Darian Blue
For the Record
There are some men you remember because they were loud. And then there are men you remember because they were steady. Deacon Lovett Raulerson was steady.
On Feb. 15, just one week shy of his 95th birthday, Callahan did not simply lose an elder. We said goodbye to a living landmark, a man whose life stretched from Feb. 22, 1931 to 2026, spanning nearly a century of change, challenge, growth, and grace.
But for many of us, his legacy lives most vividly on one small stretch of road, right across from the middle school basketball court.
If you grew up in Callahan, you know exactly what I’m talking about.
Back when the middle school court and football field were open, that’s where the community gathered. Some evenings, but definitely on Sundays, with the sun high, sweat dripping, and pride on the line, brotherhood was forming without us even realizing it.
And when the games were over, we were thirsty. Not politely thirsty. The kind of thirsty where your tongue sticks to the roof of your mouth and your lungs are still burning from the last fast break. So we ran across the street.
Not boldly – we would sneak. Slide around to the side of that house. Turn on the water hose and line up one-by-one to drink.
What we didn’t realize then, but understand now, was that we didn’t have to sneak. Deacon Lovett Raulerson already knew. And he welcomed it.
That water hose and his house became part of our childhood rhythm. After the game came the line. After the competition came the quenching. After the sweat came the smile.
He never ran us off. He never fussed. In fact, I cannot remember a single time I ever heard Deacon Raulerson raise his voice. Only that smile – that steady, knowing smile.
Behind the Wheel
Every Sunday morning, you could set your watch by him. There he was, driving the church van for Greater Mount Pleasant Missionary Baptist Church.
To some, driving a van may not seem extraordinary. But in a small Black community, it meant everything.
It meant someone made it to Sunday School who otherwise wouldn’t have. It meant a child heard a lesson that would anchor their faith for life. It meant an elder didn’t sit home alone.
Through it all was Deacon Lovett Raulerson, hands on the wheel, smile on his face, timeliness in his spirit. Even when nobody was in the van with him, he was smiling. He wasn’t a man of many words. He was a man of consistency. And consistency builds faith.
Mentorship & Marriage
Deacon Raulerson was a skilled musician. He didn’t just play instruments. He passed the gift on.
He took time with my Uncle Travis, teaching him how to play, investing in him, guiding him, and pouring into him. That kind of mentorship doesn’t make headlines, but it builds families. It builds confidence. It builds legacy.
And if you want to know what a good husband looks like, you only had to watch how he loved his wife day after day, quietly and faithfully. He kept a smile on her face. If the measure of a husband is determined by the smile of his wife, then there is no measuring instrument to judge how good of a husband he was. She smiled big every time she was around him.
He showed Callahan what it meant to be honorable. Not with poetic speeches, but with action. In a world that celebrates noise, he modeled gentleness.
Change for Coke
One Sunday morning in the educational building at Greater Mount Pleasant, where the soda machines stood like treasure chests to little kids, then-Pastor C.J. Brown used to have a Coke every Sunday. Deacon Raulerson was standing there waiting his turn. Myself, Troy Way and Rinata Nelson stood there staring at that soda machine like it was glory itself.
He saw us and reached into his pocket. You could hear the coins before you saw them, that soft jingle of change being shaken in his hand. “Y’all young fellas want a soda?”
“Yes, sir.”
That day he spent $1.50 and bought three Cokes. And we would’ve sworn he gave us the world, because what we remember isn’t the soda. It’s the smile.
"Bama Cans"
My great-grandmother, Mrs. Boatwright, used to gather the community to “Bam cans” – flattening soda cans in the yard before taking them to recycling.
One day when I was around 10 or 12 years old, I got tired. My friends were at the basketball court. I wanted to go play. I said, “I’m going in the house.”
Halfway to the back door, I felt what can only be described as the righteous authority of a great-grandmother and I hurried back to my seat.
But what I remember most wasn’t the correction. It was Deacon Raulerson. He was in that circle, too, “bamming” cans with us. He looked at me, this impatient young boy, and it tickled him. He laughed.
“I told you not to get up, young fella. It’s okay. Just be patient, son.”
Correction without cruelty. Wisdom without volume. Patience without pride. That was him.
Living Blueprint
To his children – and to the memory of the child who now joins him in eternity – you were given more than a father. You were given an example.
To his grandchildren, you were given a blueprint. To the Raulerson family, every time we see you, we see him. His posture. His smile. His steadiness. He is the kind of man many of us quietly aspire to become.
Heavenly Music
I can’t help but use my spiritual imagination as to what happened Feb. 15. Can’t you see it with me? He walked through those pearly gates and smiled. He saw the streets paved with gold and smiled. He looked to the left and saw a piano made of gold. He smiled again.
He sat down and placed his hands on the keys and began to play. As the melody rose, he heard a familiar voice – Archie Lott joined in. Then Christine W. Blue from the choir. Then someone made him scoot over on the bench – his daughter Kay.
And the host of saints from Callahan, from Second Baptist, Mount Pleasant, Bethel AME, The Sanctified Church, all who loved the Lord, began to sing.
And there sat Deacon Lovett Raulerson, smiling, playing, and home.
Ninety-four years of testimony. Callahan has lost a legend. But we have not lost his impact. Because if you ever drank from that water hose, rode in that church van, heard him play, or saw that smile, then a piece of Deacon Lovett Raulerson lives in you.
Well done, sir. You ran your race. You kept the faith. And you showed us how to live quietly, faithfully, and fully. And we will never forget the man across from the middle school. We love you. Long live the Raulerson family.
Raulerson’s viewing is Friday from 5-7 p.m. at Sarah L. Carter Funeral Home’s Northside Chapel. The celebration of his life is Saturday at 11 a.m. at Greater Mount Pleasant Missionary Baptist Church, 45031 Historical Lane, Callahan.