Carol Whatley walked into Van Zandt Newspapers one day and said, “You need my help, you need a proofreader.”

At first, we were all taken aback by this onslaught of forthrightness, but then realized that we probably did need her help, and after all, she was working for free. She reminded us of that often, and would march right out the door whenever she felt like it. If she needed to go, she went, and if she stayed it was because she wanted to, and if she had something to say, she’d say it. And boy, will we miss her. Carol passed away last Monday, and we are feeling the loss of her absence.

The first time I met Carol, she looked at me and said, “Your articles are good but messy. Write better.” I didn’t know whether to burst out in tears or laugh awkwardly. Instead, I just looked at her until she said, “We can do it together, come here let me show you.” So, I went and well, that was that.

There are just some people who you connect with, and Carol and I both felt this kindred spirt type of energy the first few times we met. In fact, she looked at me dead in the eye and said, “We’re going to be friends,” after the first few days of me being terrified of this grammar genius.

She made the daily trek from Martins Mill every Tuesday and Thursday to help us proofread the papers, at her own expense. We knew not to walk up behind her and spook her while she was in her proofing zone, she’d likely jump about half a foot and then scold us for sneaking up on her.

I don’t think I ever looked back after becoming friends with Carol. Neither did any of us in the office to be fair. She was your friend whether you were looking for one or not. She never shied away from a good conversation or a hard crossword puzzle. The lady was a genius, and I’ve never met someone more intelligent, witty, and down to earth as Carol was. How do you package a firecracker personality in a small shell? Who knows, but Carol sure did it well. She stood barely 5 foot something but had the personality and confidence of a person much taller and larger.

She often told me, “Your brain is too fast for your fingers. Slow down, I’m having to work too hard correcting your mistakes.” She was like that, funny but also astute. She also had a hard time not correcting people with their pronunciation of words. In one of her columns she stated, “It’s so hard for me not to correct people, but honestly -- it’s so irritating. And I’m also certain I don’t do anything wrong ever, in any way. I’m fed up and sick with the whole thing.”

I even convinced her to start writing columns and recipes for the papers. She also joined us when we celebrated birthdays, occasions, and everything in between. She became part of the family, she celebrated our highs and lows, cheered us on when things got tough and was always ready to listen to our woes and offer guidance when we asked for it. She was a true friend in every sense of the word. She babysat my kids in time of dire distress, shared thoughts on books and politics, joined in on afterhours dinners and taught me many lessons she had learned from her life.

Carol didn’t do anything lightly, she often told me she had one talent in life and that was seeing grammar mistakes. I disagreed. She was wonderful and so very cherished by many people who knew her. She had great vigor for the loves in her life including her First Husband (what she called her only husband) Mike, her son, Josh, her two grandchildren who she doted on and her many, many dogs that she considered family, especially Fat Tanner and her weenie dog Tubby.

Carol had a way with words, was a wit at turning a phrase, had a knack for remembering things about two days after she needed to remember something. She was a published author, even though she’d get my goose right now if I end up publishing this part. Her columns she began writing for us were put together by her sister, Laurie Kline, who surprised Carol with the bound book and her husband even kept the secret from her. I even coaxed her into signing a copy for me, which she acted like was a big ordeal, but I secretly think she liked it. “Theories and Certainties from Big Cedar Ranch,” is the name of her book and one of her columns gives a glimpse into Carol’s sense of humor, and it is also one of Carol’s favorite columns titled, “The State Fair of Texas,” on page 111 of her book.

An excerpt reads, “As soon as we arrived on the grounds, we headed for the rides, and believing I’m still 22 years old and a thrill seeker, I opted for the rollercoaster. I’ve thought a lot about that decision, and I still don’t understand it. Anyway, our 10-year-old grandson and one of his parents were in the car in front of me, and I was in the VERY LAST CAR, ALONE. There was no one there for me to keep me in my place. I should have known there was trouble afoot when the operator told me to take off my sunglasses. Anyway, I got flung about mercilessly, and a few times I knew in my heart I would land somewhere out there, and First Husband would become very rich, which would be grossly unfair.”

She was warm and caring when she needed to be but always had the right, smart words to say that made you see reason and think outside an emotional standpoint. She was wonderful, and I can’t describe it any other way. She was friends with many people, and I know she made a mark on numerous lives. She will be missed greatly by the Van Zandt Newspapers team, we feel as if we have lost a family member, and in truth, we have.

How do I sum up who a person is, how they were needed and brought so many new facets of life to numerous people with one article? I can’t and I won’t. But I digress. (That catchphrase I learned from Carol personally, it was one of her favorites, ‘I digress.”)

Carol, did though. In her wise ways, she said goodbye, we just didn’t know it yet. She kept showing up at the office, and she penned this column:

“If Neil Armstrong had called in sick that day, someone else would have been first on the moon. But he showed up and made a bit of a splash in the Sea of Tranquility. If Steven Spielberg hadn’t made it to film school we would not have “Jaws” or “E.T.” But he showed up and now we fear sharks and love aliens. If Claude Monet hadn’t spent his wife’s egg money on paints and canvases, we would not have “The Magpie” - my favorite of all his works - but he showed up and we have his beautiful artwork that we can’t own because it’s worth millions. Imagine what life would have been like for all of us if Albert Einstein and Steven Hawking hadn’t shown up. Or Edgar Allen Poe and Maya Angelou. Or Barbra Streisand and Johnny Mathis. Not to mention The Property Brothers. All these people went to the trouble and made our lives more interesting. Not that I put myself in their stratosphere, but everyone is important to someone, and we owe it to those who care about us to make the effort.”

Carol, we are so thankful that you showed up. You can put yourself in that stratosphere. Carol left us with these words, words of comfort and of wit, which was her specialty:

“The Bible tells us that when our bodies die and our spirits ascend (hopefully), all things will become known to us, and all our questions will be answered. I hope this is true. At the same time, I won’t be able to shout out the stuff I had forgotten earlier, because I won’t have forgotten. It will all be known. I hope I remember to ask the several thousand questions I have when I arrive there. Somebody remind me, okay?”

I will miss my friend.

A celebration of life for Carol Robinson Whatley, 72, was held at 2 p.m., Tuesday, May 31, 2022, at Eubank Funeral Home in Canton. Following the celebration of life a reception was held at 3 p.m. Fond memories and expressions of sympathy can be shared at www.eubankfh.com for the Whatley family.