Ol' Men Talkin': Introducing A Friend To God
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Date Published: June 9, 2021
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Gathering Together
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Old men find comfort and stability in traditions.
Normally, whoever arrived first at Rudy’s would stake out that day’s meeting place in the restaurant by taking one of the metal chairs, folding it up and leaning it into one of the tables. This was their missing-man formation.
Today, it started, not with a folded chair leaning in at the end of their table, but an empty chair in their midst—ready for the sitting. G., short for George, had just died. The formal memorial was yet to happen, but this was the gathering that meant the most to these old men – a time to remember an old friend.
The chair represented the passage of time and the respect old men have for the breath of life which becomes more relevant and revered as each one of them comes closer to taking their last. These old men always remembered their own. They had lost several of late. G. died two days ago. At their ages, this was always anticipated but never easily accepted.
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Traditions provide stability and comfort
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They had developed a tradition to help themselves move on. This was their sixth such traditional gathering, which, by now, all of Rudys’ employees knew about.
It was their practice to get together within 24 hours after the death of a friend. The old men had tried to gather yesterday, but no one, least of all Jim, was ready, and they needed Jim at his best during times like this.
Yesterday's Gathering
Jim had started the previous meeting. He was the recognized “spiritual one” of the group, and he knew that this gathering of old men was expecting something from him. He just wasn’t ready to provide it.
He said, “Every time we got together for as long as I can remember I would ask G, ‘How are you doing today?’
“And what would G. say?”
All the men lifted up their iced teas—sweet, half-and-half and unsweet—and said, “I am vertical and ventilated!”
“That was it, alright,” said Jim, “So, I have a thought how to honor G.”
“Go for it Jim.”
“Tomorrow, I would like each of you to be ready with your best two-word quip to, ‘How’s it going today?’ The response we will call a twofer, along the lines of ‘I am vertical and ventilated.’ ”
Groans went up from all around the table.
Jim looked sternly at each of the men. “And, it has to relate to G.”
More groans bubbled up from the table.
Doug commented, “Jim, I rarely say ‘hate,’ but I hate homework assignments.” He shook his head, looked Jim in the eyes and said, “Jeez, Jim!”
“It’s time to lean in a little, Doug,” Jim said it as he rested his hand on the empty chair next to him and added, “... for G?”
Doug looked at the empty chair and said a little ashamedly, “I’ll be ready.”
Jim immediately felt bad, but he was desperate.
“Can we meet again tomorrow then?” he asked.
Everyone nodded.
He said, “Every time we got together for as long as I can remember I would ask G, ‘How are you doing today?’
“And what would G. say?”
All the men lifted up their iced teas—sweet, half-and-half and unsweet—and said, “I am vertical and ventilated!”
“That was it, alright,” said Jim, “So, I have a thought how to honor G.”
“Go for it Jim.”
“Tomorrow, I would like each of you to be ready with your best two-word quip to, ‘How’s it going today?’ The response we will call a twofer, along the lines of ‘I am vertical and ventilated.’ ”
Groans went up from all around the table.
Jim looked sternly at each of the men. “And, it has to relate to G.”
More groans bubbled up from the table.
Doug commented, “Jim, I rarely say ‘hate,’ but I hate homework assignments.” He shook his head, looked Jim in the eyes and said, “Jeez, Jim!”
“It’s time to lean in a little, Doug,” Jim said it as he rested his hand on the empty chair next to him and added, “... for G?”
Doug looked at the empty chair and said a little ashamedly, “I’ll be ready.”
Jim immediately felt bad, but he was desperate.
“Can we meet again tomorrow then?” he asked.
Everyone nodded.
Honoring the Passing of an Old Friend with Two Words
The sun rose. A new day began.
Jim said, “Okay, here we go. Who is going first? Doug, did you do your homework?”
“Sure did. If G. were here, younger, and thinking on his feet like he always did, he would say, ‘I am upright and unapologetic!’ ”
“Ha! That was G. Always stood his ground. His back was straight, and could he get in your face.”
“How about, ‘I am ambulatory and rambling.’ ”
“That was G., but not enough alliteration. I think he liked the alliteration of v-v-v-vertical and v-v-v-ventilated.”
“How about, ‘I am erect and unrepentant.’ ”
Anthony started laughing uncontrollably – “What? Did I hear you right? Did you say, ‘I am erect and impotent?’ ”
Everyone gave Anthony the “How could you have said that – IN HERE – look” as they checked the patio area. Fortunately, except for a few Rudys’ employees, it was empty.
Anthony did not back down. “Whhhhaaaaat? Come on guys, you remember all of G’s impotency jokes, don’t you? Good Lord … the embarrassed laughter that would break out in here.” He looked at everyone, dropped his head down to look over the top of his glasses and said in a serious voice, “We gave him the look you are giving me!”
