Remembering Van Cliburn

Ron and I have just returned from Fort Worth, Texas where he was honored to be an Honorary Pall Bearer at the funeral of a true American Icon, Van Cliburn. We went with the knowledge that we were representing the Nixon Family and the Richard Nixon Presidential Foundation.  Julie Nixon Eisenhower had a nice, long telephone conversation with Van just a few days before he died.  How Ron came to be so honored is an amazing story:

After the difficult task of advancing President Richard Nixon's historic trip to the People's Republic of China in early 1972, Ron was soon dispatched to prepare for the President's trip to the Soviet Union.  After the long flight, and a fitful night's sleep, Ron was surprised to find a marine guard right outside of his room.  "What's going on,?" he asked the marine.  "Sir, Ambassador Jake Beane is on his way to see you."  Ron told him that he hadn't been in-country long enough to get in any trouble and the marine couldn't help the small smile that softened his face.  He told Ron to look toward the elevators at the end of the hall.  A group of armed KGB agents were guarding the elevator.  Ron gulped when he saw them.

When the Ambassador arrived, he informed Ron that he and his entire party were under house arrest.  Overnight, the President had mined Haiphong Harbor in Viet Nam.  The Russians were not pleased.  Ron was allowed to accompany the Ambassador to the Embassy, where the only secure phone was located.  When he talked to Bob Haldeman, the President's Chief of Staff, he was assured that they didn't think the Russians would cancel the trip.  "Easy for him to say," Ron thought, recalling all the stern looking KBG-types, with guns in their hands, up and down his hotel hallway, but he certainly hoped the trip would still happen.

In the meantime, a small dining room was set up on the top floor of the Rossyia hotel for the Americans.  At the time, their hotel was the largest in the world, with over 1,000 rooms.  Another American, staying in the hotel, was allowed to join the President's advance team for meals.  He was already famous.  In 1958 he had won the very first Tchaikovsky International Piano Competition for his rendition of the composer's Concerto No. 1.  The contest had originated to highlight the Russia superiority in culture during this time when the Cold War was raging.  The 23 year old Texan was so amazing in his talent and showmanship, that the audience could not stop praising him. He was mobbed by admirers and women reportedly fainted. The judges were stunned.  They were worried about giving the prize to a non-Soviet musician, but they called Premier Nikita Khrushchev before announcing their decision.  "Is he the best?" Khrushchev wanted to know.  "Yes," he was told.  "Then give him the prize."  Van Cliburn returned home to a New York ticker tape parade, the only classical musician to ever receive such an honor.

In 1972, while Ron and Van were enjoying a meal together, Van told him he was very frustrated with the inefficiency of the Russian telephone system.  He could not reach his mother.  He did not like to miss a single day of talking to his mother.  Ron talked to the White House Communications Agency (WHCA) staff person on the trip with him, and within a very short time, Van had a White House Signal phone in his room.  Now he could talk to his mother whenever he wanted.

Van's devotion to his parents, especially his mother, was well known.  Rildia Bee O'Bryan Cliburn had been his first piano teacher and the person he most wanted to please when he played. My cousin, Elizabeth Lucille (BettyLu) Fitch Ackerman was at the Julliard School of Music with Van.  She recalls that he was always wearing a suit, always extremely polite and loved all things Tchaikovsky.

Ron asked Van if he would be available to perform at the reciprocal banquet they were having at Spaso House, the American ambassador's residence.  Van quickly accepted.  As it turned out, the President's talks with Breshnev, that resulted in the Salt agreements, went on forever.  Van Cliburn didn't seem to mind the prolonged performance that resulted and his enchanted listeners didn't either.
Bill Henkel from the White House Advance Office remembers that they made sure that all the empty seats waiting for the President and Premier's parties were filled with staff from the embassy.  Julie Rowe Cooke, also from the Advance Office recalls that she asked Mr. Cliburn what he planned to play?  His answer was that he always started with the "Banner."  And of course, he meant the Star Spangled Banner.

