By Ruth Ann Ruiz
The Post Newspaper Features Editor
Wiping tears from my eyes and touching up my lipstick, with God’s help I walked into an event with several hundred people.
I had been looking forward to the evening for more than a month, but that week one of my dear friends had been buried at the VA National Cemetery in Houston, Texas. The last thing I wanted to do was be with a group of strangers.
It didn’t turn out to be a group of strangers. Instead, I found myself among friends—both those I knew and those I did not yet know.
Last year at the M.I. Lewis annual fundraiser, I witnessed community. This year, I felt the community in a personal way.
The first person to greet me asked my name. I gave it to her and was surprised when she said, “Ruth Ruiz, I’ve been seeing that name all over the place.”
It was a nice compliment.
She showed me my seat on the seating chart, and I continued with a feeling that I was in a place where I belonged.
I always find my table first so I can set my things down and gather my thoughts and impressions before covering an event. I could have simply attended, but covering events is my specialty, and since I was there, I felt compelled to proceed with my intentions.
The first familiar face I saw in the meeting area was Ginny Day, wife of our publisher. I assumed the table where she was sitting was mine, but my table was someplace else. So I set my belongings down and began taking in the evening.
My friend Genevieve McGarvey saw me. Maybe she gave me a hug, maybe she didn’t, but she saw me. She noticed me, and at that moment, that was all I needed.
Another friend, Terri O’Connell, came up and gave me a huge bear hug. She, like my friend who had passed, is an outstanding representative of Texas. I had not told Terri I was grieving, but she made things better with that unexpected bear hug.
As I was taking in my impressions of the event, a seat opened at the table with David and Ginny Day, so I was able to sit with them, which was a relief. I was not up for friendly chatting with strangers.
David, Ginny and I did not really chat. We had intermittent conversations throughout the evening. There is a difference. Chatting fills time. Conversation means something.
The other guests seated at the table felt familiar. They seemed like what I had always imagined Texans would be like—as though, if I had wanted to unburden myself, they would have listened.
But I did not.
I did tell the Days about my friend’s passing.
I had worked with William Hunton, or Bubba as I called him, since 2018. I was at his hospital bedside when David Day sent me a text telling me that Brandon Williams was in a different hospital.
Brandon, our sports editor, was close to passing, but God did not call him home.
Instead, He called Bubba home.
Once a Marine, always a Marine. Bubba embodied that belief. His loyalty was fierce, and he was forever on watch over me and everyone else he considered family or a friend.
He rarely talked about his years as a Marine, but I knew he had served in difficult places around the world.
After his honorable discharge from the Marine Corps, he worked in law enforcement with the Harris County Sheriff’s Office. His final assignment was serving in the Homeland Security Bureau’s narcotics division.
Our friendship grew out of my modeling career. Outside of his family and law enforcement, Bubba’s passion was photography, and we worked together more times than I can count.
Maybe that was why ordinary conversations meant so much to me that evening. I didn’t need anyone to say the right thing. I just needed to be among friends.
David Day, publisher of The Post Newspaper, asked about all my children and told me that every morning he includes me and my children in his prayers.
Ginny Day shared her excitement about her new purse.
We conversed the way friends do.
The three of us were deeply concerned about Brandon and quietly prayed for him.
All around me, there was a shindig going on—a Texas Style shindig!
The opening act featured the lovely Dickinson Diamonds, leaping and swirling in skirts designed to resemble the Texas flag. The ladies performed to “Deep in the Heart of Texas.”
Angelica Haneley, executive director of the M.I. Lewis Social Service Center, had a few words to say. I didn’t hear everything she said, but when she bowed her head, closed her eyes and began to pray, I felt the compassion of her and the people gathered there.
The entire room grew quiet. Cowboy hats were held close to men’s chests, and eyes were closed.
The spirit of community and God’s grace seemed to settle over the Charles T. Doyle Convention Center.
Though I did not hear every word Angleica Haneley said, I spoke with her husband, Tony Haneley, and some of his friends. They are proud to support the center because, as they agreed, M.I. Lewis is a place that helps people with just about anything they might need.
I only nibbled at my dinner, but I can say without a doubt that the meal was scrumptious.
It was Texas cowboy-style food: brisket, melt-in-your-mouth cornbread, marinated and roasted Brussels sprouts, and grits that definitely did not come out of an instant package. The meal was catered by Gator’s Bar and Grill.
After dinner, Tim Culp served as auctioneer, asking guests to pledge monthly donations to the center and then leading the auction of items such as fishing adventures.
The evening continued with line dancing and casino-style gaming tables.
Before I left, I stopped a gentleman and asked his name. He grabbed a stool and sat down for a moment because, he said, he was old.
He had also emceed the evening, and I needed his name.
Mitchell Dale, president of the Board of Directors, then shared a few thoughts with me.
“We’re helping people,” Dale said. “I and my family have been blessed, but you never know what’s going on with other people—what they might need or what might be hurting them. People come to the center because they need to, not because they want to. They are human beings, and we want to show them compassion.”
Then he asked who I was with.
I told him The Post Newspaper, and he thanked us for all we do for the community.
Dale added that he believes this year’s fundraiser may have raised more money than ever before.
Let’s hope so, because we all know there are many people who need the kind of support that they can receive at the M.I. Lewis Social Service Center.
My good friend Bubba is gone, and that evening a group of people who believe in helping others held an amazing shindig.
It wasn’t held in his honor, but for me, it somehow felt as though part of it was for him.
Bubba was one of those people who helped others. He believed people should take care of one another.
And I want to ask everyone to please keep Brandon in your prayers.
God did not take him, but he is not out of the woods yet. All of us at The Post Newspaper deeply hope and pray that he will remain an active part of our newspaper and our community for many years to come.
