JACK NEWSOME STORIES [R, 8-1-24]

BEYOND WINTER: Irrelevant Musings and Memories of an Old Man—JACK NEWSOME STORIES [R, 8-1-24]

 

One reader—I’ll call him Bob--responded to my first column about Jack by saying that he isn’t planning on a memorial service for himself. I told him that it’s not up to him. The purpose of a memorial service is so your friends can tell embarrassing stories about you when you can’t defend yourself. I’m going to have a service for Bob whether he wants one or not. I’ve got too many good stories about him to not share them.

Many folks who knew Jack responded to that column with stories about him. I can’t put them all in here, but if we could have had a memorial service for Jack, the following would be just a few of the stories told…

It was when Jack was pastoring Vermont St. UMC in Quincy, IL, the largest church in the Jacksonville District. He was distraught by the number of people who put things off. “Manana,” he proclaimed. “Always manana. But manana never comes. Manana, manana…”

The problem was that Jack had only read the word. He didn’t know that it was pronounced mon-YAH-nah. He said muh-na-nuh, as rhyming with banana.

*

One year, at the Christmas party of mutual friends, Jack had an old Christmas card he and Joan had received. He marked through the name of the original signers of the card and replaced it with “Jack and Joan.” After showing it to us, he marked our name off a list. He was “sending” his cards the simple way.

*

When Jack was a District Superintendent, the Superintendents were having lunch with the Conference staff. There was a new woman on the staff, and Jack was being genially hospitable, as he always was, getting to know her. “Do you watch hardcore?” he asked. She looked shocked. Assuming she had not understood, he pressed on. “Do you watch hardcore?” “N…n….no” she stuttered. “You should; it’s good.” Thankfully, someone finally figured out that he was talking about a popular news show at the time, “Hard Copy.”

*

Jack was appointed the senior pastor of a large city church where there was a retirement home. A middle-aged woman in the congregation asked him to call on her mother at the retirement home. “Don’t be fooled by her,” she said. “She’s crazy.” Jack went. He found a sophisticated, dignified, well-spoken lady. They had a nice conversation. “That daughter of hers is the crazy one,” Jack was thinking. As he prepared to leave, the lady said, “Rev. Newsome, would you do me a favor?” “Of course,” Jack replied. “Good. Bring me a pistol. I’m going to shoot that SOB in the next room.”

*

Jack started college at Asbury in Kentucky, but finished at Georgia Tech, in Atlanta, 20 miles from his home town. He then went to Candler School of Theology at Emory University. He had a student preaching appointment in the North Carolina Conference. It was a fairly long drive, so it was not unusual to have to stop for gasoline on the way. One day he spilled some on himself while filling up the tank, so started the worship service by announcing, “If you smell anything from up here, it’s gas.”

*

Well, there are others. They were best when Jack told them on himself. But these “will preach,” as preachers like to say.

There. Now I feel better about Jack not getting a memorial service.

John Robert McFarland