“When you are faced with adversity, and when you know what is best for you, let nothing stand in your way. With integrity, goodness, and forethought, you will reach your dream if you believe you can. Grab tightly onto your dreams, young people.” He reached out his arms, one hand holding the microphone and one hand holding his cane, shaking both vigorously. “Hold your dreams solid,” he pulled his cane into his chest, “and don’t you ever, ever, ever, let them go. Do you hear what I’m saying? Do you understand what I’m telling you?” He paused, his shaking hand lowering the cane to the stage with a thump. He looked left and right. “Do you understand the importance of holding your dreams tight and never letting go of your integrity? Do you?” He pounded his cane on the stage.
One child shouted, “Yes!” and the auditorium filled with, “Yes! Yes! Yes!”
Moses steadied himself with his cane and bent his head slightly. “Thank you. And when you feel like giving up, please, try to remember the challenge a little boy faced alone, and look where that boy is today. He is your mayor, he is my grandson, and he is to be proud of holding his dreams close. Just as he never let go throughout those difficult times, don’t you ever let go. You, too, will reach your dreams, young people. You will reach your dreams.”
Moses pointed his cane at the audience. “Remember, children, when you judge a person, please, judge them by the content of their character. Nothing else matters—not their color, religion, wealth, age, looks, social status—only their character. Please, will you do it for this old man standing before you?” His cane hit the stage again hard.
This time, there was no need for Moses to ask a second time; everyone responded with a resounding, “Yes!” that shook the entire auditorium.
“It has been an honor to stand here before you. I thank you. I wish you love.”
He nodded, bowed over his cane, and turned to return to his chair as the auditorium exploded. Applause, whistles, and whoops echoed off the walls and got louder and louder as everyone stood in ovation. I saw Bess sitting in the front row, her hand over her mouth and a proud smile gracing her face wet with tears.
When the roar settled, the superintendent said, “I cannot thank Mr. Kent enough for his words of wisdom, but there is something we can do right now.” He turned. “Principal Davis, I believe you have something for Mr. Kent?”
The principal came onto the stage carrying a folded blue book. “Yes, I do.” He opened the diploma and showed it to the audience. “Moses Kent, I hereby grant you your high school diploma, the first of this graduating class. And it is my honor to do so.”
The auditorium again erupted in applause, especially the kids. Finally, it lowered, and the superintendent added, “But Mr. Kent, this is not all we have for you.” From behind the curtain appeared another man carrying a rolled up parchment. “I am honored to introduce Doctor Jack Magruder, President of Truman State University.”
For the second time in a matter of minutes, I was stunned.
Doctor Magruder took the microphone. “I could not have said it better than Moses. Education is not just in this school or my college. It is in books, it is in wise people, and it is in contemplation and thought. Life itself is education, and an important part of education is from those like Moses Kent.” He placed his hand on Moses’ shoulder. “By his words, his wisdom, and his deeds, this man is truly an educator, and I have the honor today of granting to Moses Kent, here and now, the Honorary Degree of Doctor of Education. Doctor Kent, I thank you for the educator you have been.”
He took Moses’ hand and shook it gently, handing him the scroll as the standing ovation repeated with full enthusiasm.
Moses reached out and took hold of Doctor Magruder’s arm to steady himself as tears ran down his face. He slowly bowed slightly, saying, “How…do I thank you?”
The answer was a hug from Doctor Magruder, felt by us all.
Julie made certain her photographers were busy shooting. The following day, each student’s name and photo appeared in the paper along with photos of the graduation ceremony. The last photo was of Moses, his hands stretched out and his cane raised. The caption read, “Dr. Moses Kent challenges our high school students—earning him a standing ovation.”
The Associated Press picked up the graduation, as did the New York Times, along with quotes from his speech. The caption read, “As the biblical Moses parted the Red Sea, Doctor Moses imparted integrity, inspiration, and ambition in high school graduates.”
On page one of the Atlanta Journal Constitution was a photo of Moses receiving the scroll from the university president. The caption read, “A black man from Mississippi receives his high school diploma and doctorate.”
66
Another Moses
A FEW DAYS LATER, Warren came to me. He was six years old. I could tell he had something serious to say, so I reached out and lifted him to my knee. “I can tell you want to talk about something important. Am I right?”
He nodded. “I don’t want you to be upset.”
“I won’t be upset.”
He dropped his head and looked at the floor. “I want my nickname to be Moses. It’s my middle name, and I like it. But I know your daddy’s name was Warren.”
“I have two daddies, son. One was Warren, the grandfather you never knew, and the other is Moses. Oh, this doesn’t upset me. I think it’s wonderful you feel this way.” I squeezed him tight and he giggled. “Moses it is. Can I announce it at dinner? Would it be okay?”
His smile was huge. “Yeah!”
We were all assembled for dinner. It was Saturday, and both Lucilla and Mayhew were present. As we dug into our food, I raised my glass and tapped it with my spoon. “I have a very important announcement to make.”
Everyone put down their utensils and looked at me. “My son came to me yesterday and had a very serious request.” They all looked at Warren, who dropped his eyes to stare at his plate. “I am excited about his request, and I want all of you to know Warren would like to use his middle name, instead of his first. So, from now on, we call this bright young man Moses.”
Eliza, or Ellie, as we all called her, said, “So we don’t get confused, how about Mosie for short?”
We all laughed. “No, no,” I said. “Moses it is.”
