Charles L. Burrall Jr.

FUNERAL HOME

Jacob F. Ruth Funeral Directors, Inc.

8413 Germantown Avenue

Philadelphia, Pennsylvania

Charles Burrall Obituary

BURRALL
CHARLES L., JR., on July 24, 2004, of Wyndmoor. Husband of Margaret Burrall (nee Huggins), father of Elisabeth Blackburn, Charles L. Burrall, III (Penny) and Sarah; also survived by 6 grandchildren and 4 great grandchildren. Memorial Service Sat. August 7, 2004, 11 A.M. at St. Paul's Episcopal Church, 22 E. Chestnut Hill Ave., Chestnut Hill. In lieu of flowers, memorials may be made to Library for the Blind, Free Library of Phila. Foundation, Suite 400, 1901 Vine St., Phila. PA 19103 or St. Paul's Church, 22 E. Chestnut Hill Ave., Phila. PA 19118. JACOB F. RUTH

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Published by Philadelphia Inquirer/Philadelphia Daily News from Jul. 29 to Aug. 5, 2004.

Memories and Condolences
for Charles Burrall

2 Entries

Seth McHenry

August 10, 2004

Remarks for Boy’s Funeral

Families are curious things. They come in all shapes and sizes. When discussing extended families, size matters, as two families are joined together, generation after generation, over and over again and family trees widen (and sometimes shrink) with the passage of time. Today, my family and I represent the McHenry family which is on the other side of the Marshall family, which is on the other side of the Mills family, which is on the other side of the Burrall family. The grandparents of the man I knew as “Boy,” were the great-great-grandparents I never knew. I believe it to be a special and wonderful experience that celebrating the life of such a wonderful man, would bring third and fourth cousins together. I believe also that Boy would have been pleased by this, as family, all of it, nuclear or vastly extended, was so important to him. I am honored to be part of Boy’s family.

Seven years ago, Boy and Huggie and I, and maybe others of you, attended the funeral of a great aunt from the Marshall side of the family, Margaret Strawbridge. The priest at her service shared a custom of his that I have adopted and would share with you now. He would select a single word by which to remember the parishioner who had passed away; to remember that person in a special, yet simple way. In Aunt Margaret’s case he picked the word “saint”, which, although I will admit to being biased, was a particularly good word for her. Since that time, when someone close to me passes away I, too, choose a word by which to remember them.

Two weeks ago today, I was visiting with my family in California when I learned of Boy’s death. Almost immediately a word jumped to my mind to define the man I knew and loved. But it was too simple. “That can’t be it,” I thought, “that word doesn’t have enough heft, enough import. There has to be a better word for Boy.” Yet the more I thought about it, the more I came to realize that it was the right word. A silly little word; of all things an adverb, sometimes used as a noun or interjection, but the right word nonetheless.

Boy … was THERE.

Boy was THERE for his family; for his children and grandchildren. When they were little and as they grew, and when they were grown with their own families, Boy was THERE to support them. When his brother-in-law passed away at a very young age, Boy was THERE to help that family, those children, as well. The presence of those children here today, from four very disparate points around the country, and many decades later, speaks volumes as to how well he supported them when it mattered most. Boy was THERE for my family too. After my grandmother’s death (his cousin Mary -- with whom he spent so much time after moving to Philadelphia from Idaho in the early 1920’s), my mother was, as she often put it, an orphan. Her older brother, my uncle, also named Charlie, started the whole “Boy” thing when upon a visit from Cousin Charlie to his Cousin Mary, little Charlie, just a toddler just figuring out the differences in genders, pointed his finger into Cousin Charlie’s chest and stated, “BOY” – the name stuck. He died a few years before my grandparents at the age of 42, and without him, after the death of her parents, my mother felt very alone in the world. Boy, with Huggie too, was THERE to be the parents she had lost at too early an age and right in the middle of divorce. In my life as well, there were two separate occasions that required more sagely advice than could be had from friends, colleagues or other family members. Boy was THERE.

So too, I’m sure there are innumerable times that many of you could share, when Boy was THERE for you or someone else he knew and could help. I could go on and on. But I’ll stop.

Boy was THERE for many of us throughout his lifetime.

I know, too, that he will be THERE in our hearts for the rest of our days.

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Chuck Burrall

August 10, 2004

My Old Man’s a Consulting Actuary… what do you think about that?

Pretty unique, huh?

Charlie Burrall was born Charles Lorenzo Burrall, Jr in Squirrel, Idaho, the youngest in the family with two older sisters. His father and mother operated the general store in Squirrel. Still a young child, his mother died from the influenza of 1918. His father later moved to operate the larger general store in Ashton and remarried. Dad was raised by “Aunt Nell”, a taskmaster and strict lady who he came to love, only years later after he was grown.