Each one of them smirked, as they remembered one of their personal favorites. There were a lot of them.
Some of Rudys’ employees who wanted to be part of this celebration were nearby. They were making believe they were wiping down tables and chairs. Hank, the manager, was nearby making believe he was supervising the make-believe table wiping. It was one of those make-believe kind of days.
Hank whispered to one of his guys, “I used those jokes all the time.”
“Yeah, and if I remember right, a few too many times!” he whispered back.
Hank smiled and whispered, “Hey, get back to making believe you know how to clean a table, would you?”
Jim was glad that he had decided to sit the group out on the patio. A little self-consciously he said, “Well, I don’t think there are too many of those we can repeat in public.”
Buck offered, “I am firm and traditional”
“Are you were playing off my ‘erect?’ That is cheating!”
Doug chimed in, “How about ‘I am liberal and limp?’ ”
Buck said, “That was not G!”
Doug replied, “Nah, that was a twofer in anticipation of Jim’s demise.”
Jim shook his head and said, “Doug, thanks for leanin’ in.”
Laughter all around again.
“How about we get back to stuff we can use in public?” asked Jim.
He asked again, “How you are doing today, G?”
In quick succession two more:
Harold added, “I am movin’ and motivated.”
Mike said, “I am walkin’ and talkin’.”
Someone said, “Mike is boring and boring.”
Someone else said in a high-pitched, teasing voice, “Mikey didn’t do his homework!”
Doug pulled himself upright and closer to the table. He raised both of his hands a little to silence the laughter. “Jim, I know this isn’t a twofer, but it is the words that hit the spot for me.”
“I am waltz’n, whirlin’ and wheezin’.”
Buck reminisced, “Oh, how G. and Glenda loved a good waltz.”
“Wow, what memories that brings back! Couldn’t G and Glenda clear a dance floor?”
Silence descended on the table once again, as everyone remember G. and Glenda. Doug’s threefer had hit the spot.
Buck broke the silence, “The way they would look into each other’s eyes and dance. After 60 years of clinging to each other on the dance floor, their legs and arms were on autopilot. They moved without any conscious control. They were magnificence in motion. The beauty of the two of them was in the sheer effortlessness of their movements. … and the look on each of them … like two love-sick school kids.”
Harold added, “Watching them you understood what God meant when he wrote, ‘He looked upon that which he had created and saw that it was good.’ ”
Buck said, “It was the love they had for each other. Any time they were around each other, you felt it. A few of us have to work at it.”
Harold, rolled his eyes, sighed and said, “A few of us have to work hard, h – a – r – d at it.”
The few chuckled.
Jim commented, “But that wasn’t G. and Glenda. They were childhood sweethearts that never left their hometown without each other. I think that is why G. found it so hard to be alone here on earth.”
The men kept talking as Jim, lost in his thoughts, stared out from the patio. He noticed a patrol car pulling into the parking lot. It was the guest he was expecting. So, he took back control of the conversation.
“Okay, I have what I need. I have a guest speaker today but let me provide an introduction.”
Jim said, “Okay, here we go. Who is going first? Doug, did you do your homework?”
“Sure did. If G. were here, younger, and thinking on his feet like he always did, he would say, ‘I am upright and unapologetic!’ ”
“Ha! That was G. Always stood his ground. His back was straight, and could he get in your face.”
“How about, ‘I am ambulatory and rambling.’ ”
“That was G., but not enough alliteration. I think he liked the alliteration of v-v-v-vertical and v-v-v-ventilated.”
“How about, ‘I am erect and unrepentant.’ ”
Anthony started laughing uncontrollably – “What? Did I hear you right? Did you say, ‘I am erect and impotent?’ ”
Everyone gave Anthony the “How could you have said that – IN HERE – look” as they checked the patio area. Fortunately, except for a few Rudys’ employees, it was empty.
Anthony did not back down. “Whhhhaaaaat? Come on guys, you remember all of G’s impotency jokes, don’t you? Good Lord … the embarrassed laughter that would break out in here.” He looked at everyone, dropped his head down to look over the top of his glasses and said in a serious voice, “We gave him the look you are giving me!”
Each one of them smirked, as they remembered one of their personal favorites. There were a lot of them.
Some of Rudys’ employees who wanted to be part of this celebration were nearby. They were making believe they were wiping down tables and chairs. Hank, the manager, was nearby making believe he was supervising the make-believe table wiping. It was one of those make-believe kind of days.
Hank whispered to one of his guys, “I used those jokes all the time.”
“Yeah, and if I remember right, a few too many times!” he whispered back.
Hank smiled and whispered, “Hey, get back to making believe you know how to clean a table, would you?”
Jim was glad that he had decided to sit the group out on the patio. A little self-consciously he said, “Well, I don’t think there are too many of those we can repeat in public.”
Buck offered, “I am firm and traditional”
“Are you were playing off my ‘erect?’ That is cheating!”
