Author: Lanny Ball

A few days ago, my phone rang.  It was my father. “Lanny,” he began, “the University of Arizona called me today.” Suddenly my mind raced back in time.  My only brother Sean had attended and graduated from the University of Arizona.  As a brilliant musician, Sean had received a full-ride scholarship for double-bass.  Tragically, on a rainy night shortly following his graduation, Sean was taken from us in a terrible car accident.  My family was devastated.  But during our time of grief, we, my parents and I, were able to generate an idea, an idea to keep Sean’s memory alive.  What if we were to create a scholarship in his name?

Following a conversation with a close friend from college about how to go about this, I phoned the university to speak with them about the idea.  We discussed the difference between a one-time award and an endowment, which would live on indefinitely, thereby meeting my family’s ultimate goal.  Although feeling terrible grief for the loss of my brother, we set to work raising money.  My  father created 56 pieces of art and had some of the images transferred to greeting cards and t-shirts.  We held a benefit where I and some of Portland’s top musicians performed.  Friends and family pitched in to help, both logistically and financially.  In the end, we raised over $20,000 that we were able to donate to the university.  Over the next several years, mostly thanks to the perseverance of my parents, the Sean K. Ball Memorial Scholarship for Bass was awarded to several young musicians.

But over time and through some of our country’s financial hardships, the scholarship seemed to fade.  A few years ago, we heard that there was no longer enough money in the endowment to offer an award to any up-and-coming bass student.  And with my mom’s passing three years ago, my father and I have not been able to find the energy or interest to pursue the topic any longer.

But a few days ago, my father called.  “I heard today that there has been an award made this year,” he said.

“Sean’s scholarship?” I asked incredulously.

“Yes!” he answered. He read me the name of the recipient.  “Sean’s scholarship has been awarded this year!  I don’t know how much the award is, but his scholarship is going to be helping a young bass player this school year.”  

Amidst the current difficult times, I think my dad and I both felt good that day.

Sliding the button to the right, I answered the incoming call.  “Hello?” I chirped, making sure to include a friendly lilt to my greeting.

“Lanny?” came the voice. “Did you write today?”  It was my Gram calling.  In October of this strange and terrible year, my grandmother, Helen Abner Callaway, will turn 100 years old.  Yes, that means she was born in 1920. “The year of Women’s Suffrage,” she likes to remind me, so proud of the monumental step that this legislation represents for women’s rights in this country.

The oldest of five girls, my Gram was raised by farmers near St. Paul, Arkansas.  Sometimes I shake my  head in amazement when she tells me stories of her growing up, such as the one about following her mother to fetch water from a well located several hundred yards from the house, watching as her mother carried a large bucket in one hand while a baby rested on her opposite hip.  I have to marvel sometimes at the change my grandmother has witnessed across the last century.  During her childhood, the family did not even own a phone.  Nowadays I talk to her on a small computer I carry around in my pocket.

Grammy still lives alone in her home in eastern Oregon, the small and humble home where she raised three girls of her own, alongside my grandpa. My mother and her two younger sisters would all go on to become teachers, although the youngest would eventually leave the profession to pursue a successful career in law.  Gram always seemed to believe strongly in two things: Get an education, and be a good person.  If nothing else, she will have always imparted those two values upon me, and I shall never forget them. Gram has much to be proud of.

Recently, Grammy told me of a new milestone in her life: “I didn’t go to the grocery store with [my friend] Mary today,” she said.  “I’m having more trouble moving around these days, and plus I don’t think it’s wise for me to be out and about with this virus.”  She is probably right about that.

Over the last couple of years, Gram has taken an interest in my Slice of Life blogging, often calling me and asking if I wrote on Tuesday.  Last Tuesday the question came again.  “Yes, Gram, I wrote today,” I responded.

I bet she will call today.