RIVER CITY JOURNAL: IT'S NEVER TOO LATE FOR LOVE OF LEARNING

Your favorite hometown weekly newspaper arrived last week. A new war memorial is being planned in a nearby town. There are 80 new students in the school district this year -- where are all these people coming from? Termites made the front page. It seems some classrooms are infested, and the school board has to decide whether to save the building or tear it down.

This is life in a small town.

Inside the paper, there is death too.

As you get older, obituaries in the newspaper rise closer and closer to the top of your reading priorities. Have you noticed that too? There are so many familiar names in the hometown paper. Even if you never knew these folks personally, you knew of them or about them. Reputation and gossip being what they are, nearly everybody in your hometown has a story that is widely circulated. Maybe it isn't true, but don't let that get in your way. Some of the best stories are probably outright malicious lies.

According to the weekly paper, Nellie Hamilton died. She was 91. If you remember correctly, she was someone you visited with your folks when you were a child. It never mattered when you arrived at the small frame house alongside the dusty road -- there were no telephones to call ahead, the house was always spotless. Sitting in the living room you could see under the high bed in the bedroom. The linoleum on the floor under the bed was just as shiny as anywhere else. Remember linoleum?

Another name among those who died brought even more poignant memories. Sara Miller died. No age was listed. You know she was old enough to be your mother, because her son was in your high school class. Seeing her obituary brought back scenes from high school you hadn't thought about in more than 30 years.

Sara Miller, as far as you are concerned, was a heroine. You see, she graduated from high school the same year as her son, Don. By the way, Don was a really good trombone player. He also was voted "Most Musical" and half of the "Cutest Couple," according to the yearbook. If you want to see how much the world has changed, get out your high school yearbook. You will either laugh or cry. Or both.

To be honest, you don't recall why Sara Miller was finishing high school at the same time as her son. Obviously she hadn't received a high school diploma when she got married and settled down to raise a family (there also were two daughters). Her husband was well-known in the community and served as mayor of your hometown for a couple of terms.

All you remember for sure is that Sara Miller was a rarity among students. Unlike your contemporaries who tended to regard high school as a halfway house between grade school and life, she saw it as an opportunity to learn, to be exposed to things unknown, books unread, lessons unstudied. She was eager every day to find out, discover, inquire, dig deeper.

In a word, she was an inspiration. You and your contemporaries weren't looking for inspiration, but Sara Miller provided it anyway.

Sara Miller was more than an adult lost in a sea of hormonal urges. She was an active participant in all that high school had to offer. She was even elected secretary-treasurer of the senior class.

In some classes, Sara Miller sat next to you. English classes mostly. And when she didn't understand the teacher's explanation, she didn't hesitate to ask for help. She not only wanted to learn. She wanted to do well. Really well.

The obituary said she was buried in the cemetery at Dogwood, Mo. You had never heard of Dogwood, and the Missouri map was no help either. The Postal Service ZIP Code directory, however, lists two Dogwoods, one in Mississippi County and another in Douglas County. See, you learned something.

Wherever she is, it would be appropriate if Sara Miller had a marker by her grave that said, "She learned later, but she learned."

~R. Joe Sullivan is the editor of the Southeast Missourian.