It was the summer of 1965. Estelle Nichols and her sister Ruth were making their way to visit the VA Hospital in Tuscaloosa, Alabama. Estelle’s husband of 42 years. John Talmadge Nichols, a World War 1 veteran, had been a resident patient at the VA for almost two years. In those days his dementia diagnosis was known as “hardening of the arteries,” but today we identify it as Alzheimers Disease. After a few years of increasing mental confusion and sometimes dangerously bizarre behavior, he had been committed to the VA hospital.
The long trip from Ashland to Tuscaloosa took about three hours for Estelle and Ruth. For this particular visit in the heat of the summer, Ruth insisted that they make the trip in her air conditioned ’64 Buick. Initially Estelle protested, but later agreed with the understanding that she would cover all the food and gas. This was Ruth’s second time to accompany her on the grueling day trip and Estelle was grateful. They always enjoyed one another’s company. It gave them plenty of time to converse about the one thing that weighed as heavy on Estelle’s heart as a three ton boulder. Estelle was desperately concerned about her husband’s eternal destiny.
“Ruth, I can hardly bear the thought of Talmadge dying without being converted. He’s never joined the church, and never been baptized. And now that his mind is going bad, I’m afraid it’s too late. He doesn’t even know who I am anymore.” Her last sentence faded into a weeping whisper.
“Now Estelle,” Ruth answered, “we all know what a fine and upstanding man Talmadge Nichols has always been. Everyone respects him and thinks so highly of him. He’s fair and lives by the golden rule. You can’t ask much more of anyone.”
“But Ruth, people aren’t saved by how good and moral they are. You heard the preacher last week at the revival say it– ‘being a good person and being born again are not the same thing.’ The Bible plainly says, ‘You must be born again.’ to get into heaven.”
A week earlier, Estelle had made more than one trip to the Baptist Church altar during the annual summer revival. She was so burdened about her husband’s spiritual condition that she “went down” (to the front of the church) as the Baptists call it when a person responds to an evangelist’s invitation to come forward for prayer and counsel.
“Ruth, I am almost embarrassed at myself of how many times I went down at church last week. But I just couldn’t help it. My heart was so heavy about Talmadge that I thought I would die! I had to get some peace about it. There’s no telling what folks think of me. I went down to the front Tuesday, Thursday, and Friday! Three different times! People probably think I’ve done something really terrible.”
“Estelle, there is absolutely nothing shameful about going down at a revival service. You remember, Papa always said that you have to do what you feel like the Lord is leading you to do. Papa used to go down all the time at Mellow Valley. He wasn’t ashamed.” Ruth’s reference to their beloved father’s spiritual wisdom brought some relief to Estelle’s anxiety, if only for a moment.
“For years I tried to get him to go to church with me,” Estelle lamented as they neared the outskirts of Tuscaloosa. “I cajoled him, and begged him, and he rarely ever agreed to go. Now, to be fair, he did go when Marylyn and Charlotte were young and had a special program they were in, and he sometimes would go with me during summer revival.”
“He liked the singing, didn’t he?” Ruth interjected. “Just like my Bruner, Talmadge always liked good ole’ gospel singing,” and he could carry a tune, too.”
“Yes, but now he’d rather listen to it on the television,” Estelle noted. “One time told me that the real reason he didn’t feel right about going to church regularly was because he had killed too many men in the war for God to ever be happy with him. I think that is what still haunts him.”
“But war is different, don’t you think?” Ruth quickly responded. “He had to go to war, it wasn’t his choice.” Estelle thought for a moment and then responded with something she had never told her sister.
“Ruth, Talmadge told me that he was a machine gunner in the war. He said that he mowed the enemy down by the dozens. He saw them fall. And he saw our boys fall too when the Germans did the same. Talmadge was just a country boy who had only used a gun to hunt in the woods. The only thing he had ever slaughtered was an occasional deer, and of course, chickens and hogs on the farm. And then suddenly he found himself in France in a muddy trench, doing what he never imagined he would ever have to do.”
An eerie silence paused their conversation as they stopped at a traffic light. The legacy of war is not all glory and courage. The deep emotional wounds of war leave ugly scars for a lifetime. Men can sometimes compartmentalize their own wartime actions into a hidden closet that remains shut forever. But honest men know that God knows all and sees all. For them compartmentalization is cowardly, and that even when an action seems justified it still remains true– whatever a man sows, that shall he also reap.
“Marylyn and I talked about it last night,” Estelle continued. “She’s as burdened as I am about her Daddy’s salvation. She even went to talk with Brother Curlee about it last week. The preacher told her that our best effort should be in prayer, since prayer can go deeper than the mind and move into the spirit.” Estelle’s voice grew stronger and stronger as she recounted their pastor’s words to Marylyn. Caught up in her own words she pointed her right hand toward the windshield and preached, “… and just because Talmadge’s mind is absent, doesn’t mean that his spirit is!” Ruth lightened the moment with a rousing, “Amen, Sister! Preach it!” Two seconds later they both broke down giggling like teenage girls at Estelle’s one-line sermon.
