South Carolina said goodbye Tuesday to Strom Thurmond -- escorted
through the capital by a riderless horse, mourned by thousands in
church and along streets and highways, buried in the wet earth of
his hometown.
He was remembered as a man who loved his state so greatly that he
served it for 70 years, and as a man who loved his people so well,
he proved he could change for them -- and with them.
The day of events honoring Thurmond began in the gray morning, as
his body was lying in state in the State House where he once served
as governor and senator.
It ended in a cool mist over Edgefield, as 600 people walked
behind a horse-drawn caisson carrying his coffin and waited while he
was buried in his family plot.
Thurmond died Thursday at 100. In that century, he was a teacher,
a judge, a soldier; a Democrat, a Dixiecrat, a Republican; a
governor, a presidential candidate, a U.S. senator; a husband, a
father and, in his last days, a grandfather.
His funeral at Columbia's First Baptist Church lasted two hours,
featured a choir 130 members strong, a congregation of 3,000 people,
and more than 200 political leaders, including Vice President Dick
Cheney and Defense Secretary Donald Rumsfeld.
State Sen. Kay Patterson, D-Richland, said Thurmond was
extraordinary because he was good to all the state's people.
"I want to thank the Lord that Strom passed this way," Patterson
said, "because Strom was a man of integrity and honor, and he helped
many people."
Cheney described Thurmond's life as "rich in years" and "filled
with firsts" -- the first U.S. senator elected on a write-in ballot,
the oldest and the longest-serving senator ever.
But it was U.S. Sen. Joseph Biden, D-Del. -- a self-described
Northeast liberal who disagreed with Thurmond on almost every issue
-- who elicited the most laughs, the most muffled "wows" and the
most tears.
Biden, 60, described arriving in Washington as a freshman senator
at 29, "emboldened, angered and outraged" at the treatment of blacks
and at what Thurmond stood for. He knew Thurmond as the presidential
candidate of 1948, who ran on a pledge to preserve segregation.
"Then I met the man," he said.
"Strom was a product of his time, but he understood people. He
cared for them."
Thurmond was responsive to the times he lived in -- the early,
unapologetic days of segregation, the angry battles over civil
rights and the more recent days of equal treatment.
"Strom knew America was changing‘ .‘.‘. and he knew the time had
come to change himself."
At the funeral, Thurmond's wife, Nancy, and children Strom Jr.,
Julie and Paul sat together, leaning on one another at poignant
moments -- the singing of "How Great Thou Art," the grazing of
friends' fingers over the casket.
Paul and Julie both held white handkerchiefs and constantly wiped
tears from their cheeks.
One of Thurmond's former proteges, William "Billy" Wilkins, of
Greenville, chief judge of the 4th U.S. Circuit Court of Appeals in
Richmond, Va., said Thurmond will be remembered for his works.
"If everyone whom Strom Thurmond has helped were to place but one
rose at his grave, he would sleep beneath a wilderness of
beauty."
Many touched by Thurmond were in the audience, some arriving at
11:30 a.m. to be sure of a seat for the 1 p.m. funeral.
Beforehand, they huddled in the pews, studying the program and
sharing stories.
At the State House, before the funeral, hundreds braved a steady
drizzle to watch soldiers carry Thurmond's casket down the steep
south steps.
The crowd was diverse: black and white, young and old. State
office workers took short breaks to watch; retirees and young
mothers with children carried cameras.
The casket, draped in an American flag, covered in plastic, was
loaded onto a black caisson -- an Army wagon once used to carry
artillery ammunition.
Then, Thurmond began his last trip through the streets of the
capital -- pulled by six white horses, English Shire and Percheron
draft horses. A seventh, symbolizing that a fallen warrior would
rise no more, trailed the processional.
Along the route, crews working on the 17-story Meridian office
tower stood motionless behind the work site's fence.
Some observers whispered to others to turn off cell phones so a
call wouldn't break the silence. Diners stopped eating lunch to
stare out restaurant windows as the caisson passed by.
Dianne Scott, 60, of West Columbia, hid from the rain at a bus
stop at Gervais and Sumter streets. "This is one person who can't be
replaced."
The procession grew as more and more people joined the crowd, up
Gervais Street, to Sumter, to Hampton, where First Baptist dominates
a city block.
As the rain grew steadier, the state's political elite formed two
columns on the church steps. They flanked Thurmond's casket as
soldier pallbearers representing all branches of the military
carried it up the white stairway.
Later, as the service ended just before 3 p.m., a lone bagpiper
wailed "Amazing Grace."
The casket was carried out of the church, down the stairs and
placed into the hearse that would carry it the 75 miles to the
family burial site in Edgefield.
Sally Truss, 53, of Camden, came alone to the service. She wore a
wide black hat with roses along the brim. "He loved women, so I
figured, 'Dress up, and get out there.'"
In the balcony, she sat alone, dabbing her eyes. She was the last
to leave the church, moved by stories of a man she'd never met, the
beauty of the music, the grand horses.
"It does something to your soul to see anything well done," Truss
said. "His life was done well, and his celebration was done
well."
In Edgefield, about 1,200 people attended the graveside ceremony,
sometimes under heavy rainfall.
Julie Thurmond Whitmer brought Thurmond's 2-week-old grandson,
Tate, to the service to join the rest of the family.
The Rev. Fred W. Andrea III, pastor of First Baptist Church in
Aiken, said Thurmond was a man of trusting faith, vibrant hope and
active love.
"Thurmond knew what mattered in life, love, and he knew what
really lasts -- love."
Staff writers Clif LeBlanc, Gina Smith, Jeff Wilkinson, Jon
Benedict and Jamie Kennedy contributed to this report.