Charles Lacy Stephens, Requiescat in Pacem

Robert A. Schadler

This is the Eulogy given for Charles Lacy Stephens by Robert A. Schadler in Christ the King Church, Washington, D.C., on Dec. 29, 2001. Robert Schadler is President of The Committee of Western Civilization.

Recalling to mind the life of Charles Lacy Stephens is, in some respects, a pleasant and easy task. He was a good man. He was someone you always looked forward to seeing, whether he was gone for only a few moments or many months. And he certainly had a knack for making you feel like he was looking forward to seeing you. So it’s easy to follow that wise saying, “Say only good about the departed,” because his good qualities were so prominent. You can try to think of people who didn’t like Chuck or who might even be his enemies. You can try, but you probably can’t succeed. Even my sister, with an exceptional memory and who knew him best can’t. Other members of every branch of our families, certainly, but not Chuck. It’s even hard to think of the kind of person who might not like him.

Most of his life was lived in the southwest and the northwest, Texas and the Puget Sound area of Washington state to be more specific. While I first met him in the 1950s and have lived in both states, most of my life has been in the Midwest and the East. For one year we both lived in Houston. But over the years, we had a good number of visits and I can’t ever recall not enjoying every moment. And I did have the opportunity to see him in most of his important roles.

I first met him when he was a Marine about to marry my sister. It was then that I met his mother and his youngest brother as well. A little later, on Finch Boulevard in Houston, Texas, he lived across the street from his parents, and I lived for a while with them. I could see as well as sense that he was a good son, for his father and he shared an easy camaraderie, an obvious mutual respect and a warm affection for each other.

The oldest of four boys, he was a good brother. While shorter than the other three and not obviously the strongest, he clearly had the natural authority that comes from genuine affection, good judgment and unquestioned leadership. They were at their best when they followed his lead and they generally knew it. While I didn’t see them as boys, it’s impossible not to envisage the mischief, highly imaginative, good-humored mischief, which he led his three brothers to indulge in, to the distraction of his parents.

He was a good husband, married to my sister for what now seems to be four and half very short decades. During that time, there were bumps as well as highlights in the road of life, as there always are. There were some genuinely tough times. But regardless of circumstances, Chuck Stephens seemed pretty much the same. Friendly, generous, helpful, solid, sensible, jovial, loyal and protective of my sister. A quiet sense of honor and confidence that, with enough effort and a little luck, they would pull through.

In the United States martial valor is little esteemed; the type of courage best known and best appreciated is that which makes a man brave the fury of the ocean to reach port more quickly, and face without complaint the privations of life in the wilds and that solitude which is harder to bear than any privations, the courage which makes a man almost insensible to the loss of a fortune laboriously acquired and prompts him instantly to fresh exertions to gain another. It is chiefly courage of this sort which is needed to maintain the American community and make it prosper, and it is held by them in particular esteem and honor. To betray a lack of it brings certain shame. -Tocqueville, Democracy in America, pp. 622-23.

G. K. Chesterton, or perhaps its was C. S. Lewis, once wrote that being a father in the twentieth century is the most difficult job of them all. His two fine sons, Dennis and Randy, are testimony to Chuck handling that most difficult role with exceptional skill. Maybe they might think that they could have learned as much if he had taken them out to see the woodshed a little less often, but he knew what it took to guide rambunctious boys into becoming first-rate men. And long after they were fully grown and active in their own pursuits, they continued to be eager to see him and even more appreciative of his guidance and counsel.

He was also a fine brother-in-law, giving me my first lesson in driving a car, helping me steer his old Pontiac for a block or two. And then much later, when I actually could drive, Elaine and I flew to Houston so he could help me check out a used Mercury before buying it. He had a small airplane at the time, took me up in it, and let me steer it for a few minutes-delighting in my barely contained panic. And he was a good father in-law. And a good uncle, even to the point of helping one of my sons, Stephen, finish his Eagle Scout project during a blustery, raw winter weekend. And, for the time he had, a good grandfather as well. And the circle of those who felt a kinship to him was far wider than his actual relatives. He was easily viewed as an “uncle” or a “grandpa” by many not generally inclined to open their hearts to other friends of their parents.