Doug chimed in, “How about ‘I am liberal and limp?’ ”
Buck said, “That was not G!”
Doug replied, “Nah, that was a twofer in anticipation of Jim’s demise.”
Jim shook his head and said, “Doug, thanks for leanin’ in.”
Laughter all around again.
“How about we get back to stuff we can use in public?” asked Jim.
He asked again, “How you are doing today, G?”
In quick succession two more:
Harold added, “I am movin’ and motivated.”
Mike said, “I am walkin’ and talkin’.”
Someone said, “Mike is boring and boring.”
Someone else said in a high-pitched, teasing voice, “Mikey didn’t do his homework!”
Doug pulled himself upright and closer to the table. He raised both of his hands a little to silence the laughter. “Jim, I know this isn’t a twofer, but it is the words that hit the spot for me.”
“I am waltz’n, whirlin’ and wheezin’.”
Buck reminisced, “Oh, how G. and Glenda loved a good waltz.”
“Wow, what memories that brings back! Couldn’t G and Glenda clear a dance floor?”
Silence descended on the table once again, as everyone remember G. and Glenda. Doug’s threefer had hit the spot.
Buck broke the silence, “The way they would look into each other’s eyes and dance. After 60 years of clinging to each other on the dance floor, their legs and arms were on autopilot. They moved without any conscious control. They were magnificence in motion. The beauty of the two of them was in the sheer effortlessness of their movements. … and the look on each of them … like two love-sick school kids.”
Harold added, “Watching them you understood what God meant when he wrote, ‘He looked upon that which he had created and saw that it was good.’ ”
Buck said, “It was the love they had for each other. Any time they were around each other, you felt it. A few of us have to work at it.”
Harold, rolled his eyes, sighed and said, “A few of us have to work hard, h – a – r – d at it.”
The few chuckled.
Jim commented, “But that wasn’t G. and Glenda. They were childhood sweethearts that never left their hometown without each other. I think that is why G. found it so hard to be alone here on earth.”
The men kept talking as Jim, lost in his thoughts, stared out from the patio. He noticed a patrol car pulling into the parking lot. It was the guest he was expecting. So, he took back control of the conversation.
“Okay, I have what I need. I have a guest speaker today but let me provide an introduction.”
Jim Relates the Story of G’s Death
“G. died of heart failure as he sat down at Town Lake. As you know, he would drive his old Ford F-350 down there to sit on one of the benches along the trail near Zilker Gardens. From there he would talk to anyone who wanted to hear about the way things ‘used to be.’
“One fine day a policeman pulled him over a little short of his destination. The officer told G. he couldn’t drive his truck down to his customary spot. It wasn’t open to public traffic.
“G. calmly explained why he was there … his age … his life in Austin … his home of more than eighty years was up the hill a bit … his study, work and retirement from the University of Texas … his military service … talked about his childhood sweetheart who became his wife. … who, it felt like, had just passed away. … the place they used to sit together was just up there a ways … Finally, he asked the officer, ‘Do you understand I can’t walk that far anymore?’ ”
“By the time he was finished, the policeman instead of enforcing the law, escorted him to his spot. After that, whenever the officer or his buddies saw the red F-350 parked by the lake, they would drive by to make sure G. was okay in the 100+ degree heat of summer. Most of the time they would sit there with him.”
A police officer in full dress entered the patio area. Jim’s eyes followed him until he stood at the head of the table. While still looking at the officer, Jim said, “And G. was always okay … until the day he wasn’t.”
Jim stopped for a minute. “Life, as you get older seems full of odd coincidences, but the longer you live the more it feels like a blessed life is a whole series of related coincidences. G. used to say, ‘A coincidence is the word we mortals use to describe a brief glimpse we sometimes get into God’s eternal plan.’ ”
“Well, in one of God’s ‘coincidences,’ the officer who found G. a few days ago was the same policeman he had told his whole life’s story. He is now the chief of police. He knew G’s routine, and, by chance, two days ago he drove down to check on him.”
Jim turned the meeting over to the officer, “Chief Don, it is all yours.”
Jim sat down as the officer in full dress uniform stood at the end of the table to relate his story.
As the man began to speak, Jim took out an envelope, unfolded a few pieces of paper and started to write.
He had what he needed to finish the letter.
“One fine day a policeman pulled him over a little short of his destination. The officer told G. he couldn’t drive his truck down to his customary spot. It wasn’t open to public traffic.
“G. calmly explained why he was there … his age … his life in Austin … his home of more than eighty years was up the hill a bit … his study, work and retirement from the University of Texas … his military service … talked about his childhood sweetheart who became his wife. … who, it felt like, had just passed away. … the place they used to sit together was just up there a ways … Finally, he asked the officer, ‘Do you understand I can’t walk that far anymore?’ ”
“By the time he was finished, the policeman instead of enforcing the law, escorted him to his spot. After that, whenever the officer or his buddies saw the red F-350 parked by the lake, they would drive by to make sure G. was okay in the 100+ degree heat of summer. Most of the time they would sit there with him.”
