Eulogy for UGA English Professor George Marshall, who Died in Athens, Ga.

It is a high honor to be asked to do this, and I appreciate the opportunity to say a few words about my friend George Marshall.  First, I want to say I loved George, and I will miss him very much.

I heard George speak publically many times, and I wish I was as good at it as he was.  However, I do not have his keen mind, his sharp wit, or his professional-sounding delivery.   Speaking of his wit, several years ago when he delivered the grave-side eulogy for a brother-in-law, who apparently had quite a reputation as a joker, his closing remark was: “Take him Lord, but not seriously.” I remember thinking “I hope the Lord has a sense of humor.”

There are many wonderful and inspiring stories in the Bible and many helpful words of wisdom.  And on this occasion the first passage that comes to mind when I remember my friend George Marshall is 2^nd Samuel 3:38 – “Then the king said to his servants, Do you not know that a prince and a great man has fallen this day in Israel?”  That is exactly how I feel about George – he was a prince among men, and I feel privileged to have known him and to have been called his friend.

George was a prolific writer, and in his retirement years he wrote two little autobiographical books.  The Sunshine of My Happy Youth recounts his life growing up in Americas, Georgia, during the 1920s and 30s.

And My World War II relates his exploits in Europe during the war.  George was a supply sergeant and was responsible for keeping the troops supplied with whatever was needed.  My favorite story in the book was when he and another soldier drove a truck pulling a water trailer into a small French village in search of water for the American troops.  When they entered the village, they found the street filled with heavily armed German soldiers.  George said “There we were; because of the trailer it was impossible to turn around. So we did what any prudent person would do:  we surrendered.  But though we stopped the truck and held up our hands, the Germans paid us no attention.  We then noticed armed civilians standing in doorways on each side of the street.  They were using the German prisoners to move unloaded rifles from one building to another.  We left town without inquiring whether there was any water there or not.”

George had a good life.  I know this because he told me so a number of times.  As many of you know, in July 1946, when he was just 24 years old, George was diagnosed with pulmonary tuberculosis and was confined to a hospital bed for the next 39 months.  Think about that. Bed-ridden for 39 months!  George told me he never expected to leave the hospital alive, and he laid there for more than three years waiting to die.  But he didn’t die.  He recovered, resumed his college education, and lived another 63 years!  And those were happy, productive, and useful years filled with many proud accomplishments.

And in his last days and his last hours he did not complain.  He accepted what he knew must come without a whimper and set about planning for today.  In fact, just two days before he died he asked Charlotte to come forth with paper and pen and write down some of his last wishes.  He then outlined most of what is taking place here this morning, including having Jon Appleton to pray, asking Milton Leathers and me to speak, requesting that Charles Hooper sing, naming his pallbearers, and reminding Charlotte of the list of favorite tunes he wanted Mark Maxwell to play on his classical guitar, and.  That will be a real treat, and I am looking forward to hearing Mark play. 

All the adjectives we can think of to describe a good person pertain to George:  suffice it to say, he was a very good person, and I believe that if there is such a place as Heaven, George will be there.

George was a life-long student and admirer of the poet Alfred Lord Tennyson and loved his work above all others.  I do not have George’s love or his understanding of poetry, but I thought it appropriate to close with one short Tennyson poem.  I fully realize that my Southern Redneck voice is not the kind of voice you want to hear reading aloud from Tennyson, but please bear with me for this quick farewell to my friend George.  

Crossing the Bar

Sunset and evening star,
And one clear call for me!
And may there be no moaning of the bar,
When I put out to sea,

But such a tide as moving seems asleep,
Too full for sound and foam,
When that which drew from out the boundless deep
Turns again home.

Twilight and evening bell,
And after that the dark!
And may there be no sadness of farewell,
When I embark;

For though from out our bourne of Time and Place
The flood may bear me far,
I hope to see my Pilot face to face
When I have crost the bar. 

Alfred Lord Tennyson