                             Van Cliburn plays the "Star Spangled Banner" at Spaso House.

Neither Van or Ron ever forgot how their friendship had bonded in a Russian hotel.  They stayed in touch with each other over the years.  Ron found out that Van had been diagnosed with bone cancer when he extended an invitation for him to attend the President's Gala Centennial celebration on January 9, 2013.  He was devastated and checked on him often with his long-time friend, Tommy Smith.  When Van died on February 27th, Tommy called and asked Ron to be an Honorary Pall Bearer.

When we got to the hotel, we were so surprised to find ourselves in the two-story, Van Cliburn Suite.  It was complete with  grand piano and pictures on the walls from Van's concerts and programs.  We don't know why we were chosen to have that room, as there were other, very worthy and long time friends of Van's that we would soon meet.  Again, we were honored.  Van had performed for every American President since Harry Truman and we expected to see other Honorary Pall Bearers from the world of politics, but Ron was the only one.

The funeral, in Van's long time church, Broadway Baptist, was packed.  A choir of over 300 voices, from several churches, and the Fort Worth symphony combined to produce the most beautiful music imaginable.  The sound took your breath away and brought tears to your eyes.  Van would have expected nothing less that the perfection we witnessed.

We especially would like to thank Tommy Smith for all he did to make us so welcome.  Also, Mary Lou Falcone, Van's long-time publicist and her husband Nicky Zann for their friendship and kindness to us.  Also, to Peter Rosen, President of Peter Rosen Productions.  It was a pleasure to meet them and share such an outstanding celebration of a remarkable life.

The President and Mrs. Nixon thank Van Cliburn after his performance at the Reciprocal Banquet.

Prayer Beads

I'm a fan of the UPPER ROOM and try to read the selection for each day.  The last issue had a centerfold story about "Listening and Praying with Beads."  It captured my imagination and I wanted to learn more. 

I was facing another surgery for removal of cancer on my tongue and the idea of a helpful"crutch" in the form of beads was intriguing.  The idea also reminded me of my dear father-in-law, Hugh Walker, who died way too early in 1984.  He spent years working in the Middle East (which I'm sure contributed to his early demise) and "worry beads" were usually in his pocket and often in his hand.  Oh how I wish I'd asked him more about how and why he used them so often.  The dumb, busy, younger me, just never did. Ron says he doesn't remember talking to his father about his beads. Ron's sister, Jeanne said she never asked him either.

I learned that "worry beads" probably originated in India, but were commonly used in the Middle East. In Arab cultures, just about everyone carries the beads.  During moments of worry, or contemplation, or prayer, people work the individual beads with their thumb and forefinger, strung on a string with slack, one at a time, in order to calm themselves, or in some cases, just to pass the time.  They always have either 33 beads, or 99.  For Christians, the 33 represents the 33 years of Jesus time on earth.  The 99 beads represent the 33 years multiplied by the three-in-one: God the Father, God the Son, and God the Holy Ghost.  The Catholic Rosary was introduced during the 13th century and it has 50 beads to mark repetitions of the Hail Mary and five larger beads to count Our Father's.  And no doubt, there are many more variations on the theme.

Our daughter Marja, a world class talent in all things creative, and I set out to put together a set of prayer beads.  Our online research revealed that we needed something to represent God and another something to represent the user.  In this case that was me.  Then you can add as many beads as you want to remind you of specific prayers to include:  I went through my jewelry and found some ancient treasures. 

The talisman I chose to represent ME has a unique story.  During World War II, living in Southern California (and I don't know where else in the U.S.) we had to wear ID tags.  At night, we often heard planes overhead and sirens blaring to signal a mandatory black out.  The idea was to turn off all the lights so the Japanese bombers wouldn't know they were over populated areas.  My Dad was a volunteer air raid warden, and he would have to go out in the streets during the air raids and make sure no one had their lights on.  My maternal grandfather painted the top of his outside light fixtures black, but his lights still shone down and I found it scary and appalling that he thought it was alright to cheat like that.  

