Countenance of Man

by Matthew Nuth

  Mom sat down facing the windows. Mister Wright poured a cup of tea for her and placed it on the table to Mom’s left. “Randall, coffee or tea?” he asked of me.

  I elected to pass on the beverage and sat down next to Mom and awaited Mister Wright to start.

  I had to give Mister Wright credit. I have never seen an individual be so kind and respectful and, at the same, be so efficient. First, he ran through a number of options for Dad’s ultimate disposal. Disposal is my term, not Mister Wright’s. Instead he used language that suggested transition. He made sure not to diminish any comment or question and Mom’s every decision was “excellent.”

  He ran us through a series of questions that opened or closed options. One of Mom’s first calls involved burial or cremation. He made sure she was aware of both the financial and emotional ramifications of the selection. Dad had been clear that cremation was his choice, but Mom was seriously having difficulty moving in that direction. She could not bear the idea of her husband of more than fifty years being burned to ash. Mister Wright appeared to understand. His empathy and experience allowed Mom to come to grips with ethical, religious, and emotional concerns at her own pace.

  Ultimately, Mom decided that Dad wanted cremation and, therefore, it was the only right decision. Cremation made any discussion of open casket moot; thank God. I was already having difficulty imagining talking about my Dad at his funeral, seeing his dead face would have made it impossible.

  Mister Wright led Mom and I through a series of other necessary decisions including the service structure, the timing, and participants. Dad did not want a public memorial service, preferring something that could be held quietly in the Wright funeral parlor. Here, Mom also wanted to honor Dad’s wish, but Wright suggested the Simmons family had lived in the town for so long and had such an impact on the community, she might be surprised at the number of people that would want to pay their respects. Perhaps she should plan on a memorial service at their church where the room would provide for a larger group. Mom relented, but made me promise not to mention this to Dad.

  Mister Wright reserved the last part of the meeting to walk Mom and me through what to expect when Dad died. He provided us each a card with a phone number. No matter what time, this phone number would be answered and that would start the process going for Wright’s staff. His team would come to Mom’s house, they would quietly and respectfully wrap the body and take it from the home. He had set up another team to arrive the following day to work with the hospice group to remove the bed Dad would have died in. He then proceeded to go through a checklist of items Mom would need to address over the next several weeks; items such as contacting social security, getting extra copies of the death certificate, contacting her insurance companies, cancelling credit cards along with contacting her attorney for any matters involving their trust. The list was long. I made a note to myself to do what I could to make this part of life easier on my wife when I passed, assuming I died before her.

  On the way home Mom was silent and stared out the passenger-side window. I assumed she did not want to talk, until Mom interrupted the silence by suggesting we head instead back to The Cut Above as a celebration of Dad’s life.

  “You okay with inviting Uncle Bill, too, Mom.”

  “Of course, I think it only appropriate to have Bill with us.” This was the first and only time I ever heard Mom refer to Uncle Bill as Bill instead of William.

  * * *

  Uncle Bill was waiting on the front porch reading the newspaper when we pulled up in front of home. He looked over the top of the paper as we walked up the walkway.

  “Hi, Sam. Randall. How did everything go?” It was obvious that Uncle Bill had been aware of the true purpose to the ride when we left.

  “Fine, William. I am just going to freshen up a bit and take a little sofa nap before dinner. We are all going out tonight.” Mom opened the screen door and passed through, quickly disappearing from sight as soon as the screen shut.

  “Seriously, Randall, how did she hold up? She has been putting this off for weeks. She kept telling me she wanted to wait until you got here.” He folded the paper and laid it on a small table next to a half-finished beer. “I really did not want to go, so thanks, you know, for going with her. She needed the support.”

  “It was nothing, really. I just sat there. Mom took care of everything with Mister Wright.”

  Uncle Bill chuckled, “You know I have known Wright for years and have never called him by his first name. It always just seemed appropriate to call him Mister Wright. I guess I never wanted to offend the guy that was going to send me off to eternity.”

  He stood up. “Okay, let’s get ready for dinner. I’ll call to see if we can get our special table and see if we can finally get Mark and Tim to join us. I am actually starting to think they don’t want to be seen with us.” He smiled and pulled his mobile phone from his pocket to call. Once the phone started to ring, he pulled the phone from his ear, “What time you want head over?”

  Chapter 26

  I pulled out Dad’s blue book while waiting for Mom to get ready for dinner. Uncle Bill had gone home to take a quick shower and planned on meeting us at the restaurant. I had some time alone with Dad’s little blue book. I flipped backwards to the section for Johnny Jackson. Johnny Jackson had come into my life about the time that Cal left.

  Randall and Johnny, I am glad you found each other. You both needed a friend. I am sorry I have nothing of value to give either of you. Please take care of each other. Maybe, this can make up a little for when I failed you. Randall, my apologies in advance. My heart is broken.

  Love,

  Dad

  * * *

  There was a knock at the door, but nobody got up to answer it. I was only nine and felt as though my world had been turned upside down. My best friend was gone forever. Nothing could make up for the loss of Cal. He was special still, a hero in town and in my heart.