He was a solid citizen-the kind Tocqueville found common a century and a half ago and who are, regrettably, getting to be rare today. He was the kind of citizen whose service to his fellow citizen did not end with service in the Marine Corps, even if it was, I believe, that last government job he had. He, like all of us, saw problems, people who needed help. Unlike so many of us here in Washington, he did not see problems and think of writing letters or contacting a member of Congress. Nor even a local official or policeman. Most problems, in his view, were not solved by knowing powerful people or by lobbying government to enact yet another program. When problems could be solved, they were best solved by fellow citizens willing to pitch in and help out, so Chuck spent much of his sixty-five years pitching in and helping out. A chronicle of the favors he did others would fill many volumes.

Where there is an accident on the public road, people hurry from all sides to help the victim. When some unexpected disaster strikes a family, a thousand strangers willingly open their purses, and small but very numerous gifts relieve their distress. -Tocqueville, Democracy in America, p. 571.

It’s precisely this kind practical leadership, alertness to opportunities for being helpful, looking for the sensible common ground, supplying the good humor and generosity of spirit that make America the kind of place Tocqueville found so fascinating and admirable. His citizenship and charity were so natural and unpretentious that one was tempted to take them for granted. Let us pray to God that these qualities flourish in the years to come as we remember the example of Charles Stephens.

He did not have the consuming interest in politics that so many here in Washington have and that some of his relatives, myself included, have. He cared deeply about his country and its leaders, of course. And he was proud that his two sons and his wife were as deeply involved as they were. But he also knew instinctively that the country’s true leadership, its true test, was not in the quality of its politicians, or even its laws, but in the quality of its people, how they acted in their daily lives, how they treated those who they met along life’s pilgrimage. And on this score, he did far more than his fair share.

In the United States, political associations are only one small part of the immense number of different types of associations found there. -Tocqueville, Democracy in America, p. 513.

The morals and intelligence of a democratic people would be in as much danger as its commerce and industry if ever a government wholly usurped the place of private associations. Feelings and ideas are renewed, the heart enlarged, and the understanding developed only by the reciprocal action of men one upon another. -Tocqueville, Democracy in America., p. 515.

There are many other roles he filled so well. A Texan with a keen sense of honor and hospitality he was without the hard edges or swagger sometimes associated with that culture. This is not to say he was a pushover. While he might give you the benefit of the doubt, a presumption of respect he felt everyone was due, he knew where he would not go, what lines he wouldn’t cross. And if someone wanted to push him over that line, there’d at least be more trouble than expected. If they persisted, he could oblige them not by taking the problem to others, even the police, but simply “outside’’ where a rough justice, reinforced by a sense of right, was likely to prevail. If absolutely necessary, parts of the anatomy could be put under stress or even rearranged. But trouble generally had to come to Chuck; he didn’t look for it. Rather, he looked people in the eye, never mind their wealth, position, connections, education. If he saw something worthwhile, he’d be happy to help you out, work with you, make your life a little easier. And all the better if you had a sense of humor and didn’t take yourself too seriously.

The Bible tells us that all have sinned and come short of the glory of God. I don’t mean to suggest Chuck or Steve, as some called him, was perfect. For example, he couldn’t quite seem to settle on a single nickname.

I can’t say for sure that he did everything well. I first met Chuck when he was in the Marine Corps. One of his responsibilities was as the bugler. I don’t know if he was a particularly good bugler. My memory isn’t that good and my judgment of musical performance is even worse. I’m pretty sure, though, that everyone the Marine Corps wanted up, got up. And he didn’t seem to continue afterwards. And I don’t recall anyone regretting that.

And often he’d refer to the Chuck Stephens way of doing things. It might not always look pretty but it would get the job done.

