Thanks to Melissa (McFee Stricker)

Mrs. Theresa Hands Windham, coordinator of grants and development at John Tyler Community College and former headmistress of South Hill Academy in South Hill, died Friday in a local hospital after a brief illness. She was 36.

She joined the John Tyler Community College staff in June 1987 and became the catalyst for increased fund raising. "Before she came, the John Tyler Community college Foundation had total assets of just over $200,000. It was inactive," said Barry Saunders, the school's coordinator of public relations.

Everyone here credits Theresa with taking an inactive foundation and making it into a thriving resource fo the institution - raising money for scholarships, starting an endowed scholarship program, raising moeny for equipment enhancement and faculty-staff development." Saunders said that at the end of 1992, the foundation had more than $1 million.

Mrs. Windom was instrumental in establishing the Philip Morris Vocational-Technical Scholarship Program, which offers students from the Richmond area aid to complete a certificate or degree program of not more than two years.

A Buffalo, N.Y. native, she graduated cum laude from James Madison Univeristy in 1978 and earned a master's degree in sociology from North Caroline State University in 1980. At the time of her death, she was pursuing a doctorate in higher education administration at the College of William and Mary.

Mrs. Windham served as headmistress at South Hill Academy, with kindergarten through seventh grades, from, 1981 until 1985 and then was a grant coordinator for Southside Virginia Community College in Alberta until 1987. At the Alberta college, she was a project director of a program to secure financial aid for students who were single parents and homemakers.

In 1986, she was name an Outstanding Young Woman of America for Community Service. In 1990, she was named Executive of the Year by the Tri-Cities Chapter of Professional Secreteries International.

Survivors include her husband, P. Dewey Windham; a daughter Miss Saraashley Widham of Midlothian; her mother, Mrs. Leonora Hands of McLean; a sister Miss Elizabeth Hands of Vienna; and a brother, Thomas Hands of West Palm Beach, Fla.

Memorial services will be at 2 p.m. Saturday at Woodlake United Methodist Church, 6602 Woodlake Village Parkway; and at 4 p.m. Sunday at Immanuel Presbyterian Church in McLean. Burial will be in Lorraine Park Cemetery in Baltimore. The family suggests memorial gifts to the Theresa Hands Windham Memorial Scholarship, c/o JTCC Foundation, Chester, VA 23831.

It took place at the home of his good friend, Bill Wonneberger. It was a bittersweet gathering of friends from all eras of Norman's Harrisonburg existence, none of whom was prepared to accept the stark fact of Norman's passing, but who, by their presence and stories, held him close. That friends who had not seen each other for twenty years gathererd to remember him is a testament to the impact he had on our lives. Gathright folks who were present included Clarence Geier, Becky Wood, Gigi (Strader) Davis, Cindy Schroer, James "Mez" Wilson, Dee Desarmeaux, Allison Graves, and me. Massanutten Chapter, ASV folks (Norman was a charter member) included Janice Biller and Eleanor Parslow. Friends from his late 80s years included Bill Wonneberger, John Eckman, Earl Proper, James O'Hare, and Leonore Santone. Remembrances were sent by Joey Muldenhouer and Elwood Fisher. Photos were sent by Tom Rice, and Becky, Allison, Clarence, Mez, and I also contributed so that we had a large poster board filled with photos of Norman, some quite silly. We shared anecdotes and remembrances for about an hour, and ended with a loud toast and a wonderful pot luck.

Here is the poem Carole read at the end. It was a powerful experience to be
able to direct it toward Norman, and I think it helped us say goodbye in a
way he would have appreciated.

1. Dear relatives and friends, when my last breath
Grows large and free in the air, don't call it death --
A word to enrich the undertaker and inspire
His surly art of imitating life; conspire
Against him. Say that my body cannot now
Be improved upon; it has no fault to show
To the sly cosmetician. Say that my flesh
Has a perfection in compliance with the grass
Truer than any it could have striven for.
You will recognize the earth in me, as before
I wished to know it in myself; my earth
That has been my care and faithful charge from birth,
And toward which all my sorrows were surely bound,
And all my hopes. Say that I have found
A good solution, and am on my way
To the roots. And say I have left my native clay
At last, to be a traveler; that too will be so.
Traveler to where? Say you don't know.

2. But do not let your ignorance
Of my spirit's whereabouts dismay
You, or overwhelm your thoughts.
Be careful not to say

Anything too final. Whatever
Is unsure is possible, and life is bigger
Than flesh. Beyond reach of thought
Let imagination figure

Your hope. That will be generous
To me and to yourselves. Why settle
For some know-it-all's despair
When the dead may dance to the fiddle...