  My Father was quiet and disconnected. He never hugged me anymore. My friends looked at me as though something was wrong with me, but I know they just don’t know what to say to me. They all knew Cal and could not come to grips with the fact that he was gone, either. I just needed someone to talk with. I was so alone.

  The knock came at the door again and again nobody answered. The house was quiet. Dad was in the kitchen drinking coffee and shuffling through a stack of papers. I think he was working on something for the business. Since Cal’s death, Dad preferred to work from home. Uncle Bill would swing by the home mid-morning every day, to briefly talk with Dad about the business and then head back to work. Apparently, he didn’t have much time for me either.

  Mom was at the stove cooking, silent, her back to Dad, me, and the world.

  The knock came a third time. “You want me to get the door?” I asked. There was no response so I got up from the floor where I had been laying reading the newspaper comics and went to door and opened it. I was confronted by a big black man, dark as licorice. He smiled. I backed from the door. This was my introduction to Johnny Jackson.

  “He-e-e-llo, i-is P-p-paul S-s-s-i-mons here?” he stammered.

  “Dad, you need to come out here.” I called, all too loud.

  The big black man looked at me with inquisitive eyes that showed an intelligence, peace and thoughtfulness that was contradicted by his speech.

  Dad stepped up beside me and placed his hand on my shoulder. “Yes?” Then he stopped, stammered and cried. “Johnny, you came. Welcome. Please come in.” He grabbed the black man by the arm and walked him into our home.

  I looked on the porch and saw a small, beaten suitcase. I picked it up; it was light. I followed Dad and Johnny into the house. Johnny moved into Cal’s room that day.

  Johnny had been a friend of Dad’s in the Korean War. Dad never had talked much about the war or the people he knew from the war. In fact, I think that Johnny’s name was the only na
me I had ever heard Dad mention from his time overseas; and even then, it was brief. I could only gather that something bad had happened to Johnny and Dad had had something to do with it. Dad had mentioned that someday he wanted to make amends to Johnny. At the time, I had not known that Johnny was black and that he and Dad were friends. Even at nine years of age, I could tell that Johnny was troubled. He couldn’t get more than a couple words out at a time without stammering and stuttering. It was exhausting listening to him and Dad talk that afternoon and into the night, but I sat there and listened; the whole time just being happy to be included in that small part of Dad’s life. I pretended I was one of the guys, just like Cal would have been.

  Dad had arranged for Johnny to work at the dealership serving as a “lot boy.” He would keep the cars clean and sparkling. Dad had tried to talk him into working in the office, but Johnny had declined saying that with his stammering, he would slow the work down to a snail’s pace. He just could not communicate effectively anymore. He preferred something where he could work alone, besides he just could not cope well with stress. Dad just nodded and Johnny would start the next day at the Simmons dealership.

  I asked Dad if I could go to the lot and work with Johnny on his first day. I still don’t know why I asked. Maybe I just wanted to be a part of something again, to have a friend.

  Dad said. “You know, I think that might be a good thing to do. Be ready by seven, Randall, we will head to the car lot early tomorrow. I want to surprise your Uncle Bill with his newest employee.”

  I suspected he would surprise Uncle Bill just by showing up at work.

  * * *

  Johnny, that’s what I called him. Dad originally insisted I address him as “Mister Jackson,” but Johnny would have none of it. He would frown and say something like “M-mi-ster J-j-jackson di-di-sappeared long a-a-go. I- I’m j-just J-j-johnny.”

  After a while, Dad relinquished and Mister Jackson became just Johnny to me. Johnny’s stammering started to lose its hold on the man about the same time. It was if a great weight had been removed from his back by the move to informality and he could now talk freely. No stress.

  For me, it was as if I got my brother back. Not that Johnny was a baseball star, or great looking, or popular, but he was happy to take me with him wherever he went, and he talked with me, not to me. He even tried to play catch with the baseball in our backyard. It was something I had done with Cal almost every day before he, well never mind.

  Johnny wasn’t much good with the baseball and I really don’t think he cared much for the sport, but he seemed to enjoy our time in the backyard. If he didn’t, he sure pretended well. We would throw for hours; from the time he would get back from work until dinner most days. When we were not playing catch, he would take me downtown to a little diner to buy me an ice cream cone or a donut. Unfortunately for my sports career, I like sweets even more than baseball and I never developed Cal’s hard body.

  That is not to say I was not a good ball player; I was. I just was not driven by it. My baseball prowess peaked sometime around 12 or 13 years of age. While my friends focused on developing their adolescent bodies into bone draped with muscle, I chose to study. Unlike Cal, I could not remember getting anything but A’s for school grades. School and learning seemed to come easy and I was proud of it.

  In high school, I developed all new friendships. It was not as if I had a falling out with my friends from childhood, it was just a function of growing up. We developed different interests. They remained interested in sports, I became interested in calculus and Shakespeare. Although we still sat together in the high school café for lunch, I was there as grandfathered member of their clique, condoned, but not really embraced. That was fine since it allowed me to sit next to the cheerleaders; girls were a common interest I maintained with my boyhood friends.

