Monday, November 16, 2020
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I met Pam Felts on the morning of July 7, 1996 when my mother enrolled me at Carousel Daycare Center. I was not thrilled to be there, as I was the oldest youth by a longshot. The overseer of the school-aged group was a very quiet woman who didn’t appear to be much happier to be there than I was. Sitting next to one another of by ourselves while the kids were on the playground, we struck up a conversation. I don’t remember what was said, but I know that it sparked a friendship that would last the rest of our lives.
On August 25, 2003, I began my first day at Wytheville Community College. The first person I saw as I went through the giant doors of Smyth Hall was my old friend Pam. She was answering the phone, sitting in a rounded cubicle in the middle of the long hallway that resembled a spaceship. She was pursuing the last of her three Associate’s Degrees and was operating the switchboard as part of a work-study program. The little cubicle became my base for the two years I was a college student. Pam and I took classes and had lunch together nearly every day, keeping each other company during her long lulls between calls and my waiting interminably for the transit bus to arrive to take me home. On May 13, 2005, we walked across the stage as graduates.
Pam and I both dealt with depression pretty heavily in those days and called each other most every evening to keep our spirits up. We started getting together for movies almost every Saturday. The Marquee Cinemas opened in 2004 and you could get a matinee ticket for $4.75 back then. Pam and I kept them in business for at least two years.
We saw a lot of great films, but occasionally, we would happen upon a dud. When that happened, I would glance over to Pam, who usually had nodded off. As I nudged her lightly, she’d look up at me and say, “I think we messed up.” Oftentimes, Pam would bring along her mom, Charlotte. I will never forget how much we enjoyed watching Disney’s A Christmas Carol, the CGI animated classic starring Jim Carrey or Charlotte, upon seeing Hugh Grant in tight leather pants in the film Music and Lyrics, “Hey, he looks like my man Rod.” I could never get over that quiet little lady liking Rod Stewart.
Pam, however, was a rock and roll lady. We often made a point to meet up at Chautauqua every year for ‘80s night. We exchanged CDs many times of some of our favorite bands such as Heart and ZZ Top. We would often discuss our favorite soap, The Young and the Restless.
Our favorite lunch hangout was CJs Pizza. As I wrote these words, I was craving my usual pepperoni and cheese Stromboli, in which I feel I will be indulging myself soon in her honor. The mention of food brings to mind her incomparable homemade butter mints, which she brought me every year for Christmas with a can of cashews. I will never forget our holiday gatherings and what a wonderful craftswoman she was.
When I was still at the daycare center, she made me an elf out of pipe cleaners and a wooden block with my name painted on it. She made my sister one, too. My mother still has them and puts them out every year. I went to several open houses she put together at the various flower shops where she worked. I remember when she got her own apartment at Longview. She was so happy to be on her own that she invited me out for refreshments and to see her apartment. I had just gotten my van at that time and we spent the rest of the evening riding around looking at Christmas lights.
That van also took us to see our friend Jared King win the “Future Mr. George Wythe Pageant” that year. Pam was especially proud because she had made his boutonniere for the evening. It’s mind-boggling how these simple memories have come to exemplify such a large part of my life.
It wasn’t long after that, though, that she was back living with Charlotte. Few mothers and daughters were as inseparable as those two. It is both heartbreaking and serendipitous that they would both end their Earthly journey within twelve days of one another. They depended on each other so much in life that it wouldn’t seem right for one to continue without the other. God knew that. Now, they are both together, freer from pain and strife than we ever saw them. No matter how many tears we cry for them today and all the days that follow, we rejoice knowing where they are and that they are together.
Almost everyone knew that Pam was a survivor. With the rare genetic heart disease from which she always suffered, those who loved her feared her life would end long before it did. I know that she lived for her son Ethan and that young Kolby was the joy of her life. Being a grandmother to him brought a light to her eyes like nothing else and I pray he will always hold precious memories of her.
As I have done my best to encapsulate nearly 25 years of memories in these few humble words, I am reminded of the mutual love we shared for the Eeyore character, having both lived more than our share on the darker side of life, as well as her affinity for foxes, which always fascinated me. I chronicled that topic long ago in a newspaper column. Pam told me she was given the Indian name “The Silent Fox” at a powwow when she was very young. The name certainly suited her to a tee.
Despite her quite nature, Pam had a zest for life and a desire to make the world a better place without any sort of pretention. She never did anything for show, but was an essential figure in many lives behind the scenes. That is certainly what I will remember and miss most about Pam. She was a great friend when I needed one most and I will love her always.
