Hundreds gather to pay respects

Some knew him. Most didn't -- not personally, anyway.

But they knew what he stood for, so they came to stand in line for him on a muggy summer Sunday afternoon.

A total of 1,156 people waited about three hours apiece to pay their respects to the late Strom Thurmond, and to thank and console his wife and children.

They drove from the Pee Dee, the coast, the Upstate.

In line, in the sunshine outside the State House, they passed the time by sharing Strom stories with one another. No one was reading, or napping, or eating. No one was talking on cell phones. Instead they waited quietly, or chatted with the strangers ahead or behind them.

The wait was more than worth it, said Proctor Rogers.

"I felt like this was part of history and I wanted to be part of it," said Rogers, 31, of Columbia.

Jim Hamilton of Columbia was one of the first in line.

A pilot, Hamilton flew Thurmond on his campaigns for 40 years. In 1968, it was just the two of them in a light twin engine, as they campaigned for Richard Nixon through areas that leaned toward George Wallace, one of Nixon's opponents in the presidential election that year.

"At the end of a long day of flying, 20 stops maybe, we'd share a two-room suite," Hamilton said, "and he made me do push-ups before we went to bed.

"I'd have to do 25 or 30. He'd say, 'Jim, you've got to keep the blood flowing to your brain.'"

Hamilton, 71, admired Thurmond's stamina. But he also admired his heart. When Hamilton's adult son, Jimmy Hamilton Jr., drowned three years ago, "Strom was one of the first to call."

Many visitors shared a similar vision of Thurmond, the former U.S. senator who died Thursday in Edgefield at age 100. They described him as kind yet mighty, unique in his longevity and his power.

"We'll never live to see another senator serve 48 years," said Ronald Miller Sr., 58, of Columbia. "He was a legend."

The visitation at the State House ran from 4 to 8 p.m., with Thurmond's wife Nancy and their children, Strom Jr., Julie and Paul, among the family receiving guests.

People started lining up outside the State House more than an hour early, waiting for their turn to pass through the metal detectors, wrap through the red cordoned ropes, climb the wide steps one by one to the State House rotunda, and then approach the coffin.

Thurmond's body was lying in state in front of a statue of John C. Calhoun. The closed casket was lined by a row of flags. His family stood to the side, shaking hands, hugging necks and hearing from hundreds of people, known and unknown.

Ricky Middleton, 38, had shaken Thurmond's hand when he was on a high school field trip. "I'll never forget it," he said. Middleton and his wife, Paulette, drove from North Charleston to say goodbye. "He was a man among men. The state has lost a giant."

The Howle family of Hartsville left right after church.

Clift Howle, 32, and his wife, Ryan, 25, came with their grandparents and their 5-month-old son, Jackson. The heat and the line got to Jackson, though, and he started to cry just as the Howles made it to the rotunda.

Clift Howle said the Thurmonds were not fazed.

He said he had never met Strom Thurmond but the family showed what he was like. "They were very cordial," he said. "They were like him. They were sincere."

Many visitors said they came to participate in history.

Sharon Fogle, 35, of Columbia, brought her 18-year-old daughter Ashley and Ashley's 6-month-old daughter, Rayana. Fogle's other children are coming today.

"I told them, it's going to be something for school, for history and politics, so you better come up and see him," she said.

Eric Cheezum, 25, is earning his doctorate in history at the University of South Carolina.

As a Republican, he wanted to pay his respects to the man who shaped the party in the South.

As a historian, well, "He saw everything that happened of any value in this century."

Cheezum said it was hard to see Thurmond's casket lying in front of a statue of Calhoun, the former U.S. vice president and the state's most notable political figure of the 19th century. "Calhoun belongs in the past and I'm not sure Thurmond does.

"His politics are very present. He resisted a lot of the trends in politics that could've driven him down a blind alley politically and morally."

Although Thurmond fought for decades to preserve segregation in the South, the senator moved beyond that later in his career, Cheezum said.

That change is reflected in the diversity of the people in line to see him, said Rogers, Cheezum's friend.

"There are all ages, professions, races and creeds," Rogers said.

"To be able to gain the respect of black folks and white folks, that's saying something for his character."

Some visitors brought more personal stories. Roxanne Wilson, who is married to U.S. Rep. Joe Wilson, R-S.C., was an intern in Thurmond's office in 1971.

She said one day, she went to lunch with Thurmond. He took a look at her plate, and the beets that were lying there neglected. He told her she'd better eat them.

She hated beets. "But I'd never told the senator, no," she said. "Finally, I said, 'Senator, I'll be sick if I eat these.'"

He looked at her, squinted a little and speared the beets off her plate. He ate them himself.

She ate lunch with him again in 1996, during his last Senate campaign. "He told me I shouldn't eat the fries."

Joe Wilson said he's heard dozens of Strom stories in the last few days, from U.S. senators, widows, veterans and people who needed help from the federal government.

"Every family has been affected in some way."