He was preceded in death by his wife, Jewell Evelyn Burson Hodge; his brothers, Bill and Calvin Hodge; his sister, Betty Joe and her husband, LaVere Brooks. He is survived by his brother, Fred Hodge and wife, Esther; his sons, Chuck and wife, Lisa, Vernon and wife, Mary Jean, daughter, Nancy and husband, Jerry Johnson; his granddaughter, Christy, her daughter, Jewell, and husband, Dan McAninch; grandson, James and his wife, Macy and daughter, Josie Johnson.

Services and a reception will be held on October 30 at Restland Memorial Chapel at 11:00 AM where family and friends will be received.

In lieu of flowers memorials may be made to a charity of your choice.

I have a vision while in the Spirit of how it might be when those of us who believe in God and his Son, Jesus, who died as an atonement for our sin, and lives today at God’s right hand, reach our final destination.

It will surely be a shock to suddenly realize that the boundaries of a body and mind that has housed us for days, or weeks, or decades, is no longer our restraint. We will know we are in God’s presence because we will feel loved. Not for what we are or what we’ve done. But for who we are, children of the King. Our name is written in the Lamb’s Book of Life. In the indelible blood of our Savior.

In my vision I see literally millions of faces. They smile. Some I recognize immediately and my heart, or what was my heart, leaps almost out of what was my body. My God, I say, I have been waiting fifty years to see you again!

I look around and there are dozens of faces smiling at me with gratitude. We acknowledge each other with our eyes. We nod. We know. That person’s love helped me along the way. A kindness. A word of encouragement. A card in the mail. A listener when I hurt. I hadn’t seen some of these people in forever and now here they are. Where are we exactly? And then my curiosity and wonder is over. The Lord Jesus Christ stepped forward and I knew Him instantly by His eyes and His smile. And when He reached out His hands to me, like a father would a child, I saw the nail scars in His palms. I am home.

I am surrounded in this vision by my family. It’s almost like I’m a newborn baby again. My sweet Mother and wonderful Father are there and gushing over me. My older sister is there just smiling, like she always did when our family got together on earth.

After hours of talking and hugging and laughing and meeting so many of my ancestors whom I had spent hours studying and writing about and now personally talking with, I pause  just a moment to just take a panoramic look around at the beauty and majesty of this place.

There is a pastor from my youth days and I am amazed that he is in the midst of hundreds of people he led to the saving knowledge of Jesus Christ. What a beautiful and powerful scene.

And a military man with lots of stripes, a tough looking guy, but a stern face and a powerful faith and dozens of military men and women surround him and he is greeting each of them with gentleness and love.

And then I see a young man, high cheek bones, athletic build smiling at me and nodding his head. I remember him. He had a powerful position in my life when I was a boy. He saw in me more than I saw in myself. He looks so young. Just a boy himself and yet a man who cared about his young charges. He talked to each of them as though they mattered in his life. I remember he didn’t talk about Jesus or the Bible. He was a just a good man. He did not use bad language. He did not hurt a boy’s feelings to try to get more production out of him. I never heard a foul word or an insult. Not even when he was cutting up with the kids. He commanded respect because he was a man of respect. He received loyalty because he was loyal and you could trust what he said. He did not seem to gloat over his team being better than the other team. I can never remember him telling me or anyone else that we were going to smear or humiliate the other team. We were going to do our absolute best to win and if we lost, we would go back and work on getting better and come back and try to win the next time. I never called him coach. From the first day I called him Mister. I remember many years later in my life meeting a man named Landry and when I was introduced to him for the life of me I could not call him coach. He was another Mister. Just too big to be called coach.

Mr. Hitt was too big for me to call him coach. He was a star in my life and it was the positioning of God that put me, a ten-year-old very shy boy, who thought of himself ugly, simple and on the road to nowhere, in the pathway of Mr. Hitt. He gave me a football and told me I was his quarterback. Just that much encouragement. And yes, it changed my life. That may sound way too simple to you and if it does I understand. I only know what I know and feel. He changed my attitude about myself and as I aged I began to understand how difficult and how important that is to do.

I tried to have the same attitude of Mr. Hitt. I tried to instill in boys and girls for the next fifty years that each of them has a God given value that they themselves may not even know yet. Yes, my Father and my older brother were instrumental in my development and they are great role models for me. They are either already here in my vision or on their way. But Mr. Hitt gave me that outside the family influence that boosted my confidence in myself. I nodded my thanks to Mr. Hitt in my vision. He smiled and touched his forehead in a salute to me. And then he moved and I saw the literally hundreds of children standing behind him. The little boys and girls of WW Bushman and I’m sure I was in there somewhere. The pre teens and young teens of Boude Story Jr. High, all bunched together and admiring the man who taught them so much. And then there were the hundreds of huge high school boys of all colors, ages and sizes who Mr. Hitt had influenced in the same way, probably in the same method but with a different message, as he did me at ten.

