A legion of lovely ladies and gentlemen were lost last year. Regrettably, I don't have room, or the knowledge, to do them all justice, but the year 2021 was one of tremendous loss of friends, family, and colleagues. I begin with the latter. When our daughter Betsy was home for Thanksgiving, our family marched to the theatre where "House of Gucci" was playing. It was on the big screen that Patrizia said to Maurizio, "You seem too nice to be a lawyer." He ricocheted a reply, "There are a few good ones." Indeed, and the Pelican State lost a litany of them in a single calendar year.
Legendary lawyers Max Nathan, George Strickler, Jr., and Cheryl Teamer were among those lost last year. Both Nathan and Strickler were professors at Tulane Law School, but their renown extends far beyond old Jones Hall, where I first encountered them. A brilliant scholar and leading estate planning attorney, Nathan not only taught the Louisiana Bar review course for more than four decades, but he also served as mentor to a long list of lawyers, teaching them for fifty years at Tulane Law School. And I was lucky to be among them.
Professor Strickler, a civil rights attorney and expert in the arena of employment discrimination, also taught scores of students at Tulane Law School. Just like Max Nathan, Strickler was renowned for his expertise in the law and universally admired by his students. But with a gruff exterior in the classroom, he terrified me. Suffice to say, I never came to Civil Procedure ill prepared. And I doubt any of my classmates did either.
In that number - Tulane Law '89 - was my friend Cheryl Teamer who also succumbed last year. Her accolades in the field of law are too numerous to list, but a mover and a shaker, she was well known for her legal work in Louisiana and New Orleans, including that with Marc Morial's administration. I hadn't seen Cheryl since our last class reunion, but I remember her as genuine and kind, to everyone. I just didn't realize time was so short. From a prominent New Orleans family, Cheryl - a community leader and lawyer - was only 58.
I would be remiss if I didn't also mention our colorful former Governor Edwin Edwards who passed away last year - he was one of a kind. Rodney and I often saw him at my better half's favorite South Louisiana steakhouse. Governor Edwin Edwards must have been a real regular because we rarely dined there that we didn't see him, with wife Trina. And ever the politician, he always spoke - like it was a fundraiser or some small town, which brings me to my next sorrow.
Franklinton lost many locals last year, from a myriad of maladies. Though far too overwhelming a task to list everyone, several struck a chord in my little life - Al Barron, Virginia "Ginny" Burris, Shirley Ann Creel Morgan, Delora Bridges, Nellie Spencer, Dr. Peggy Ott, Helen Branch, Russell Simmons, Cindy Barber Thomas, John Louis Daniel, Kenneth Daughdrill, Dr. Bob Wallace, Barry Stringfield, Gaylord Mouton Bickham, Daniel Passman, Ed Logan, Lawrence Sylvest, Doris Yates Magee, Peggy Ryan Vessier, John Ray Ladner, and Howard George. In some way, I knew and admired them and/or their families, for part or all of my life. Similarly, all those lost locally last year left someone - family and/or friends - in the lurch.
And woefully death befell our family last year. Both my husband's father Robert Carey Bateman (age 89) and my son-in-law Erik Green's grandfather Dr. Milt Green (age 90) passed away in 2021. In the time since our daughter married Dr. Milt's grandson in 2018, and even before, Rodney and I had enjoyed vacationing and celebrating with him, and his loving family. Devoted husband to wife Sally Garfinkle Green, he was a retired orthopedic surgeon and a prince of a man. In days gone by, I had mentioned Milt - a Michigan graduate (graduating at the top of his University of Michigan Medical School class) and Wolverines fan (Go Blue!) - in my column, something that tickled him.
Though Rodney's father Carey - a Washington Parish native and dedicated husband of Marie Gennaro Bateman - and I had not discussed my column, when Rodney and I were young and first smitten with one another, I recall early, interesting banter with his dad. One example - when his son and I first married, and were living in Lafayette, Mr. Carey mesmerized me with the history of Hadacol and its illustrious inventor Senator Dudley Leblanc of adjacent Vermilion Parish. A retired parole officer and long-time Allstate insurance agent, Carey had a knack for seamlessly unspooling the stories of Louisianians. And our ancestors went way back - his father Robert Hugh Bateman and my grandfather Thomas Colter Brumfield were the best of friends. Living in close proximity, together, they built the barn at my family farm.
But the memory that I recollect best derived from a fishing trip - something Rodney's father was famous for - about eighteen years ago. When our daughter Betsy was a youth, Rodney made plans to meet his dad on the bank of the Bogue Chitto early one Saturday for a day of fellowship and fishing. At the last minute, I suggested that he take Betsy along. She was thrilled at the prospect, despite having to get up with the roosters. I can still see her, hobbling down the stairs half asleep.
It wasn't the fish though that, in hindsight, caught my attention. With Betsy an unexpected extra, Carey arrived at the boat launch at dawn, having kindly brought fare for two - father and son. But Rodney had Betsy in tow. As she dramatically described later, her Paw-Paw Carey - as she called him - distributed breakfast, generously giving her his. Rodney then tried to relinquish what his dad had given him, but Carey wouldn't hear of it. And I doubt he would have had it any other way. This was how he lived his life, in Washington Parish - a true friend to man.
After they launched his boat, Carey taught Betsy to fish - something she talked about for years. It was Henry David Thoreau who said, "Many men go fishing all of their lives without knowing it is not fish they are after." Perhaps felicity, peace, and joy. There were to have been follow-up fishing expeditions, but life did what it's famous for doing, it got in the way. Time marched on. To my knowledge, Betsy hasn't been fishing since. And maybe, if it couldn't be a repeat of that first glorious trip, that's best - keeping her special memory with her Paw-Paw Carey safe.
Likewise, I have my memories of all those lost last year locked away, in my heart.
•Note: This column is dedicated to my beloved husband Rodney Michael Bateman who misses his dad.
