Annie M. Stancil
May 19, 1931 - Jan. 3. 2014
"A Godly Woman"
Annie Mildred (Bratton) Stancil was born May 19, 1931 in Greensboro, North Carolina. She was the third of nine children to the late Edward and Maggie Bratton. In 1952, Annie Mildred moved to Paterson, New Jersey.
Upon arriving in Paterson, it was not Long before she joined her Aunt Blake at the Bethel Church of Christ, located at 282 Governor Street, under the pastorate of the late (then Elder) Bishop James I. Clark, Sr. She was baptized in Jesus' Name and after receiving the gift of the Holy Ghost, Annie Mildred became a faithful, working member of the church. She also served faithfully under the next pastor, the late (then Elder) Bishop R.N. Jones.
She was strong-willed, sometimes to a fault. She was out-spoken but homes and respectful. Although, she had not excelled in her gift of playing the piano, she became the church musician. She testified of the time Bishop Jones prayed for her hands, that she would play under the anointing and be perfected.
God honored his prayer and she became known throughout the church world for her ability to sing and to play under the power of the Almighty God, and singing and playing blessed congregations for years to come. Hallelujah to God! In 1968, God had another road for Sister Stancil to travel, when He opened up an opportunity to use her musical talents at Bethlehem Missionary Baptist Church, in Newark to become their church musician.
She was not just the church organist, but she was a friend, a sister, a daughter, a mother and an example of Godly woman. Everyone knew she loved good food, and there was a quest, on the part of the members, to see who could feed her best. Her best times was when she would take trips with the church or when she and Aunt Margaret would go south to family reunions or the Christmas and birthday gatherings. Everyone loved her and wanted her to be a part of their lives.
To read the full obituary, please follow this link at http://www.braggfuneralhome.com/obituary/Annie-Mildred-Bratton-Stancil/Paterson-NJ/1329631
Upon arriving in Paterson, it was not Long before she joined her Aunt Blake at the Bethel Church of Christ, located at 282 Governor Street, under the pastorate of the late (then Elder) Bishop James I. Clark, Sr. She was baptized in Jesus' Name and after receiving the gift of the Holy Ghost, Annie Mildred became a faithful, working member of the church. She also served faithfully under the next pastor, the late (then Elder) Bishop R.N. Jones.
She was strong-willed, sometimes to a fault. She was out-spoken but homes and respectful. Although, she had not excelled in her gift of playing the piano, she became the church musician. She testified of the time Bishop Jones prayed for her hands, that she would play under the anointing and be perfected.
God honored his prayer and she became known throughout the church world for her ability to sing and to play under the power of the Almighty God, and singing and playing blessed congregations for years to come. Hallelujah to God! In 1968, God had another road for Sister Stancil to travel, when He opened up an opportunity to use her musical talents at Bethlehem Missionary Baptist Church, in Newark to become their church musician.
She was not just the church organist, but she was a friend, a sister, a daughter, a mother and an example of Godly woman. Everyone knew she loved good food, and there was a quest, on the part of the members, to see who could feed her best. Her best times was when she would take trips with the church or when she and Aunt Margaret would go south to family reunions or the Christmas and birthday gatherings. Everyone loved her and wanted her to be a part of their lives.
To read the full obituary, please follow this link at http://www.braggfuneralhome.com/obituary/Annie-Mildred-Bratton-Stancil/Paterson-NJ/1329631
In Dedication
Mary Lou
October 22, 1933 - April 27, 2011
"Mary had a little lamb"
This is a poem dedicated to Grandma; the last words of encouragement to her children.
Mother’s Words
Children,
I’m taking this moment in time to say
May God be with you on this day
For I know it hurts deep inside
Where sadness in the heart resides
But don’t you all shed any tears for me
‘Cause I’ve lived a blessed life, you see
To watch you all grow, so wonderfully
And become what God has destined you to be
Our lives are filled with sweet memories
With love and laughter, we must treasure these
So never take for granted, the times we’d share
Keep this alive and know I’ll always be there.
In this life, remember we all are passing through
Where the heavenly gates are awaiting you
My time has come to say goodbye
I’m not alone on the other side
So to my sons
My daughters
grandchildren
and
beyond
Take rest in Jesus, it won’t be long
Until we meet again
“I love you.”
Mother’s Words
Children,
I’m taking this moment in time to say
May God be with you on this day
For I know it hurts deep inside
Where sadness in the heart resides
But don’t you all shed any tears for me
‘Cause I’ve lived a blessed life, you see
To watch you all grow, so wonderfully
And become what God has destined you to be
Our lives are filled with sweet memories
With love and laughter, we must treasure these
So never take for granted, the times we’d share
Keep this alive and know I’ll always be there.
In this life, remember we all are passing through
Where the heavenly gates are awaiting you
My time has come to say goodbye
I’m not alone on the other side
So to my sons
My daughters
grandchildren
and
beyond
Take rest in Jesus, it won’t be long
Until we meet again
“I love you.”
James Richardson
February 18, 1928 - November 18, 2007
"A jack of all trades"
This is my grandfather. Most people knew him as Bopsey or Jimmy, but I called him Grandpa. In his life, he was a fan of jazz music, a drummer, a craftsman, storyteller, gardener, historian, intellectual, collector, a lover of the French language, an avid reader, master of scheduling television, and a father to five children. What I remember most about Grandpa as a young child was that he was an early riser who began his day recycling in the streets of Paterson. He would grab his cart and troll down Union Blvd. gathering as many aluminum cans and glass bottles as possible. When he was done he would most likely tend to his garden of red tomatoes and other growing vegetables followed by letting Husky (the family dog) out to run and play. Back then Husky had a partner Trigger, but he passed away.