  I think Johnny gave me back a family, too. Being greeted by his smiling face every morning overwhelmed any sorrows Dad and Mom wanted to bring to the breakfast table. Having Johnny in the house filled a void in our hearts and gave us someone to care for, someone who needed caring for, but yet who provided care for us in ways we could not describe. Today I think Johnny was a gift to my family that was given to us for healing. As a kid, Mom made me go to church on Sunday’s, but I never thought much about God until Johnny showed up at our door. Someone or something knew we needed some help. I believe to this day it was God.

  Chapter 27

  Tonight, we sat around a dinner table set for six; Mom, Uncle Bill, Mark, Tim, me, and my Dad. Mark and Tim were already seated by the time we had arrived at the restaurant. Instead of greeting us at the door, they had their host shepherd us upstairs. A couple bottles of wine were already opened and Mark and Tim were debating what special appetizers they should order for the family to try. The sounds of Stan Getz and Joao Gilberto’s The Girl from Impanema drifted up the stairs from the main restaurant. The song made us all smile; it was one of Dad’s favorite.

  Tim looked up as we entered the room. “Well, the third time will be a charm. We,” he said nodding to Mark, “have the staff taking care of us tonight. We are celebrating your Dad tonight. That’s his chair at the head.”

  I was touched by Mark and Tim’s desire to honor my Dad, but I had to admit it felt wrong, given that Dad was sleeping in a bed not more than two miles from here. He was not dead, yet.

  Mark must have noticed the distressed look on my face. “Randall, we meant no disrespect to your Dad or family by reserving a place for him at the table. It’s just we owe him a lot and we felt he would be here in spirit even if not in body.”

  “I’m okay, Mark. I just haven’t come to grips with him dying.” I sat down across the table from where Dad’s place had been set. Mom and Uncle Bill sat to the right of the empty seat, Mark and Tim to the left.

  Tim started. “You know this area of town wasn’t always so nice.”

  I laughed. “No kidding. When I was in high school, I thought a big fire might be the best thing for the buildings on this street.” This street was made up of small businesses that had long been usurped by newer, better, and cheaper stores in the malls south of town. It seemed to me that there were more dead storefronts with the telltale soaped up windows than there were open shops. I closed my eyes, trying to remember the way this area had been. “Even those shops that were open may as well not have been. I don’t think they carried much inventory and the inventory they did have was so outdated I could not imagine anyone willing to pay for it. This street was a gathering of businesses either dead or dying. It certainly wasn’t worth much. I never could understand why Dad and Uncle Bill were so committed to this area of town.” I stopped, catching myself as if I had been talking badly about my Dad. Looking around today, there certainly had been something worth saving there.

  * * *

  Arlin walked into Paul’s office. In his arms he held a stack of site plans and architectural drawings. Sitting on opposite side of the conference table, Paul and the company’s CFO, Lanny Horton had been in an obviously animated discussion. Lanny sat back in his chair with his arms crossed across his chest.

  Arlin asked, “Okay, you want to take a look at the site plan options now or do you want to continue to yell a little? You know we can hear you two through the door. You could be a little more quiet and professional.”

  Paul was not accustomed to being chastised by anyone, let alone one of his employees, but in this case, he stayed quiet. Arlin was also an owner, albeit a minority owner, and was only concerned for the good of the company. The fact that he had taken the risk to reprimand them just was evidence at how out of line they had been.

  “You’re right, Arlin. Sorry. I’ll apologize to the office staff after we meet and talk through the proposal.” Then looking toward Lanny, “You want to join me in talking with the staff?”

  “Sure, Paul. We need to get aligned on this and we sure as hell do not want to leave the team out there,” he
said motioning to the office through the window, “thinking we are in trouble.”

  “Great, then let’s get started. Arlin, what have you pulled together for us?”

  Arlin laid the stack of drawings on the corner of the table and pulled a large folio-sized folder from the top. He opened the folder and pulled a series of drawings starting with a series of building elevations encompassing three full blocks of Linden street, the blighted section of down-town that had been the topic of discussion earlier in the week. This area had been hit particularly hard over the last several years by the introduction of the modern shopping malls south of town. The shopping malls had brought with them a number large, beautiful stores to the community, stores that to visit, prior to the mall, required a family to drive the hour and half or so to Denver. Now they were available to everyone in town. The malls brought a perceived quality of life improvement for the residents of Fort Collins; that is if you excluded most of the small business owners that occupied commercial space or families that lived in the older sections of town.

  In any case, the modern shopping mall was progress, and progress had meant a lot of money for PW Simmons Corporation. The company had been involved in numerous aspects of the mall development, including the construction of a number of large stores. The moral dilemma - as PW Simmons succeeded in developing business to the south of town, they had effectively cut off the life-blood, the commerce, from downtown. Paul had always wanted his company to be an asset to Fort Collins, but he was slowly coming to realize, his success was killing the downtown. He had asked Arlin to pull together the proposal for the redevelopment of one of the worst hit sections, Linden Street. This had remained a polarizing topic for the past week and had spawned the loud conversation between Paul and Lanny.