Gene Clay Briehn

August 19, 1930 – October 22, 2013

Mr. Gene Clay Briehn, lifelong resident of Berwick, passed away peacefully Tuesday, October 22, 2013, at the age of 83. Mr. Briehn was surrounded by his loving family at the time of his death. He was the son of the late Edward R. Briehn and Bess Rook Briehn.

Mr. Briehn was a devoted follower of Christ, faithful and loving husband, inspirational father, grandfather, and great-grandfather. He was an active member of Immanuel Baptist Church where he served for several decades as a deacon and also the church treasurer. Mr. Briehn was retired from Berry Brothers General Contractors where he worked for 40 years. After his retirement, Mr. Briehn could regularly be found each morning at the unofficial “coffee shop” located inside of Kyle Machine and Tool visiting with his long time friend James Kyle. He loved to spend time serving the Lord, visiting with his family and friends, watching football, and traveling. His favorite place to visit was Meeker, Colorado. Mr. Briehn deeply treasured the times that he spent traveling with his wife, the late Gaylen Landry Briehn.

He is preceded in death by his parents, his brothers: John Ed Briehn, Weldon Briehn, Coby Briehn, and Edward Briehn, and his beloved wife of 58 years: Gaylen Landry Briehn.

He is survived by his son: Clay Phillip Briehn and his wife, Vicki, of Prairieville; two daughters: Heather Briehn Ortis and her husband, Kevin, of Spanish Fort, Alabama; Heidi Briehn Hatch and her husband, Todd, of Berwick; eight grandchildren: Lauren Briehn Matte and her husband, Jeffrey, of Morgan City; Aaron and Nathan Briehn of Prairieville; Avery, Aubrey, and Everett Ortis of Spanish Fort, Alabama; Hannah and Lucas Hatch of Berwick; and four great-grandchildren, Grace, Emma, Sophie and Adam Matte of Morgan City.

Visitation will be held Thursday, October 24 from 6 pm to 9 pm at Hargrave Funeral Home. Visitation will resume Friday, October 25 at 9 am at Immanuel Baptist Church until time of service at 11 am. Interment will follow in the Berwick Mausoleum. Memorial gifts may be made to Immanuel Baptist Church, 901 Fig St., Morgan City, LA 70380.

Reflections of a Daughter

The Drive

Daddy loved to travel. I’m not sure if it was so much about the destination, as it was about the drive. Mom would often tell us that if it hadn’t been for his injuries, he would have been a truck driver. Whether we were going to Oklahoma to visit my Mom’s brother’s family or Colorado to stay at the Berry’s lodge or to Virginia to visit Clay and his family when they lived there, Daddy loved to boast about how quickly he made it there. “Well, we broke the last record by 40 minutes”, he would say. So, when Mom and I wanted to stop and look at rocks or pick wildflowers along the roadside, he wasn’t especially thrilled. But nonetheless, he gracefully relented.

You can learn a lot about a person when you’re stuck in a car with them for 12 or more hours. Back then it wasn’t like it is today. All five of us traveled across this country in a midsize Oldsmobile. If we were really lucky, we might borrow Granny and Papa’s Grand Marquis which seemed like a limousine. There weren’t any DVD players with movies to hold your interest. We had to entertain ourselves. The best thing about the back seat was that you didn’t have to wear a seat belt. The best thing about the front seat was: control of the radio, no annoying siblings, and Daddy.

Daddy was a man of few words. Occasionally, when we were traveling, Clay would get to sit in the front passenger seat and to my dismay: Daddy talked. I thought: I want to talk to Daddy. There were several times while traveling that I would become carsick. I’m sure Heidi and Clay can attest to the inconvenience that followed. We’d have to stop the car. I’d have to get out and walk around thereby ruining any chance of Daddy beating his last record. I could see the disappointment in his eyes. Of course, being the kind hearted, compassionate father that he was, he never complained.

At some point, Mom had learned that carsickness was less likely to occur if the passenger sat in the front seat. Yay! I was never so happy to be carsick. This was MY chance to talk to Daddy…or so I thought. Somehow the conversation just never seemed to flow like it had between Daddy and Clay. So, my tenacity took over and I decided that I could make him talk. “Are you tired Daddy? Do you want any gum Daddy? Do you think there’ll be any snow left on the mountains? Daddy, did you see that pretty horse?” Unfortunately for me, these questions were usually answered: No, yes, I’m not sure, and yes. There was this one time when I really got him. “Where are we Daddy?” He replied, “Just outside of Fort Worth headed to Abilene.” Then I asked, “Okay but where are we right now?” Daddy answered, “I just told you. Between Fort Worth and Abilene.” I continued, “But what’s the name of this town?” Daddy said, “It doesn’t have a name; it’s not a town.” Then I pointed to a house. “Okay, do you see that small farm house next to that one lonely tree? If I was to mail those people a letter Daddy, what would be the name of the town for their address?” Daddy sighed in exasperation. “Heather, you need to be quiet now and let me drive.” I knew he was aggravated, but hey…..I’d finally done it. Daddy and I were talking!

