Donna Kinard, Sandra Wiley, and I met in PInehurst to visit their 101-year-old friend Lucille Welch. Her spryness greatly exceeded my expectations.

She reminded me we had met during her brief stay at High Cotton Homes, an assisted living facility. Miss Lucille was 97 then and recovering from two broken legs. She had tripped on her way to the kitchen. “I like sweets,” she confessed with a mischievous grin. 

Doctors in Macon said surgery wasn’t an option. She suggested Atlanta’s physicians might see it differently. After four days of debate they fixed the breaks.

Miss Lucille told the staff at High Cotton Homes her stay would be temporary. They were politely unconvinced until two months later. She was rolled out the door but transitioned to a walker at home.  

Our local paper has covered one noteworthy part of her storied past. She and her late husband, Frank Welch, were at Pearl Harbor when the Japanese attacked on December 7, 1941. She’s now among the oldest with first-hand accounts. 

The couple’s courtship began when she was 16. For their first date Frank took her to Vienna to see a Roy Rogers movie. He left Dooly County, however, when his father insisted the peas needed picking one Saturday afternoon. He had other plans.

Pick peas or leave were the choices, so he hitchhiked to Atlanta. He lived in a four-story boarding house his aunt owned, a place which catered to Georgia Tech boys. 

Frank was at Pearl Harbor as a federal employee, a maintenance supervisor assisting the Navy. Lucille was an operator for the telephone company. She mentioned proxy weddings, something new to me, and said a lot of couples got married over the phone. Operators were privy to interesting calls.   

February 5, 1941, is when the young couple married. She stayed in Pinehurst until April 1, then left on a Greyhound bus headed to San Francisco en route to join her husband. California was the first place she encountered people of Asian descent, quite an experience for a Georgia farm girl who had never been anywhere. 

Admiring the huge ship that would take her to Hawaii was also a memorable moment. She recounted holding her big hat while wondering how she’d get aboard. It was her first of many walks on a gangplank.

Sandy Mount, a small rural school, is where Lucille Arflin completed the first seven grades. She transferred to Pinehurst and was in my father’s class for two years. Her dad then sent her to Vienna High, to her dismay, for the 10th and final 11th year.  She graduated with the Class of 1940. 

For his second career, Frank owned an auto parts store in Jacksonville, Florida. He retired in 1962 and deeded the business to their two sons so he and his adventurous wife could travel. They moved to Pinehurst, but spent a lot of time seeing the world.

Switzerland was her favorite of the 52 countries they visited. Italy was also special. A trip to Australia and New Zealand would, unknown to them, be their last. Frank died from cancer in 1993, 30 years ago.

Lucille worked with the welfare department in Jacksonville for 20 years and earned a partial retirement. “It’s not much,” she said with a laugh, “but I know when they send the checks they wonder when I’m going to die!”

Her brother, G. L. Arflin, is ten years her junior. He calls to check on her and asks, “Are you still here?” Miss Lucille is living proof that laughter is good medicine.

“I’m not a fancy eater,” she said. She favors old-fashioned cooking – black eyed peas, cornbread, okra, and such. She loves biscuits and has sweet potatoes every two or three days. 

Friends, family, and wonderful neighbors often stop by or call. “How fortunate can you be?” she asked cheerfully. “I enjoy life. I’m not a person to be sad, or let things bother me that I can’t do anything about. I wouldn’t change my life for nothing.” To feel that way at any age is remarkable. At 101 it’s miraculous.

Determination, simple foods, lots of laughter, and a grateful attitude only partially describe Mrs. Lucille Welch, but that’s plenty for us young folks to work on. 

Her spryness greatly exceeded my expectations. And so did everything else.