My wife and I attended the funeral of Joyce Bascom on Saturday, October 12. She had died two months earlier. Her life epitomized the Christian life in the best way possible. One might ask, “What would Joyce do?” in a given situation.
When we first attended our church, she was among the first people to welcome us, not just to say hi but to show genuine interest in who we were, where we came from, and how we started attending there. She was a very engaging person.
She was married to Paul, who she had known since grade school, for over 60 years until he died in 2015.
As noted in her obituary, she was actively involved in numerous causes, “including volunteering with the Red Cross, Traveler’s Aid, and Planned Parenthood. She worked tirelessly for the rights of all people, with a special focus on equality for the LGBTQ+ community.” Specifically, she was “chair of the More Light Committee, working to build inclusion in the Presbyterian church.”
What I learned at her funeral was that after her grandson Christopher was killed in an accident involving a drunk driver, she would meticulously clip articles about similar incidents and send them to an association dealing with driving while intoxicated. The organization created storyboards they could share with the media, creating a narrative that helped turn the tide.
In 2008, “Joyce was awarded the James and Pearl Campbell Peace and Justice Award by The Capital Area Council of Churches.”
Joyce “has always been a horse-girl since her father got her that first pony as a child… At the age of 84, many years after her last horse had passed away, Joyce got ‘back on the horse’ – taking riding lessons once a week.”
Action
After her funeral on Saturday, my wife and I were walking back to our car. A woman was walking up in the middle of State Street, holding the top of her head and limping. I could see even from a distance that the top of her head looked red.
She was walking by us and then decided to walk over to us. Apologetically, she shared how she had been mugged and hit on the head, with her wallet, her money, and her identification gone. She had been to hospitals, including Albany Med, and spoke about the extraordinary wait for care at Albany Med (notoriously true, unfortunately).
Social services told her she couldn’t receive help in Albany because she was receiving aid in her hometown in western Massachusetts. So she reluctantly asked for some money, and we gave her a twenty, which was all we had before we went to the bank.
We offered her a ride, but she demurred. My wife remembered that she had had some sandwiches in the refrigerator at church from a meeting five days earlier. They were probably a little bit underwhelming in taste, but they were still okay to eat. So my wife put them in a plastic bag we had in the car, offered them to this woman with the caveat as mentioned earlier, and she happily took them.
Afterward, I realized this was what Joyce Bascom would do, if not more. That’s why I enjoyed knowing her.
