In early January of 1977 a stil-youngish man wakes up and prepares to go to work. Like so many of his peers, he drives downtown from East Memphis, on the way to his job at an international accounting firm in a high-rise office building on Main Street. He is dressed for work in a newly-purchased suit.
It is bitter cold, low-teen temperature cold; and for many Memphians it constitutes a sober awakening to the daily routine as they get back into the rhythm of life as it was before the Christmas holiday season. Many school children are nurturing a hope that weather conditions will give them an unexpected break from having to return to school.
The young man drives to Main St., but he does not turn into his usual parking spot. He proceeds instead to drive westward, toward what many Memphians still refer to as the "new" bridge. As he approaches the midpoint of the bridge, driving in the right-hand lane, he slows down, then stops completely. He turns the car's blinkers on, so that others will not be inconvenienced and will know to drive around him. He is, you understand, a most courteous gentleman, ever thoughtful of others. He exits the car and walks resolutely, neither slowly nor quickly, toward the railing of the bridge. He steps up to the railing itself and contemplates his surroundings, but there is no indecision on his part. He knows precisely what he must do, for he has been weighed and found wanting by his harshest critic--himself. He is just another aspiring young man, just another South Memphis kid, trying to find his place in the sun.
A few people have taken notice of him; and a policeman has arrived, walking carefully toward him. The policeman talks to him...we do not know what was said, but we can easily reconstruct the gist of it. There are no words that will help, there are no answers to any questions or solutions to the young man's predicament. His mind is made up. He straightens his necktie, looks away from everyone; and, at that point, at the age of 30 on a bitterly cold January day, my dear friend Carrell Turner leaps over the bridge railing, and plunges into the water.
The news will arrive soon enough--to his wife of more than 8 years, to his son of 21 months, to his family, to his coworkers, and to his many friends from church, Scouts, neighborhood, the U.S. Air Force, and from Memphis State and South Memphis. In that age before instant communication, before cell phones and texts and Messenger and Facebook and the myriad of other ways we have to spread news like an electric current, the tragedy transmits itself in stutter steps, with some knowing long before others. Confirmation took a while, and those with shreds of hope still clung to stubborn denial. His body was never recovered. He left behind a multitude of people who loved him and mourned him, including me. Even today it is difficult to comprehend, difficult to come to terms with the loss that stunned us so severely. This event profoundly affected me and the direction of my career. My search for dealing with my own grief led me down a path of exploring the complexity of human emotions and mental health. I learned the lingo and the ways of empathetic care-givers who sought to heal troubled minds, acquiring a sensitivity that was noticed and appreciated; and I developed professional relationships with many of them as their accountant, auditor, and tax preparer. I will never stop mourning my dear friend, but I can truly say that I have worked to develop positive ways to channel my sorrow. Peace and comfort to all who mourn....and to all who struggle with issues of mental health, anxiety, and depression.
Thanks for sharing that, Mike. I don't believe we'll ever understand the mental, emotional, social and sometimes even biological forces that bring some of us to the point of ending our own lives and, often in the process deeply, scaring the lives of those we least wish to harm. It's especially jarring when it's a young man or woman in their prime with a young family that will never be whole again. I hope through your caring and sharing you will find some comfort knowing that his memory has been honored by your friendship. I hope his soul has found true everlasting peace. I will always remember him as a very nice young man who was always kind to others.
Thank you,Mile for sharing this, I always remember his shy but warm smile.
As we all enter the last stages of our lives, it is important ant to remember those who shared our early steps on our journey. And I if we are able, to say thank you for the roles they have played in our lives, however small it may have seemed at the time. IWhy I I am looking forward to out get together - to hear the stories- to understand better where we came from and to appreciate how much our school days shaped our lives.
I lingered over Mike's comments about Carrell, and it broke my heart. The first question, of course, is why? Lots of answers to that one, but in the end there's no reason to know why, only that it happened. Someone important said, "Every man's death diminishes me," and I would add, especially those who shared daily life with us in an era when communication, unlike today, many times included looking eyeball to eyeball. Mike, my heart goes out to you in what was apparently a very deep and personal loss.
