January 17, 2025
When I was growing up, we lived roughly one mile from the Willis Main family. Out in the country in the Middle West, that means we were neighbors. We even were on the same party telephone line together, and at one time I could have told you how many long rings and short ones comprised the Main’s phone ring. (Ours was three long rings.)
The Mains had two kids, Robert, who was three years older, and Fran, who was in my classes at school until we graduated from high school together. In those days, country kids rode school buses, and I rode the bus with Robert for nine years until he graduated from ROVA High School in Oneida, IL.
Robert was a serious student, competing in State Latin Contest under the guidance of Mrs. McKibben, our Latin teacher. I don’t remember Robert competing in any sports or playing an instrument or singing; however, I do remember that he was brilliant, particularly in mathematics.
The Andrews family lived west of us and were on a different phone line. The Andrews family had three kids-Stan, who was six years older than me, Donna, who was one year older than me, and Joyce, who was two years younger. I rode the bus with Stan for six years until he graduated. I remember Stan as also being a serious student, although a looming gap of six years meant I was simply one of the pesky little kids who intruded on Stan’s world.
For some reason, my brothers and I were always the first ones on in the morning and the last ones off at night. This schedule meant that we spent an hour twice a day as the bus followed its route, picking passengers or dropping them off. Both Stan and Robert did quite a bit of their homework during that bus ride.
Riding school buses with others teaches you a lot about human nature in general and the nature of your fellow riders. As a little kid, you swiftly learn which of the older kids you can trust and which ones to avoid. For most of my school career, Adah Isabelle Selman, a.k.a. Adabelle, drove our bus. Adabelle was a big kind woman with a red face and a “take no prisoners” attitude. When you rode with Adabelle, YOU BEHAVED! But older kids could still be snarky and mean, even if they did so quietly. Both Stan and Robert tolerated us younger kids, generally ignoring us, but they were also kind and considerate to us.
Once Stan graduated from high school, I lost touch with him, although I maintained a connection with Donna, one of his younger sisters. Recently Stan died at age 83. Robert, meanwhile, went on to college and then served in the military for two years before becoming an economist for the U.S. government in Washington, D.C.
Robert never married; however, he was a canny investor who lived frugally and invested wisely. But it is Robert’s career as a supporter of our medical mission work that really set him apart. In Robert’s own words, my husband’s and my mission work at the Assemblies of God Hospital, Saboba became his “primo charity.” Through the years, Robert channeled large amounts of money through us to the hospital, allowing us to transform the Outpatient Department building, enclosing the center courtyard, roofing it, and expanding it. Robert helped us build walkways around the hospital so that we no longer had to push wheelchairs over sand and rocks. In 2015 when the hospital was in financial crisis, it was Robert who just happened to make a donation that saved the hospital. Not once did we ever ask Robert for anything. God moved Robert to give at seemingly random times that proved critical to the work of the hospital.
We were privileged to visit Robert twice while in the D.C. area. Robert loved Vietnamese food, something he had learned about during his time in the military. We were delighted when Robert carried us off to his favorite Vietnamese restaurant several times.
Later, Robert and Stan both migrated to Florida, probably because they had enjoyed all the cold icy winters in the north they wanted. Stan died in mid-December 2024. Robert just died January 12, 2025. I called Robert in late December to thank him for his many years of faithful support. I had no idea that this would be the last time I would speak with our friend.
Aging teaches you many things, including the fact that you must hold everything lightly, including your friends. Sometimes shared experiences form bonds we refuse to acknowledge until those same friends leave us. And it’s true that sometimes a halo comes to surround childhood experiences, causing their memories to be more poignant. But repeated acts of kindness and generosity also leave lasting legacies, at least for those fortunate enough to receive them. Those memories are golden.
In the last scenes of the movie “Driving Miss Daisy,” Hoke, the former chauffer, is feeding Miss Daisy her pumpkin pie in a nursing home. But as Hoke is doing this, scenes from the times Hoke and Miss Daisy have spent together are also flashing on the screen. Remembering those bus rides and those who rode with me is something like that. And so, the good memories and the love remain. We rode the school bus together.
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