3. So treat me, even dead,
As a man who has a place
To go, and something to do.
Don't muck up my face

With wax and powder and rouge
As one would prettify
An unalterable fact
To give bitterness the lie.

Admit the native earth
My body will be,
Admit its freedom and
Its changeability.

Dress me in the clothes
I wore in the day's round.
Lay me in a wooden box.
Put the box in the ground.

4. Beneath this stone a (Jefferson) is planted
In his home land, as he wanted.

He has come to the gathering of kin,
Among whom were some worthy men...

To be remembered in grateful laughter
Longer than the rest. After

Doing what they had to do
They are at ease here. Let all of you

Who yet for pain find force and voice
Look on their peace, and rejoice.

Norman Dean Jefferson, 46, 9 South Hills Circle, Johnson City, died Sunday, July 25, 1999, at his residence.

Mr. Jefferson was a native of Roanoke, Va., and had been a resident of Johnson City for the past 10 years. He was a son of the late L. David and Mae Cooke Jefferson.

Mr. Jefferson was an archaeologist with the United States Department of Agriculture Forest Service. He was a member of the Southeastern Archaeological Conference, the Society for American Archaeology, the
Professional Archaeologist Organization and the Archaeological Conservancy. Mr. Jefferson received his Bachelor of Arts degree in history from Virginia Commonwealth University and was nearing completion of
his Masters of Arts degree in anthropology from the University of Tennessee, Knoxville. He was a member of Munsey Memorial United Methodist Church, Johnson City, where he was a member of the Explorer Sunday School Class and was a teacher of the two year old class.

Survivors include his wife, Jennifer Ann Jefferson of the home; three sons: Aaron Scott Jefferson, Erick Alexander Jefferson and Trevor Dean Jefferson, all of the home; two brothers: David L. Jefferson, Richmond, Va.; and Perry J. Jefferson, Angels Camp, Calif; two sisters: Ruth Gail
Jefferson, Penhook, Va.; and Caroline J. McCormick, Flagstaff, Ariz.; six nieces and nephews.

Following is the memorial that Tom wrote for the Upland Archaeology in the East Symposium 8 program. The conference was dedicated to Norman.

It was 1979, during the Gathright Reservoir project in Bath County, Virginia. We were living in a "tent city" which housed more than 80 workers along the Jackson River. A few of us were lounging by the river, watching the camp cat sniffing at the water's edge, when someone asked, "Isn't it odd that cats can't swim?" Norman Jefferson, with an expression of disbelief, lunged upward saying, "The hell they can't!" and hurled the cat into the middle of the river! The rest of us, in a temporary state of shock, watched as the cat moved like a torpedo to the shore and beyond. That was Norman-- always willing to take the time to educate someone in an area in which he might have an intellectual advantage.

Norman Dean Jefferson, at the age of 46, transcended his biological essence on July 25, 1999. He was North Zone Archaeologist for Cherokee National Forest, a father of three young boys, and a dear friend to countless humans, animals (except cats), and trees. His impact on the archaeology of the southern Appalachian region, by way of his own research and his influence on other archaeologists, is immeasurable.

Norman received a bachelor's degree in history from Virginia Commonwealth University in the mid-1970s. He became interested in prehistory and archaeology through participation in a Living Archaeology course with Errett Callahan, in which he became adept at traditional living skills. In 1978 he was hired by James Madison University as Project Oral Historian for the Bath County Pumped Storage Facility and the Gathright Dam projects, both large-scale reservoir constructions in western Virginia.

In the summer of 1978, a Bath County Pumped Storage project crew, with Norman in the rear, trundled along a path to continue work on a prehistoric site, Cahokia II (44BA180). About halfway to the site, Norman began convulsing in excitement over a big quartzite slab which the crew had stumbled over for several weeks. It was Norman's first day with that crew, and having made and used stone axes before, he observed right away that the slab had been used for grinding and polishing greenstone celts. The Norman Dean Jefferson Grinding Stone site now rests in peace beneath the reservoir.

In 1981 Norman moved to Knoxville to work on the Columbia Reservoir, Tellico Reservoir, Big South Fork Recreation Area and other projects, and to make beer and further his education in anthropology. While attending the 1982 Southeastern Archaeological Conference in Memphis (there just happened to be a high school cheer-leading convention at the same hotel), we were in the front of a crowd of archaeologists waiting for an elevator to descend to the lobby. Finally, as the elevator doors parted and a throng of young cheerleaders in uniform bounded out, Norman looked up to the heavens and cried: "Thank you, Jesus!"