We all had some things in common. We had each found in our lives the necessity of a Savior, Jesus Christ, who by grace gave us a hope that can only be found in Him. And we had in common that our lives had been touched along the way by Mr. Bill Hitt.

You did good, Mr. Hitt. You lived a life that counted.

Memorial Service for Bill Hitt:
Tuesday, October 29, 2013
1:30 p.m.
Irving Bible Church
2435 Kinwest Parkway Irving, Texas 75063

Yes, it's the 50th reunion next year and this weekend the Class of '63 celebrates their 50th. I'll be attending the Saturday night event and looking forward to seeing those that were our Seniors (ha).  Life has handed good things to some and maybe not so good to others, but longtime friendships don't change. And at this time of life, I just want to see everyone that made my teenage years so memorable.

Alright, I am beginning to think about this 50 year reunion. Every single one of us 1964 SOC graduates (and those who went to school with us) will celebrate our 50 years. It's a milestone, whether you want to accept it or not. Some of us will choose to gather with other 64 grads and friends and spouses and celebrate with laughter and fun and joy and good times. Others of us will choose to celebrate at home or wherever we happen to be at the time. A few are in nursing homes. A few probably living on the streets. But wherever and whatever a SOC 64 grad is next year, a milestone will be reached. Whether you choose to do it in a party, alone, at home, or just miserable, you will reach that milestone with us, Buster, it can't be helped. Fifty years is a long time. In a marriage it's Golden. In a career, it's way too long. In pain and misery it's just endurance. Come on, if you are still alive, take a look at where you have been. What you have accomplished.The people you have known and hopefully influenced. The family you  have created (with God's providence and a loving spouse.) Think about it. A half century since we tossed those flat top hats in the air, hanging on to the tassell. Eight presidents have been elected. At least three wars fought. Our city has gone from 600,000 citizens to over two million. Three times as many kids today are in kindergarten has we had in first grade. Our childhood homes, schools, playgrounds and churches may still stand but they are packed today with children of color, many of them only recently arrived in America.  Many of our homes are boarded up. My childhood home has been bulldozed and carted away and is a field with a lonely horse grazing. It has changed but make no mistake: we were there. We walked those streets, drove like the teenagers we were too fast down those avenues, frequented the root beer stands, the movie theaters and the churches. We loved those teachers--most of them anyway-- and our friends. Friends. They had a lot to do with making us who we became. I am thankful I was around good kids. If Tim or Bruce or Mike or Ronnie had been an evil kid they probably could have taken an easily influenced kid like me right on down the road with them. Looking back at the 50 years we see colleges, weddings, babies, jobs, dreams and disappointments. We see our belief system changes, our children grow and some break our heart. We see some wives and husbands leaving us, unexpected illnesses and death. We gave up our parents and life seemed a little bit empty and Heaven much closer. We have had a dozen pets, loved most of them, had many homes (some we wanted to show off and others we wanted to hide in). Cultural changes we could not have imagined. Abortion. Men marrying men. The word God left out of our government. Fast food our biggest business. Many of our group, some much healthier than old Buster here, departing this earth for eternity. So there you have it, my summation of fifty years in a nutshell. I am going to celebrate. You do it your way. I am going to enjoy being alive fifty years since I walked the stage, accepted that diploma and felt like I was "on my way." And now I turn around and look at the years ahead. What is out there? God knows. I do not. I do know this, I am going to walk into the road ahead with my eyes open, my heart still full, feeling like I am still "on my way."

I visit frequently, but rarely post anything.  Decided to swing by and take a look at what Foster might have to say.  Seems he always seems to remember things about me that I don't remember.  Heck, that's OK.  I frequently tell people that Esther puts a name tag on me at night so I will remember who I am in the morning.  Best touch though, is that she writes it backwards so I can read it in the mirror.  After 48 years, she is still the best.

Today is my oldest son, Brian's, 46th birthday.  He and his brother Scott have grown up to be good men.  That is not always an easy thing to do, and I am very proud of both of them.  Scott can't come tonight because he and his family live in Yulee, FL, just north of Jacksonville, but Brian will be there for his Mom's best spaghetti.  It is amazing what they get attached to.  Brian will drive 500 miles to eat his Mom's pea salad.

