Summer before last, when I watched the family arrive at Christ Episcopal Church for H.T.N. (Ted) Graves’ Funeral, I shied away from making personal contact with them as to allow for their personal grief and mourning without another hand to shake or hug to receive. It is just my way, one that I share with my father, my grandfathers and from what I have been told, their fathers before them.
But “Mother Graves” would have none of it. She made eye contact with me and rather than accept my respectful nod and proceed with the business at hand, she broke stride, rubbed my cheek, maintained composure and told me that my grandfather would be so proud. Even when her family needed her most and (and she them), she took the time to reflect on past friends and see the future through the eyes of the “next generation.”
She was a blessing to many. She was an example to a small community. She was a leader in the state and in our country and a lesson to the world on how to do things right, how to be a mother, how to appreciate history, how to be courageous.
No one else looked like her, spoke like her, wrote like her, (as my mom will attest) maintain a personal office like her, or was so original and genuine in the way she did things. No one I have ever known ever has had a better sense of self.
Eight months after she buried her husband, we sat together in the worship hall of Christ Episcopal Church again, not far from where we had made contact at her husband’s funeral. She had just finished practicing organ music for Sunday service. We recounted again times and stories that she and my grandparents had shared while they were friends here in the community. Even though some of the recounts had been shared with me dozens and maybe 100’s of times, I sat intrigued as if for the first time.
Having met Barbara Bush as a UVa. student and having waited at a table for Hillary Clinton, I can attest that Mrs. Graves has as much character, presence and demeanor as any matriarch of any “power-player” family – even those who have held the title of First Lady. Our community, our state and our nation looks as it does because of people like her.
Mrs. Graves kept the sense of southern charm and romanticism at the Luray Caverns even as it has grown into the mega-tourism destination that it has. No one who ever met her would be able to say no to her had they been asked to join her for a lemonade or glass of tea, even if they were one of the 500,000 that visit the Caverns each year. Today, in large part because of her inspiration and vision, the feeling of small town remains even in the midst of Natural Landmarks and Treasure.
She insisted that no “Lady” ever sat down at a table to eat without a flower on the table, even if she were sharing a tuna sandwich with her secretary, which she did several times with my mom.
Mr. Graves took delight in her brilliance and her spirit all the way to his grave. Just after my own grandfather, Dewitt Gates, passed away he and I were kidding about how the two of them had married the last of the classic “Southern Belles.” He told me then, although he struggled to make the words come from his stroke-laden lips, “They are not all gone…sometimes you have to just look hard for them. DeWitt and I just lucked out and had two fall into our laps.” No words had ever made me feel prouder or seemed truer.
I have lived my entire life in Luray, and yet I have never worked for the Caverns. One of my first jobs was at the Fudge Kitchen there, but never for the Caverns and/or the Graves family. As an “outsider” so to speak, I can attest that Mrs. Graves held the place together after her husband’s health began to fail. After he died, she suffered but maintained.
Her family sustained her, and she helped make it possible for them and the Caverns to continue. She kept Ted’s memory alive, as they carried his mission on. Her children have turned out to be extraordinary, honest, unspoiled, and with a character equal to hers. They are her miracles.
Her love for her grandchildren is deep and unqualified. She reveled in their accomplishments, hurt with their sorrows, and felt sheer joy and delight in spending time with them. At the mere mention of one of their names, her eyes shone brighter and her smile grew bigger.
She once told me about my own daughter, “Raising her should be of the upmost concern to you. She is a wonderful little girl. If you mess up, nothing else will ever matter.” Mrs. Graves did not “mess up.” She again showed us all how to do the most important thing of all, and do it right.
When she went to work, she became a respected professional in the world of the Daughters and Children of the American Revolution. And because of her, remarkable stories came to life. She searched out new descendants of American Patriots. She was interested in everything revolutionary.
She had a wonderful sense of humor–a way of focusing on someone with total attention–and a little girl delight in who they were and what they were saying. It was a gift of herself that she gave to others. And in spite of heartache and loss, she never faltered.
I often think of what she said about Mr. Graves that March afternoon after he died: “The Caverns has made him a legend, and he made the Caverns legendary. They both are wonderful, but I know that he would have preferred to just be a man.” Mrs. Graves was just that. When a community, a state and a nation made her legendary, she insisted that she be a lady, too.
In the days since she buried her husband, her genuineness and depth of character reached people wherever she could. She was a widow, who grew sick and although aged in years is too young to die now.
At the end, she worried more about her family than herself. She let her family and friends know she was thinking of them – how simply wonderful she was.
In truth, she did everything she could–and more–for each of us that knew her, and for many that did not.
She made a rare and noble contribution to small town spirit as well as big time business. But for us, most of all she was a magnificent wife, mother, grandmother, sister, aunt, and friend.
She graced our community. And for those of us who knew and loved her–she graced our lives.
Story by Chris Marston
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