Janet Lee Nantz Woodard

Janet Lee Woodard, born February 28, 1936 to Harley and Syble Nantz in Port Arthur, Texas, passed away October 28, 2010 in Houston, Texas. Janet was preceded in death by her parents and a brother, George Harley Nantz, Jr.

Mrs. Woodard is survived by Gary D. Woodard, her beloved husband of 35 years. During their marriage they spent only two nights apart. She is also survived by her sisters, Jean Martin and husband, Jerry, and Linda Nantz; brother-in-law, Dale Woodard and wife, Billie, and numerous nieces, nephews, and other family.

After graduating high school, Janet attended a music conservatory in Saint Louis, becoming a classical pianist. She was an avid amateur and professional photographer, specializing in photographing art work, and she also loved to sail. Janet truly sparkled with her mischievous, quick wit and great sense of humor.

A memorial service celebrating Janet’s life will be held 2:00 p.m. Thursday, November 4, 2010 at Rothko Chapel, 3900 Yupon, Houston, Texas 77006. The Chapel will not allow flowers, and the family suggests that those desiring may instead make a memorial donation to a charity of their choice.

Arrangements under the direction of Heights Funeral Home, 1317 Heights Boulevard, Houston, Texas.

Janet Lee (Nantz) Woodard

By Gary Woodard, husband

I have been extremely blessed to have had Janet as my wife this past 35 years. I cannot imagine spending my life with anyone else.

We are all unique individuals but Janet managed to be uniquely unique. There is so much that I would like to tell you about Janet but time is limited so I would like to share some of the stories that to me say what it was like to have Janet in my life.

Emerson wrote in Self Reliance, “Trust thyself. Every heart vibrates to that iron string. Accept the place that Divine Providence has found for you; the society of your contemporaries, the connection of events. Great men have always done so and confided themselves child like to the genius of their age, betraying their perception that the absolutely trustworthy is seated at their hearts, working through their hands, predominating in their being.”

Janet and I both grew up reading Self Reliance. I needed every word of it. However, I believe Janet could probably have given Emerson pointers.

On the twenty-eighth day of February 1936, Janet Lee Nantz was born in the front corner bedroom of her paternal grandparent’s home on Red Bird Street in Port Arthur, Texas.

Janet came into this world trusting herself without question. She did not seek the approval of the world. She did not need approval. Janet was a person completely comfortable with who she was and never showed any indication that she desired to be anyone other. Janet faithfully followed her constitution.

I have never known anyone as comfortable in their own skin as Janet. I have been with her in the presence of the ultra wealthy and in the presence of the destitute. Janet was exactly the same person in either situation. Like everyone, Janet enjoyed being liked but unlike most she was not devastated if she was rejected. Life never threw a curve at Janet that she did not catch and throw back.

Janet had three loves; photography, music and sailing.

The first love, photography developed when her Uncle Jesse learned of her interest and gave her some photographic equipment that he was no longer using. She did what a lot of kids did back then; she set up a makeshift darkroom in a closet and fell in love with the photographic process.

The second love, music, was originally encouraged by her Grandmother Nantz. Then, in the forties, Janet did what we all did back then on Saturday afternoon—she attended the Saturday Matinee. One Saturday, the movie was Music for Millions staring June Allison as a young concert pianist. During the movie, she played a piece that became Janet’s favorite piece of music, Claude Debussy’s Clair de Lune.

Janet wanted to play classic piano. She knew that she was beginning much to late to become a concert pianist, but she still wanted to be able to play for her own enjoyment. As much as she enjoyed playing, she was painfully shy when playing for others. She graduated from Galena Park High School in 1954 and attended a music conservatory in St. Louis.

After we married she bought an electronic keyboard. Using the excuse that she did not want to disturb the neighbors she only played it using earphones. I never told her but occasionally she did not insert the plug all the way and it did not disengage the internal speakers. I didn’t tell her because that was the only times I ever heard her play.

