On streets paved with gold inside the pearly gates Bob Lane jitter-bugs the evening away, freed from shackles that earth-bound infirmities placed on his nimble legs a few years ago. Applause, wedded to the beat of the music, is just as great as ever and as Bob twists and turns and dips to the music his smile tells the story, bright enough to illuminate the darkest night.
Bob died July 1 at age 96, just as infatuated with life at the end as he was all along. One day at Windsor Place he was dining with a couple of other fellows. “Hop up and do a jig for us,” I pleaded. He looked for a while, the smile fading a bit, “I wish I could, Johnson, I wish I could” — the reply drenched in melancholy.
Bob usually called me Johnson and never a time did I find him anything but pleasant and eager to visit when we passed the time of day, unless he was in a bit of a toot to go after some catfish in a near-Iola pond. In recent years he pulled a number from the pond Craig Abbott built north of Highland Cemetery, and several dandies from Gary McIntosh’s smaller one just south of the college.
It would be easy to write that Bob was the icon of Iola’s black community. Easy, but way out in left field. He was an Iola icon, no matter race or gender.
He knew my dad in the Depression years, which gave me a leg up when we first met. A good many Iolans knew him, and he them, from his years working at Sleeper’s, laying carpet and delivering furniture with Glenn Handley.
A proud part of his life was serving in the 837th Engineer Aviation Battalion during World War II, rising to rank of first sergeant. He helped build a runway at an Army Air Corps base in South Carolina, before going to Italy for a similar project. Black men were not considered up to front-line fighting then — a mistake of immense proportions — and were relegated to construction and similar non-combat chores. But, you could have bet your bottom dollar on Dollar Bill — which he was called for reasons I never learned — if they tossed him an M1.
He was among the first to sign up for an Honor Flight to visit the WWII Memorial in Washington, D.C. a few years ago. Dressed in fatigues and wearing an Honor Flight hat, he also was a fixture at Veterans Day ceremonies every November on the courthouse square.
Bob gave all he could during a time when race determined level of participation, but he never let that infringe on his love of country, community and fellow man.
They’ll say good-bye today to Bob Lane in 11 a.m. funeral services at Ward Chapel A.M.E. Church.
Without difficulty, recalling his legacy could fill hours with storytelling and recollections. But, from my way of thinking it’s just as well to say that Bob Lane was a good man and a credit of exceeding high level to those who knew him and to his community.
To top things off, RIP would hardly be fitting for his grave marker. Now, at every chance he’s working up a sweat with a jitter-bug hardly anyone else could replicate, as the angels keep time with hoe-down hand-clapping and God looks on approvingly.