He came to Philadelphia to go to College and stay with his aunt and two cousins- Louise “Tatter” and Mary. His Aunt Lillie Mills couldn’t imagine that anyone from Idaho was prepared to go to the college, so she insisted he attend a year at Germantown Academy. Well Charlie Burrall had some pretty unique formal training. He wasn’t a hunter or fisherman and couldn’t swim. In fact he almost drowned trying to satisfy Penn’s graduation requirement that he swim a lap. Instead he played the cello and the piano, he knew the classics, and he could speak French.

One might think he got his most important training at Penn where he got bachelors and masters degrees and was Phi Beta Kappa. In fact, he got his most important training from Aunt Mary Marshall, his 6-foot cousin who tucked Dad under her arm, took him to the orchestra and theater and generally taught him the ways of the big city. Those who knew this special lady knew how exciting this must have been for this somewhat shy boy from Idaho. Aunt Mary’s family continue to refer him affectionately as “Boy”, a title he treasured, particularly each Christmas as he waited for his annual toy from Aunt Mary and years later when the McHenry’s would refer to him as “Boy”.

Next he entered the “Huggins” phase of his life. He met Huggie, beginning his 70-year relationship with Mom. The Huggins’ phase extended to a career. After stints as a teacher and tutor, he went to work as a clerk for George A Huggins, one of the pioneers in the field of actuarial science. There he began his 40-year career as a consulting actuary with Huggins & Co. After their wedding, he moved into the Huggins household at the big old house on Stenton Ave. Tough assignment given that mother had four brothers. Imagine Uncle John, locked out of the house, climbing the porch pillars to the second floor roof and beating on the newlywed’s door to get into the house. Imagine Uncle Joe, standing on the chair (the mountain) going through his “Zeek and Able” routine with his younger brother in the valley. But he gained their respect and later the respect and the love of his sister’s in law, Aunt Kate, Aunt Geri, Aunt Peg and Aunt Emmie.

During the War, Dad enlisted in the Army. With all these academic and language skills, the Army Intelligence (Counter Intelligence Corp) promptly stationed him in Cleveland, Ohio. Pretty unique, huh? In fact, he worked in a special intelligence group for the Manhattan Project where he wasn’t allowed to wear his uniform or acknowledge that he was working for the army. Not a real popular commodity in the early 1940’s. His job included monitoring the papers to determine if word of the project or any codes had been leaked. With all this secrecy, when the bomb was dropped, Dad got the hiccups with it suddenly being all over the news.

The Huggins phase of his life resumed with Dad specializing in church pensions. Clerk, Actuary, Partner, Vice President, Treasurer, President. 40 years !!! Huggins & Co was a huge part of his life. He was proud of the firm, he was proud of his associates and proud of the work they performed.

Dad wasn’t just a trusted actuary. He was a trusted advisor. For someone without a law degree, Dad probably was an executor for more estates and trusted advisor for more households, than anyone else that I know. Always special was his role as Uncle Charlie in the Bill, Kye, Chris, George and Geri Huggins family.

Dad retired in the late 70s. Can you believe he was retired for over 25 years? His weekly trips downtown by bus and subway (to save a few cents) to read the various newspaper’s ads, specials and announcements on the special broadcast for blind people allowed him to continue having lunch at the “Corner Table” of the Union League. He also was the “eyes” for his special friend, Peggy Garrett. The irony of these volunteer services was that he contracted macular degeneration and gradually lost his sight. He also was one of the regular volunteers here at St Paul’s Church and a regular “reader” of the Lessons at the early service. Enthusiastic tennis player well into his 80’s (remember his slice forehand that would drive people nuts) and golfer, voracious reader, consistent cross word puzzle solver, and concert pianist. His most recent performance was just a few years ago at Springfield where he brushed off his Brahms, Chopin and Beethoven and put on a one-hour concert.

What do you remember when you reflect about Dad, Uncle Charlie, Charlie, Grampy, Dad-dad, and Boy?

(A little audience participation)

Gentleman, Respected, Intelligent, Reflective,

Book or movie reviewer, Bridge Player,Friend,Loved

So there Smothers Brothers. My old man’s a consulting Actuary. What do you think about that?

You thought that was an up tight boring guy. Forget about that.

Two weeks before he died, while waiting for a meeting to discuss hospice with his doctor and his minister Anita, Dad said he wanted the British poem Invictus read at his funeral. He then proceeded to recite the poem from memory. As he closed the book on his life, he did it on his terms: He was the master of his fate, the captain of his soul.

I love you Dad…