I attended two funerals last month. For one of them, I was transported by the magic of television to Washington, D.C. and Simi Valley, California. For the other, I traveled physically by automobile through the wiregrass of Alabama to the tiny town of Elba.

I was struck by the differences -- and the similarites -- between the two ceremonies

The other was for an obscure sharecropper's daughter, largely unknown to those outside her circle of family and friends until her sunset years.

Ronald Reagan had lived the Hollywood dream -- fame and riches. Alberta Martin had lived on the edge of poverty most of her lifetime.

But in his declining years, Reagan was devastated by a cruel disease, despite having access to the best medical care money could buy. Alberta Martin also had medical problems; her late-life friends helped to provide for her medical needs and other needs, probably extending her life by many years and blessing it with purpose and enjoyment.

The difference in the cost of the funerals would probably stagger us. Still, the similarities were remarkable. Both funerals were obviously Christian. Some of the same hymns were played at both -- for Reagan, by the Air Force band; for Alberta, by the Olde Towne Brass. Both caskets were covered with flags, both accompanied by men in uniform.

There were motorcades -- one in California where rush-hour traffic on multi-lane freeways stopped spontaneously, and cynical left coasters by the tens of thousands got out of their vehicles to stand respectfully as the black hearse passed. In tiny Elba, a motorcade headed by a white hearse traveled from a church -- not a cathedral, but a house of worship all the same -- through the Alabama countryside. Traffic was sparse in Elba -- yet here, too, every vehicle along the way pulled off the road and stopped in honor.

Reagan's burial ceremonies included salutes with rifles and cannons. So did Mrs. Martin's. Reagan was eulogized by people of his realm; Alberta was eulogized by people of hers. The president was remembered for his greatness, humor and optimism. Alberta was remembered for her love.

She was born four years before the president. They were of the same generation. Their passing signified similar things, and different things, endings and beginnings. Reagan's death was the period at the end of the USA's final sentence; an ending. Alberta's death broke a living link to our history, also an ending. But Alberta's death occurred during the beginning of a vibrant and growing movement to reclaim and reestablish our heritage and culture. Alas, I don't think there is anything that hopeful and optimistic for the USA that President Reagan's death can mark the beginning of. Although he basically continued what all presidents do whether they mean to or not -- that is, hasten the country's move toward an ignominous end -- Reagan's presidency had been characterized by hope and optimism across the country -- but that was all undone by those who came after him, and was a false hope and optimism, anyway.

But of course, that view is of how these deaths affected the still-living. As to the departed themselves -- I was struck by the knowledge that both of them, world leader and sharecropper's daughter, went to their deaths with the very same hope in their hearts -- of the resurrection in Christ Jesus....

At Mrs. Martin's funeral, the church was beautifully decorated with flowers -- and flags. The Olde Towne Brass performed superbly. There were a number of speakers from various Southern heritage organization, and they all did a wonderful job, timing their remarks well. Dr. Ken Chancey, who had been Mrs. Martin's caregiver, told us about her in a way that helped us to know her better. He talked about the Alabama country accent she never lost, ("I'm from El-be, Alabamer," she would say). He told us how she loved the people in her life.

After the speakers, there was the showing of a video about Miz Alberta produced by the SCV with cinema verite elements, shown on two large-screen televisions in the sanctuary. It was very well done, and also made us feel like we knew her a little better after seeing it.

Following the services at the church, the funeral procession went to the cemetery perhaps five miles west of Elba. The flag-draped casket rode the last few yards on a horse-drawn caisson. The SCV had a large monument made to mark her resting place with a short history of her life engraved in granite. She was given salutes with both guns and cannons, and a bagpiper played "Amazing Grace" has he slowly left the gathering and walked across the adjacent fields.

After a prayer, it ended. It had been very hot and sunny but as the service grew to a close, clouds were moving in and a breeze blowing up. The rain, however, waited until the service was over before it arrived.

Just before leaving, I went up to Russell Darden, another of her caregivers, and asked for a flower off one of her arrangements. I wanted to take it to William Jasper Martin's grave in Cool Spring Cemetery near Opp, on my way home. Mr. Darden graciously gave me one of the black silk roses off a wreath.

The rain started pouring furiously on the way to Opp but by the time I reached the cemetery, it had abated to a mist. Umbrella in one hand, black rose in the other, I roamed the cemetery looking for Mr. Martin's grave. The SCV has put a large marker at that site, as well, with a battle-flag on it. There were also flags decorating the grounds beside his granite cover. I put the rose on the granite and talked quietly with two other funeral attendees who had stopped to pay their respects to Mr. Martin before heading home.

Mrs. Martin had said she didn't want people to be sad at her funeral. She wanted them to play and sing "peppy" music, including Dixie, which we did. It was a moving experience -- dignified without being stuffy; it was joyous without being frivolous.

I believe she would have been pleased.