Ultimately, Norman was hired by Cherokee National Forest to assist in the management of the Forest's cultural resources. In that position, he played a crucial role in the prosecution and conviction of nine individuals who violated the Archaeological Resources Protection Act by vandalizing Lake Hole Cave, a prehistoric burial site in northeastern Tennessee. Then he moved to Johnson City, Tennessee to be the North Zone Archaeologist for Cherokee National Forest, where he orchestrated several important management studies, including the National Register Jackson Farm (Plum Grove) site in Washington County, Tennessee. Having settled in Johnson City, Norman finally fell in love and, with Jennifer, fostered a family of three boys: Aaron, Erick, and Trevor.

Norman vocalized nearly every thought that entered his head. Every event would remind him of a previous experience which, like it or not, would be shared with anyone within earshot. Most times his stories were artfully laced with humor. With a joke better spoken to a wall, he could send a roomful of people into tearful hysterics. Those of us who had the fortune of knowing him well cannot go through a day without remembering, repeating, or using something we learned from Norman.

Before I met Norman, I would cry whenever I heard someone playing the spoons. I still cry when someone plays the spoons, but now for a different reason. Norman left a gaping hole in the universe.

Thomas R. Whyte
Department of Anthropology
Appalachian State University

Kim sent the following:

Here is a quote by John Muir that I read to our family over Hank's ashes.
Perhaps you could add it to Hank's memory section. It helped me remember the
Hank that I once knew, the naturalist, the outdoorsman, the geologist, the
archeologist. That is how I know he would want to be remembered.

WARREN, JONATHAN CRAIG
On August 3, 1999, loving son of Daniel R. and Mary M. Warren; dear friend of Cheryl Dybas. Friends are invited to attend a memorial service on
Friday, at 1 p.m. in Grace Presbyterian Church, 7434 Bath St., Springfield,
VA. In lieu of flowers, memorial contributions may be made to Grace
Presbyterian Church. Arrangements by DEMAINE FUNERAL HOME.

 Melissa McFee Stricker sent this:

Jonathan Craig Warren
Science Editor

Jonathan Craig Warren, 42, science editor at the Smithsoniain Institution Press, died Aug. 3 at Inova Fairfax Hospital after a heart attack.

Mr. Warren, who lived in Alexandria, was born in Richmond. He moved to Northern Virginia in 1967 and graduated from Robert E. Lee High School. He attended George Mason University and graduated from James Madison University.

For six years he had been a science editor at the Smithsonian Institution Press. Earlier he was a paleobiologist at the Smithsonian's National Museum of American History.

His avocations included playing volleyball and skiing.

Survivors include his parents Mary and Daniel Warren of Springfield.

 My Dearest Craig,

Out of the blackness of night
The sun came up over the mountain today,
But without you,
I have no eyes to see it.
Your love, like you,
Was as bright with promise as a glistening lake
On a summer morning;
As soft as a gentle breeze at dusk in spring;
As faithful as the fish hawk,
Which mates for life;
As strong as mountain bedrock.
Now, I will hope to find you
In the silent flight of owls;
In the perfect curve of a shell on the beach;
In winter snowflakes that softly touch my cheek;
In the warm caress of an Indian summer sun;
In the scent of pines near an Adirondack lake.
I know not where you are,
But I will try so very had to find you.
I'll look in the Shenandoah Valley
Whose wavy grasses and clear mountain air you
Loved so well.
I'll listen to the piercing cry
Of a hawk soaring above the valley
As it calls to its mate,
For I will always be your Ladyhawk.
I love you beyond what any words can say,
And thank you for what you have always been
For me:
A rock, a friend and lover, a soulmate.

 The following was written and read as a eulogy at Craig's funeral by Will
Kammer, a JMU grad and good friend.

Craig Warren

When words fail, memories take hold. Good, solid memories of people like
Craig Warren, seemingly always gone before their time.

Craig Warren was my friend. He was the most loyal friend I ever had. To
those with whom he shared other friendships, we all know what we had, and
what we shall miss.

As a son, Craig was all two wonderful parents could ask for. His devotion
to his parents was surpassed only by his love and respect for them. Theirs
was a parent-son relationship to be cherished by themselves, and to be
marveled upon by us. To other family members, Craig naturally extended the
bond established with his mother and father, and the uncles, aunts, and
cousins flourished together as a family.

In time, Craig met someone very special, and to her he gave his unique
gifts of loyalty and love as only he could. He became as a son to a new
family, and yet more were blessed with having known him.

Craig grew up with us, attended Church with us, went to school with us,
worked with us, played volleyball with us, shared his wide-ranging interest
of the arts with us, explored his beloved Shenandoah Valley with us,
traveled, and shared life with us. He touched all of us with his humor,
his genuine desire to help, and his unshakable loyalty. We will hold onto
our memories of all this and more, and when, as now, the words fail, the
memories will take hold.

We shall miss you.