First You Cry ...

I think this is about my favorite photo of my friend Cecil Talley, taken a few years ago when he was still having his fishing adventures. Since that shot was taken, his world gradually closed in as his body began its relentless process of breakdown.

Not that mere physical problems ever stopped Cees from enjoying life or dampened his irrepressible sense of humor. He never got bitter, never wasted time feeling sorry for himself, never rationed his great generosity of spirit. And his family and friends have been blessed because he has been so utterly indomitable.

Back in 1980, Cees sold a short story to the Ellery Queen Mystery Magazine. Here's what they said, by way of introduction ...

This is the 545th "first story" to be published by Ellery Queen's Mystery Magazine ... Once again we should all be mightily encouraged by a first appearance in print. The author, Cecil Talley, was sixty-three when he submitted "The Farmer in the Well" -- take heart, all you beginners!

Mr. Talley thinks his wife ("who has endured me for forty-two years"), his two sons, and his five granddaughters will get a thrill out of seeing "The Farmer in the Well" in EQMM. They should indeed! Mr. Talley is "an old sign painter who never made it past the eighth grade." We share their thrill -- as we do with all our new writers, old and young...

Well, that was 28 years ago, and Cees never stopped writing ... not his stories and not his nearly daily e-mail communication with friends. Between his love of wordsmithing, his love of fishing and his delight with the Internet, he kept us entertained with tales of seemingly endless fishing mishaps. The boat wouldn't unload when he got to the lake. Or it would but the weather turned bad. Or he couldn't find a fishing partner when the weather was good. Or the motor went gunnybag on him so he had to get a new one. And the "good deal" turned out to be a dud. And on and on and, as Cees would always query, "Now, would a Texan lie?"

Nor did he ever stop learning new things. He started fiddling with PhotoShop and was constantly sharing experiments and projects that showed off his boundless curiosity and, often, his self-deprecating sense of humor. I still grin when I look at a photo he sent me where he'd imposed his own face over that of a big old longhorn bull. Well, he was a Texan. That explains a lot. (Insert smile.)

Then, a few months ago, he simply couldn't sit at the computer any longer. At that point, his son Lou did more than care for his father's physical well-being. He served as able go-between, printing off e-mail messages from friends so Cees could read them, and keeping us informed about how things were going.

Tonight, sadly, Lou had to tell us Cees died quietly in his sleep.

Well, first you cry. Then you start remembering all the good stuff. The throat still aches and the eyes still leak but the smiles keep coming ... and get stronger. And you can picture Cees strolling up to the Pearly Gates and giving St. Peter a friendly Texas howdy and then he says, "How's the fishing?"

Another Texan friend, Jeri, said it best: "I pray that our Cees now has a boat with a motor that always runs and a lake with an endless supply of fish. And I *know* that now he has a Buddy who loves to fish as much as he did."