A police officer in full dress entered the patio area. Jim’s eyes followed him until he stood at the head of the table. While still looking at the officer, Jim said, “And G. was always okay … until the day he wasn’t.”
Jim stopped for a minute. “Life, as you get older seems full of odd coincidences, but the longer you live the more it feels like a blessed life is a whole series of related coincidences. G. used to say, ‘A coincidence is the word we mortals use to describe a brief glimpse we sometimes get into God’s eternal plan.’ ”
“Well, in one of God’s ‘coincidences,’ the officer who found G. a few days ago was the same policeman he had told his whole life’s story. He is now the chief of police. He knew G’s routine, and, by chance, two days ago he drove down to check on him.”
Jim turned the meeting over to the officer, “Chief Don, it is all yours.”
Jim sat down as the officer in full dress uniform stood at the end of the table to relate his story.
As the man began to speak, Jim took out an envelope, unfolded a few pieces of paper and started to write.
He had what he needed to finish the letter.
The Chief of Police Relates G’s Last Moments
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“To continue the story that Jim just related, I never intended to pull G. over. It was just that he had these ‘bullet-hole stickers’ that he pasted onto the tailgate of his truck, and …”
All the men at the table just started rolling in laughter. “Ah, so you knew, huh?” No one could respond they were laughing so hard. |
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Finally, Buck said, “He was quite proud of those stickers!
The officer continued, “Well, I thought his truck had been all shot up by some gang. It was the first time I had ever seen the darn things! Instead, of busting some gang member, I get an old man telling me his life story for thirty minutes.”
One of the old men grabbed his side in an exaggerated motion, “Jeez, Officer! … Stop! … Please Stop!”
The officer paused for a moment to prepare himself for what came next.
“A few days ago, I saw, the red F-350 sitting in its usual spot.
“But when I sat on the bench next to G., he said, ‘Don, I am so, so very tired. I want to leave this place with my memories. A life without memories is an existence of nothingness.’ ”
Some of the men looked worried.
The chief reacted to their looks, “No, it wasn’t suicide. I didn’t know it at the moment, but he had just decided it was his time to quit living. He had made his peace with his Maker, and I guess what they say is true. … You live until you decide to let go.”
“As I sat next to him, he leaned over and said, ‘I have owned a lot of dogs in my life. When they get old and they know the end is near, they want to find a place that is warm, dark and close to home. Maybe they want to leave this world the way they entered it? I don’t know, but I have helped so many of them pass, that I can sense them looking for “something” … they don’t understand but instinctively know … so, I guide them to a place just underneath my bed. It has been prepared for them. It is warm, comfortable and full of old familiar smells. They sniff around, curl up in there and die without a whimper or complaint.’
“ ‘Today, I am in that warm, comfortable place. All I need is right here on this bench. I am surrounded by my memories: wife, kids and grandkids, weddings, births and deaths, graduations, and, yes, a few regrets. I don’t think you can ever be rid of all the regrets … The Good Lord knows I have sure tried.’ ”
The chief stopped for a moment. He was hesitant to share what happened next, but then continued.
“He said to me, ‘Chief, I want to breathe my last in this place where I have shared so many breaths with the love of my life.’ ”
“I started to reach up to call for help.” He showed the men where the button was on his shoulder to call for assistance. “I was truly frightened for him, but he pulled my hand down and said, ‘It is time to go … let me?’ ”
The police chief said, “I held his hand as he went … home.”
He took a deep breath and exhaled it slowly through pursed lips.
“It was a good thing I am the chief of police … no one ever asked me why it took so long to call in for help. In that respect, we are still a small town. You understand, don’t you? Doing what is right is more important than following some unfeeling, inflexible process, isn’t it?
“If anyone thinks I was wrong in what I did, please say so now.”
A silence fell over the table as each man wandered around their memories. In the last few months, each of them had sat on that bench with G. In the latter stages of his battle with breathlessness and dementia he reshared the story of the gardens, how it was once a trash dump for the city, and how he and his wife would walk down there before there was a formal trail used by the … as G. put it … “the fit, the famous, the fabulous and all-too-fashionable.”
One of the old men grabbed his side in an exaggerated motion, “Jeez, Officer! … Stop! … Please Stop!”
The officer paused for a moment to prepare himself for what came next.
“A few days ago, I saw, the red F-350 sitting in its usual spot.
“But when I sat on the bench next to G., he said, ‘Don, I am so, so very tired. I want to leave this place with my memories. A life without memories is an existence of nothingness.’ ”
Some of the men looked worried.
