Maybe the Nicest Man

To say that something is the best, the biggest, the tastiest or that someone is the smartest, the prettiest, or the fastest most likely would be highly debatable. I am going out on a limb, and say that my friend, Gerald Hildabrand, was the nicest man I ever knew. I have known Gerald since the late 1950’s when we were both young boys.

The first time I saw Gerald was on a Sunday morning when he visited my Sunday school class. I will respectfully say that he looked different. He wore a little suit and a hat. Not a one of us ever wore a suit much less a hat. Gerald was probably 9 or 10 and I was around 8 years old. There was a boy in our class who was a big bully. I was his target several times over the years, but on this day he decided to pick on Gerald. He laughed at him, made some ugly remarks about him , and finally took his hat off of him and stomped it. I remember feeling sorry for Gerald because I knew what he was feeling. But Gerald handled it well, and he and his family kept coming to Mt. Pleasant Baptist Church. In fact, he was still a committed member of Mt. Pleasant when he died this past Sunday morning.

I’ve known a lot of nice people over the years, probably as many as anybody, but none any nicer than Gerald. There were some times I saw Gerald get very close to failing to be nice. The first time was when we were playing plastic ball in a friend’s backyard. We called the field Watermelon Park. We were not little kids. We were teens, and some of our teachers even played when we got together on Sunday afternoons. We made up rules that were different than baseball. Our bats and balls were even altered to make the game a bit more challenging.

One of the rules which may not have been the best was that the pitcher called balls and strikes. Whenever he played, our high school basketball coach, Bob Birdwhistell, pitched for his team. On the particular day that Gerald came close to not being nice he was on the other team. The coach loved to try to rile Gerald. I am not accusing Coach of making bad calls when he pitched to Gerald, but several of his pitches were somewhat suspect, and Gerald thought the calls were downright horrible. After Gerald’s third at bat he had had enough. Coach Bird had called him out three times in a row. Of course Gerald argued the calls, but coach just laughed. So Gerald quit and walked home. The problem for us was that all the equipment belonged to Gerald, and when he left he took his bats and balls and we couldn’t play any more.

I taught with Gerald for twelve years at Lewisburg School. And yes, Coach Birdwhistell taught there as well. Most of the men faculty had lunch every day in a very small teacher’s lounge. The women rarely came in there. I cannot even begin to tell, and for my own protection, would not dare tell what went on in that room. Somebody usually got roasted during that daily gathering. Sometimes it was not pretty, but over all we had a great time. Gerald received his share of roastings, most of the time from Coach Birdwhistell. Gerald would try his best to look angry, and not show his Mr. Nice Guy look, but he just couldn’t do it. There was a mirror in the lounge. When Gerald wanted to look angry he would walk over to the mirror, look at his reflection, and try his best to fix his face to appear tough and angry. But he couldn’t do it. He was too nice to look the part.

Gerald Hildabrand loved his students, his co-workers, his friends, and was always more than glad to lend a helping hand to anyone in need. Gerald even loved Coach Birdwhistell!  I left Logan County in 1983 and have lived from Texas to North Carolina over the years. Gerald and I stayed in touch, and if anything happened that he thought I should know about he would give me a call. I can’t remember things like Gerald could. If I wanted to know a date that something happened, or the name of a student I taught at Lewisburg, or something about sports, mostly baseball, I would call Gerald and 99% of the time he would know the answer. He was always excited to help me and would go out of his way to do so. But most of the time it was two good friends catching up, and it was always good to talk to him.

I don’t know anybody that didn’t love Gerald, or have the highest respect for him. That little boy I first met in the late 1950’s at church grew up to be a real man.  Unlike that bully who treated him so unkindly, Gerald earned the respect of everyone who knew him. A person can not achieve such an honored distinction without being nice.

Tomorrow or today, depending on when you read this, many of you will meet at the church for Gerald’s home going. I wish I could be there. You will remember and say goodbye to a wonderful man and friend. Gerald cannot be replaced. He will be greatly missed. Gerald leaves for us a most valuable legacy, a legacy of kindness, love, and an example of being very, very nice. Traits that each of us should desire.

Farewell my dear friend.