Michael Cobb
In early January of 1977 a stil-youngish man wakes up and prepares to go to work. Like so many of his peers, he drives downtown from East Memphis, on the way to his job at an international accounting firm in a high-rise office building on Main Street. He is dressed for work in a newly-purchased suit.
It is bitter cold, low-teen temperature cold; and for many Memphians it constitutes a sober awakening to the daily routine as they get back into the rhythm of life as it was before the Christmas holiday season. Many school children are nurturing a hope that weather conditions will give them an unexpected break from having to return to school.
The young man drives to Main St., but he does not turn into his usual parking spot. He proceeds instead to drive westward, toward what many Memphians still refer to as the "new" bridge. As he approaches the midpoint of the bridge, driving in the right-hand lane, he slows down, then stops completely. He turns the car's blinkers on, so that others will not be inconvenienced and will know to drive around him. He is, you understand, a most courteous gentleman, ever thoughtful of others. He exits the car and walks resolutely, neither slowly nor quickly, toward the railing of the bridge. He steps up to the railing itself and contemplates his surroundings, but there is no indecision on his part. He knows precisely what he must do, for he has been weighed and found wanting by his harshest critic--himself. He is just another aspiring young man, just another South Memphis kid, trying to find his place in the sun.
A few people have taken notice of him; and a policeman has arrived, walking carefully toward him. The policeman talks to him...we do not know what was said, but we can easily reconstruct the gist of it. There are no words that will help, there are no answers to any questions or solutions to the young man's predicament. His mind is made up. He straightens his necktie, looks away from everyone; and, at that point, at the age of 30 on a bitterly cold January day, my dear friend Carrell Turner leaps over the bridge railing, and plunges into the water.
The news will arrive soon enough--to his wife of more than 8 years, to his son of 21 months, to his family, to his coworkers, and to his many friends from church, Scouts, neighborhood, the U.S. Air Force, and from Memphis State and South Memphis. In that age before instant communication, before cell phones and texts and Messenger and Facebook and the myriad of other ways we have to spread news like an electric current, the tragedy transmits itself in stutter steps, with some knowing long before others. Confirmation took a while, and those with shreds of hope still clung to stubborn denial. His body was never recovered. He left behind a multitude of people who loved him and mourned him, including me. Even today it is difficult to comprehend, difficult to come to terms with the loss that stunned us so severely. This event profoundly affected me and the direction of my career. My search for dealing with my own grief led me down a path of exploring the complexity of human emotions and mental health. I learned the lingo and the ways of empathetic care-givers who sought to heal troubled minds, acquiring a sensitivity that was noticed and appreciated; and I developed professional relationships with many of them as their accountant, auditor, and tax preparer. I will never stop mourning my dear friend, but I can truly say that I have worked to develop positive ways to channel my sorrow. Peace and comfort to all who mourn....and to all who struggle with issues of mental health, anxiety, and depression.
Donald (Don) Morgan
Thanks for sharing that, Mike. I don't believe we'll ever understand the mental, emotional, social and sometimes even biological forces that bring some of us to the point of ending our own lives and, often in the process deeply, scaring the lives of those we least wish to harm. It's especially jarring when it's a young man or woman in their prime with a young family that will never be whole again. I hope through your caring and sharing you will find some comfort knowing that his memory has been honored by your friendship. I hope his soul has found true everlasting peace. I will always remember him as a very nice young man who was always kind to others.
Carol Cook (Harrell)
Thank you,Mile for sharing this, I always remember his shy but warm smile.
As we all enter the last stages of our lives, it is important ant to remember those who shared our early steps on our journey. And I if we are able, to say thank you for the roles they have played in our lives, however small it may have seemed at the time. IWhy I I am looking forward to out get together - to hear the stories- to understand better where we came from and to appreciate how much our school days shaped our lives.
Mary Alice Knight (Kenley)
I lingered over Mike's comments about Carrell, and it broke my heart. The first question, of course, is why? Lots of answers to that one, but in the end there's no reason to know why, only that it happened. Someone important said, "Every man's death diminishes me," and I would add, especially those who shared daily life with us in an era when communication, unlike today, many times included looking eyeball to eyeball. Mike, my heart goes out to you in what was apparently a very deep and personal loss.