Alone

 

He died alone, but he was buried by hundreds.

 

His name was John Whittaker.

 

I know little about him, but neither did his neighbors.

He was a Vietnam-era Veteran who lived an isolated and lonely life.

I do not know if this lifestyle was by choice or from the bruises and hurts of life.

 

John Whittaker died alone in his home in Alexandria in the spring of 2025.

 

It’s unclear when he died.

His body went undiscovered for a period of time.

I’m not sure how long.

Days.

Most likely for weeks.

It’s best we don’t know.

 

Sadly, he wasn’t in consistent contact with anyone, even his neighbors.

 

He was alone.

Completely alone.

 

Saddest of all, there was no one to claim John Whittaker’s remains.

No family could be found.

No next of kin.

No paperwork of his life.

Just Social Security pay stubs and a few notes, along with his honorable discharge papers from the Navy.

 

I wonder about his story.

Did he still have family somewhere who didn’t know if he was dead or alive?

 

He died, and there was no one to claim his body.

 

* * *

 

But someone stepped forward to claim John Whittaker.

 

Joel Swisher.

 

I’m proud to say Joel grew up in my hometown of Dry Creek, Louisiana.

He comes from a strong, rock-solid family.

 

Joel is a manager of Hixson’s Funeral Home in Alexandria.

He deals with death daily, but he’s never become cynical or callous. That’s because a heart full of love cannot become hardened.

 

Joel has been our go-between after the death of one of our homeless from Church on the Levee, in downtown Alexandria.

 

We lost four members of the homeless community in the last two years.

Far-off family claimed some bodies.

Others weren’t.

 

The standard operating procedure is that once foul play is ruled out, law enforcement releases the body. 

 

Indigent bodies are sent to Lafayette, where they are cremated.

 

If no one claims the body, the ashes are buried in a pauper cemetery on the outskirts of Lafayette.

 

Indigent. Pauper. I’ve never liked those words.

 

However, no homeless attendee of Church on the Levee goes to the Pauper’s Cemetery.

 

A memorial service is held for our lost homeless friend. It’s always a somber, moving service held under the Murray Street Overpass on I-49. Vehicles speed by above as our homeless community mourns the death of a fellow brother or sister.

 

A member of our church is never relegated to a nameless pauper cemetery eighty miles away.  Their ashes are often spread along the Red River levee, near where they lived their sad lives.

 

* * *

 

John Whittaker never made it to the crematorium or pauper’s cemetery.

 

That’s not what happened to his unclaimed body.

 

Joel Swisher at Hixson’s wouldn’t have that. 

He claimed the body.

He embalmed John Whittaker’s body and placed it in a casket.

 

I believe Joel’s compassion came from how he was raised.

 

I’m sure John Whittaker’s status as a veteran was also part of his decision to act.

 

Joel Swisher is the son of a retired Air Force airman. His father, Jack, a West Virginia native, met, and married, Sharon Hester of Dry Creek while stationed at Alexandria Airbase.

 

When Jack retired, they moved to Dry Creek.

It’s a good place to raise a family.

They became cherished members of my native hometown and church.

 

Pa Jack and Ma Sharon. 

That’s what everyone called them.

 

* * *

 

Pa Jack and Ma Sharon’s youngest son, Joel, arranged for John Whittaker to be buried at the Central Louisiana Veterans Cemetery near Leesville.

 

He deemed this veteran’s burial in a place of honor fitting among fellow service members.

 

Joel Swisher said that there might only be three people at the graveside, but John Whittaker would receive an honorable burial.

 

An eternal marker would designate this man’s mysterious life and sad death.

 

* * *

 

Before John Whittaker was transported to the Veterans’ Cemetery, another Jon stepped in.

 

Jon Cowart.

 

Most members at Calvary Baptist Church don’t know Jon by name.

But everyone knows Jon.

He’s the “Man with the Black Dog.”

 

It’s hard to miss a black Labrador service dog in a crowded church lobby.

 

I’d often watched Jon, wondering what his story was. I’ve never asked. That’s not important. I simply know he has a special service dog named Bear.

 

When Jon Cowart heard an American veteran was going to be buried without a service or final word, he took action.

 

He took action.

That’s what compassion is.

It involves taking action. Compassion is love in working clothes.

 

Jesus speaks of the hero of his most famous parable in Luke’s Gospel:

 

“But a certain Samaritan, as he journeyed, came where he was: and when he saw him, he had compassion on him …”

 

* * *

 

Jon Cowart is not a minister, but decided that John Whittaker wouldn’t be buried alone. 

 

He didn’t shove it off onto one of the pastors in our church.

 

He made up his mind to be there at Fort Polk.

One veteran was going to help bury another veteran.

 

Jon Cowart wasn’t a public speaker, so he wrote out his brief words for the graveside.

 

* * *

 

That’s when our two compassionate Good Samaritans’ actions merged.

 

Joel Swisher arranged for a hearse to transfer John Whittaker’s body to Fort Polk.