The chief reacted to their looks, “No, it wasn’t suicide. I didn’t know it at the moment, but he had just decided it was his time to quit living. He had made his peace with his Maker, and I guess what they say is true. … You live until you decide to let go.”
“As I sat next to him, he leaned over and said, ‘I have owned a lot of dogs in my life. When they get old and they know the end is near, they want to find a place that is warm, dark and close to home. Maybe they want to leave this world the way they entered it? I don’t know, but I have helped so many of them pass, that I can sense them looking for “something” … they don’t understand but instinctively know … so, I guide them to a place just underneath my bed. It has been prepared for them. It is warm, comfortable and full of old familiar smells. They sniff around, curl up in there and die without a whimper or complaint.’
“ ‘Today, I am in that warm, comfortable place. All I need is right here on this bench. I am surrounded by my memories: wife, kids and grandkids, weddings, births and deaths, graduations, and, yes, a few regrets. I don’t think you can ever be rid of all the regrets … The Good Lord knows I have sure tried.’ ”
The chief stopped for a moment. He was hesitant to share what happened next, but then continued.
“He said to me, ‘Chief, I want to breathe my last in this place where I have shared so many breaths with the love of my life.’ ”
“I started to reach up to call for help.” He showed the men where the button was on his shoulder to call for assistance. “I was truly frightened for him, but he pulled my hand down and said, ‘It is time to go … let me?’ ”
The police chief said, “I held his hand as he went … home.”
He took a deep breath and exhaled it slowly through pursed lips.
“It was a good thing I am the chief of police … no one ever asked me why it took so long to call in for help. In that respect, we are still a small town. You understand, don’t you? Doing what is right is more important than following some unfeeling, inflexible process, isn’t it?
“If anyone thinks I was wrong in what I did, please say so now.”
A silence fell over the table as each man wandered around their memories. In the last few months, each of them had sat on that bench with G. In the latter stages of his battle with breathlessness and dementia he reshared the story of the gardens, how it was once a trash dump for the city, and how he and his wife would walk down there before there was a formal trail used by the … as G. put it … “the fit, the famous, the fabulous and all-too-fashionable.”
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G. did love his alliteration.
His memory of the recent was failing him fast, though. He started sharing the same stories over and over again. To him, it was like he had never shared them before. When he awoke from these dreams—in the few moments of clarity he had left, he lived in dread of losing the memories that mattered the most. This is what all the men at that table knew. It is what the officer felt that day.
It took a while for the old men to process this information. Old men sometimes think slower but sitting at the table this morning was a millennia of personal experiences. It took time to sort through and integrate the officer’s comments into the few uncluttered, simple truths by which old men live. The final truth that each of them arrived at this morning was that they wanted the final say in how they left this planet, and when their families and friends honored those wishes, they wanted them to live without regrets. |
George died wrapped in the memories that mattered to him the most
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Each man concluded, in his own way, that G. … sitting on this bench … on a familiar trail … in the warmth of the Texas sun … had wrapped himself up in his most-beloved memories from long ago. He died how, when and where he wanted—on the bench that he and his wife shared so often together. They all hoped to be as fortunate.
The officer, though, was becoming more nervous as the silence lengthened. So, he broke it, “I have been tormented ever since that day. … Did I do the right thing?”
Jim put his pen down and said, “Don, let go of the guilt the way you let G. go. He had 86 years of life’s moments. I don’t know anyone who made better use of them. You absolutely did the right thing.” He smiled, “The ol’ dog was ready to go. … so, he went … You …” Jim reemphasized the word and repeated it. “… You gave him a sheltered place that was warm, comfortable and full of old familiar memories.”
Every single man at the table, nodded in agreement.
The Chief of Police knocked on the table and said, “Well, I came hoping to find some peace. I found it. I hope I gave you some in return. It was my honor to play a small part in one of God’s most amazing ... coincidences. Thanks, guys.”
He looked at Jim and nodded his silent appreciation.
All the men tapped the table, and Buck responded for them saying firmly, “No. Thank you, officer.”
The Chief of Police went back on duty, relieved of his doubts and ... if it were possible ... an even more respected officer.
Jim put his pen down and said, “Don, let go of the guilt the way you let G. go. He had 86 years of life’s moments. I don’t know anyone who made better use of them. You absolutely did the right thing.” He smiled, “The ol’ dog was ready to go. … so, he went … You …” Jim reemphasized the word and repeated it. “… You gave him a sheltered place that was warm, comfortable and full of old familiar memories.”
Every single man at the table, nodded in agreement.
The Chief of Police knocked on the table and said, “Well, I came hoping to find some peace. I found it. I hope I gave you some in return. It was my honor to play a small part in one of God’s most amazing ... coincidences. Thanks, guys.”
He looked at Jim and nodded his silent appreciation.
All the men tapped the table, and Buck responded for them saying firmly, “No. Thank you, officer.”