Later during the day when I would come over, I would find Grandpa lying upstairs in his twin- sized bed watching TV. He would always give you butterscotch candy as a welcoming present. We would sit and talk about what I wanted to be when I grew up, or he would give me a history lesson about belonging to the Blackfoot Indian Tribe. I’d never forget the day I told him I wanted to become a forensic pathologist. He truly was supportive to this new career aside from my other career choices as a lawyer, surgeon, news reporter, dancer, detective and whatever other careers I would dream about. Every time I would see him he would say, “Who-you, gal?” That was his way of responding to all his grandchildren. I would say, “It’s me, Grandpa.” He would reply, “Are you a forensic pathologist yet?” My answer would always be no even till this day.
It’s amazing how I realize how much we shared in common. There were times when we would converse in basic conversational French until the day I discovered the Spanish language. That would drive him insane when I began calling him “abuelo” instead of Grandpa, or greeted him with “Hola” instead of Hello. Just as long as it was French he would talk to me, but for some odd reason when it was Spanish he’d prefer English. He'd say, "Speak English gal, I can't understand you."
My grandfather and I shared many great times. As a child you believe that your family lives forever. You’d never think that one day they will no longer be with you. I do not remember the first time my grandfather went to the hospital, but I heard that it was a mild stroke that caused the first of many episodes that would weaken his life. The first time I saw the stroke happening before my eyes was the day I came over, and he was in the kitchen getting a glass of water. I noticed that he was moving very slowly and he did not turn to face me. Finally when he did, I saw his face was disfigured. At that time, I did not know that a stroke would look like that. I was scared. I went back outside but can’t recall where I was heading. It didn’t occur to me what had just taken place or that this would be one of the last images of my grandfather resonating in my mind.
So a couple of years later when I came to visit Paterson from Charlotte, I went to see him in the hospital. As soon as I walked into the room, I was overtaken by a weeping of emotions that I knew the time was coming to say goodbye. Once I gathered my composure, my grandmother wheeled my grandfather out for some fresh air. I don’t remember what we talked about. My ears were filled with silence and my heart was in sadness. The grandpa that I knew and loved was on his way into the afterlife. It was only a matter of a little over two months that he would pass away.
Now that I am older, seven years later since his death, I can’t help but see my grandfather’s spirit living among his first, second, and third generations. As for me, I did happen to inherit some interesting character traits: a brownie lover, an avid TV watcher and programmer, a love for the romantic languages, a story-teller (a writer go figure) and most of all a dibble dabbler in a little bit of this and a little bit of that. Bopsey is what they called him, but his name was James.
Later during the day when I would come over, I would find Grandpa lying upstairs in his twin- sized bed watching TV. He would always give you butterscotch candy as a welcoming present. We would sit and talk about what I wanted to be when I grew up, or he would give me a history lesson about belonging to the Blackfoot Indian Tribe. I’d never forget the day I told him I wanted to become a forensic pathologist. He truly was supportive to this new career aside from my other career choices as a lawyer, surgeon, news reporter, dancer, detective and whatever other careers I would dream about. Every time I would see him he would say, “Who-you, gal?” That was his way of responding to all his grandchildren. I would say, “It’s me, Grandpa.” He would reply, “Are you a forensic pathologist yet?” My answer would always be no even till this day.
It’s amazing how I realize how much we shared in common. There were times when we would converse in basic conversational French until the day I discovered the Spanish language. That would drive him insane when I began calling him “abuelo” instead of Grandpa, or greeted him with “Hola” instead of Hello. Just as long as it was French he would talk to me, but for some odd reason when it was Spanish he’d prefer English. He'd say, "Speak English gal, I can't understand you."
My grandfather and I shared many great times. As a child you believe that your family lives forever. You’d never think that one day they will no longer be with you. I do not remember the first time my grandfather went to the hospital, but I heard that it was a mild stroke that caused the first of many episodes that would weaken his life. The first time I saw the stroke happening before my eyes was the day I came over, and he was in the kitchen getting a glass of water. I noticed that he was moving very slowly and he did not turn to face me. Finally when he did, I saw his face was disfigured. At that time, I did not know that a stroke would look like that. I was scared. I went back outside but can’t recall where I was heading. It didn’t occur to me what had just taken place or that this would be one of the last images of my grandfather resonating in my mind.
So a couple of years later when I came to visit Paterson from Charlotte, I went to see him in the hospital. As soon as I walked into the room, I was overtaken by a weeping of emotions that I knew the time was coming to say goodbye. Once I gathered my composure, my grandmother wheeled my grandfather out for some fresh air. I don’t remember what we talked about. My ears were filled with silence and my heart was in sadness. The grandpa that I knew and loved was on his way into the afterlife. It was only a matter of a little over two months that he would pass away.
Now that I am older, seven years later since his death, I can’t help but see my grandfather’s spirit living among his first, second, and third generations. As for me, I did happen to inherit some interesting character traits: a brownie lover, an avid TV watcher and programmer, a love for the romantic languages, a story-teller (a writer go figure) and most of all a dibble dabbler in a little bit of this and a little bit of that. Bopsey is what they called him, but his name was James.