Words, Mere Words • Eulogies

W. Harding 'Doc' Kneedler - In Memory

1900 - 2002

Copyright © 2002 John P M Dillon

I always called him "Doc," this gentle man. His medical training perhaps inspired the moniker, but Doc was not just a physician, he was a mender of souls, a healer of spirit, a friend. His devout religious background, coupled with his studious application of medicine, insured that he could hear more than just a heartbeart, feel more than just a pulse, see more than just a chunk of flesh hanging on a human frame. He heard unspoken cries of inner grief, felt the inner wounds of the spirit, and saw the inner good of troubled souls. Nor did he simply hear, feel, or see. He healed, he touched, he opened other eyes to the joy of his own health--health of body, health of spirit, health of faith.

I saw Doc rarely, wrote to him infrequently, listened to him carelessly, but loved him dearly. His family can better describe his many accomplishments. I know very little, yet am inspired by his deeds. As a missionary doctor in Chiang Mai, Siam, he was chased out by the Japanese in World War II. He returned twice more to serve this remote community, accessible only by river until recent times, in order to improve the lives of its distant citizens.

One need not share Doc's beliefs to admire the conviction of his faith, to be soothed by his gentle nature, to accept with humility the honor of knowing this great man. Yes, I consider him a great man.

Just ask Sonisa and Chatchai, who went to visit him one afternoon. The Thai couple, new to the area, had to stop for directions several times. Each time they mentioned his name, the strangers they approached knew of Doc and spoke of him with reverence and respect, kindness and concern. Since 1989 Doc had lived at The Pines retirement community in Davidson, NC, where long ago he had a medical practice.

Just ask my friend Dori, who only met Doc once, while in Phoenix. Together we hiked a mountain. Afterwards we visited a local restaurant for breakfast. Dori's mom, in her 70's, had recently experienced serious heart surgery. Doc, age 91, discussed different treatments available, including contemporary medicines and their dosage appropriate to her condition. Dori later described her amazement--Doc's knowledge was current and factual though the programs he described had not existed until long after he'd retired from practice.

Just ask his children, Connie, Alice and Bill, or his grandchildren, Catherine, Bryan, Rick, Erin, and Mimi. Just ask granddaughter Laura, who followed in Doc's spiritual footsteps. Just ask anyone in Chiang Mai. Just ask anyone who ever met him.

Doc's greatness is described not by great deeds for the few, but by a great number of good deeds for the many. He has ministered to thousands, applying practical medicine when needed, providing counseling when called for, and offering spiritual solutions always.

As I write this, Doc has not yet passed away, but his eyes are looking beyond me, beyond Donna, beyond family and friends. When I last saw Doc to say goodbye, his eyes looked beyond all the people of this earth. Instead, he looked forward to the afterlife in which he so strongly believed. His feeble hands reached out to embrace his wife, his lost friends, his creator whom he has praised for over a century. Though his voice was silent when we last met, it's easy to imagine that his heart was belting out songs of rapture, of rebirth, of never ending joy. His faith sustained him even as his flesh withered away. His faith gave him the strength to leave this plane with peace and grace.

As I write this, alone in the woods of North Carolina, a chill hangs in the grey air. The temperature invites shivers and my body trembles in the cold breeze. The dead leaves rustle on the ground, but the needles of tall pines remain green and full. Birds cry in the distance while squirrels dance around the trees. Though it is winter here, the scene reminds us that spring will soon follow, grey skies turning blue, the woods filling again with new life, new vitality, a new generation of creatures and men, a new crop of hopes and dreams.

As I write this, I remember Doc's generous nature, his gentle touch, his warmth, his love. I have said goodbye to the kind of man that inspires the best in all of us. I shall miss him, as shall we all, each in our own way. I always called him "Doc," this gentle man, and I shall always remember the kind and compassionate way he treated my spirit.

(Page last updated: Sun, Sep 11 2005)