 

He lined up his son and several other recent graduates at Alexandria Senior High to serve as pallbearers.

 

One was my grandson Jack. 

 

Jack Iles is not yet a veteran. At the time of this story, he was only weeks from entering the United States Naval Academy at Annapolis.

 

He was joined by his classmate, Matthew Crenshaw, an upcoming cadet at West Point.

 

It was fitting that Jack and Matthew helped bury Naval veteran John Whittaker.

 

* * *

 

I’ll let Jack describe the fifty-mile ride to the cemetery behind the hearse:

 

“We left Alexandria on La. 28 West, and when we crossed the Vernon Parish Line, a large group of motorcycle riders fell into line as part of the motorcade. 

 

“As we neared Leesville, other riders, and vehicles joined the procession.

 

The cemetery was filled with soldiers, firefighters,policemen, and citizens from all walks of life.

 

Vernon Parish and Fort Polk had put out an “All Call,” and folks of every stripe met the hearse at the Cemetery.

 

* * *

 

It’s ironic.

 

John Whittaker died alone.

But the good, caring people of my beloved Louisiana made sure he wasn’t buried alone.

 

And it was made possible together by two angels. 

Not Christmas angels, but Alexandria angels.

 

One named Joel.

The other Jon.

 

* * *

 

The following Sunday, I found Jon Cowart (and Bear) in the lobby. “I want to have coffee with you.”

 

We met, and John told his part of the story: He’d prepared to speak before a handful of people, but when he arrived, the gravesite was surrounded by a host who’d come to show their respect. John said he’d never been so nervous in his life. 

 

God gave him the right words.

 

I only wish I’d been there.

Maybe I was in spirit.

I’ve taken Joel, Jon, Bear, Matthew, and Jack’s stories and woven them into a scene I can almost feel and see. 

 

* * *

 

I’ve thought a lot about John Whittaker since then.

 

His story resonated across our city. It bothered Alexandrians that a human could live in our town, die alone, and not be discovered for weeks.

 

John Whittaker lived a lonely life and died alone.

 

I have an idea: What if everyone in the City of Alexandria chose to take personal responsibility for those around us, especially the lonely?

 

Make contact, drop by for welfare checks, leave some fresh warm cookies, or rake a yard.

 

A fair warning: many of the John Whittakers in the world don’t want to be checked on. They simply want to be left alone.

 

But that’s not an excuse for inaction.

They need your interaction.

 

It can be a call, a knock.

Something that says, “You’re a fellow human, and I want to know you’re all right.”

 

How they respond isn’t your problem.

You’ve done your part.

Then, be bold enough to repeat it periodically.

Wash. Rinse. Repeat.

Let it become a habit.

 

* * *

 

Do I think this plan could work in a city the size of Alexandria?

 

Sure it could. I know it should.

 

I’m a product of a small community with a history of checking on the welfare of the lonely and needy.

 

It’s a place called Dry Creek, Louisiana.

 

It’s not a perfect place, but it’s populated by folks who check in on the widows, widowers, lonely people, and shut-ins.

 

And they do more than check. They take responsibility and action.

 

I could make a list going back to my childhood of the elderly and lonely people our community surrounded with love and care until their dying day.‌

 

It continues to this day.

 

* * *

 

I related John Whittaker’s story to my  90-year-old mother. “Momma, do you think someone could die in Dry Creek and not be discovered?”

 

She shook her head. “I don’t believe that could happen here. Someone–family, neighbors, or Good Samaritans are periodically checking in. Maybe overnight, but not days. There’s no way.”

 

Momma smiled. “Think about Shirley.”

 

Shirley is my age, but is my mother’s best friend for years. She has been a shut-in since her parents died decades ago.

 

Shirley’s not physically able to leave her home without help. But she is not a shut-in. Dry Creek Community, in dozens of ways, looks after her.

 

Dry Creek has always taken care of our needy. Shirley’s life is a story of warmth,compassion, and friendship.

 

That’s a chapter for my next book: “Shirley: The Most Contented Person I Know.”

 

* * *

 

  

Back to that word. Shut-in.

We don’t use the word in Alexandria.

But that’s what John Whittaker was: a shut-in.

He shut the world out.

 

He was truly a shut-in.

 

I hope people remember John Whittaker, and I pray that everyone who reads his story will help those in need where they live. 

 

Do it in memory of a lonely veteran named John Whittaker.

 

  * * *

 

 Here’s a suggestion: as your family reads the Christmas story from Luke 2, flip forward to Luke 10:25-37 where Jesus shares his powerful parable of the Good Samaritan.

 

The Good Samaritan parable told by Jesus is a fine bookend to the familiar story of his lowly birth.

 

As you read this story and study the life of Jesus, the Man of greatest compassion will be revealed.

 

Compassion.

 

It’s a word that should be in the toolbox of every follower of Jesus.

 

Then go out this Christmas week and seek out the lonely, grieving, and needy.

 

Merry Christmas 2025

 

Curt Iles

Dry Creek, Louisiana/Alexandria, Louisiana

 

www.creekbank.net