There are always quibbles one might have. Possibilities for perfection are best seen looking at others. Maybe he could have exercised a bit more. Maybe he could have managed more shrewdly when his entrepreneurship blossomed into a very prosperous business. Maybe he could have put his remarkable ability to deal with people to even better use as a high-level manager. But what we treasure and will always treasure was that Chuck Stephens was Chuck Stephens, not somebody else. He didn’t need to read magazines or listen to Oprah to know who he was. To be overly concerned with health or wealth, position or perceptions, might have made him better known or wealthier, but it would have made him a lesser light.

He was always curious, generally learning by doing, talking and watching rather than reading. For example, when he became interested in the travels of Lewis and Clark-and American epic journey akin to the Odyssey, he read about them, and then decided it would be more interesting to re-trace their itinerary, and so he did. It’s not surprising he felt a kinship to those early and incredibly brave explorers. He loved the outdoors, happily camping and hunting, from the wilds of western Canada to the wilds of east Texas. And if I were to hazard a guess, every camping trip, as well as every hunting trip, entailed the exercise of his Second Amendment rights. In his charming, jovial manner, he understood the meaning of the bumper sticker: “An armed society is a polite society.”

So the Americans have needed no books to teach them philosophic method, having found it in themselves. -Tocqueville, Democracy in America., p. 430.

An American will build a house in which to pass his old age and sell it before the roof is on; he will plant a garden and rent it just as the trees are coming into bearing; he will clear a field and leave others to reap the harvest; he will take up a profession and leave it settle in one place and soon go off elsewhere with his changing desires. . . . [I]f at the end of a year crammed with work he has a little spare leisure, his restless curiosity goes with him traveling up and down the vast territories of the United States. Thus he will travel five hundred miles in a few days as distraction from his happiness. -Tocqueville, Democracy in America., p 536.

The hardest part of recalling Chuck Stephens life is only partly about him. He was a good man. A good relative. A good friend. A good man you wanted to know and to be with. And it’s that goodness that makes it hard for us now. Ironically, if he were a little meaner, it would be easier for us now. We’ll miss his good humor, his helpfulness, his wise counsel. A sense of sadness and even resentment that we had him for only three score and five years interferes with the full celebration that a life that meant so much to so many deserves. Might there have been some pill, or exercise, or diet, or gizmo or regimen that might have kept him with us for three score and ten or even four score and ten? While we know that life is a gift not a possession, it’s terribly hard not think that a little longer with Chuck Stephens would have been very nice, an unqualified blessing. We can’t help but be a bit like children at Christmas who might want even more presents or even bigger ones. But a gift is not something earned or something deserved. It’s given without clear regard to merit. We can only know a small part of the whole. Some Marines don’t have the opportunity to be fathers and uncles. So we need to thank God for the wonderful blessing He gave when He gave us the gift of the life of Chuck Stephens. We need to recall the wonderful life of Chuck Stephens and to ask God’s grace to diminish our sadness and to guide us to see more purely the joy and enjoyment that he brought into our lives. We need to celebrate and be grateful for the three score and five years that he had and for as many of those years as our lives overlapped with his.

Rest in peace you noble, generous, straight-shooting Texan. Son, brother, husband, father, uncle, in-law, friend. Let us now cherish the many wonderful lessons, the many fine examples, the many splendid insights, the fun and mischief that you so grandly and generously spread among us. We’ll do all we can to be always faithful to your memory and example. Those who loved you will struggle to carry on with just a memory of you. The country is large enough and strong enough to sustain the loss of one of its best sons. Let us hope and pray that the kind of person you were will continue to flourish, for the country needs to the kind of man you were to leaven the rest of us if the republic that we all cherish will long endure.

Because Roman civilization perished through barbarian invasions, we are perhaps too much inclined to think that is the only way a civilization can die. If the lights that guide us ever go out, they will fade little by little, as if of their own accord. -Tocqueville, Democracy in America., p. 464.