1925
Walter
2012
Walter L. Lacey
November 15, 1925 — October 24, 2012
Walter L. Lacey
Mulhearn Funeral Home
West Monroe, LA
Funeral Services for Walter L. Lacey, 86, of West Monroe, LA will be held 2:00 PM Sunday, October 28, 2012 in the chapel of Mulhearn Funeral Home with Dr. Jerry Edmondson officiating. Interment will be held in the Hasley Cemetery under the direction of Mulhearn Funeral Home in West Monroe, LA.
Mr. Lacey was born on November 15, 1925 in West Monroe, LA, and passed away on October 24, 2012 in West Monroe. Mr. Lacey was a member and deacon at First Baptist Church in West Monroe and also taught Sunday school for over 40 years. He was a veteran of the United States Marine Corp serving during WWII in Solomon Islands. Mr. Lacey was very active in the West Monroe Rotary and AARP. He was owner of Lacey’s Flowers for over 30 years.
He is preceded in death by his wife Mary F. Lacey.
Mr. Lacey is survived by his children, Alton Lacey and wife Pat, and Todd Lacey; grandchildren, Aaron Lacey and wife Andrea and Brenna Lacey; three great grandchildren, August, Ella and Truman Lacey; sister, Nellie Teekel.
Pallbearers will be David Sheppert, Steven Richardson, John Cameron, Frank Lopez, Aaron Lacey, and Eric Edmondson.
Visitation will be from 5:00 P.M. until 8:00 P.M. Saturday October 27, 2012 at Mulhearn Funeral Home.
Memorials may be made to the West Monroe Rotary Scholarship Fund.
Online registry/condolence: www.mulhearnfuneralhome.com
Walter L. Lacey
November 15, 1925-October 24, 2012
By
R. Alton Lacey
My dad rejected any notion of himself as heroic. When we purchased a brick paver at the WWII Museum to honor his war service with the Marine Corps, we inscribed it, “Our dad, our hero.” He was proud of it, at least as much as pride was ever allowed to enter his thinking, but hero? He thought that was a little overboard. In all honesty I too I did not consider my dad a hero until I matured enough to understand what the term really means.
My dad lived all of his life within a few miles of where his casket now lies. He was the oldest son in a family of fours sisters and a brother who were just managing to get by during the depression. In 1942, at the age of 16 he left to enlist in the Marine Corps where he served as a combat infantryman in the South Pacific until the end of the war. It was an experience that would profoundly mold and shape him as a man and it was the only time he would live outside of West Monroe.
Like all the Lacey men who followed in our family, he out punted his coverage when he met and married his wife of almost 60 years. She was beautiful, ambitious, smart, and poor but as she put it, “I saw something special in this skinny Marine.” She smoothed his rough edges, stopped his smoking, and took him to church. Together they shared hardships, good times, raised two sons, sent them to college, and operated a successful flower shop for over 30 years. One of the greatest gifts my father gave me was to model how a man should love, honor, and respect his spouse. During the last few years of her life my mother fell prey to the evils of Alzheimer’s disease. My father was determined to care for her himself and for several years he did so at great sacrifice and with gentleness, dignity, and love until she drew her last breath. His heroic qualities were very evident during that time.
My father was imbued with a sense of duty and discipline, something he attributed to his time in the Corps. When the Honor Flight program was created to shuttle veterans to view the WWII Memorial in Washington, D.C., I encouraged dad to apply. He looked at me quizzically and said, “Why, they don’t owe me anything. I did what I did because I wanted to!” Case closed.
His capacity for self-discipline was legendary in our family. For almost all of his life he worked six days a week, went to church at least three times (twice on Sunday) and took a nap on Sunday afternoon. In between he attended our baseball games, plays, concerts and other activities as well as maintained the yard and helped with the household chores. One of his daily self -imposed tasks was to wash dishes. My mother would dry. They eventually got a dishwasher. Even then, he would wash the dishes before putting them in the dishwasher. He would hover around the table after a meal and if you tarried on the last few bites you would find yourself without a plate as dad spirited the last dirty dishes away. Neither the occasion nor the company stopped him.
When the deputies entered his house on the day he died, they were taken aback at the cleanliness of the place. They wanted to know, “Who was his housekeeper?” When told, “He was,” they were incredulous. His attention to detail and organization carried over to his parenting, work, and volunteer activities.
As many of you know, my dad loved to tease people. Our friends always loved our dad precisely because of that. I never heard him be mean to anyone although there a few times, like when I planted the side of his Volkswagen against a stop sign, that I saw flashes of his combat readiness. He did not believe in sparing the belt but it was rare and never undeserved.
Underneath his sometimes gruff exterior there beat a soft heart. This summer I called him one day and he said, “Well, I have six new tenants.” I was puzzled but he explained that a stray cat had taken up and sensing a softie in my dad moved into the storeroom and promptly delivered six kittens, three white and three black. I kept asking him what he was going to do and he would hem and haw about taking them to a shelter but the truth is, he loved caring for them and watching them grow. Eventually he helped find them all homes. Speaking of watching things grow, my dad could grow anything, and if he could grow it, he could can it. Hundreds, actually thousands of jars of fig preserves, pickles, jams, and his famous pepper jelly in reds and greens, and blueberry and peach. The only two gifts we ever really scored big on were a small greenhouse and new canning paraphernalia.