The third love, sailing, took a little longer to be fulfilled.

Janet and I first met in November 1970 when I went to work for Southwestern Camera Company. At that time Janet had worked for Southwestern for about fifteen years. She has started as Christmas extra help that they never let go. In 1970 she was the assistant purchasing agent and the resident expert on Leica and Rolliflex.

The first Monday when I reported to work, Janet was on a week’s vacation in Florida. There where considerable discussion as to how Janet was going to take to the new employee as some thought that I looked like the person that Janet was dating at the time. I was a little apprehensive about meeting this Janet person.

Neither Janet or I are people that take to other people quickly. We are both a little cautious about letting people into our lives. However, I honestly believe that Janet and I were friends the very first day that we met. She took great pleasure in embarrassing the dickens out of the country bumpkin from North Texas and I dearly loved her wacky sense of humor.

Janet left Southwestern Camera a year latter to work full time for Hickey and Robertson Studio. She still came into the store frequently for supplies and everyone, myself included, always looked forward to Janet’s visits. I frequently say that Janet never worked a day in her life, she just figured out a way to get paid for playing. She made it fun for everyone.

In early 1975, a mutual friend wanted to take sailing lessons and was trying to get someone to go with her. She asked both Janet and I and we both agreed. I had never given the slightest thought to sailing but Janet had always loved the water and boats. We went down for three lessons and I totally flipped out over sailboats and decided that I had to have one.

I went to my bank to talk about pre-arranging a loan. I got a female loan officer that I swear was determined to straighten every man she encountered. She let me know that I was recently divorced, heavily in debt and there was no way she was going to loan me money for a sailboat. Truthfully, as much as I was upset, I had to admit that she was right.

A day or so latter, Janet came into the store just as I was leaving for lunch. I told her that I was going to Foleys to buy a pair of Docksiders. If I couldn’t have a sailboat I was at least going to have boat shoes. I asked if she would like to go along and she did.

Those of you that know Janet well will understand what I am about to tell. You know that when Janet is around you are not always actually sure exactly what is happening.

It was three blocks from Southwestern Camera to Foleys. To this day I do not know exactly what transpired in those three blocks but we never made it to the shoe department. We stopped on the first floor in the jewelry department, purchased matching gold wedding bands and headed for the courthouse for a marriage license. I may not know what happened but I do know this: it was the very best thing that ever happened to me in my life.

On the twenty-fifth day of April 1975, Janet and I were married in the Rothko Chapel with my Uncle Winston officiating.

Now Janet swears that I only married her to get a sailboat. However I am not entirely sure that it wasn’t the other way around. Which ever, we both got Docksiders and we both got a sailboat.

I have stories that I tell about Janet and I know most of you have heard them dozens of times but I am going to tell them again. Because, to me, they illustrate what it is like to have Janet in your life.

Shortly after we married we drove up to Sam Houston State Park at Huntsville for a picnic. When we arrived it was raining—not really a rain or even a sprinkle it was more like a very heavy falling mist. Janet had driven sixty miles for a picnic and to Janet eating in the car was not considered a picnic. We ended up sitting cross-legged on top of one of those concrete picnic tables doing our best to keep the food from getting soggy. We did what Janet and I always did—we talked. Janet and I could have talked for a million years and I do not think that either one of us would have tired of the conversation. However, that day we drifted into a line of conversation that was unusual—body building. I do not recall how the conversation started, what we discussed or even where it was going. However, I do recall how it ended. Janet looked over at me and point blank asked if I had ever lifted weights. I admitted that when I had lived in Wichita Falls I had indeed ordered a set of weights from Sears and Roebuck. She looked at me very soulfully and ask, “What happened? Doesn’t Sears deliver?” I had known Janet for five years and all sorts of red flags should have gone up when we “drifted” into an unusual conversation. Well actually, we had not drifted into the conversation—she had adroitly maneuvered me into the conversation and instead of snapping to I did what I so often did—I unwittingly handed her an almost perfect punch line.