The Chief of Police went back on duty, relieved of his doubts and ... if it were possible ... an even more respected officer.
A Letter of Introduction for "G" to God
Jim stood up holding a few pieces of paper in his hands.
“Guys, the reason I wanted you … or probably the better word is … needed you to do the twofers today is that of the several letters I have written, and you have all signed … this one proved to be the most difficult. I couldn’t get it done yesterday. I thought I would fail …” Jim swallowed hard, “… fail you. But in this old men’s mess of mirth and melancholy, I found what I needed.”
Jim looked around at each and everyone one of the men, and then looked down at the red and white tablecloth covering the table. He pulled at one of the loose strings in front of him and said, “Thank you – thank you very much.”
He then took a deep breath. Several of the old men cleared their throats. Some shifted in their seats. Harold rested his hand on Doug’s shoulder. They all knew what was coming – no, not the words but the emotion.
Jim started the letter.
At that moment, melancholy was brewing in the restaurant instead of tea.
“Well God, here we are again.
“I think this is the sixth letter of introduction we have written and sent to You.
“We are celebrating between ourselves … and with You … the life of a man we all knew as a friend. As well as we could possibly know him on the outside, we know that You were the basis of his integrity, and You filled his friends around this table with love for him. We know that You knew him better than any of us.”
Jim swallowed hard and emphasized, “And the world is not a better place today for his loss.”
Several of the men – it was impossible to say who because they all had their heads down – said a sober, quiet, respectful, “Amen.”
“I guess we will have to step up in his absence, and if just one of us does so in his memory, he hasn’t been lost to the world. He will live on through one of us.”
Jim stopped reading and said, “This much I wrote yesterday.” He held up a nicely typed first page. “I couldn’t finish it until today. You guys gave me the inspiration.” He held up the second hand-written page and started to read from it.
“Lord, we have been sharing our memories today and one of the ‘fers’ truly struck home. As usual with old men there were some truly ‘bad-fers’ …” He looked up and said, “Anthony?” Laughter broke out. “Most were humorously … how shall I say it … ‘mediocre-fers?’ ” He looked up and said, “Mikey?” More laughter arose around the table. “And there was the one … true … gem: ‘Doug’s threefer.’ ”
Jim chuckled, “As usual he didn’t do as I asked but, instead, delivered what I needed … par for a difficult course.”
Harold squeezed Doug’s shoulder in grateful acknowledgement.
“I won’t say this one was the best, because that would be giving Doug too much credit, but his threefer rang true. It helped me finish this letter that tradition says I need to place next to G. in his coffin—our letter of introduction to You for another friend.
“It is our hope that you will preserve this letter for him, so that …”
At this point, Jim broke down. He realized he could not finish the letter.
He slid it across the table to Doug. He knew that Doug would never allow himself to cry.
Jim pointed to the line he couldn’t finish.
As Jim walked out the old wooden door to compose himself, Doug picked up where Jim had left off.
“It is our hope that you will preserve this letter for him, so that … if some of us don’t prove worthy of meeting him in heaven, he will know we had our good moments, and many of those were ones we spent with him. He brought out the best in all of us.
“Remember this Lord, G. was a waltz’n, whirlin’ and wheezin’ demon. A demon in the good sense of the word—a forceful, fierce and skillful performer for You in this world.
“He and I had some long conversations about ‘life after death.’ You know how absurd some of them were.
“For instance, he believed that You would bring him immediately to your side. I believe that when we close our eyes You reopen them in Your good time – whether that is immediately, or a thousand years have passed. We truly were silly old men discussing something that didn’t matter, because no matter how You do it, the end result is the same: When we close our eyes for the last time and you open them, it will only seem an instant to get to a far better place—no matter how long it has been. I am sure the effect is the same no matter which of us is right about the technicalities.”
Doug flipped over the paper to continue reading on the back, “I am sure that You know how we old men love to argue about such things. …” Then he laughed out loud reading the next line. “… if you don’t, wake G. up and start a conversation with him … you will find out.”
Then he laughed louder.
“But, personally, I would recommend waiting the thousand years.”
Everyone roared with laughter. … even the guests inside the restaurant looked up and out onto the patio.
Doug paused for a moment to let the commotion settle down.
“This I do know, and it fills me with joy: When you open G’s eyes, he will be looking into Glenda’s eyes. To them it will be as if they had awoken next to each other … as they had so many times in their 60+ years of marriage. Glenda will take G’s hand and they will start whirlin’ and dancin’ and laughin’. They will be transported to that place they always experienced when they waltzed here on earth—heaven.
“This time though G. will know that something is different because as he waltzes with Glenda, he won’t grow weary and he won’t start wheezin’. He will know he is in heaven because his breathing will once again be fresh, strong and clear. He will look into Glenda’s eyes and realize for the first time that he can dance forever … with the love of his life.
