HARRIETTE: THE GRANDEST DAME OF THEM ALL

“Time and trouble will tame an advanced young woman, but an advanced old woman is uncontrollable by any earthly force.”

                                                                        Dorothy L. Sayers

“Older women know who they are, and that makes them more beautiful than younger ones. I like to see a face with some character. I want to see lines. I want to see wrinkles.”

                                                                         Naveen Andrews     

“I’m drawn to female stories, of which there aren’t that many, and particularly stories now about older women. The things they have to confront and override is really fascinating. That’s a whole untold part of our world.”

                                                                         Marianne Elliot

“Older women are like aging strudels—the crust may not be so lovely, but the filling has come at last into its own.”

                                                                         Robert Farrar Capon

“Confucius would give his seat to an old woman. Communist cadres, on the other hand, took the best seats and called it a cultural revolution.”

                                                                        Gerald Vizenor

One of the really great things about our limited sojourn on earth is the number of remarkable people that God brings into our lives.

Almost always in the most unexpected ways.

And always at just the right window of time.

My life has been particularly blessed by elderly women—women in their late 80s, 90s and 100s—each of whom made indelible impressions on my life and have been valuable fonts of wisdom.

I learned this week of the death of one of these elegant elderly ladies, Harriette E. Burns-Hursh (1936-2025). When my friend Marcia Ellendar learned that I was heading to the College of the Ozarks as a visiting professor several years ago, she told me “you must meet my friend Harriette.” After a phone call or two I arranged to meet Harriett and her husband Oliver (1935-2024) during a Sunday morning service at the Grace Community Church in Branson, Missouri. Afterwards, they treated me to lunch at the local Bob Evans Restaurant. (The first of many meals we would share together over the years).

Over time, they adopted me as their own.

How do I describe this remarkable and unique lady?

Harriett was, first and foremost, a Christian fireball!

In that way she reminded me of my mom.

Harriett was an unapologetic advocate for the life of the unborn.

Marcia likes to tell the story about how Harriette and Robert (Marcia’s husband and then-pastor) were tossed into jail in Wisconsin for protesting in front of an abortion clinic. At the time, their small congregation met in the basement of Harriette and Bill Burns[1]house and their yard was peppered with signs proclaiming “abortion is MURDER!”

She resigned her position as head nurse at the Milwaukee County Hospital because she was certain she would be fired when the administrator’s learned about her jail experience and to protest the hospital’s plans to accept a federal grant to facilitate the performing of abortions.

Let me apologize in advance for those of you who are offended by Harriette’s defense of the lives of the unborn: to her it wasn’t a political issue but a deeply moral one, not an issue of convenience for would-be mothers but rather the sacredness of life.

Harriette not only championed the cause of the unborn but for life in general. After her first husband—and love of her life—died in 1998, she traveled to GLOW meetings[2]throughout the country with an incredible testimony.

While she was a head nurse in Wisconsin, one of the country’s most famous stock-car racers had a son who was involved in a car accident nearby leaving him with severe injuries and comatose. They admitted him to the hospital where Harriette worked. After a few days, the doctors advised the family to take the boy off all life support systems as they could find no signs of brain activity. But he was Harriett’s patient. Harriette stood against the doctors and staff and prayed for the boy multiple times during her shifts. After several weeks, to the amazement of the doctors and the boy’s family, the boy came out of the coma and suddenly sat up in the hospital bed. When Harriette walked into the room, he said “you’re the one! I could see you. I heard you praying for me.”

Some of you may find that hard to believe.

But the boy is alive today due to Harriette’s faith in Jesus Christ and her stubborn persistence.

Harriette was unashamed to speak out. During one of my semesters at CofO, I was invited to speak at a convocation. I asked Harriett and Oliver if they would like to attend. When I encouraged the students to live a life serving something more important than themselves, Harriette yelled out as loud as she could “Amen brother!”

Most of the students in the audience had never heard that said in church, let alone during a college convocation. I still can recall the look of astonishment in their eyes.

But that was Harriette!

I grew to respect Harriette for her genuine humanness. We would eat regularly after church. (Always with a dessert).

During those years I taught at the college, the three of us would frequently eat out. Oliver and I both liked the huge stack of fresh tomatoes at the Western Sizzlin’ restaurant in nearby Harrison, Arkansas. I would meet them at a parking spot near the entrance to Johnny Morris’s “Top of the Rock” resort complex. Oliver always liked to drive their car, an old battleship-sized Mercury Grand Marquis sedan, (I think). Harriette would sit in the back seat. On one occasion, Oliver didn’t proceed all the way through the intersection and turned down the wrong direction of the four-lane highway. “Oliver, you’re heading the wrong way,” I told him, looking at traffic coming straight toward us. “Oliver,” Harriette shrieked at the top of her lungs from the back seat, “you’re going to get us killed.” Oliver, seemingly nonplussed, steered the car across the median strip barely missing a concrete culvert, the car bumping, bouncing and lurching, its frame chewing out large hunks of roadside ravine soil along the way. All of our heads nearly hit the roof of the passenger compartment and I grabbed the dashboard to brace myself in sheer terror. Oliver, somehow hanging onto the steering wheel, avoided the oncoming traffic, squealed onto the road heading in the right direction. “Sorry about that,” he said with his Ozark accent.

