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Dr. Chet Bone

I’ve been blessed to experience some unforgettable sights on the theatrical stage. . . the first time I saw the barricade rise in Les Miserables. . . watching the chandelier fall in Phantom of the Opera in London. . . seeing some of my most hesitant theatre students take their first bows on stage and the look on their faces when they came off. . .but nothing. . . .

Nothing will match the sight. . . the thrill. . . the . . . electricity that was in the air in the JHS auditorium in the final act of the last Passavant Follies. A young man, played by Nathan Carls, was on the verge of selling his soul to the devil to get a hit show when suddenly the stage went dark. . . the fog machine kicked in, a single white light shone from the back of the stage. . . and through the mist, only their silhouettes visible. . walking slowly downstage in white tuxedos came Dr. Oscar Zink, Dr. Omar Panella, Dr. Walter Meyer, and the tall, easily-identified form of Dr. Chet Bone.

No one breathed. . .not in the audience, not onstage. There in a single moment, in a single place, were four icons of Jacksonville medicine, coming at us through the fog. It was Mount Rushmore with legs. . . and white tuxedos.

Most who saw that show have forgotten the plot, the cast has forgotten the lyrics. . in fact, some of them didn’t know the lyrics on opening night, and only the photographs help us recall the costumes, but no one can forget that final moment. . . except for my brother Keith who was running the fog and lights and never got to see it.

It was in a rehearsal for this show that I asked Nathan to do a slide, a vocal slur. . . a 1930’s vocal trick . . crooners. . . where you hold a note so long then at the very end you’d bend it. I didn’t even know the proper name for it and Nathan didn’t understand me at all. Dr. Bone had been sitting on the piano bench beside me so he could see the music more clearly, and as I was talking to Nathan, Chet said, “May I?” I said, “Certainly.” He stood. . cleared his throat and said, “Here’s how you do it.” Then he sang the last line of Chattanooga Shoeshine Boy, putting a perfect slur at the end. “Here’s how you do it.”

Mrs. Bone, Louise, was my critic teacher when I was student teaching at JHS. We were at opposite ends of the personality spectrum. She was composed, organized, calm and poised. I. . . . I wasn’t any of those things. I think she advised me to get a job in sales. I learned much from Louise, but especially the art of illustration. When you’re teaching a class you must model the behavior and the language you want your students to emulate. You don’t just say “Do it.” You must say, in Chet’s words. . . “Here’s how you do it.”

For his 100th birthday his daughter arranged for me to do a piano concert for him. . here at the church, and he was in charge inviting whoever he liked. He’d become friends with a student of mine, John Love, so I brought John along. When we arrived the church was empty. . .then we saw Chet come up the sidewalk on his walker on wheels. He’d opted for a private concert. He said, “I couldn’t decide who to ask so I thought I just come alone.” So instead of sitting in the audience, Chet sat on his walker, scooted it up close to the piano and said, “Let’s have a sing-a-long.” And he showed us. . . “Here’s how you do it.”

Many eulogies attempt to sum up a person’s life and that, of course, is impossible in the case of Chet Bone. His life was too broad, too varied, too rich. We could pass the microphone around and each of us could give a tribute attesting to this man’s greatness, and each would be different. His biography reads like a fascinating roadmap leading from a farm near Prairie City to Illinois College to Petersburg then the U of I and finally back to Jacksonville where he became our leading tenor, master of ceremonies, actor, comedian, storyteller, educator, church elder, and according to local legend, a pretty good doctor. It may seem blasphemous to quote something as transitory as Facebook when speaking of someone eternal like Dr. Bone, but when the notice of his passing appeared, the comments began pouring in. . ----He was a giant amongst us. Chet was a very close friend to my father-in-law, Boyd E McCracken, M.D. They worked together at Social Security Disability - where they launched an adventure to try every lunch spot in Springfield. The unwritten reviews were hilarious. ---He was my father’s best friend at Illinois College. ---In 1970 I was in a car accident. I broke both femur bones. Dr Bone used long pins through my femurs instead of a semi body cast. First time ever used at Passavant hospital. A year later he allowed me to observe him doing a surgery on a young man using the same technique. I will never forget that privilege. ---I was new to Jacksonville and he made my world a kinder place. ---He brought me into this world. ---He delivered my boys. ---I was an I.C. student and never had any money. When I went to Doc Bone I never got a bill.

Chet once told me that it was a bit embarrassing to run into people at Wal-Mart or the Country Club and have them say he’d brought them into the world. He said, “I guess they expect me to recognize them, but they often change a bit after they leave the hospital.”

Humility . . .where has it gone? Modesty, . . . . What’s happened to it? Who even knows the meaning of the word decorum? So much of who we are is due to the role models living among us. Without ever purposely drawing attention to himself, Chet Bone silently said, “Here’s how you do it.”

There are times in our life when privately we’ve asked God. . how do I do this? How do I pull it off with my abilities? How do I show compassion in a world that is sometimes so cruel and self-serving? How do I respond to the needs of others in world filled with problems that seem to insurmountable? How do I do it, Lord, as you would have me do it? And at those times we’re likely feel the touch of Christ on our shoulder and Christ will point to Chet Bone and say. . “Here’s how you do it.”