My Memories of Papaw Jewell

Because we moved away to the big city of Bluefield when I was nearly 6 years old, and later moved to the really big city of Buffalo, New York, when I was becoming a teenager, I don’t have a lot of memories of Papaw Jewell. The ones I have are perhaps more precious because they are few.


I remember his hugs when we visited and can even hear the sound of his voice as he called me Sammy. Smoking seemed prevalent among my uncles and older cousins, but I don’t remember ever seeing Papaw smoke. Do I remember that correctly?

Papaw loved the Lord, and I can remember him saying grace in a rhythmic pattern that almost seemed like singing. Perhaps that is why my Dad on occasions sounded just like him. One of my brothers shared that he met Papaw early one morning coming down from the mountain and asked where he had been. He said he had been spending some time with the Lord. That walk with God was evident in his life and ultimately in the lives of his descendants.  I am so grateful.

He went to bed early and rose early. His day seemed to be governed more by the sun than by the clock. When we spent the night, he would try to sit up to entertain us "city folks", but he would invariably begin to fall asleep sitting in his chair.

For some reason, I recall him telling my Dad about what was going on at the courthouse in Pineville. Someone in some county department was complaining that he had money left over in his budget and was trying to decide what to spend it on. Papaw had told the man to give it back, whereupon the politician said, “If I give it back, they will cut back my budget for next year.” I didn’t fully understand the meaning of the story until much later. Papaw was not happy with the answer.

And of course, I remember Papaw’s big breakfasts, filled with foods that would plug the arteries of any modern day American – fried pork chops, fried bacon, fried sausage, and fried eggs. It did get to him finally, in his early nineties.

My middle name is Harrison. For the longest time, I didn’t appreciate what seemed to me to be an odd name until it came in vogue with celebrity Harrison Ford. I knew I was named for Papaw, but somehow I forgot. Mamaw had her own pronunciation of his name, and "Harson" wasn't exactly Harrison in my ears.  Now, to me it is an honor to carry his middle name as my middle name because of the man he was.

After growing up, getting married and becoming a pastor, I had the chance to preach in front of Papaw once. My delivery certainly must have seemed bland compared to what he had experienced and he was perfectly candid when he asked me with all sincerity, “Sammy, are you God-called or did you go to college.” I knew what he was thinking and was not offended by his question. I simply said, “Papaw, God called me to preach, but I did go to college for some training.”

I took my family to visit him at the hospital not long before his “home going”. We gathered around his bed and sang for him. I don’t remember the song, and he probably didn’t hear a sound because of his deafness. Others in the hospital came to the door to listen, and Papaw just smiled. He knew we were singing about his Savior and that’s what counted.

Who can accurately assess the greatness of a simple man who walks with God? Surely only God, who knows all, and I'm certain he said to William Harrison Jewell, “Well done, thou good and faithful servant. Enter thou into the joy of the Lord.”