Let’s remember Hugh “Shot” Bright for the life he lived, for that dash of 50 years between 1959 and 2009 that touched hundreds of people.

The good listener.

The hard worker.

The helpful, patient boss.

Under Shot’s watch, the sheriff’s department added more deputies, which allowed Panola County to advance to round-the-clock coverage. If you live outside Batesville, that matters a lot.

Under Shot, the sheriff’s department added a K-9 unit and started interstate drug interdiction, too.

On August 28, the lead story in The Panolian reported the sheriff’s department would end the fiscal year well within its $2 million budget, which matters to anybody who pays property taxes. 

“(Shot) was your friend. He truly stood beside you,” said Rev. Karen O’Brien at his funeral Wednesday.

Shot’s family and friends, if they could ask for anything, want us to remember him that way.

I can relate.

At Shot’s funeral Wednesday, I reached inside my jacket pocket to pull out the sheriff’s funeral leaflet. Out came a second leaflet, also from Wells Funeral Home, for my friend and Eureka neighbor Ben Hunt.

Mr. Hunt passed away September 21, 70 days after he was admitted to the hospital. He went in for colon cancer surgery, a strong, proud man of 79, who could outwork me on my best day. He never left the hospital.

After four years as neighbors we had cut a lot of lumber and pounded lots of nails. Together we grumbled about politics, we skinned deer, and we tinkered on four wheelers and chainsaws. 

Before we became neighbors, I didn’t know a harrow from Harlem. I thought a post driver and a wire stretcher were farm jobs.

Mr. Hunt taught me a lot, all the while showing the patience of an understanding grandfather.

My wife and I visited Mr. Hunt on day 68. He wasn’t the neighbor and friend I remembered. After pneumonia set in, he struggled for each breath, his eyes drained of life.

We told Mr. Hunt the normal fibs you tell to the dying, starting with we were eager for him to come home.

Deer season was coming, I told him, and the weeds were growing in his pumpkin patch. 

Shannon told him he needed to get better and come see our new chickens.

“We named the rooster Rochester,” Shannon said to the dying. 

I wish I had skipped that visit to the hospital, because the helpless, weak Mr. Hunt is not the way he lived his life.

So I can relate to the late sheriff’s friends and family. Friends say the way Shot ended his life is not the way he lived it.

We should listen to them, not to be respectful or out of pity, but because they are right. They knew him.

In the end, however our life ends, the dash matters most. Mr. Hunt and Shot Bright made it count.