Reflections on a Life Well-Lived

By Jason Johnson | Monday, March 28th, 2011 | Columns

I was never formally introduced to Calvin Coolidge Ellis and I didn’t have to be; I have known him as long as I have been aware of my own existence.  Coolidge, as we called him, was my uncle and unquestionably one of the most influential figures in my life.  After a long battle with cancer, he departed this life one week ago at the ripe age of 85.

Like so many members of his generation, Coolidge lived a life of quiet dignity—I should know as I stayed with him and my aunt both before and after school and all-day during summer vacations while my parents were at work from the day my mother’s maternity leave ended until the day I was graduated from high school. I even continued to pay them regular visits well into my college career.

In those 18-plus years, I had an opportunity to observe Coolidge in a variety of situations, yet it was not until his passing when I was asked to deliver a eulogy at his funeral that I thought seriously about the lessons I learned from him.  Coolidge was an excellent role model for this Millennial and, by your leave, I hope some of the lessons he imparted to me could help to guide your path.

 

Family

Coolidge met my aunt Kathleen in 1952 when he accompanied a friend to my grandparents’ farm.  They were smitten by one another almost instantly and, after dating for only a few months, were married in May of that year.

They would soon be separated for more than one year as Coolidge was drafted into the U.S. Army and sent to help repel the Communist invasion of South Korea.  That would be their only separation during their almost 61-year marriage.

Their marriage would not be without its challenges, yet even during the difficult times—like Coolidge’s cancer—Coolidge and Kathleen remained the very best of friends.  When it became clear that the chemotherapy was no longer working, he became more concerned about what would happen to his wife than the potentially painful end that awaited him.

To a self-centered generation frightened by commitment and ready to abandon a marriage at the first sign of hardship, Coolidge’s love for and devotion to the same woman for more than six decades is remarkable.

 

Home

Growing up, Kathleen passed a white farmhouse overlooking the village everyday on her way to school.  She says that she dreamed about what it must be like to live in that house.  After Coolidge returned home from the Korean War, he bought that house for her and they made it their home.

For the next 57 years, Coolidge worked diligently to renovate the old farmhouse, insulating the drafty walls, adding a new bathroom downstairs, refinishing the hardwood floors, painting and performing any number of odd jobs that were needed to make their home livable.

Coolidge also took great pride in his landscaping: keeping the lawn manicured immaculately, the shrubbery pruned and the vegetable garden weeded.  Once a friend of his from work came to visit and after seeing both how well-maintained the house was and generally how beautiful the property was, he remarked that he finally understood why Coolidge was so eager to get home every evening and why he was so content not to leave.

It wasn’t just that Coolidge was a do-it-yourselfer who enjoyed manual labor, although that was part of the equation; Coolidge worked hard because he loved his family and wanted them to have a safe, comfortable place to call home.

 

Life

Many of us scratch and claw everyday in our attempt to reach the next rung of life’s ladder, yet once we “arrive,” all that we find there is an overarching desire to reach for the next rung.  We find happiness elusive and never stop searching for the next big thing.  Coolidge must have found the biggest of big things, because he was one of the most content people I have ever known.

I do not know whether he was different as a young man, but for as long as I knew him, Coolidge was satisfied with his wife and home; he did not appear to want anything more from life.

His contentment sprang, I believe, from his quiet decency.  He knew what was important and, more significantly, what was unimportant.  He did not need titles and degrees, memberships and affiliations to feel valuable, for he knew that a man’s value is not measured by the things he attains, but by the love that he shares and the help that he gives.

And Coolidge loved people.  He never met a stranger; he enjoyed sharing stories, a good laugh and a helping hand.  Many were the times we exited Walmart to find Coolidge sitting on a bench talking to an old friend—or sometimes a new one.  I distinctly remember the 10 minute conversation he once had with someone who dialed his home phone number by mistake.

Coolidge saw the sanctity of life—that spark of the Divine—in everyone he met and treated them all as special friends, whether it was the mischievous, but well-meaning, nephew who once tried to draw hair on his otherwise bald head with a Sharpie, or three stray, injured cats in need of medical care, a home and love.

 

Conclusion

When Coolidge’s temporal journey ended last week, he left behind the legacy of a life well-lived.  His was the rich, full life for which my generation hungers, but seems unable to find. Ironically, it was not an easy life, nor was it filled with the comforts and accoutrements expected by my fellow Millennials.

Ours is a generation constantly searching for happiness, but Coolidge was from a generation that actually found happiness.  He didn’t actively seek to be a somebody, yet in the process of fulfilling the roles life asked of him—son, brother, husband, father, uncle, soldier, usher—he became a somebody.  He enjoyed the love, sense of place and belonging that we all seek.

When his time on this good earth drew to a close, Coolidge was able to bequeath to those who survived him something of infinite value: an example of how to we ought to live each day of our lives.

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