The Baptist church in Brewton was decked for a funeral. Men wore ties. Women wore dresses. The occasional elderly woman in a floral hat was seen wandering the premises.

You don’t see many floral hats anymore.

We were burying the preacher today. The white hearse sat parked out front. People filed into the sanctuary with sober smiles.

Most visitors were elderly. They gripped the rail with both hands as they ascended the steps.

The sanctuary was quiet. A piano played “Nearer My God to Thee.” The receiving line was long, but not that long.

“Wow,” whispered someone in line. “I thought there’d be A LOT more people here.”

“Where IS everybody?” whispered another.

An old woman replied. “They’re all dead.” She gestured toward the casket. “Because HE already buried them all.”

The man in the c

See Full Page