The Unforgiving Minute

By mid-July, Court was no longer in denial about the loss of community support and good will. Except for the gospel singer, Sister Henrietta Thorne, and Doctor Luke Covington, there had been few other requests for the Berry Funeral Home service. The obituary section in the Charleston Press published the names of several deceased from the black community whose families chose white funeral homes. Court recognized two of the elderly women listed who had been Jim Danfield’s patients. Although Jim had inherited the clinic, he left it and his patients in charge of the three older doctors while he spent the summer in Atlanta. Court did not relate to those doctors, nor did those doctors get involved with burial arrangements for patients.

Court was too proud to let Zach or Betsy know he was worried. While they had nothing better to do, they kept the house and grounds impeccable and covered the office during the day. Court slept late, but during waking hours, he paced the floors of the bachelor quarters where he now lived alone. Even when he made a reality check, he refused to believe the community his grandparents served for over a half century had waited until Daniel Berry died to turn against the grandsons who were carrying on the business with full dedication. He saw no reason for people to censure his after-hours lifestyle, or his policy for funeral expenses to be paid up front, or for his attempt to dishonor his father, but admitted that his attitude adjustment toward family and friends was too little, too late.

The Wilsons had paid in full for the gospel singer’s homegoing, and Jim had sent a check for the embalming of the despised Luke Covington. Tommy sent each of them checks for $20,000 as their share of the life insurance bequeathed in Daniel Berry’s will for which he was beneficiary. Financially, they were able to meet overhead expenses and pay themselves the usual salaries for several months, but unless business returned to normal, the future of the Berry Funeral Home was doomed. Court ceased to hang out at the singles bars or visit Lucia at her beach home. They talked on the phone every day.

Tommy called long distance from his duty station at Camp Pendleton, and though Court was pleased to hear from his father, he did not mention the loss of community support. He vowed to seek and find a way to redeem the legacy of goodness for which his grandparents were remembered. Occasionally, he visited the sick, contributed money for the needy, and gave his old clothes to the Salvation Army. None of that called for any personal sacrifice, and since no one knew of his good deeds but him, nothing changed.

The opportunity to show compassion presented itself three times in the last five days of the month. A fire at a public housing project claimed the lives of a mother without a husband, and her four children. The Berry Funeral Home was requested by the manager to funeralize the victims with funds provided by charity. The money was barely enough for five caskets and graves. Court gave his service pro bono. Two days later, three men drowned when their fishing boat capsized in the Ashley River during a storm. Court had grown up with them. Their wives came to him and asked if he would give their husbands a Christian burial with what little they could pay. He did all he could with what he had to do with, and their homegoing was full-blown, his service free of charge.

The end of the month brought a heat wave, during which many elderly citizens gave up their fragile hold on life. The blacks were sent to the Berry Funeral Home. Some were fully insured, some were uninsured. All were prepared for burial and given a beautiful homegoing with whatever the bereaved families could pay. Gradually, but not overnight, the word went forth that the director of the Berry Funeral Home was known for deeds of love and mercy. Though many families were slow to believe Court Berry had changed, he had learned a lesson he would never forget. Blessings came to those who filled the unforgiving minute with sixty seconds’ worth of distance run. It was like that for Granddaddy. He wanted it to be like that for him and the business.