Signed … The old men of Rudy’s 360.
Doug pulled out a pen and signed the letter.
He passed it to Buck and muttered, “Jim keeps getting better with age.”
Then, realizing he had said that out loud, he told the group, “Anyone who tells Jim what I just said won’t see my signature on your intro-to-God letter.”
All the old men smiled.
“Guys, the reason I wanted you … or probably the better word is … needed you to do the twofers today is that of the several letters I have written, and you have all signed … this one proved to be the most difficult. I couldn’t get it done yesterday. I thought I would fail …” Jim swallowed hard, “… fail you. But in this old men’s mess of mirth and melancholy, I found what I needed.”
Jim looked around at each and everyone one of the men, and then looked down at the red and white tablecloth covering the table. He pulled at one of the loose strings in front of him and said, “Thank you – thank you very much.”
He then took a deep breath. Several of the old men cleared their throats. Some shifted in their seats. Harold rested his hand on Doug’s shoulder. They all knew what was coming – no, not the words but the emotion.
Jim started the letter.
At that moment, melancholy was brewing in the restaurant instead of tea.
“Well God, here we are again.
“I think this is the sixth letter of introduction we have written and sent to You.
“We are celebrating between ourselves … and with You … the life of a man we all knew as a friend. As well as we could possibly know him on the outside, we know that You were the basis of his integrity, and You filled his friends around this table with love for him. We know that You knew him better than any of us.”
Jim swallowed hard and emphasized, “And the world is not a better place today for his loss.”
Several of the men – it was impossible to say who because they all had their heads down – said a sober, quiet, respectful, “Amen.”
“I guess we will have to step up in his absence, and if just one of us does so in his memory, he hasn’t been lost to the world. He will live on through one of us.”
Jim stopped reading and said, “This much I wrote yesterday.” He held up a nicely typed first page. “I couldn’t finish it until today. You guys gave me the inspiration.” He held up the second hand-written page and started to read from it.
“Lord, we have been sharing our memories today and one of the ‘fers’ truly struck home. As usual with old men there were some truly ‘bad-fers’ …” He looked up and said, “Anthony?” Laughter broke out. “Most were humorously … how shall I say it … ‘mediocre-fers?’ ” He looked up and said, “Mikey?” More laughter arose around the table. “And there was the one … true … gem: ‘Doug’s threefer.’ ”
Jim chuckled, “As usual he didn’t do as I asked but, instead, delivered what I needed … par for a difficult course.”
Harold squeezed Doug’s shoulder in grateful acknowledgement.
“I won’t say this one was the best, because that would be giving Doug too much credit, but his threefer rang true. It helped me finish this letter that tradition says I need to place next to G. in his coffin—our letter of introduction to You for another friend.
“It is our hope that you will preserve this letter for him, so that …”
At this point, Jim broke down. He realized he could not finish the letter.
He slid it across the table to Doug. He knew that Doug would never allow himself to cry.
Jim pointed to the line he couldn’t finish.
As Jim walked out the old wooden door to compose himself, Doug picked up where Jim had left off.
“It is our hope that you will preserve this letter for him, so that … if some of us don’t prove worthy of meeting him in heaven, he will know we had our good moments, and many of those were ones we spent with him. He brought out the best in all of us.
“Remember this Lord, G. was a waltz’n, whirlin’ and wheezin’ demon. A demon in the good sense of the word—a forceful, fierce and skillful performer for You in this world.
“He and I had some long conversations about ‘life after death.’ You know how absurd some of them were.
“For instance, he believed that You would bring him immediately to your side. I believe that when we close our eyes You reopen them in Your good time – whether that is immediately, or a thousand years have passed. We truly were silly old men discussing something that didn’t matter, because no matter how You do it, the end result is the same: When we close our eyes for the last time and you open them, it will only seem an instant to get to a far better place—no matter how long it has been. I am sure the effect is the same no matter which of us is right about the technicalities.”
Doug flipped over the paper to continue reading on the back, “I am sure that You know how we old men love to argue about such things. …” Then he laughed out loud reading the next line. “… if you don’t, wake G. up and start a conversation with him … you will find out.”
Then he laughed louder.
“But, personally, I would recommend waiting the thousand years.”
Everyone roared with laughter. … even the guests inside the restaurant looked up and out onto the patio.
Doug paused for a moment to let the commotion settle down.
“This I do know, and it fills me with joy: When you open G’s eyes, he will be looking into Glenda’s eyes. To them it will be as if they had awoken next to each other … as they had so many times in their 60+ years of marriage. Glenda will take G’s hand and they will start whirlin’ and dancin’ and laughin’. They will be transported to that place they always experienced when they waltzed here on earth—heaven.
“This time though G. will know that something is different because as he waltzes with Glenda, he won’t grow weary and he won’t start wheezin’. He will know he is in heaven because his breathing will once again be fresh, strong and clear. He will look into Glenda’s eyes and realize for the first time that he can dance forever … with the love of his life.