I wore my silver ID tag on a chain around my neck.  It says, "Anne L. Collins, AT 2-7387"  And on the back "184 So Kauffman Ave Temple City"  It's dark, pretty beat up and the edges are wavy.  And with good reason.  One day my younger brother, Rob, and I were rough housing on the floor. (A big no-no as far as our mother was concerned) and I had him pinned good as I sat on his chest.  He yanked at the chain around my neck and it broke.  In a flash, he swallowed my ID tag. GULP! I can still remember the look of total shock and surprise on his face when he realized what had happened.  Then I went running to tell our mother.

Our doctor wanted to make sure it didn't get stuck somewhere in Rob's person, and mother was told to "watch for it."  Obviously, she found it, and it has lived in the corner of my jewelry box all these years.  Now it is on my prayer beads, representing me.

To represent God, I chose a small, silver crucifix that my mother, the three little girls, and I found in an elevator in Williamsburg, Virginia in the early 1970's.  We reported it to the desk at our hotel, but no one ever asked about it, and I have also kept it all these years.  Now, it has been put back into use for that which it was originally intended.   Nice, huh?

The rest of the beads represent the world, your blessings, your concerns, those you want to pray for,  a time for listening, and anything else you may want to include.  I particularly like the idea that there are no hard and fast rules, the possibilities are limitless and they provide structure to your prayer time.

 

My Prayer Beads

 

Update: I am blessed to report that they got all the cancer in my mouth and I do not have to face any additional treatments, beyond having my mouth checked on a regular basis.  They had planned to take cuts and check them while keeping me under sedation, in case they had to go back for more.  My mantra became "One and Done" and behold, it came to pass.  The good Doctor, the prayer beads, all my prayer pals and some divine intervention are the reasons. 

What a gift!  Thank you to all who helped.

 

  

Presidential Inaugurations

The 50th Presidential Inaugural in 1985

Presidential Inaugurations are exciting events in America's history.  There is an electricity in the air and a deep appreciation of the historic significance taking place.  Ron and I have been privileged to attend several.  As we witness President Obama's second, the 57th, it brings back memories of Inaugural's past.

FIRST INAUGURAL

President's Nixon's first Inauguration in 1969, was Ron and my first and to say we were in awe is to put it mildly.  We were living in Dallas and that first Inauguration was my very first trip to Washington DC.  I flew in to town on January 17th.  While Ron worked, I walked.  The bandstands were in place in front of the White House.  What a sight.  I walked all the way around the White House, past the Washington Monument.  All along the reflecting pool there were hundreds of vintage World War II quonset huts that were still being used as "temporary" offices.  (Mrs. Nixon would soon convince the President to have the eye-sores removed and return the mall into the beautiful place it is today.)

It was so cold I had to duck into store fronts and hotels to warm up, before I could brave the outdoors again.  I found the Lincoln Memorial and stood spell-bound at the sight of its magnificence.  If you've been there, you know there are not many warming huts nearby, so the cold finally drove me reluctantly away to the warmth of a taxi cab.  I was grateful for the cozy boots my friend Marty Vehslage had loaned me. 

Before we left army life on Okinawa, anticipating formal military occasions, I had splurged on a long, silk brocade dress made by a local sew-lady.  It was the perfect Inaugural ball gown, complete with matching shoes.  My mother, always a stickler for the proper lady-like way to do things, had read that long, white kid gloves were mandatory when one was attending an Inaugural Ball.  Dutifully, I went to Nieman-Marcus and spent a fortune on a pair of long, white kid gloves.  They had countless pearl buttons snaking up the inner-arm, and in my mind, they were a total pain to put on, take off, eat-in, drink-in, or anything else ladies have to do during the course of an evening.

We stayed at the Statler Hilton.  Our room was one foot wider on three sides than the queen size bed.  To open a bottom dresser drawer, one had to sit on their feet on the bed.  Ed Morgan was next door.  Ron and Ed dressed in White Tie in the hall way, while I somehow managed to dress in a corner of the room.  We didn't care, it was so exciting just to have a room and be a part of it all.