In the back seat, Harriette tried to compose herself, sat back up and verbally, (and mercilessly) read the riot act to poor Oliver the rest of the way to the restaurant—and back.

The rest of my time in Branson, I needled Oliver at every opportunity about our near-death experience. It always prompted an appropriate (and hilarious) response from Harriette. Oliver always took it in stride.

It goes without saying that Harriette had what she considered a valid back seat driver’s license. One trip, as usual with Oliver behind the wheel, we traveled deep into Arkansas to watch a herd of elk. It was a beautiful sight as in the early evening dew several elk came down out of the woods to feed at a creek-side meadow. On the way back home, however, Oliver got lost and took the wrong road. The fog made it difficult to see road signs. Harriette reminded him of his oversight with every passing mile.

In common with the rest of the masculine human species, Oliver refused to stop and ask for directions. I made the mistake of agreeing with Oliver: better to get lost and figure out a way of escape than stop and ask for directions. At that point, I became a co-target of Harriette’s taunts. Eventually we stumbled on a road that took us back home.

But it came at a cost.

Harriette and Oliver were about as opposite as any two individuals who ever exchanged marriage vows. Harriette was the very picture of grace and refined bearing, always impeccably dressed, and Oliver, on the other hand, was common as dirt, a former Marine drill sergeant, and yet a remarkably sensitive and caring son of the rugged Ozark Mountains. I loved to get them talking about how they first met. Their two versions were just as different as their personalities.

As I mentioned earlier, Harriette used to travel widely to speak at GLOW meetings. During a meal after one of these sessions, she was seated at a large table with an unoccupied chair next to her. Oliver, who was in the same city representing the Gideon’s,[3] seated himself beside her. At one point during the meal, Oliver—a widower at the time—looked at Harriette and said, “God told me we are going to get married.”

Harriette looked at him in surprise. “I’m on a first-name basis with God,” she said, “and He has told me nothing of the sort.”

What happened afterwards depends on which one is talking. To Oliver, their future union was decided and ordained by God and as such a matter of time. To Harriette, Oliver relentlessly pursued, even calling her constantly overseas (where a famous general took a liking to her). In Harriette’s version, Oliver wore her down and she got tired of resisting. 

I was sure the truth lay somewhere between the two versions.

Yet somehow it all worked. They were happy as clams, shared a love of God and church activities, lived a simple existence in a beautiful brick home in Blue Eye, Missouri, and doted on a small dachshund.

I loved them both!

Harriette was also a huge sports fan. She made it known to anyone who would listen how much she loved “her” Green Bay Packers and Aaron Rogers. (She surprised everybody at church one Sunday morning during the NFL playoffs by wearing a Green Bay jersey).

In addition, Harriette loved my wife Imogene. When Ima came to visit me on campus the two of them would go shopping at the Belk’s in Branson (Harriette loved her shoes). After Harriette learned of Ima’s love for tea sets, she began sending tea pots.

Harriette was a generous giver.

One final story. During one of Ima’s visits, we made the pilgrimage to the Western Sizzlin’ in Harrison, for a meal of steak tips, peppers and onions, and—of course—fresh tomatoes. Oliver drove. At the restaurant, Oliver donned his Korean War veteran’s cap and I wore my Vietnam Air Force veteran’s hat. A couple sitting next to us studied us and listened to our conversation. When they were finished with their meal, they thanked Oliver and I for our military service. They told us their son had recently enlisted. Then they left.

In a few minutes, our waitress came by the table and told us that the couple had paid for our meal—all four of us. Ima rushed out the door and thanked them in the parking lot. They told her they were pastors at a nearby church and had enjoyed our conversation about the things of God.

We still hope to visit the church.

But now without Oliver or Harriette.

The bottom line: God’s blessings followed Harriette Burns-Hursh like chicks follow a mother hen.

I will miss her dearly.

[1] Harriett used to describe her first husband as a loving Christian man and an accomplished artist. Bill, a Coast Guard veteran, lived from 1918-1998.

[2] GLOW (God Loving Obeying Women, Inc.) is a Christian women’s organization that seeks to inspire women from all walks of life to achieve self-fulfillment while building Godly relationships. The ministry teaches women how to trust God with all their heart and how to tap into the power that God has put on the inside of them to create positive change in their lives.

[3] Gideon’s International began in 1908 as an association of Christian businessmen who placed bibles in hotel rooms and distributed scriptures in schools. Oliver Hursch was a firm believer in the group’s ministry and a staunch supporter.