Signed … The old men of Rudy’s 360.
Doug pulled out a pen and signed the letter.
He passed it to Buck and muttered, “Jim keeps getting better with age.”
Then, realizing he had said that out loud, he told the group, “Anyone who tells Jim what I just said won’t see my signature on your intro-to-God letter.”
All the old men smiled.
The Final Toast
Buck signed and passed on the letter, but before any morbidity could set in, said, “To, G.!” and they all rose to their feet and touched their plastic, refill cups together. It was hard for the Rudy’s crew to distinguish who was saying what as each and every one of the men took a moment to say what they thought.
They were simple thoughts from simple men about a simple man.
“A good man.”
“An honest man.”
“A dependable man.”
“A man of integrity.”
“A life-long friend to us all.”
“The one who made this table laugh the loudest and the longest.” And as G.’s impotency jokes once again came to mind, the sound of low, respectful, celebratory chuckles filled the patio.
“The last and final toast,” said Buck. Buck deserved this honor because he was the one who had brought G. into this gathering of old men. “To make sure the Good Lord recognizes him when he walks through those pearly gates, he is the one who tells so many off-color jokes … with G., laughter is usually mixed with a touch of self-conscious embarrassment. Although we have lost him, it is good to know that the angels will be snickering and smirking.”
They were simple thoughts from simple men about a simple man.
“A good man.”
“An honest man.”
“A dependable man.”
“A man of integrity.”
“A life-long friend to us all.”
“The one who made this table laugh the loudest and the longest.” And as G.’s impotency jokes once again came to mind, the sound of low, respectful, celebratory chuckles filled the patio.
“The last and final toast,” said Buck. Buck deserved this honor because he was the one who had brought G. into this gathering of old men. “To make sure the Good Lord recognizes him when he walks through those pearly gates, he is the one who tells so many off-color jokes … with G., laughter is usually mixed with a touch of self-conscious embarrassment. Although we have lost him, it is good to know that the angels will be snickering and smirking.”
|
Except for Doug, there wasn’t a dry eye this morning at the table or anywhere on the patio in Rudy’s 360 because these men and these workers had all lost a good friend, and today, they all said “Goodbye.”
The vertical and ventilated, the ones who would continue to enjoy each day they were on the right side of the grass, had celebrated the life of one who was now horizontal, breathless, cold and stiff. Another good friend was on the wrong side of the grass. Anthony folded up G.’s empty chair and leaned it into the table. G. was now another man missed. |
George was now another man missed
|
They all tapped the table lightly with their knuckles. A community acknowledgement of a job well done.
Another meeting of the old men was finished.
A tradition was continued.
Another meeting of the old men was finished.
A tradition was continued.
A Moment of Shared Grief
The men watched as Hank marked the table with a reservation sign, “Reserved: Celebrating the Loss of an Old Friend.” It would remain so for the rest of the day with eleven empty chairs that were ready for the sitting and one leaning in.
From where Doug was standing, he could see Jim in the parking lot. He was sitting on the limestone fence, hunched over with his face in his hands. Doug picked the letter up from the table. It was now signed by all the men, and he walked out to him.
“Jim, you done good sir. This is something to be proud of.”
He folded up the letter, inserted it back into its envelope and placed it in Jim’s lap.
“G. will be pleased. Glenda too. But three short things … you could never fail us … you are worthy. … but, please, work on your penmanship. It takes a god to read your handwriting.”
Doug sat quietly next to him.
Jim, without looking up, said, “Doug, thanks for leaning in … for me.”
“Not a problem, my friend.” Doug put his hand on Jim’s shoulder and said, “How about we deliver that letter together?”
Jim nodded in appreciation.
Grieving is a personal thing with old men. Doug knew that Jim didn’t want a conversation. It was comfort enough to feel the presence of another aching spirit at his side.
There would be no more talking today.
From where Doug was standing, he could see Jim in the parking lot. He was sitting on the limestone fence, hunched over with his face in his hands. Doug picked the letter up from the table. It was now signed by all the men, and he walked out to him.
“Jim, you done good sir. This is something to be proud of.”
He folded up the letter, inserted it back into its envelope and placed it in Jim’s lap.
“G. will be pleased. Glenda too. But three short things … you could never fail us … you are worthy. … but, please, work on your penmanship. It takes a god to read your handwriting.”
Doug sat quietly next to him.
Jim, without looking up, said, “Doug, thanks for leaning in … for me.”
“Not a problem, my friend.” Doug put his hand on Jim’s shoulder and said, “How about we deliver that letter together?”
Jim nodded in appreciation.
Grieving is a personal thing with old men. Doug knew that Jim didn’t want a conversation. It was comfort enough to feel the presence of another aching spirit at his side.
There would be no more talking today.