For some time now, Daddy has not been able to travel. However, he loved to hear from myself, Clay and Heidi anytime we took a trip. “Where are you now?” he’d ask. This was usually followed by “You’re making really good time.” He loved to hear about the drive.

As I grew older and matured, it became so much easier to talk to Daddy. As a daughter, when Mom was alive, I mostly talked to her. However, after we lost her, Daddy and I usually had at least one conversation a day. That is what I am going to miss the most. I’m going to miss talking to Daddy.

Daddy’s Legs

Daddy was in a horrible accident when he was 9 years old that resulted in him being hospitalized in a burn unit for 3 years of his life. He and some boys were playing with fire crackers that they were lighting off smudge pots. For those of you who don’t know what smudge pots are: Back in those days, construction sites did not have reflective, orange and white, plastic, barrels sporting flashing, bright lights to alert moving traffic. Rather, the area was surrounded by wooden, horse shaped barricades surrounded by smudge pots as markers. The smudge pots were black, hollow, metal, objects that looked like a bowling ball. They had a wick with a flame and billowing black smoke coming out of their tops. They were filled with oil and kerosene that kept the flame alive throughout the night.

Dad and the boys were lighting their fireworks off the flame from the smudge pots. One of the boys decided to rest his firecracker on top of a lit pot. Another boy saw the prank and was afraid that the firework, combined with the hidden fuel, would ignite and cause an explosion. He kicked the pot and the thick, black fuel splashed on Daddy’s pants. The flame followed the fuel and Dad’s pants ignited. Daddy panicked and ran in the direction of the river front. His brother, Weldon, spotted him and quickly ran and tackled Dad and smothered the flames. It was too late. Daddy’s pants had nearly completely burned and his legs were critically injured. His brother and another person who witness the horrific event carried Daddy to his home.

Why do bad things happen to good people? Whenever I watched Daddy bandaging his legs, or struggling to manage stairs, or grimacing from pain, which he’d almost never complained about, I would wonder: why did this horrible accident happen to our Daddy?

One day at church, long before the movie “Soul Surfer” came out about her life; I saw a newspaper article written about a top amateur surfer Bethany Hamilton, who had lost her arm after being viciously attacked by a 15 foot Tiger Shark. For two weeks prior to her attack, Bethany and her mom had prayed daily that God’s will would be done in her life. The article quoted Bethany as saying: “I can’t take it back. It was God’s will for my life. I don’t pretend to have all the answers for why bad things happen to good people”, said Bethany. “But I do know that God knows all the answers, and sometimes He lets you know in this life, and sometimes He asks you to wait so that you can have a face-to-face talk about it. What I do know is that I want to use what happened to me as an opportunity to tell people that God is worthy of our trust, and to show them that you can go on and do wonderful things in spite of terrible events that happen. I don’t think it does any good to sit around feeling sorry for yourself. I made a promise: I’m not going to wallow or walk around moaning, “Woe is me!”

There was my answer. That was our Daddy! Our father was the best example of what a Godly man should be. Dad was a man of true integrity. I’ve never known anyone who has come close to the level of morality that our Daddy has displayed throughout the entire time that I have known him. I believe that on that dreadful day in December of 1939, the great Potter took some clay (our Daddy) that he dearly loved and broke it and kneaded it to become an outwardly imperfect vessel with a perfect purpose of displaying strength through faith in Christ. If Daddy hadn’t been injured, would he have been so strong? Would he have had that steadfast, unshakable faith? Would he have inspired so many? Would he have been our Daddy?

Interestingly enough, Daddy was injured on California and 3rd Street in Berwick. Sometime later, as God planned it to be: Daddy met Momma on California and 4th street. Just one block from where Daddy’s life was changed forever, Daddy’s life changed again. Mom’s birthday is Tuesday, the 29th. Happy Birthday Mom! God got you the best gift ever. Daddy with brand-new, perfect legs.