Class  of  1940
Eunice Mitchell Clark



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A memorial service was planned at 11 a.m. today at First United Methodist Church in Fulton, Ky., for former Parisian and retired newspaper publisher Eunice Mitchell Clark of Fulton. The Rev. Bill Tate was to officiate. Clark was buried earlier in the day at Pleasantview Memorial Gardens in Fulton.

Pallbearers were her grandsons: Mark Tomlin, Joey and Dean Brush, Trey, Ben and Josh Mitchell, Garrett Boyd and Scott Wheeler.

Visitation was Monday at Hornbeak Funeral Home in Fulton.

Clark, 87, died Sunday, March 7, 2010, at her home.

Born Aug. 25, 1922, in Florence, Ala., she was a daughter of the late William Percy and Lucy Cowan Williams.

She was married on March 18, 1943, to Vyron Mitchell Sr., who preceded her in death. She later was married on Dec. 30, 1984, to Virgil B. Clark, who died July 11, 2001.

She also leaves three sons: Vyron (Cynthia) Mitchell Jr. of Newbern, William (Rita) Mitchell of Shelbyville and John (Kathy) Mitchell of St. Marys, Ga.; three daughters: Mary Elizabeth (Eddie) Prehm and Rebecca Allen, both of Paris, and Cindy (Kurt) Rodenberger of Ringgold, Ga.; a stepdaughter: Amy Grassham of Pleasant View;

One brother: C. Ernest Williams of Kennewick, Wash.; one sister: Jeane Hermann of Lisle, Ill.; a special friend: Eula Rose of Fulton; 22 grandchildren; 44 great-grandchildren; three great-great-grandchildren; and one stepgranddaughter.

She also was preceded in death by one stepson: Ben Clark; four brothers: Percy, James C., Bryant and H. Lee Williams; and two great-grandchildren: John Scott Wheeler and Molly Irene Mitchell.

Memorials may be made to First United Methodist Church in Fulton.


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Paris, Tennessee
Tuesday March 9, 2010  Edition ~ Used by Permission

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Outside the Church Door

Saying goodbye to a dear sister, Eunice Mitchell Clark
Published: Monday, March 15, 2010 1:12 PM CDT
Sisters are special.

Iím talking about our female siblings, not nuns, although Iím sure theyíre special, too.

My sister died last week, at age 87. Eunice Clark lived in Fulton, Ky., where she had been publisher of a daily newspaper and a leader in her church and community.

But it isnít these well-earned accomplishments that I remember. It is the everyday, homey experiences of growing up together in a family.

I was the youngest in our family. There had been four brothers born ahead of the girls, so they had little sisters they could pester and protect.

Iím the only one who had big sisters I could pester with no responsibility to protect.

As long as I can remember, there were pictures of the two little girls on our wall. Jeane, the younger, had Shirley Temple curls.

Eunice was pictured with straight hair cut rather short. She never forgot the frequent exclamations of adults over what a pretty sister she had.

There are things that happen in a family that a child thinks are unique, until he grows and learns that most people have experienced the same things.

From the secrecy of my bedroom, I heard Euniceís bitter protest the night she had been sitting on the sofa downstairs with her sweetheart, Vyron Mitchell.

My mother had gone to the head of the stairs and called down that it was time for her to come up to bed now. Eunice was humiliated and incensed. Vyron just hastily beat it for home.

Eunice was capable of becoming incensed when her children, or her employees (who were sometimes the same people) erred.

She became a mother six times, and among the seven of our family siblings, her clan became the largest.

She was close to our father, inherited many of his traits, and learned from him how a newspaper could serve the community. He was manifestly successful.

We children were in awe of the depth of his devotion and his faith in God, his keen sense of the importance of a penny, the blistering wrath that could pour from his lips when aroused, his willingness to fight back when unjustly attacked and the fatherly love for his children that would unexpectedly break through to provide support when we didnít deserve it.

I saw these things in Eunice.

There was also a sense of humor. In later life, she learned how to use a computer. We exchanged e-mails, and I could send her things that not everyone would understand, knowing that Eunice would get the hidden point and not be offended by violations of the prevailing political correctness.

She was also the one who shared with me the trials of writing a newspaper column. On occasion, she would make an attempt at humor, in a style which would be easily understood and appreciated by her own siblings.

But younger members of the family, who were doing the editing now, would miss the point and clean up the grammar in such a way as to make her comments sound more professional, but utterly pointless.

She became very interested in knowing about our ancestors. She not only filled in more of our family tree than I ever became acquainted with, but collected pictures from generations past.

She would often keep me posted on how other family members were doing, when I lived in places far distant from our native Paris.

Thus, she provided a tie with my close kin that Iíll probably miss.

Jeane and I are the only ones of the seven left now. Sheís the one closest to me in age, so we share many of the same memories.

Iíll miss the prolonged giggling sessions that used to befall my two sisters when something in a conversation seemed to be uproariously funny to them, but only mildly amusing to the rest of us.

The things I remember best are not the kind of things one would hear in a memorial service, but are the things which bind a family together in a permanent bond long after its members have matured and gone their separate ways.

And perhaps that is the most important thing of all. If thereís anything our nation needs today, it is families in which children learn to be part of a unit that is larger than themselves.

We would have more respect for those ďmediating institutionsĒ like churches, civic clubs, voluntary charities, businesses and brotherhoods.

And we would have more defense against the dangerous and deceptive encroachment of government, with its coercive powers, into the lives of individuals.

Many are stripped of family ties and stand alone against the kind of salvation offered by politicians.

The Rev. C. Ernest Williams is a Paris native and retired Presbyterian pastor now living in the state of Washington.

Reprinted from  THE  PARIS  POST-INTELLIGENCER, March 16, 2010 ~ Used by Permission