national debt.

Writing in proper English is expected, even taken for granted in the educated society in which we live (except in texting, if you KWIM).

Need an ark? I Noah guy.

My body is a temple, ancient and crumbling, perhaps cursed or haunted.

Atheism is a non-prophet organization.

Said the State Trooper: “In God we trust—all others we run through NCIC (National Crime Information Center)