Since some of you have asked...this is the eulogy I wrote for my cousin to deliver at my grandfather's funeral.
Good morning. My name is David Dart. On behalf of Mammaw and the
entire Charlet Family, I’d like to welcome all of you here today to
share in the life and legacy of George Joseph Charlet Sr.
George Charlet, Buddy to his friends, Pappaw to us. He was born in May
of 1923 in Jeanerette, LA. He was the middle child, between his older
brother C.A. Charlet Jr. and his beloved little sister, Myrtle
Altazan. Even as a child, George had an independent spirit. He loved
adventure wherever he could find it. At the age of four, he’d often be
placed on a Greyhound bus in Baton Rouge with his little suitcase to
go visit his relatives in Donaldsonville. His childhood didn’t last
long. At age 16, Pappaw was forced to grow up quickly after his father
died of a heart attack at the age of 41. Pappaw enrolled in Catholic
High School and performed in the band as the drum major until his
graduation in 1939.
After graduating from high school, he moved to Shreveport where he
worked at Roseneath funeral home as an ambulance driver. It was while
he was employed as an ambulance driver that he first took notice of a
beautiful young lady who was in the hospital, recovering from an
appendectomy. He asked a switchboard operator the young lady’s name
and that’s how he first met his future wife and lifelong gal, Betty Jo
LeDoux. He called upon her from time to time that summer when his work
would permit, but a move back to Baton Rouge and the impending war
kept them apart for a year or two. But Betty never forgot Buddy, and
she made sure he’d not forget her, when she sent him a meal of
Louisiana Fried Chicken, packed in dry ice to New Mexico, where he was
receiving his military training. Between the fried chicken and
Mammaw’s good looks, Pappaw was hooked.
In her senior year of high school, Pappaw called her up and asked if
she was near graduation. When she assured him that she was, he said,
“Good. Because I intend to marry you once you graduate. How about
February 14?” “No” Mammaw replied, “Because then I’ll never get
another Valentine’s gift. But I’ll marry you on the 15th, so I’ll get
a Valentines’ AND an anniversary gift. “
And they were married, and their marriage was fruitful. They had four
children: George, Linda, Pete and a few years later, Patty, my mother.
They moved to Clinton and along with his brother, C.A., they started
Charlet Funeral Home, to serve the families of East and West
Feliciana. In 1964, they expanded their business into East Baton Rouge
Parish by building a funeral home smack in the middle of Zachary.
In the early days, times were lean. Pappaw and C.A. couldn’t afford to
pay both of their salaries full time, so C.A. continued working for
Rabenhorst Funeral Home in Baton Rouge, and Pappaw shouldered the
burden in Clinton. Back in those days, they did everything themselves,
from embalming to gravedigging to grass cutting and maintenance of the
funeral home. Pappaw never forget the lean times, always asking his
grandkids who worked for the funeral home, “You got any funerals
working?”
The Charlet family lived an outdoor life, hunting, fishing and
camping. Pappaw believed that experience was the best teacher. When
George and Pete expressed an interest in scuba diving, he outfitted
them with gear and pointed them towards the nearest swimming pool and
said, “Figure it out.” And with a little trial and experimentation
(and a few near drownings), they were soon spearfishing off the rigs
in the muddy dark Gulf of Mexico in their early teens.
And that’s how Pappaw figured out how things could be done. He just
tried them to see what he could do. Sometimes it worked, and sometime
they failed spectacularly, like his attempt at home beer brewing.
Pappaw bottled his beer before it was quite done fermenting, and Pete
recalled that the sound of the bottles exploding like cannon fire in
the basement in the middle of the night was nothing compared to the
smell of rich beer that permeated the entire funeral home for days.
When Pappaw passed the funeral home to his sons, George and Pete in
1976, he was still a relatively young man with many pursuits ahead of
him. He flew experimental one-man gyrocopters and became the
International President of the Popular Rotorcraft Association. He
built large scale model airplanes and flew them competitively.
After developing his bird hunting skills in Mexico, he took to living
in Merida, Mexico in the Yucatan Peninsula for months at a time. He
developed a friendship with the local children who loved him and
called him “Abuelo”, which is Spanish for grandfather. While down in
Mexico, he became a professional dog breeder and trainer (and a bit of
a smuggler, as he snuck animals back into America). Pappaw always
loved dogs, and he owned many of them...almost all of them named Jack.
When he wasn’t in Mexico, he was back here in Clinton, or more
exactly, above Clinton, flying in his homemade contraptions. He built
his gyrocopters from scratch and became renowned worldwide for his
skills as a pilot. It was this courage (some would say foolishness)
that led to one of his famous death-defying crashes. He agreed to
test-pilot a gyrocopter for a man out of Texas who had made
significant modifications to the gyrocopter design. After hovering a
few inches off the ground for a while, Pappaw began his initial run to
take the gyrocopter up into the air, but the rudder modifications had
made the vehicle unstable, and in front of Pete and Mammaw, the
gyrocopter pitched violently on it’s side, crashing at the end of the
runway. As Pete and Mammaw ran to him, the found him covered in the
wreckage. Pappaw famously looked up at them and his first words were,
“Well...that didn’t work.”
But that’s what made Pappaw the man he was and why he’ll always be my
hero. He never stopped trying different things. In his 60’s, at an age
where most people begin settling down, he joined a motorcyclists’
club. He raised birds, and horses, and dogs, and milk cows. When his
grandkids began playing high school sports, he followed them all over
the state, cheering them on.
Pappaw was always my biggest supporter when I played high school
football. Whenever I did well, you can bet that his voice was the
loudest in the stands, cheering for me. (Well, loudest if you don’t
count Mama and Mammaw). He was always there for us. Encouraging us to
always do our best, and taking us to task whenever we fell short of
our potential.
He came from an age of thrift and he never developed a taste for
spending money on frivolities. When Mammaw spent $1.29 on an
anniversary card for him one year, he chastised her for wasting her
money. So the next year, for their anniversary, Mammaw gave him the
same card, with the old year scratched out an the new year scratched
in. And she gave him that same card the year after that, and the year
after that. For forty years, she gave him the same card.
In closing, we’ve attempted to honor Pappaw, but we’d be remiss if we
did not honor his loving wife of 69 years, Betty Jo LeDoux Charlet,
known as Mammaw to 15 grandchildren, 41 great-grandchildren, and
countless “adopted children” that Mammaw and Pappaw collected over the
years. Their marriage personified the scripture of “two becoming one.”
Pappaw always said that he wasted years looking for hunting and
fishing partners until he realized that he had been living with the
best outdoorswoman and best friend a man could ever hope for.
Even at the age of 89 and 86, when Pappaw was ill and bedridden, they
still cuddled and giggled themselves to sleep each night. This love is
their legacy to their family. Their bond has created a family large
and diverse and never afraid to show their love for each other or
their fellow man. We are all the people we are because of the love
between our Mammaw and our Pappaw. We love you so much Pappaw. You
were a great husband, a great dad, and one of the luckiest men alive.
Again, thank you for all being here today, and even though he didn’t
listen to his own advice, take with you the words that Pappaw always
said, “Don’t do anything you ain’t got no business doing.”
