From the Archives • December 2000

- The Beloved Reverend Billy Lloyd Hults

IN Michael Burgess's columns he has on occasion spoken of the quantum physics of death. The short version is that when we die, that which we call our spirit or soul escapes the mass that is our bodies and accelerates to the speed of light and thus is everywhere at once all the time. We have experienced that again in this small village. Change, being the only constant, is hated and feared. The speed of change is perhaps why. Sometimes it is so slow you think it will never come, and sometimes it doesn’t; sometimes it is literally at the speed of light.

Last month's paper held a quote by the Irish poet Brendhan Behan, "There is no bad publicity, except an obituary notice." When one decides to publish a newspaper, one is expected to provide a certain amount of information to the community at large, and though the Edge tends to ignore those expectations in many cases, there are some obligations that we must fulfill no matter how painful they might be for us personally.

You, see, one of our precious family members accelerated to the speed of light on Halloween afternoon. On her way to work at Bill’s she apparently crossed over the center line going down the hill on 101 between Seaside and Cannon Beach, over corrected, left the road and hit several trees. Heroic efforts including the Jaws of Life were used, but she was gone.

Valerie Anne Mace was an amazingly beautiful young woman, in all the ways that women can be beautiful. She was smart and pretty, quick and funny. She was gentle and strong, talented and curious. She was barely legal when she came to work at Bill’s, a feisty redhead with a "Seaside Attitude."

Yes, she was a Seaside Girl -- a 'white trash trailer park honey' was how she put it, or words to that effect. She had a persona, a comedic talent for accents, an encyclopedic knowledge of trash television and a work ethic of amazing proportions. Double shifts for several days in a row were not unusual for her. She had a strong sense of family and was devoted to her younger brother, and her family embraced hundreds of people. On a stormy afternoon when you walked into Bill’s and she smiled at you, Mexico was not as warm; when her eyes sparked, the gray skies parted from the light. Her light continues to shine through the windows at Bill's on these cold winter days.

Val contributed to the Edge occasionally and on one occasion commented about the feud between Cannon Beach and Seaside. "How dare anyone residing around these parts judge Seaside? This is Clatsop County, People. How classy can things get? Remember," she said, "we are all lucky to live here. It is a beautiful area with a kicked-back atmosphere. That is true no matter in which city limits you reside. Seaside has made some poor choices, which are apparent, but nevertheless it is my home town and I’m standing up for it."

Perhaps her words will help to bring the two communities closer together; she would have liked that. If she could love us both, perhaps we can learn from her. So, the next time you are about to make a crack about "Sleazeside" or "Cannon Bitch," stop for a moment and think about Val.

We all miss her so very much.

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