Allen Townes Cunningham was my ‘big’ sister, meaning she was older — born four years to the day before I was born on April 10, 1956. I was her ‘little’ brother. One time when I visited her in Dallas, she prepared her first-grade students for my classroom visit saying “My little brother will be coming to our room!” Her first graders at Hyer Elementary in Dallas were surprised when I walked in the classroom standing six feet two inches tall, not the ‘little’ four-foot person they had pictured.
I say “was” because my dear sister recently died after journeying over three years with cancer, an exacting teacher.
If it weren’t for Allen, so much of my life would be diminished. Among other things, it was she who introduced me to The Beatles. It was she who paved the way for me to become a Kappa Delta houseboy, a role I served in for four years. (Allen was a KD at Ole Miss and when she found out I had applied for the job of houseboy at her chapter house, she told me not to worry because I was a legacy and they had to take me. It turns out this wasn’t true, but it was a real confidence booster for a young college student.)
As children, Allen and I were typical opposite-sex siblings, sharing a mutual disregard of each other. That is until we learned that our parents were divorcing. I was in junior high and she was in high school. The divorce came as a complete surprise to us and we held on to each other tightly during this sad and disruptive time.
As the years passed, we came to appreciate each other’s company, and actually enjoyed a bit of sibling rivalry. On occasions when we each found ourselves in beautiful surroundings, we’d take a picture of ourselves, text it to the other, and caption it with “I’m here and you’re not.” Also, when our beloved Uncle Drew Townes would send each of us a $100 birthday check, I would casually tease her saying that he wrote me a check for $150 and await her reaction. Silly, I know, but it was our ritual.
For all the advantages of growing up in a small town, children of a well-loved doctor, Allen did not have a charmed young adulthood. Unlucky in love, she poured herself into teaching kindergarten - third graders in Dallas. After a brief, failed marriage, whose only redeeming aspect was to have become a step-mother to two wonderful young children, she returned to Jackson to marry an old flame, Doug Cunningham. She was overjoyed.
It was very fortunate for me that Allen and Doug allowed me to stay as a guest at their home while I was working in Jackson with my nonprofit clients. It was delightful to have Allen closer by after she had spent 24 years in Texas, which is almost 800 miles away from where I live in Atlanta, Ga.
Allen was a huge supporter of all that I undertook. She enjoyed the fact that I submitted articles to this paper for publication, and she waited with high anticipation for her newspaper to arrive to read my next contribution. The first articles about Alpine Camp and John Claypool were the warm and fuzzy articles she liked to read. Then, when I wrote (mostly contrary to her opinions) pieces about Trump, abortion, and guns, she held her nose and praised me anyway for my writing talents, if only because my subjects and predicates agreed.
Allen loved music, her dear friends and family, her church, and all things Ole Miss. She leaves those of us who remain with many cherished memories of time spent in her company. Allen loved well, and was well loved. As sad as this season of her dying has been for her family and friends, I realize that we are the lucky ones. We have lived with and been loved by Allen. Nothing is lost. I trust she is now home in the heart of God, from whom all blessings flow.
Allen, I’m still here and you’re not, and I will miss you so very much. Hug Mama and Daddy for me.
Rob Townes was raised in Grenada. He resides in Decatur, Ga., but family, friends and business often bring him back to his ancestral state.