Shoot fire, getting misty eyed.  See what you do to me, Foster.
Just kidding.  I really enjoy your postings, and since I probably got more spankings from your mother than I did my own, they really bring back many memories.  Steve, you and I really were blessed.  God bless you my friend.

Only had time to read the first page of posts. Steve, you are an amazing writer. Don't ever attempt to suggest your memory is fading with age. Wow, what a memory and we are blessed by it.

I liked Michael's post about the absence of posts and how it resembled something nuclear. Noted. I am one of those absentee visitors and not certain why. Facebook seems to be where I post most often, but even there I limit myself. Time restraints, I suppose or the habit of hiding when life gets overwhelming. This site is uplifting and filled with names that are not absent from my heart!

I appreciate Jim Lamar for keeping the site up and running. Need to get my info updated for our reunion directory. Please make plans to attend our Golden Celebration next year. A final decision was made on the location and it will be posted soon. Until then, I promise to visit here often. Much love from my heart to yours.

Just returned from another couple of months on the island. The island has sort of an hourglass shape and the slide happened at the narrow part which was a bit unnerving but nevertheless, gotta see those grand kids you know. Deb and I are living it up in this retirement age, enjoying travelling, theater, reading and writing (yes, I continue to write), going to baseball games here there and every where. Steve Jr took an administrative position with the Royals so it's not the same with him not in uniform. Back to being Rangers fans! We are both healthy and looking forward to our class 50th reunion next year. My brother ran into Stella Taylor Click from our class the other day and she is well. I'm sure my buddy of 65 years Bruce Ecurb Bratton is still alive and well out there and going on 45 years old. He never ages you know. I'm certainly not Mike Livingston, Troy, but I am glad you are doing well and healthy. I have really delved into genealogy over the past few months and had a blast researching my families. When I started I couldn't name my great grand parents and now I have names, cities, sources, and even a few pictures back many generations. Has been very fulfilling. I'm am preparing a book for all of my siblings and my children. Getting very few speaking opportunities these days other than funerals so I know I'm getting old. I tell Deb we are on the "funeral circuit." No one seems to want to listen to an old man talk about sports or politics or the Lord. Wait a minute, here comes Deb. I'll corner her and give her a speech! Take care and God bless all of you.

I took a very slow path to maturity. Probably at ten years of age I was still expecting the tooth fairy to leave a quarter under my pillow and definitely still writing letters to Santa. Of course I have always been big on letters. I could write Santa several pages each year telling him how much I loved him and how good I thought I had been and the few gifts I would love to see under the tree on Christmas morning. I know I embarassed some of my more mature friends like Bruce and Tim when I asked them if they still "believed in Santa Claus." Those guys knew more about life at ten than I did at fourteen so they had to get a giggle or two from a friend asking such goofy questions. Couldn't help it. I was the third kid of a big family of eight and it just falls to the third one to stay a baby as long as possible. There are benefits. "Larry, give Stevie that last piece of pie. He's a baby." Hey I was called Steve-baby by the family until I was seven years old! No wonder I was stunted in my growth. So at ten I was still believing Santa delivered the gifts to all good little boys and girls on Christmas Eve night. And all good little Foster kids had to stay in bed until Mom or Dad came to the door of our bedroom and cracked in open, barely peeking in and saying, "Santa's been here." Then bam! We hit that door like the house was on fire, hollering and diving under the tree to see if the football or the bike or the bb gun was there. Boys are not shy when they have been waiting 364 days for the moment. One year my brother and I did get bb guns and yes, I did try to shoot my eye out. Larry and I begged to take the guns out and target practice. Mom, sleepy eyed and with a cup of coffee, said okay but don't shoot at each other. It was cold but we couldn't wait for coats. After all we would only go out for a few shots to see if any unfortunate sparrows were around. About my third shot I pumped my gun and forgot to close the pump completely. Wow! I thought I shot my arm off when that pump closed on it. I screamed bloody murder, Larry tried to shut me up but okay, I was still a baby and I wanted my Mama to see it and hug me and make it better. And yes, she took the guns away from us until Dad could give us lessons on how to properly handle them. Christmas memories. We all have them. Some sweeter than others. I pray that you and yours have a blessed Christmas, that each of you know the real Reason for the season and enjoy watching those grandchildren with their gifts.

• Visitation for Jerry Vessels

  Thursday, November 15
  6:00 PM to 8:00 PM

  Restland Funeral Home

  13005 Greenville Avenue
  Dallas, TX
  972.238.7111

   

   

• Memorial Service for Jerry Vessels

  Friday, November 16
  10:00 AM

  Restland Wildwood Chapel

  13005 Greenville Avenue
  Dallas, TX
  (972) 238-7111