logo-image

To The Pie Man, With Love

Lisa Thomas • Nov 03, 2021

It was New Year’s Day . . . January 1, 2018, to be exact . . . and we were hard at work in Savannah.  Death had been exceptionally busy over the previous 24 to 48 hours and as a result, three families were scheduled to come in for their arrangement conferences.  That meant several of us were missing the sleeping-in and/or bingeing-on-football part of the day, instead spending that time meeting with families, processing information, and answering the phones that never seemed to quit ringing.

The office was officially closed (after all, it was a holiday . . .) so the office door was officially locked, but since we can’t really hold families hostage until they’re done, the double front doors were open . . . meaning anyone wanting to reach the office could, with a little effort, find a way in . . . meaning those of us in the office were periodically turning around to see if the person entering from the foyer was an employee or a random stranger.  There was precious little time for taking a break and even less time for eating, not that any of us had thought about food in the midst of the chaos.

It was one of those door-opening moments that changed the entire course of the day, because the person smiling at us from the other side of our counter was Billy Allegood, bearer of McDonald’s pies and spreader of good will.  He would come by every few days with a sack (or two) filled with freshly baked pies and basically force us to take some.  Ok.  Force is probably too strong a term.  Maybe gently and persistently encourage us.  But on that busy New Year’s holiday, he only had to offer once, and the gratitude that spread across the building made the rest of the day so much easier to handle.

Billy has visited us and numerous others in our town more times than I’m sure any of us can count.  He always came bearing pies and he always told us he loved us and appreciated us and wished God’s blessings upon us before he left.  But over the last few years his health, both mental and physical, had obviously been declining, and over the last few months he hadn’t been by, leaving us wondering and worried . . . until Monday morning when the call came telling us he would be coming to our building one final time.

We all know he’s where he’s wanted to be for years.  His wife whom he cared for with such love and devotion was waiting for him.  And his days of dealing with a body that was failing him and a mind he could no longer completely trust are over.  What remains is his legacy of kindness and generosity, of love and faith that speaks volumes about the man he was.  And for those of us he left behind, the world grew just a bit dimmer with his passing.

 

About the author:  Lisa Shackelford Thomas is a fourth generation member of a family that’s been in funeral service since 1926.  She has been employed at Shackelford Funeral Directors in Savannah, Tennessee for over 40 years and currently serves as the manager there.  Any opinions expressed here are hers and hers alone, and may or may not reflect the opinions of other Shackelford family members or staff.

By Lisa Thomas 28 Mar, 2024
There’s a place I’m privileged to visit on occasion—a civilized wilderness of sorts—where very few people intrude and my desire for hermitism (not to be confused with hermetism which is a philosophical or religious system based on the teaching of Hermes Trismegistus . . . mine just means I like being left alone) is fulfilled.
By Lisa Thomas 20 Mar, 2024
I am a lover of words and occasionally manage to put them together in a half-way decent manner. Ask me to speak to you spontaneously . . . off the cuff . . . with no preparation . . . and my brain freezes.
By Lisa Thomas 14 Mar, 2024
In a bookcase in the office in Savannah, you’ll find all kinds of books, mostly on grief (which makes perfect sense given that it’s an office in a funeral home).
By Lisa Thomas 07 Mar, 2024
When my daughter was in second grade the music program at her school disappeared. I don’t remember if it was a lack of personnel or a lack of funding or a lack of personnel caused by a lack of funding . . .
By Lisa Thomas 29 Feb, 2024
On November 21st of 2021, I wrote the blog “The Ultimate Reminder” about a gentleman I’d literally known all my life . . . about his acknowledgment that his circle of older family members and friends was rapidly dwindling . . . about how hard it was to watch them leave.
By Lisa Thomas 22 Feb, 2024
Recently local and national news outlets picked up the story of Pauline Pusser’s exhumation, turning it into front page news and lead stories.
By Lisa Thomas 14 Feb, 2024
We didn’t meet under the best of circumstances—I was the funeral director and he was the husband grieving the imminent death of his wife.
By Lisa Thomas 08 Feb, 2024
They stand beside the casket, gazing at its contents, lingering as long as possible . . . unwilling to leave because they know, once they do, they will never again see that person on this earth.
By Lisa Thomas 01 Feb, 2024
Last Tuesday I saw something I’ve never seen before, and that’s sayin’ a lot, given how many years I’ve been around to see things.
By Lisa Thomas 25 Jan, 2024
I was sitting in the library Tuesday night (yes, we have a library because I have a million books, all of which my children will someday be required to sort through and pack up since I cannot bring myself to do anything but add to the collection . . . unless they follow my suggestion to take what they want from the house and set fire to the rest . . . please do not judge me . . .).
More Posts
Share by: