If you look, you can still find heroes

My boyhood heroes included the usual: Roy Rogers. Mickey Mantle (of course). Roger Bannister, the runner who broke the four-minute mile. And Edmund Hillary, the first to scale Mount Everest.

Most are gone now, including, just this month, Mr. Hillary. I wasn't his only admirer; after his 1953 climb, it seems, the lowly beekeeper went on to build schools and hospitals for thousands.

His funeral was an event, according to The Associated Press: "Sherpas laid prayer scarves on Sir Edmund Hillary's coffin as thousands across New Zealand bid farewell to the Mount Everest conqueror. An honor guard held ice axes aloft as his casket was carried through their lines."

On a slightly smaller scale was the funeral of my wife's friend "Netter," which took place the day after Mr. Hillary died. Smaller, but impressive nonetheless.

Netter made a lot of friends in 68 years and kept her family close. Her funeral took place in a Missionary Baptist church packed with mourners. After every pew was filled, chairs were brought in for the aisles.

We arrived at 11:45 a.m., and it wasn't until about 3:05 that the eulogy ended. In between were glorious old hymns about storms and rain and the river, about getting washed in the water. Solo and choir singers told how the Lord will make a way for us, grace is amazing, God is smiling on us and Jesus is our friend.

The joyous, boisterous songs celebrated Netter's life and afterlife, broke through the tears and forced the crowded house to clap, smile and sway.

It was old-time gospel music, but it wasn't outdated. Three immaculately attired young men in front of us nodded at one another appreciatively as a much older woman up front belted out hymns of praise.

Speakers told stories of Netter's youth, her contributions, her suffering. She wasn't afraid to give her opinion, they reminded us, but everyone knew that. More than one repeated a line of hers: "I love you, and there's nothing you can do about it!"

After three hours of weeping, laughing, singing and praying, we walked out to the cemetery. Her husband, sons and siblings were surrounded, protected, comforted by a sea of souls dressed in outfits both formal and dazzling.

As we walked to our car, my wife and I said in unison: "This is the kind of funeral I want when I go!"

That isn't likely to happen -- for me, at least. I can't even get what family I have left to come visit, and then there's the little matter of not being as well-loved as Netter. Her funeral did make me want to be a better person, though.

At my age, I'm still worshipping heroes.

Reach Glynn Moore at (706) 823-3419 or glynn.moore@augustachronicle.com.