TODAY WAS THE FUNERAL OF DEAN BAILEY, BORN AND STAYED A LOCAL GOOD MAN.

Dean Bailey was a son of gun, and a son of a Bishop. It was clear that Dean and his little brothers and sister would always stay on the straight and narrow, as his Daddy-Don Bailey was tough enough to take them all on at once, and the kids stayed pretty much on that fine line. Dean was a classmate of mine and the other close knit Class of 65. He was actually way older than me, however, as the Stork dropped me over the Jones Abode 32 days later. That was when many of the kids including Dean, had chores to do before and after school, and walked to and from school, as most kids did that on a routine basis. Dean must have more smarts that us lower IQ dumbbells', as he waited until many of his 100 school mates went off to college or to the front line of a foreign hell-hole called Nam. As soon as we were out of site, Dean started to sing to Ann Hall, and Heaven knows that Deano couldn't sing a lick like the Martin of Dean. Ann was a classmate, and she wasn't just beautiful, but smart too. I had to take a break to go through the 1965 Nebonian, and although Ann made an entry in my book, she and most of the kids didn't believe I could survive rolling down two flights of cement stairs like I did. That may be why Ann chose Dean as her one and only. I did have to say Hi to Ann on the way out, and told her I felt bad for what she had to endure, not only losing two of their kids, but being the caregiver to Dean. Funerals are not known for content and happiness, but as I sat near the last row of the filled chapel, I finally felt at home. Behind me were cousins Paula Garrett; Ilene Sanders; in front of me was war torn Glen Davis and his two sisters and to my left was Jimmy Ockey, and I pretended Ralph Murray was in his regular place on the back row so he could plug in the speaker system, but for some reason, the Bishop wasn't J. Ivan Tew; Donald Bailey or even Ralph Chase, but I could feel their presence and as all were 4th Warders, and when they may be called home, we all can care for Dean, so Ann can rest a bit as he is taken care of. I then gazed to my right and up near the top, I could sense my father-Alma Jones who was busy doing the stucco work, as that is what all 4th Warders did when that chapel was built. I mixed the mud while he plastered. Ann, Dean is well taken care of just like Perry did for you kids, and I felt comfort for your grandparents, as my father and me stuccoed their home. I felt more at my real home in the 4th Ward, as Nephi is not the Nephi we grew up in, and when we are called home to our real home, your folks & Dean will be there. That is not a bluff, although I have brain damage. Just the facts, Maam.