Dear Uncle Cook, or can I say Uncle Leroy now:
I shall always be thankful for the moments knowing you, and indirect teachings about family and community. You have contributed so much to who I am as a son, a brother, a man, a father, and a member of the community.
Thank you for taking in your two nephews, Dennis and I during the time of our family separation during our teenage years. During those times pineapple upside down cake with vanilla ice cream were our favorite treats when we convinced Deborah to bake the cake.
Memories of Sunday picnics in Rock Creek Park with all our Aunts and Uncles, and you as the leader of the pack are memories that always bring a smile and a wish for a hot dog, hamburger, and some potato salad
I shall always remember that slight smile you gave, and your asking when I would take you up flying. I was more afraid of anything happening during the flight and family members getting upset with me if something happened then taking you on the flight. I apologize for not scheduling your flight of the Bay Bridge or just to view the Chesapeake Bay to give you a view of how small this portion of the world is in the scheme of things.
Who you are, what you've accomplished and achieved are a part of me that has contributed to my giving back to the community, to my family and to give to my children a legacy of our heritage of who we are.
Thank you for giving me the courage to return to my hometown, and contribute all my knowledge and experience to give back to the community.
Your loving nephew.
Charles
Charles D.
Sharp
Chief
Executive
Black
Emergency Managers Association
bEMA
"I Care...."
Mihir Zaveri
Leroy Cook, called “mayor” by Brentwood neighbors, picked up trash and
offered food and cheer.
Every day for decades, Leroy Cook lifted himself
from the plush, felt-covered living room armchair, his belly full from dinner,
and grabbed a set of tongs from behind his front door. He would descend his
home’s front steps and walk, five-gallon orange paint bucket in one hand, tongs
in the other.
Down 15th Street NE. Up the alley behind his house. A turn onto 14th Street,
then back around. When he returned, his bucket would be filled with discarded
beer cans and shreds of paper.
Along the way, Cook would banter with his
Brentwood neighbors. He offered them food and company.
When people needed jobs, he helped them look. Cook — neighbors called him
“mayor” — watched over his District community for more than 40 years.
In June, Cook died after he was hit by a dump truck. Family, co-workers and
neighbors remembered him as someone who was always positive and never failed to
make a new friend. They found his sudden death incomprehensible.
Cook was still working as a mail runner at
Fort Myer Construction Co. at age 84 when he was killed —
not because he needed the money, family members said, but because he enjoyed
being around people. His lighthearted whistles and songs could often be heard in
the company’s hallways.
“He was real,” said Beatrice Cook, his wife of 63 years. “He helped people,
he loved his family, he was a hard worker.”
At about a quarter past 9 a.m. on June 19, a sunny Tuesday, police responded
to a report that a man had been hit by a dump truck at the construction
company’s asphalt plant on W Street NE. Cook was rushed to a hospital, where he
died.
Police have termed Cook’s death an “industrial accident.” The incident is
being investigated by the
Occupational Safety and Health Administration, which
declined comment on the case.
“Our heart goes out to the family and close friends,” said Chris Kerns,
general counsel for Fort Myer Construction. “He had a lot of close friends here
at the company.”
Fort Myer officials said the truck was not owned by the company, but they
declined further comment, citing company policy. Authorities have not named the
driver or the company that owned the truck.
Beatrice Cook was chatting on the telephone the morning of June 19 when
another call came in. She ignored it and continued with her conversation.
The call came again. It was her grandson, flustered that he hadn’t been able
to reach her. Leroy Cook had been hit by a truck.
“That was the absolute worst day of my life, I swear,” she said.
Weeks later, Beatrice Cook thumbed through an expandable brown folder as
about a dozen family members exchanged memories of the man nicknamed “Cookie.”
They sat in chairs and sofas in her cozy living room, its walls dotted with
family photographs.
She pulled out the glossy, four-page program the family gave guests at Leroy
Cook’s June 29 funeral service. A picture on the front cover showed Leroy
smiling, his left eyebrow cocked upwards. “Let the Life I lived — Speak for me,”
a lyric from a gospel hymn, was written in black italic
letters.
Family members remembered Cook as a man who
always found a way to get his wife — and more than two dozen children,
grandchildren and great-grandchildren — whatever they wanted, whether it was his
son Victor’s first car, a ’57 Chevy station wagon; a chartered bus for a July
2006 family trip to Myrtle Beach, S.C.; a laptop for a grandchild; or just spare
cash.
“He would save from one year to the next,” Beatrice Cook
said.
Leroy Cook was the driving force behind the tight-knit clan, family said. He
insisted on gathering for holidays and vacations, and on Saturdays he would
drive with his son, daughter and grandson to a house in Thornburg, Va., that he
hoped to turn into a family vacation home.
As family reminisced in the small, two-story brick house on the corner of
15th and Downing streets, friends drifted in to join the conversation. Valerie
Blakeney, 46, stood in the middle of the living room, hands clasped at her
waist.
“Papa Cook told me how to hold a job down,” Blakeney said. “You gotta take
care of your own self.”
Minutes later, Robert Redmond, 47, entered. He struggled to hold back tears
as he spoke. Cook, he said, “wanted to uplift me” and helped him get his first
job, in construction, in 1979.
Jessie McPhaul, 69, said the Cook house was always popular at Halloween
because it had the most candy in the neighborhood.
Cook, she remembered, would buy fruit or corn, poke his head out of his front
door and invite neighbors in to eat.
“Mr. Cook was the mayor of Downing Street,” said McPhaul said. “He cared for
everyone he came in contact with. If he could help you, he would.”
Friends and relatives are trying to fill some of the voids left by Cook’s
death. The family plans to restart work on the vacation home and make a return
trip to Myrtle Beach. And Blakeney now walks her block, picking up trash and
trying to keep her part of the neighborhood clean.
But Leroy Cook’s absence will nevertheless be felt, those who knew him say.
“You ain’t gonna find another Mr. Cook,” Redmond said.