My gift giving futility with my dad was legendary in our family. There is a closet graveyard of my misfires. A robot vacuum cleaner eventually made it back to my house. A fancy handheld mixer lies in the original packaging. He reluctantly accepted a new microwave telling my daughter, “I guess I’ll use it. Your dad seemed to think I needed a new one, nothing wrong with old one.” He was famously frugal patching things up with duct tape, wire, glue, and an assortment of nuts and bolts. No one got more out of stuff than my dad, even if it cost more than buying new.
If my dad was your friend, he was your friend for life. He cherished every one. He was most happy when he was around his friends, swapping stories, and reminiscing. One memory led to another in a seamless history of Ouachita Parish.
My father is now with the Father but a part of him still lives in each of us who loved him. I have his laugh and I am told I sound like him when I tell my own stories. My brother has his work ethic and his ability to get along with just about anyone. His grandson also has his work ethic and his disciplined approach to life, including the need to get the dishes clean as soon as possible. In my daughter we see the value my dad placed on family as the most important relationship. He was our hero.
When someone dies suddenly, it is natural to want to know what their last moments were like, what they might have been thinking. In my dad’s case it was not hard because he was a man of routine. He rose early, started his coffee, retrieved the paper and settled into his usual perch at the head of the kitchen table. He would take his medication and settle in for the one-hour wait before he could eat. On most days he would work the Wonderword Puzzle and study his Sunday School Lesson for the Timothy Class he taught at First Baptist Church, something he has done for over 40 years.
On last Wednesday morning he had a cup of coffee, took a picture of his three great grandkids out of his printer that had come in overnight and laid it on the table. The Sunday School lesson was open to I Peter 4 and his notes for the morning had been clipped neatly in his Teacher’s Quarterly. These are the last words he wrote and they were the conclusion to his lesson: “If a man entrusts himself to God, God will not fail him. The advice of old is still as good today as ever. Trust in God and do the right thing for this is sacred to God.”
I like to think that in the next few minutes when he reached Heaven that the first words he heard were, “Well done, good and faithful servant, well done.”
Visitation
5PM-8PM Saturday, October 27, 2012
Mulhearn Funeral Home
West Monroe, LA
Funeral Service
2PM Sunday, October 28, 2012
Mulhearn Funeral Home
West Monroe, LA
Interment
Hasley Cemetery
West Monroe, LA
Mulhearn Funeral Home
West Monroe, LA
Funeral Services for Walter L. Lacey, 86, of West Monroe, LA will be held 2:00 PM Sunday, October 28, 2012 in the chapel of Mulhearn Funeral Home with Dr. Jerry Edmondson officiating. Interment will be held in the Hasley Cemetery under the direction of Mulhearn Funeral Home in West Monroe, LA.
Mr. Lacey was born on November 15, 1925 in West Monroe, LA, and passed away on October 24, 2012 in West Monroe. Mr. Lacey was a member and deacon at First Baptist Church in West Monroe and also taught Sunday school for over 40 years. He was a veteran of the United States Marine Corp serving during WWII in Solomon Islands. Mr. Lacey was very active in the West Monroe Rotary and AARP. He was owner of Lacey’s Flowers for over 30 years.
He is preceded in death by his wife Mary F. Lacey.
Mr. Lacey is survived by his children, Alton Lacey and wife Pat, and Todd Lacey; grandchildren, Aaron Lacey and wife Andrea and Brenna Lacey; three great grandchildren, August, Ella and Truman Lacey; sister, Nellie Teekel.
Pallbearers will be David Sheppert, Steven Richardson, John Cameron, Frank Lopez, Aaron Lacey, and Eric Edmondson.
Visitation will be from 5:00 P.M. until 8:00 P.M. Saturday October 27, 2012 at Mulhearn Funeral Home.
Memorials may be made to the West Monroe Rotary Scholarship Fund.
Online registry/condolence: www.mulhearnfuneralhome.com
Walter L. Lacey
November 15, 1925-October 24, 2012
By
R. Alton Lacey
My dad rejected any notion of himself as heroic. When we purchased a brick paver at the WWII Museum to honor his war service with the Marine Corps, we inscribed it, “Our dad, our hero.” He was proud of it, at least as much as pride was ever allowed to enter his thinking, but hero? He thought that was a little overboard. In all honesty I too I did not consider my dad a hero until I matured enough to understand what the term really means.
My dad lived all of his life within a few miles of where his casket now lies. He was the oldest son in a family of fours sisters and a brother who were just managing to get by during the depression. In 1942, at the age of 16 he left to enlist in the Marine Corps where he served as a combat infantryman in the South Pacific until the end of the war. It was an experience that would profoundly mold and shape him as a man and it was the only time he would live outside of West Monroe.
