Clayton: Engineer and an Echo

Growing up in the Big Thicket was great.  Deep woods, a swept yard, simple house, with a big dog and a small rifle.  He was the older brother, after all, and life was going just his way.  He was too young to realize the impact when his little sister died at 4 months, but he had an imprint deep down of a gloomy fog.  He was a big brother to Myron, who was 6 to his 8.  And they were a tree-climbing team!

Clayton learned from his mother in those early school-age years.  Benford, Texas, just a small lumber town, had no school, and really had no future.  By 1908, the family moved.  His father saw the future of clear-cutting and looked to Jacksonville, an agriculture town with a fine future.  A doctor would do better there than as a circuit doctor for the mills.

Neches Street in Jacksonville limited Clayton's hunting career early on, but great schools got him up to speed.  Learning became the powerful magnet!  And Texas A&M became the target.  (Follow his father into medicine?  Not so much.)  Roads and bridges fascinated, and became the new life-ambition.

One year at Lon Morris College, then off to A&M, and Clayton was in what the old folks called "hog heaven", enjoying more than he ever expected.  Graduation in 1922 opened the doors.  Moving up with road and bridge firms became a comfortable and happy niche for Clayton.  Inside, he was still the boy that loved to build things, and climb things.

Something went wrong on New Year's Day, 1930, and he never shared much.  He withdrew into work.  Back on the job on the 15th, he poured himself into his work on the U.S 90/Trinity River bridge at Liberty.  Up before the sun, working into the night, Clayton sometimes climbed, just for the exhilaration of it.  On the 26th, he climbed.  With a huge smile, he called down to a friend that it was like being a boy in the Big Thicket all over again, up in his favorite tree.

Mid-day, a sudden thunderstorm caught Clayton on the bridge.  He fell.  A short life full of adventure and accomplishment will leave echoes, always unexpected.  Stories of what might have been, have consequences.  Memories become seeds that may lie dormant for a generation, then "break ground" as new leaves with new promise.

And grief turned into a passion for service for Pearl, who saw her boy Clayton in little children everywhere.  Her energy surged that year, and for the rest of her life, for Albert Schweitzer's Lambarene work, and the Methodist Children's Home.

The Lord loves boys who love climbing trees, doesn't He?  And He loves mothers who mourn all the way into renewed life, and sing praise to His grace.