I never knew I was claustrophobic until my first Inaugural Ball experience.  A secret service agent arranged a spot in front of the stage for me, but people kept pushing me and shoving me.  A man with obviously a few flutes of champagne under his belt kept trying to kiss me.  A woman kept asking me why I thought I was so important?  I got the agents attention, finally, and asked him if there was somewhere else I could go.  He took me to a built-in stone bench around the corner from the stage.  Suddenly, another lady was plopped on the bench next to me.  That's the first time I met Susie Chapin, who became my cherished friend from that day forward.  We both had been frightened by the crowds and clung together on our little bench of refuge.

Ron and Susie's husband, Dwight, would leave soon after the President and Mrs. Nixon arrived at a Ball, to get to the next Ball location before they arrived.  Luckily, Susie and I were able to join them in the lead car in the motorcades.  After the last Ball, a secret service agent inside an elevator caught my eye and held out his hand.  I grabbed his hand and Susie's at the same time and he pulled us both into the elevator.  President and Mrs. Nixon were already inside.  Congratulations were relayed and everyone complimented everyone else on how beautiful all the ladies looked.  It was quite a moment, to say the least.

SECOND INAUGURAL

I worked as a volunteer on President Nixon's second Inaugural.  The offices were somewhere in an obscure part of Washington I'd never been to before.  Along with pals, Nancy Foust and JoAnne Jackson, we always got lost trying to get home after a day of volunteering and always wound up in dense traffic in the Pentagon parking lot. We laughed about this for years, but never could figure out how it happened. During the festivities, again Ron and Dwight worked and I was once again given a special place in the VIP section of history in the making.

THIRD INAUGURAL

This time it was Ronald Reagan who was being sworn in.  We sat with Corky and John Kinnear on the lawn of the Capitol as the sun came out and the announcement was made that our hostages in Iran had been released.  We walked toward the White House with a song in our heart taking great joy in the prospects for the future with our new President.  VIP's were being loaded on buses, headed for the reviewing stands.  Susan Davis spotted us and we jumped on board one of the buses.  Instead of stopping at the bleachers, the bus drove right into the White House parking area.  Our dear friend JoAnne Jackson was getting out of her car and we all hollered and hugged each other.  She took us into the West Wing of the White House where workers were up on ladders, changing the pictures on the walls from the Carters to the Reagans.  They saw Ron, and grinning from ear to ear, they got down off their ladders to tell him they were so glad to have him back.  We had lunch in the White House Mess with our pal, Ron Jackson.

FOURTH INAUGURAL

It was Ronald Reagan and George Herbert Walker Bush's second  and the 50th Presidential Inaugural.  After running their 1984 Republican Convention in Dallas, Ron was asked to be a Co-chair of the Inaugural, along with Michael Deaver.  As it turned out, Mike got sick and wound up in the hospital, so Ron wore both of their hats.  We had military aides that became wonderful friends.  The week-end before the swearing in was a gorgeous, sunny day.  Ron and I walked the entire length of the parade route from Capitol to White House, checking things out.  Then an artic blast moved in and by the next weekend, Ron was being advised to cancel the parade. The bitter cold would be unsafe for horses and people in polyester band uniforms. 

The extreme weather forced the swearing in to take place in the Capitol Rotunda and the parade was moved to the Cap Center, but otherwise we did all the traditional events we just watched the Obama's and Bidens do.  The morning church service at St. John's was so memorable because a shaft of sunlight highlighted only one person in the whole church, President Reagan.  It was a sight I'll never get over.  It seemed to me that God was shining on him because of the place he would hold in our history. The "bipartisan" luncheon between the swearing in and the parade was exciting, and probably delicious, but way too long. 

Mike Deaver was still in the hospital and Ron and I were asked if we wanted to make the whirlwind tour of the Inaugural Balls with the Reagans, instead of the Bush's as planned.  We said No, we'd stick with the Vice President and Mrs. Bush.  We made the round of ten Inaugural Balls.  The off-stage announcer would introduce Ron and he would introduce the Vice President.  Then both couples would dance for a few minutes, change partners, dance a little more and then take off for the next location.