Like all the Lacey men who followed in our family, he out punted his coverage when he met and married his wife of almost 60 years. She was beautiful, ambitious, smart, and poor but as she put it, “I saw something special in this skinny Marine.” She smoothed his rough edges, stopped his smoking, and took him to church. Together they shared hardships, good times, raised two sons, sent them to college, and operated a successful flower shop for over 30 years. One of the greatest gifts my father gave me was to model how a man should love, honor, and respect his spouse. During the last few years of her life my mother fell prey to the evils of Alzheimer’s disease. My father was determined to care for her himself and for several years he did so at great sacrifice and with gentleness, dignity, and love until she drew her last breath. His heroic qualities were very evident during that time.
My father was imbued with a sense of duty and discipline, something he attributed to his time in the Corps. When the Honor Flight program was created to shuttle veterans to view the WWII Memorial in Washington, D.C., I encouraged dad to apply. He looked at me quizzically and said, “Why, they don’t owe me anything. I did what I did because I wanted to!” Case closed.
His capacity for self-discipline was legendary in our family. For almost all of his life he worked six days a week, went to church at least three times (twice on Sunday) and took a nap on Sunday afternoon. In between he attended our baseball games, plays, concerts and other activities as well as maintained the yard and helped with the household chores. One of his daily self -imposed tasks was to wash dishes. My mother would dry. They eventually got a dishwasher. Even then, he would wash the dishes before putting them in the dishwasher. He would hover around the table after a meal and if you tarried on the last few bites you would find yourself without a plate as dad spirited the last dirty dishes away. Neither the occasion nor the company stopped him.
When the deputies entered his house on the day he died, they were taken aback at the cleanliness of the place. They wanted to know, “Who was his housekeeper?” When told, “He was,” they were incredulous. His attention to detail and organization carried over to his parenting, work, and volunteer activities.
As many of you know, my dad loved to tease people. Our friends always loved our dad precisely because of that. I never heard him be mean to anyone although there a few times, like when I planted the side of his Volkswagen against a stop sign, that I saw flashes of his combat readiness. He did not believe in sparing the belt but it was rare and never undeserved.
Underneath his sometimes gruff exterior there beat a soft heart. This summer I called him one day and he said, “Well, I have six new tenants.” I was puzzled but he explained that a stray cat had taken up and sensing a softie in my dad moved into the storeroom and promptly delivered six kittens, three white and three black. I kept asking him what he was going to do and he would hem and haw about taking them to a shelter but the truth is, he loved caring for them and watching them grow. Eventually he helped find them all homes. Speaking of watching things grow, my dad could grow anything, and if he could grow it, he could can it. Hundreds, actually thousands of jars of fig preserves, pickles, jams, and his famous pepper jelly in reds and greens, and blueberry and peach. The only two gifts we ever really scored big on were a small greenhouse and new canning paraphernalia.
My gift giving futility with my dad was legendary in our family. There is a closet graveyard of my misfires. A robot vacuum cleaner eventually made it back to my house. A fancy handheld mixer lies in the original packaging. He reluctantly accepted a new microwave telling my daughter, “I guess I’ll use it. Your dad seemed to think I needed a new one, nothing wrong with old one.” He was famously frugal patching things up with duct tape, wire, glue, and an assortment of nuts and bolts. No one got more out of stuff than my dad, even if it cost more than buying new.
If my dad was your friend, he was your friend for life. He cherished every one. He was most happy when he was around his friends, swapping stories, and reminiscing. One memory led to another in a seamless history of Ouachita Parish.
My father is now with the Father but a part of him still lives in each of us who loved him. I have his laugh and I am told I sound like him when I tell my own stories. My brother has his work ethic and his ability to get along with just about anyone. His grandson also has his work ethic and his disciplined approach to life, including the need to get the dishes clean as soon as possible. In my daughter we see the value my dad placed on family as the most important relationship. He was our hero.
When someone dies suddenly, it is natural to want to know what their last moments were like, what they might have been thinking. In my dad’s case it was not hard because he was a man of routine. He rose early, started his coffee, retrieved the paper and settled into his usual perch at the head of the kitchen table. He would take his medication and settle in for the one-hour wait before he could eat. On most days he would work the Wonderword Puzzle and study his Sunday School Lesson for the Timothy Class he taught at First Baptist Church, something he has done for over 40 years.
On last Wednesday morning he had a cup of coffee, took a picture of his three great grandkids out of his printer that had come in overnight and laid it on the table. The Sunday School lesson was open to I Peter 4 and his notes for the morning had been clipped neatly in his Teacher’s Quarterly. These are the last words he wrote and they were the conclusion to his lesson: “If a man entrusts himself to God, God will not fail him. The advice of old is still as good today as ever. Trust in God and do the right thing for this is sacred to God.”
I like to think that in the next few minutes when he reached Heaven that the first words he heard were, “Well done, good and faithful servant, well done.”
Visitation
5PM-8PM Saturday, October 27, 2012
Mulhearn Funeral Home
West Monroe, LA
Funeral Service
2PM Sunday, October 28, 2012
Mulhearn Funeral Home
West Monroe, LA
Interment
Hasley Cemetery
West Monroe, LA
To order memorial trees or send flowers to the family in memory of Walter L. Lacey, please visit our flower store.
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