In my early-to-mid-teen years, for two weeks each summer, the Chadwick family rescued me from the farm in north Alabama and made me their honored guest in Birmingham. We were kin. Our mothers, Lois and Ruby, were sisters. Ruby was married to John Chadwick, a Birmingham policeman. The McKeever and Chadwick children were closely matched in age.

My brothers Ron and Glenn matched up with Bill Chadwick, the oldest of Johnny and Ruby’s four. I thought they were all daredevils.

Nelda Chadwick and I were almost identical in age. In between came Betty and Barbara Chadwick, lovely older cousins whom I idolized. (In case they read this, just a tad older, not much!)

Going from the drudgery of the farm to the excitement of the city–the soda fountain at the drug store, the street cars downtown, movies with Nelda, bike-riding, going to VBS at Calvary Baptist Church, carpet golf, but particularly, this wonderful loving family–made this the high point of my year.

To Bill Chadwick, perhaps 6 years my senior, I must have appeared as a little squirt. A nuisance. But he never made me feel that way.

In fact, he did some things that minister to me even today, over a half century later.

I must have been 13. We were in the basement of the Chadwick home at 1409 North 16th Street. (It was a great house, built on a hillside, so that the two apartments on the top level fronted on the street. The middle floor was the primary home for the family, and the basement opened into the spacious back yard with its goldfish pond, green lawn, numerous trees and plenty of hiding places for children.)

Bill–we all called him Billy–showed me a Bible memorization plan his church was promoting. “Memorize this list of verses and say them to me, and we’ll give you a New Testament of your own.” Wow. That was incredible.

A couple of days later, Bill sat patiently and listened to me quote all those verses, maybe 20 or more. Then he gave me the New Testament. I loved it and carried it until it wore out. Years later, my dad said the Testament left a faded outline on the back pocket of my jeans.

I still preach those same Scriptures.

I am still memorizing God’s Word.

My cousin Bill got me started.

One day on the farm–his dad owned the 300 acres adjoining ours, but our family worked it all as though it were one plot, which it had been when our grandfather Virge Kilgore owned it–Bill asked if I were saved. I was, but was a baby Christian. We talked about it at length. He might have been 17 or 18.

Once he said, “Joe, do you know the Bible says Heaven is so wonderful that eyes have not seen and ears have not heard the things God has in store for us there.”

I said,”Wow.”

I’d been going to church all my life, but it took my teenage cousin to elicit the first “wow” from me about the things of God.

This guy was such an influence on me. Once he told me sleeping with a pillow would hinder one’s posture. I went for the next five years without using a pillow.

He told me that since the human body is about two-thirds water, the best way to gain weight–remember when people wanted to do that?–was to drink lots of it. I still do.

Bill’s father owned an old panel truck which he would drive up to the country, sometimes bringing farm supplies or feed for the calves I was raising for him. Bill would let me drive it. I recall steering that truck up and down the streets of Birmingham a long time before I learned to ride a bike.

Bill owned a yellow motor scooter. During my visits, when he was off on his job or somewhere, I would crank it up and ride around the neighborhood.

Bill Chadwick was a singer. In the early 1950s, I recall him coming home talking about the latest Mario Lanza movie. Sometimes I would go with another family member to pick Bill up after his voice lessons. I was stunned to hear the same strong, operatic sounds coming from the room where he was practicing.

Over the years, even to just a few weeks ago, Bill was still singing for family events and in church. No one loved his family more or gave as much to it.

A month ago, when my uncle Ordis McKleroy and cousin Celia Johnson dropped in on mom to visit her, Bill Chadwick drove up from Clanton for the occasion. He loved his family.

The dreaded phone call came Wednesday night at 9:30. Bill Chadwick had died around noon. His daughter found him in his office, apparently the victim of a heart attack.

Bill was a chiropractor in Clanton, Alabama, and one of the most generous, loving people I’ve ever known.

Members of our family had a standing invitation anytime we were traveling down Interstate 65 between Birmingham and Montgomery, to stop at his office and receive a free adjustment.

May 28, 1994, our family held the first of many biennial reunions on the old Kilgore place near Nauvoo, Alabama. A hundred cousins and uncles and aunts drove in from every direction. On Sunday, we all went to church at the spiritual home of this clan, the New Oak Grove Free Will Baptist Church. Afterwards, the McKeevers catered a barbecue lunch for the entire church in the fellowship hall. Then we adjourned back to my parents’ home, that is, the 30 or so who had lasted this long.

I remember exactly where I was sitting when Cousin Bill called out, “Who wants an adjustment?” I said, “I do–but I don’t want my neck popped!” He said, “On the floor!”

For the next two hours–okay, it was probably 15-20 minutes, but it seemed to go on and on–Bill massaged the tight muscles in my back and neck. It was one of the best gifts anyone ever gave me, and for good reason. Afterward, I lay there with this delicious, relaxed feeling washing over me.

An hour later, the phone rang. Margaret was calling from New Orleans to tell me Julie had gone into labor and they were rushing her to Lakeside Hospital in Metairie. I said, “I’ll be right there.”

It’s a six or seven-hour drive from Nauvoo to Metairie. I got there around midnight and sat with Neil and other family members into the wee hours. Poor Julie was having a time of it. I came back early Monday morning, and Grant Waller McKeever made his appearance a little later. Our first grandson. He turned 15 the other day. He’s 6 feet 2 inches tall.

I know people who don’t even know their cousins. It’s a casualty of modern times, I suppose, and the long distances that separate families. But I feel so blessed to be part of an extended family that grew up together and knows one another and loves to get together.

We’ll be together later this week. I’ll not be the preacher for Bill’s services, but I’ll be thinking about the debt I owe him.

God in Heaven knows.

I am part of the legacy of Dr. William Raymond Chadwick, who as a teenager took the time and went to the trouble to minister to his younger cousin again and again.

Hebrews 6:10 has your name all over it, Bill.

“God is not unjust so as to forget your work, and the love that you have shown toward his name in having ministered to the saints and in still ministering.”