The President and Vice President were on the same stage, only once.  They came together at the Kennedy Center.  The Bush party was already on the stage when the President and Mrs. Reagan joined us.  As they waved to the cheering crowd, our vantage point behind them, provided us with quite a unique view. The bright lights in front of them made Mrs. Reagan's white, one shouldered gown, completely see-through from behind.  She appeared to be stark naked.  I heard Mrs. Bush gasp at the same time I did, and later we vowed to keep what we had seen a secret.  We have done that all these years, but what the heck, it happened such a long time ago, and it sure was memorable.

FIFTH INAUGURAL
 
George Walker Bush and Dick Cheney were being sworn in as President and Vice President.  Long time friends, Lynne and Dick asked Ron and me to be Honorary Inaugural Chairmen.  We were honored.  On the night of the Balls, we made the rounds with them.  The offstage announcer would introduce us, Ron would introduce Lynne and she'd introduce the Vice President.  Eleven times, at eleven different Balls we did the same thing.

PERHAPS WE HAVE A GUINNESS WORLD RECORD?

Ron and I cherish our Inaugural memories.  We think we might hold the Guinness World Record for the most Inaugural Balls attended with a Vice President of the United States and a Second Lady.  We count a total of twenty-one.  Wonder if anyone can beat that?

May God grant President Obama the wisdom and the will to lead our country with fairness toward all her citizens.

RN @ 100

He would have loved it.  The faithful were gathered.   The venue was full.  The MC tried to get everyone to take their seats, but still they stood in the aisles, hugging, reminiscing, and not seeming to care one twit about sitting down for dinner.  The fire marshall was probably beside himself.  It was old times.  It was the best of times.  It was just like it used to be, when they ran the world for Him, who did it so well.  The more than 400 faces were wonderfully familiar: Tricia and Julie, Henry Kissinger, Dwight Chapin, Pat Buchanan, John Whitaker, Brent Scowcroft, Bruce Whelihan, Rob Odle, Henry Cashen, Bob Brown, Frank Gannon, Bill Codus, Hubert Perry . . . just to name a few.  And representing the outstanding group of Docents at the Nixon Library was Darlene Skye and her husband.

So what if they were all old now and He was gone.  They still relished their accomplishments as part of His team.  He had chosen them and they were proud to have served.  Richard Nixon's 100th birthday party was a wonderful celebration.

The cheap shots and familiar digs would come later, they always do. 

There are very few in the media who will recognize the accomplishments of the 37th President of the United States.  They only want to use the W word.  Watergate.  And the R word.  Resignation; as in the only President in U.S. history to resign.  We know that already.  We just want a balanced and fair shot with all the A words.  The Accomplishments.  They are many.  The list is long: Ending the draft, the all volunteer army, EPA, Clean Water Act, Clean Air Act, National Parks in Urban Areas, desegregated schools went from 10 percent when he took office, to 70 percent, the War on Cancer, the opening of China, The Salt and ABM treaties, Saving Israel, and on and on and on.  We only want what's fair.  President Bill Clinton said that history should judge RN by his entire career and we agree.

His 100th Birthday Cake was a replica of the little house in Yorba Linda where he was born.  I couldn't believe it was a cake when I first saw it, and so I got real close to it, and took a big whiff. Sure enough, it smelled like cake. It was cake!  It was an amazing reproduction of the charming little house that his father, Frank Nixon built. The President would have loved that cake.

President Nixon told a great story about cakes.  His first advance man was Ace Anderson, and he got the job because he had a car that was a convertible.  He took young Dick Nixon all over Southern California during his first political campaign.  He put a Victrola on a loud speaker to attract attention.  However, the only record he had was, "If I'd Known You Were Coming I'd Have Baked a Cake."  The song blared through the sunny streets of many small towns, doing what it was supposed to do.  The people came out to see what in the world all the noise was about.  Young Dick Nixon stood on Ace's car and spoke to the people who were crowded around.  And so began his remarkable journey forward into history.

The Advance function was important to President Nixon and you will recall that he established the first White House Advance Office.  That office was well represented at the Gala by Ron Walker, Bill Henkel, Karen Hart Fuller, Julie Rowe Cooke and Sally Brinkerhoff Hartwig.  I took a picture of them to go along with the cake, but it didn't turn out.  Take my word for it, they all looked just the same as they did when they were helping the 37th President make history.

 

Merry Christmas!!

Merry Christmas dear family and friends!  

Let's pretend this is a Christmas card that arrived in your mail box. That way we can wish you and yours all of the best things about this Blessed time of year and save all the hassle that comes with getting it from here to there. Just think about all that we have saved: the ever increasing cost of a stamp, the card selection process itself, and the claw-like hand cramping that I now get when I hold pen or pencil for any length of time.

It makes me happy to say Merry Christmas. It's what we should be saying right now. I've decided not to say "Happy Holiday or Winter Vacation or anything like that anymore. Ever. I think everyone should wish others any type of special occasion greeting that means the most to them. So, Merry Christmas and God Bless us, everyone.

 We are all happy and healthy and thank the Lord every day for all the Blessings that overwhelm us. Jackson Hole is a bit nippy right now, so we are tucked here in the comfort and warmth of our Arizona High Mesa and enjoying the company of all our family. The Kentucky folks have arrived, so December is filled to the brim with almost a month-long house party that also includes two birthday parties.  Two-thirds of our "Irish Tripletts" (they were three under three) have now reached the half century mark.  The concept is a little hard to grasp.  We certainly can't be the Olde Phart Parents that their ages imply, can we?

The celebrations around here include the cacophony of a herd of dachshunds (4) sending the news to all who happen to pass by on the street far down the driveway. If a visitor, the FEDEX folks, the UPS Browns or our mail lady actually comes up the driveway, the celebratory howls are deafening. Usually, only rock stars receive such raucous and loud greetings, but here at Casa de Roadrunner, everyone approaching creates a huge amount of excitement, and the doggies keep us laughing. Not as sure about our neighbors however, but they a so far, continuously polite.

 The days are sunny, with temperatures in the seventies or eighties. The pool is heated and very inviting. The nights are cold and full of dazzling stars and brilliant moon glow. The winter sunsets paint a beautiful mural every evening as we gather in the comfy camaraderie of those we love.  Our hearts break for the Newtown, CT families dealing with the unfathomable grief that we cannot begin to understand or get our heads around.  We can only pray for them and for the hope that our leaders will find the way to try and stop the madness.  More mental health screening instead of just kicking the "weird loners" out of schools would be one place to start, as would toning down the violence in movies, video games and cartoons.  We have seen every parents worst nightmare and every child's monster under the bed realized.  It must stop.

 As we say here in Arizona, "When the mountains turn pink, its time for a drink." So here's a toast to you and yours, Merry Christmas, Happy New Year, and may 2013 bring good health, comfort and joy to all of you.

With much love,

Anne and Ron Walker and all their family.

Here's the boys in their Christmas Pajamas.

"2016:Obama's America"

OMG!

If you haven't seen the movie, "2016:Obama's America", you need to put it at the top of your TO-DO-NOW list. If you know anyone who is even remotely considering voting to re-elect the current President, please encourage them to see this movie. It is beyond scary. It answers all the questions about where he came from, so fast, so un-tested, so ill-equipped for the job. What was America thinking? What is everyone thinking now?

One bumper sticker floating around nails it: One Big Ass Mistake America

Dinesh D'souza, the man behind the movie and the author of the book by the same name will be speaking at the Richard Nixon Library and Birthplace on November 1 at 7:00 pm. He says that Obama's "redistribution" beliefs will not only take money from the haves to give to the have-nots, it will change the United States of America to the United States of Islam.

Did I say OMG loud enough?

Remembering Nate Avery

Dear Friends. This is a sad time. We have lost a cherished friend and gifted man. The loss has left us stunned and overcome by the enormity of the tragedy.

