Chapter 21: How do you want to be remembered?
Originally written May 11, 2021
Remember me when the candle lights are gleaming
Remember me at the close of a long, long day
And it would be so sweet when all alone I'm dreaming
Just to know you still remember me
— from “Remember Me (When The Candlelights Are Gleaming)” written by Scott Wiseman
If you remember the song quoted above, it’s probably the version recorded by Willie Nelson for his landmark 1975 album Red Headed Stranger. Ironically Scott Wiseman -- who wrote it and first recorded it in 1940 with his wife, under the name “Scotty & Lulu Belle” -- has virtually been forgotten.
Nobody remembers the guy responsible for “Remember Me.”
One of my favorite singer-songwriters, Loudon Wainwright III, probably was more realistic. His song “Out of This World,” which is a contemplation of his own mortality, contains a verse that says:
And you all will miss me
Then you'll forget me
But that won't upset me
'Cause nothing will get to me
Out of this world …
(This song is from the early 80s and Loudon’s still alive and kicking, though too many have forgotten him.)
Actually, it’s Kurt Vonnegut, Jr. who hit it on the head in a 1972 interview:
“When I think about my own death, I don’t console myself with the idea that my descendants and my books and all that will live on. Anybody with any sense knows that the whole solar system will go up like a celluloid collar by-and-by.”
That’s a happy thought!
However, the rest of Vonnegut’s quote in that interview is a little more upbeat, not to mention mystical:
“I honestly believe, though, that we are wrong to think that moments go away, never to be seen again. This moment and every moment lasts forever.”
So how should Steve Terrell be remembered?
Hopefully some — family, friends, and people I barely know or never really met who are fans of my radio show, podcast [which is on indefinite hiatus since hits was written] and music columns during my years as a journalist — will remember me for turning them on to some good music they wouldn’t have heard otherwise.
I hope the music I played, or ranted about in my writing brought folks a few smiles and maybe a few tears.
Speaking of journalism, I realize that outside of a few giants like Ernie Pyle, Edward R. Murrow and Woodward & Bernstein, bylines tend to have a short shelf life. Even though I won a few awards during the years, I’m pretty sure that few if any will remember my scintillating coverage of Santa Fe zoning issues, local crimes or political campaigns.
But I hope those who do remember my years as a newspaperman remember me as someone who tried his hardest to bring people accurate news and sometimes important news. I want my readers to remember me as someone who tried to hold politicians and government officials accountable — and when possible provide a little entertainment through my writing.
As for my friends, I’d like them to remember me for all the fun and crazy times we had, my twisted sense of humor. Remember me for my joy.
But most importantly, I’d like for my family, especially my kids and grandkids, to remember me as someone who loved them, someone who tried to help them and provide for them — even though most local journalists, myself included, are criminally underpaid.
Who tried to give them laughter and to comfort them in hard times.
Who tried to teach them to appreciate the good times and the sweet things in life as well as to prepare them for inevitable difficulties.
Someone who constantly worried about them but was constantly delighted by them.
Someone who loved them with all his heart, even in the times we were angry with each other.
Hopefully any bad memories will go up like Vonnegut’s celluloid collar.
Please remember the love in my heart.
Remember me when the candle lights are gleaming.
(Here’s a little song to remember this chapter by:)