The story I probably tell most frequently about Janet happened on a Wednesday morning. We lived between the camera store and the studio. Since I had to be at work earlier, Janet would drive me downtown each morning and then go to the studio. One Wednesday, I am sure that I was moaning and groaning because I had to go to work when I would have rather stayed home and played. I made that comment that most everyone makes at some time on Wednesday, “Well, at least it’s hump day.” Janet looked over and very matter-of-factly said, “We’ll see.” I tell that story most often because I can not tell you the dozens or hundreds of Wednesdays mornings since, in the lunch room pouring my first cup of coffee I have had to smile because I remember that it was Wednesday, Hump Day.

When people ask me about Janet, I frequently make the comment, “Oh, that woman is as mean as ever.” Which is just one of those things that husbands say about wives—however in Janet’s case there was a grain of truth in it. Janet did have a mean streak. Janet was not a maliciously mean, just a mischievously mean. I tell people that I can not get angry with Janet when she is mischievous because when she is bad she literally sparkles like a diamond and you could not possibly be angry with someone that is enjoying life that much. Janet sparkled most at the Friday Night Wahoo Tournaments.

After Janet’s stroke in ’86 we got into the habit of going over to my aunt’s every Friday night for dinner. After dinner we would play board games. There were several that we played but the favorite and most frequently played game was Wahoo. We played it so often that my aunt started referring to it as the Friday Night Wahoo Tournament. Uncle Winston and I would take on Aunt Zelma and Janet.

My uncle Winston was a retired preacher; he preached the gospel, he lived what he preached. If there was ever a person without a mean bone in his body, it was my Uncle Winston. His idea of playing Wahoo was that you got your marbles out into play, moved around the board and got your marbles home. If Uncle Winston had two or more marbles in play and on the roll of the dice moving one of those marbles would send an opponent home, Uncle Winston would move one of the other marbles. Even though it frequently meant that we lost the game, I could not fault him because I knew that was his nature and that he simply could not have done it any other way.

Janet’s idea of playing Wahoo was to get your marbles out into play and reek as much havoc as is humanly possible. Getting a marble home was to Janet, if anything, a consolation prize. Her primary goal was to send Uncle Winston and I back to Start.

If Janet was being successful, you could see Uncle Winston becoming more and more frustrated. He simply did not have any frame of reference that would justify Janet’s behavior. The more Uncle Winston flustered, the more Janet sparkled because she knew she was being very, very bad. Aunt Zelma could only set back and marvel at these two people who were so different in their approach to the game. I used to wonder if Uncle Winston ever regretted during a Wahoo game that he had married the two of us. I doubt that he ever did, because either one, Janet of Uncle Winston, would have done anything within their power for the other one—except during a Wahoo game.

Those that know me know that I do not have a shortage of ego. Actually, I think I am pretty great. However, I never objected to being stroked, so I would occasionally ask Janet why she loved me. I thought that surly there was something really special that she would like to mention. Janet only had two answers to the question—neither one a real ego booster.

Never-the-less, I always enjoyed the first answer. She would say, “Well, you are good for a laugh.” Ever since we first met, making Janet laugh was one of my greatest pleasures. I never objected to playing the country bumpkin, the fool, the clown, the court jester, the fall guy, the straight man—what ever it took to make Janet laugh was okay with me.

The second answer was not that easy to understand. She would say, “I don’t know.” I mean how could she not know. With someone with so many marvelous quantities surly there was something that she absolutely couldn’t resist that she would want to mention.

Then I came across a poem that made, “I don’t know” the best answer:

Love me not for comely grace, Nor for pleasant eye or face,

Nor for my constant heart, Or any other outward park.

For these may fail or come to ill, And thou and I should server.

Keep therefore a true woman’s eye, And love me still, but know not why,

Then hast thou the same reason still, To dote upon me ever.