Regular readers of my blog may not know who Nate Avery was. But, if you were in Jackson Hole when our daughter Lynne married Barry McNees, you may remember the affable and friendly young man, who probably introduced himself to you and then wanted to learn more about you. I don't think Nate ever met a stranger.

Lynne, and Nate's wife, Annette (Netter) worked together at Host Communications while Nate was doing his neurosurgery residency at the University of Kentucky Medical School In Lexington. They became devoted friends. Annette sat with us when Lynne had her emergency hysterectomy and we hugged and cried together. As Lynne recovered, she would often wake up from a nap to see Netter sitting beside her, waiting to provide comfort, a cup of ice cream or holding a deli sandwich for them to share. Later, while Lynne was recovering in Jackson Hole, the Avery's left Lexington to move back to their hometown of Flagstaff, Arizona. Nate had decided to become a pediatric neurosurgeon. He was the only physician doing brain surgery in Flagstaff, not to mention doing amazing and delicate procedures on newborns. When Lynne could finally return to Lexington and go back to work, the void caused by the absent Avery's was overwhelming. Then she met Barry, and I thank the Lord every day for him.

Nate and Annette met when he was elected to the Student Senate and she was Student Body Vice President at Northern Arizona University. During college summers they worked as rafting guides on the Colorado River. Nate often wondered to friends how a river rat like him wound up doing brain surgery for a living. But do it, he did, with unfailing kindness and caring, even as he often had to deal with the most difficult and heart wrenching cases. There is nothing more painful to a parent than not being able to ease the suffering of their child, but in "Dr. Nate" they found a doctor who could heal their little one, and could also walk them calmly through those terrifying days. And walk to him they did, and drive and fly and come from all over the world.

Nate Avery was only forty-five years old when he died after slipping on the rocks and falling unconscious into the water at Lake Powell in Arizona. Friends made multiple dives into the murky water before finding him and pulling him out. They began CPR and he had a pulse on the helicopter that took him to Page Hospital, but the pulse stopped and he was pronounced dead at the hospital.

There was a "Celebration of Life" gathering at the Arizona Snowbowl outside of Flagstaff on Friday, August 24th. Daughters Lisa and Marja drove to Phoenix and picked up Lynne at the airport, so they could all be at the service for Nate. As they drove through Flagstaff, every billboard on every business in town had special messages about Nate. "We love you Nate" "Thank you, Dr. Avery." The tributes were everywhere they looked.

Lynne was able to spend some quality time alone with Annette before the memorial service began. Over 1,500 people were on hand, and many of them were people whose life he had saved. Nate's favorite saying was always "Best Day Ever." He felt that about every day of his life. What a wonderful attitude to have.

Nate was a notoriously bad dresser. Spiffy clothes were just not important in the big scheme of his life. He'd rather spend time with his wife and kids and his close knit group of brothers and sisters. It was so obvious that Nate and Netter were soul mates, best friends, and devoted parents.

Nate loved old cars and the joy of all kinds of outdoor activities. I remember a time when we met at the Cracker Barrel in Flagstaff on our way back to Tucson from Jackson Hole. With Nate at the wheel, the Avery's came roaring into the parking lot in an old, open air military transport vehicle. It was his newest, old toy, and he loved it. Actually, it was so unusual, it looked like a one-vehicle parade. His combination of surgical training, working on cars and an architectural background led him to invent and patent a cervical plate for children with injuries to the junction of their head and spine. He received a prestigious fellowship at the University of Utah's Primary Children's Medical Center in Salt Lake City, and that fellowship will now bear his name.

The memorial was summed up with the words:

"Don't cry because it's over, smile because it happened."

May God's Blessings always smile on you, dear Netter, Cora, Thad and Maddy.




With Annette at the podium, surrounded by some of Nate's family, they salute the crowd with Nate's favorite gesture for "Best Day Ever!" For more information about Nate Avery, visit the official website set up in his memory: www.nateavery.info