Grandfather was one of a dying breed

Published 2:54 pm Friday, October 7, 2016

We live in a culture that desperately searches for heroes. We mistakenly place our faith in celebrities, sport figures, or famous people to project our hopes on. However, the real heroes are the ones that exist in daily life, that go by unnoticed, and that make daily impacts in seemingly small yet profound ways.

Last week, my grandfather, Artrie “Dickey” Hunt, died in a hospital in Macon. Born in the 1930s in a segregated Colquitt County, he was named after the town he grew up in, Autreyville, and was a resident of Moultrie his whole life. His family dates back many generations in this area, and as typical of many local African-Americans of the Depression era, he grew up on a farm, with very limited educational opportunities.

Despite this he was able to serve his country by enlisting in the military.  He worked at the former JC Penney’s downtown for many years before becoming a correction officer in Moultrie until retirement. After all those years, he was finally able to get the high school education that had eluded him in his childhood. He faithfully fulfilled his civic duties, from taking care of his family to voting and paying taxes, and never complained a day about any of it. He was also Chairman of the Deacon Board at St. James Baptist Church, for a very long time.

An avid hunter, fisherman, and farmer, he was “organic” decades before people even knew what the word meant. He never cursed a day in his life, only using 1940s language like “aww shucks” to get across his disapproval with a subject. He never smoked or even drank in excess, only an occasional Miller-Lite, or other more homemade concoctions he made in the backyard under the shed.

He was, however, the toughest man I have ever met. There was an air of respectability and steeliness that belied the gentleness and friendliness on the surface. No one would dare cross him. In fact, I don’t remember anyone ever doing so to their own detriment. Everyone, of every color respected him, calling him “Mr. Dickey.”

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In this divided country, where we draw battle lines daily by political affiliation, race, class, sexuality, and gender, we lose sight of the many things we have in common. My grandfather was a lifelong Democrat, yet he had friends of all races and types. I remember many a fishing or hunting trip where he had white companions, and there was never a thought of race, because in his eyes, we were all equal. My grandfather embodied a spirit of reaching across the aisle, and no matter your personal thoughts or even prejudices, there was a common courtesy he gave,  and most importantly, one that he expected back. This is a rare trait in our current    political culture, and one     that people need to be reminded of.

For a man born in an era that treated him as a second class citizen, he fervently believed that he was a first class citizen, and held to those ideals until he died. For a man that was given a 5th grade education, he lived long enough to see me graduate from not just one Ivy League School, but two.  He said education is the only way to pull oneself up, and when he attended my graduation from Yale, he held his head as high and as proud as anyone around him.

My grandfather wasn’t a famous man, but was an uncompromising American, whose own life experiences proves our greatness as a nation. In his life, he saw great changes in our country, and in his behavior, he believed in the things we have in common. No matter your race, income level, job, political affiliation and  no matter who wins this November, it’s crucial to be mindful that we are one family, and in this together.