Estelle’s anxiety over her husband’s standing with God was certainly her greatest burden, but it was not the only thing that bothered her deeply. Sending Talmadge away to live in a veterans home was the hardest decision she had ever had to make. She second guessed her decision, especially in the lonely hours of the night. How cruel it appeared for a wife to just send her sick husband away. She feared what others in town thought of her action.
But for over a year, Talmadge had become increasingly confused, especially at nighttime. She had to hide his guns and hang bells on the doors to signal he was awake and moving around. More than once he had wandered out of the house in the middle of the night, barefoot and dressed only in his long johns. He was obsessed with the need to pick cotton, or check the well, or walk to town to fetch the mail. Even trying to coax him to return to the house was a struggle, since he hardly recognized her anymore as his wife. Estelle became sleep deprived, exhausted, and unable to carry on her full-time job as manager the local school lunchroom. It took intervention from Marylyn and Charlotte to get her to make the decision. Otherwise, she would never have done it.
Once the sisters arrived in Tuscaloosa, Estelle directed Ruth onto Loop Road, which led to the sprawling campus of VA facility. They parked in the corner of the parking lot under a huge oak tree, hoping to shield the car from the intense midday heat.
Talmadge resided in the east wing, on the fourth floor, in room 489– a long haul from the front lobby. Finally reaching the east wing, they moved carefully down the broad corridor toward room 489. The interior walls were painted with a thick coat of institutional green and white paint. A large window at the far end of the hallway allowed the sunlight to illuminate the entire corridor and reflect brightly on the polished green and black tiles that covered the hall floor. The two of them counted down the room numbers right and left, eager to see his number finally appear on a door. An orderly’s metal cart stacked with lunch trays was parked halfway in front of what appeared to be Talmadge’s room, requiring Estelle to move behind the cart to check the room number. And there it was, room 489, with a placard to the right of the door that read– John T. Nichols.
The orderly moved the lunch cart out of the way as Estelle and Ruth lightly tapped on the door. “I was just in there a minute ago,” the young worker interposed. “Mr. Nichols is sitting quietly in his chair and probably won’t say anything. It’s okay. He won’t mind. You can go on in.” Ruth carefully followed Estelle into the hospital room. “Talmadge. I’ve come to see you again,” Estelle softly announced as she moved toward her husband who sat majestically in the chair, legs crossed, back straight, head held high, every bit the picture of a prince. Turning his head to look directly at her Talmadge clearly called out, “Estelle!”
She froze in her tracks. Talmadge’s eyes looked clear and strong. He knew who she was! She moved quickly to him, leaning over to hug him as tears bounced off of her cheeks. He tried to stand, but she wouldn’t let him. Ruth stood back in amazement, relishing the moment, while Estelle could hardly speak at all. She sat on the bed beside him transfixed, smiling, emotionally charged, gazing deeply at his face and holding tightly to his hand. For the next few minutes Estelle and Ruth updated him on all that was happening with their children and the grandchildren. He didn’t say much, but it was evident that he was there– all there.
Without any explanation he leaned to the side, pulled open the top drawer of the nightstand, took out a small leather pouch and handed it to his wife. “This is for you,” he said. Then before she had a chance to open the pouch and discover its contents he simply added, “…and don’t worry Estelle because the Lord and I have made everything all right.” His right eyebrow was raised slightly as he looked at her. She knew that he was serious because she had seen it in his eyes a thousand times before.
For a moment, all Estelle could do was hold him tightly and cry and whisper, “Thank you, thank you dear Lord; you’ve heard my prayer.” Within a minute after her heart’s greatest burden was lifted, Talmadge Nichols lost all recollection of who Estelle was. It all ended as abruptly as it began. The whole experience was surreal and too bizarre to be believed, except that Estelle and Ruth were both there to witness this amazing gift from God– a miracle of answered prayer.
God had bypassed a broken mind and dealt directly with the spirit. Jesus had loved him at his darkest. In one miracle moment a proud and honest man finally accepted that Jesus had already paid the penalty for his release from a prison of guilt.
The pouch that he gave his wife that day contained a gold pocket watch that his father had given him, and a small note scribbled in pencil, “Estelle gift from John.” About six months later John Talmadge Nichols passed into eternity. But after that miracle moment, Estelle never again fretted about her husband’s salvation and eternal destiny. She had already gained all the blessed assurance that she would ever need. For the next twenty-eight years she lived certain that a heavenly reunion was just a heartbeat away.
John T. Nichols (1889-1966) was my grandfather. My grandmother Estelle eventually left to me the pouch containing his gold watch and the hand scribbled note that read, “Estelle gift from John.”
