On October 4, 2000 Alabama lost one of its most extraordinary citizens, and the world lost a tower of a man. Born in April 1919 in Loachapoka (Lee County) Alabama, Harry Heard moved to Heflin with his family when he was 11 years old. He went on to work at the Planter Mill for 60 years. I can still remember him walking back across the highway and eating a lunch that my grandmother had prepared, and then walking back to his job. He had said he wasn’t paid much, but that a man had to work.

My grandfather was a very intelligent and passion-filled man full of love for his family, his friends, the church and God. His wisdom seemed like the wisdom of kings or rulers to me, yet simple enough for anyone to understand. He had a gift, a raw talent. He could sit down and talk to anyone, be it a head of state, doctor, lawyer, president or simply the next-door neighbor. He hadn’t been educated necessarily by the school system, but by life itself. He survived the 20’s, the Great Depression, ¨Hoover Days¨, segregation, the 90’s and then lived to see the year 2000.

No one will ever forget the meaningful stories that he recounted about his life- his seven-mile walks to school, helping to build his church, or what living through the depression was like, or why Solomon was such a wise king or how Daniel survived the lion’s den. He knew the Bible as if he’d written it himself. We will never forget him leading devotion at church, or sitting on the front bench or getting up to speak shedding more light on everything that had been said before. We will miss his prayers, his voice, his smile, his handshake, his laughter, and the way we felt every time we saw him.

“Deacon Heard”, as he was so often called, lived the type of life that we all can look up to and only pray and hope to aspire to ourselves. The words kind, honest, just, and gentle are only the beginning when trying to describe him. We are so proud to be able to say we knew him and even prouder that we were related to him.

No matter that I now live in Paris; I think about him often. I can be in the middle of buying a baguette, stuck on a crowded metro, or strolling through Luxembourg garden and out of nowhere, remember an antidote about him. He would have been at ease here with his natural style and elegance...a classic gentleman. It saddens me and makes me smile at the same time. If nothing else, at least I know that while he is no longer here for me to see, he is still with me everywhere I go.

Priscilla Lalisse-Jespersen moved to Paris from New York City in 1999. In addition to being the Editor and Founder of Prissy Mag, she is the author of the novel STOCKDALE . For her complete bio, please click here.

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