In 1986, Janet suffered a massive stroke. She was hospitalized for four months, three of those in Texas Institute for Research and Rehabilitation, or TIRR. I visited her every night and every night it was the same, she cried to come home. As a result of that experience I swore I would never put Janet in a “home.” My only prayer request was that I would be allowed to be here as long as she needed me. The stroke left her paralyzed on the right side. I would stand in the hall and watch her in therapy. I literally cried because I have never seen a person work so hard to overcome the physical damage she had suffered. Never the less, in the end the wheelchair won out as being the only option.

After she came home, she worked to regain her ability to talk. She continued doing the housework, the laundry, the cooking. She was determined that she would not become a burden to me.

I 2000, Janet had a second stroke which removed her ability to find words. Here cognitive abilities remained intact, she was just unable to chose the words she needed to talk. Everything became “that thing right there” and it was up to me to determine what that thing right there was. Janet continued to stay by herself up until 2005 when the company where I was working closed the Houston office. The timing was perfect because it was getting to the point where she needed more care.

The dementia set in about that time and progressively became worse. The last two years were spent in long, long periods of silence. We did what we could to retain some normalcy. She continued to go to the camera club and we continued to eat out. By 2009, she had began trying to get out of the wheelchair, or missing the wheelchair when she got out of bed resulting in five very bad falls in 2009 and one in 2010.

I mention all of this because Janet was confined to a wheelchair for twenty-four years. Yet, at no time was there the least indication of self pity. There was never a single why me Lord, from Janet. She was a person of such strength that no matter what life threw at her she prevailed. Throughout that entire time she did everything she possibly could to make my life as easy as possible. In spite of the mood swings of the progressing Alzheimer’s she continued to express her love for me. The last few weeks before she passed away she was particularly loving, snuggling up close at night, rubbing her hand over my leg when we sit together, just being close and letting me know that she was there for me. No man could be more blessed.

I have received many kudos for my presumed care of Janet. However, I was not the strong one and most of the time I was not the one giving the care. The strength of the past twenty-four years has all been Janet’s.

As I mentioned, Janet and I had a lot of music in our lives. In spite of that, unlike most couples, we did not have “a song.” I believe that is because Janet and I did not celebrate events or occasions in a manner that was conducive to having a special song. Beside that we were not exactly the Until the Twelfth of Never Types. However, we did have a poem.

I would like to share our poem because I believe it would be the most appropriate way to close.

In the summer when you were under a high pressure on Galveston Bay, the wind would frequently die around eleven or eleven-thirty in the morning and not pick up until four or five in the afternoon. When you are sailing and that happened you had three options; you could turn on the motor, you could search the surface of the water for ripples indicating a breeze that you might be able to catch in the sails, or you could anchor and wait it out.

I had a firm rule that the motor could not be used if we were beyond the number two marker in the Clear Lake Channel, so motoring, for us, was not an option. Occasionally we would try to continue sailing but most frequently we would find an anchorage. I would put up the cockpit awning, Janet would fix lunch and we would talk, listen to music or sometimes read poetry.

On one such weekend, we were anchored in our favorite anchorage, inside the hook on the north end of Red Fish Island. We were sitting in the cockpit reading poetry. I read a poem by E E Cummings that I have no recollection of ever having read before. Before I finished the poem I believe that Janet and I both knew that it was going to be our poem.

After that, I could always drag it out whenever Janet was in the dumps, for birthdays and anniversaries, whenever and Janet always loved it.

I carry your heart with me, I am never without it

I carry it in my heart.

Where ever I go, you go my dear

Whatever is done by only me is your doing my darling

I fear not fate for you are my fate my sweet

I want no worlds for you are my world my true

You are whatever the moon as always meant

Whatever the sun sings is always you

Here is the greatest secret that no one knows

Here is the root of the root, the bud of the bud

The sky of the sky of a tree, called life

which grows higher than soul can hope or mind can hide

This is the wonder that is keeping the stars apart

I carry your heart, I carry it in my heart.

Thank you.