Chance Hall – R.I.P.

by angeliska on December 10, 2007


Chance Allan Cardwell Hall – R.I.P.
January 17, 1974 – December 7, 2007
From the Waco Tribune-Herald:
Chance Hall, 33, of Waco, passed away at his residence Friday, Dec. 7, 2007.
Funeral services will be 11 a.m. Tuesday, Dec. 11, at Pecan Grove Funeral Home, 3124 Robinson Dr., Waco. Burial will be at Patrick Cemetery in Waco.
Visitation will be from 6 to 8 p.m. Monday, Dec. 10, at the funeral home.
Chance was born Jan. 17, 1974, in Waco, to Ricky and Betty Cotton Cardwell.
He grew up in Patrick and graduated from China Spring High School in 1991,
and then graduated from TSTC Welding School in 2004.
Chance loved life, old eclectic music, writing poems,
playing his harmonica and hanging with his friends.
He traveled 48 states and Australia in his short 33 years on this earth.
The last year of his life, he enjoyed his cat, “Possum”,
his garden, remodeling his house and being close to his family.
He was employed in maintenance at The Freeman Center in Waco.
He was preceded in death by his maternal grandparents, Earl and Minnie Cotton;
and paternal grandparents, Gilbert Cardwell and Rose Dennis.
He is survived by his mother, Betty Hall of Waco;
his father, Ricky Cardwell of Gun Barrel City;
one son, Sinder Holmes of Bellingham, Washington;
his sisters, Jamie Cosby and husband, Rodney of Hamilton,
and Jerri Harper and husband, Bryan of Dripping Springs;
half sister, Deidra Cardwell Smith of Dallas;
his fiancee, Michelle Sims of Australia;
four nieces;
and one great niece.
Chance, it’s cold tonight
and I’m listening to the Carter Family
and thinking of you and wishing I had known
you were in Waco, wishing you wouldn’t have
gone and died like that, alone in your house.
Last time I saw you it was on Dumaine Street
in New Orleans and you were skittish and
wan, lacking your picaresque bravado.
You were haunted like an old house then.
I would rather remember when we painted
my little baba-yaga shack periwinkle blue,
breathing fumes, smoking black + milds
and drinking malt liquor, all of us jumping
in the clawfoot bathtub afterwards
and you pissing all over the place,
laughing, laughing while we screamed
and scrambled splashing out of the tub.
Or the time when you were dancing on top of the airstream trailer,
strutting your stuff and stepping out
over the edge and through the open window.
Glass everywhere, we were play-fighting and you
hit me in the head with a shovel cackling madly-
maybe you’d been drinking coughsyrup, oh yes-
I was so incensed I chased you round and round with a knife
promising to give you a scar so you’d remember
never to do that again and you waving your hands
saying, “But I’m a Capricorn too! I’m on your side!”
I chased you into the cellar and got you good,
sliced your elbow deep to match mine-
now that scar isn’t remembering anything.
In the morning, I found you sleeping on the sofa
outside, vines crawling over the awning and bees
drowsing over you, sticky-mouthed
reeking of cherry robutussin, caked in dried blood.
Your face was guileless and open, a little boy for once
not dreaming of mischief and mayhem.
I slipped a note in your pocket telling you to pay
for the window and never forget what the scar was for.
I was looking for your obituary tonight when I discovered
that there is a village on the coast of Barbados
called Chance Hall, like you. It is near a place called
Animal Flower Cave, I wish we could go there now.
This song always makes me think of you:
Worried Man Blues
It takes a worried man to sing a worried song
   
It takes a worried man to sing a worried song
  
It takes a worried man to sing a worried song
   
I’m worried now but I won’t be worried long 


I went across the river and I laid down to sleep

I went across the river and I laid down to sleep

I went across the river and I laid down to sleep

When I woke up, there were shackles on my feet

Twenty one links of chain around my leg

Twenty one links of chain around my leg

Twenty one links of chain around my leg

And on each link, the initials of my name 


I asked the judge what’s gonna be my fine

I asked the judge what’s gonna be my fine

I asked the judge what’s gonna be my fine

Twenty one years on the Rocky Mountain Line 


If anyone should ask you who composed this song

If anyone should ask you who composed this song

If anyone should ask you who composed this song

Say it was me and I sing it all day long

Leave your comment

Required.

Required. Not published.

If you have one.

*