A day later, everyone was calling him Moses. He told me later that Grandpa had taken him aside and told him how much it meant to him. My reply was, “Of course he did.”
* * *
Bess loved her vegetable and flower gardens, and when not reading or fishing, Moses worked in the shop I built in a shed between the cottage and our house. He would read the kids books while sitting on the dock, usually with a fishing line and bobber within arm’s reach.
Mayhew remained with us for some time, but then found his own place. He was seeing a very pretty girl, Tish, and when he was not at work, they were together. They came by often and spent much time with Moses and Bess.
The children grew quickly, yet they never grew away from the need to be with Grandpa and Grandma. Sometimes, the school bus would drop them off in front of the house and they’d toss their backpacks on the front porch and run to the cottage, rather than come straight in. Oftentimes, we saw school projects only after they were shown to Moses and Bess. The normal routine was for us all to eat dinner together every day. On weekends, Mayhew, and sometimes Lucilla, would be there, too. We had plenty of room.
Jacob regularly made sure the houseboat was in good order, and we would spend a few days there every month or so. During one visit, I drove to the dock to see Jacob and Max. I handed Jacob an envelope. He opened it and withdrew the papers, and he stared at them with mouth agape. I said, “The houseboat and property belong to you.”
* * *
One day, Moses fell. Though tests showed no broken bones, it revealed a weakening heart. Dizzy spells and exhaustion were increasing. He fell a second time, and his weak knees confined him to a wheelchair. The chair made him feel worthless, a burden to us. We did everything to have him see the chair as
merely a crutch, something helpful, but his lifelong independence told him it was cage.
Even the children felt the distance. He was embarrassed that he could not be the grandfather he had always been. Young Moses was especially close to Grandpa. One afternoon, he came to me looking depressed. I asked what was wrong.
“Grandpa is so old he doesn’t seem to care anymore. I don’t think he loves me.”
“Your grandpa loves you as much as he always has. Please understand, he feels less of a person and less of a grandfather to you because he needs help. He feels like he is letting you down, and he’s hurting inside because he’s not physically the same strong man he has always been. Just let him know you love him, and don’t stop. Don’t let up on him, okay?”
His shoulders were still slumped, but his voice was hopeful when he said, “Okay, Dad.”
I needed to talk to Moses and let him know how much the kids worried. Young Moses had wheeled him to the dock, and I noticed he had no book, and no fishing line was in the water. I pulled a wooden dock stool up next to him.
“Grandpa, can I talk to you?”
“Of course you can. You know that.”
I sighed. “Moses and Ellie are worried about you because your wheelchair has changed you. I tried to explain it makes you feel less of a person, but Grandpa, you can never be less. No stupid wheelchair can change the man you have always been, and it hurts all of us to think you’re letting it happen.”
“Son, I’m a burden. My Bess is exhausted because of me. You and Julie have to help me when you should be with each other and the kids. I cannot be a burden. I cannot handle causing such trouble for my family.”
“Grandpa, we will all get old and need help. And you know what? You’ve been helping everyone all your life, and it’s about time you are helped. No one thinks less of you because your legs don’t work so well anymore.”
“Nothing does, son. Nothing.”
I didn’t know what to say or do. “Grandpa, look at me, please.” He raised his head and our eyes met. “You are not a burden and never will be. We need you, we love you, and your value has not weakened because your legs have. Do you understand?”
I reached out and took his hand. “You have been the most important person in my entire life since that storm. You took over for my dad. You know that. Nothing has changed. I worry about you, Bess worries, the kids worry. We want our grandpa back. You’re too damn wise to not understand this.”
Tears ran down the furrows of age in his cheeks. His hand, still so strong, squeezed mine, shaking. “This is difficult for me, Jory, so difficult.”
“Oh, Grandpa, I love you.” I pulled him against me and we hugged. “I do understand.”
He shook all over. “I know my heart isn’t going to beat much longer. Doctor said it was getting weaker every day, and I feel the weakness throughout this old body. I do not want to be remembered as a burdensome old invalid.”
I reached up and held his wrinkled face in my hands, smiling despite myself. “Grandpa, you’re no invalid. You are so much of the person I strive to become. I don’t want you sad, but I can’t take away the age. Please, let us help you. Please don’t be sad. You have too much love around you to be sad.”
“I just want my heart to stop beating so life can go on. It doesn’t have a lot of beats left.” He moved back slightly and looked at me. “But for you I will do all I can. I don’t want the children worried, I don’t want Bess, Julie, or you concerned. I will do what is right within my heart—I promise.” He smiled. “My old mind didn’t take time to think. It’s called stupidity. I never meant to upset the children—for that, I am deeply regretful—and it will not continue. Forgive me, son.”
Part of me was scared by his words, but all I said was, “Oh, Grandpa, you’re not stupid, for heaven’s sake. We just miss your smiles.” We hugged again.
He raised his hand to my cheeks. “I am so glad the storm brought you to me. Thank you, Jory for loving this old man. Tell the children I need to see them, will you, please? I have some catching up to do.”
* * *
After dinner the next day, as I pushed the wheelchair through the library, Moses reached for a book. I turned the chair toward the shelves so he could see the volumes, something we had done many times. As he pulled one off the shelf, looked at it, rubbed its cover, and placed it back in its slot, I knew he was reminiscing. Moses was indeed an educated man, just not the way most of us were taught. His university was sitting there before us. Noble in his glance, he slowly looked left and right, up and down, as if thanking each book for its contribution.
I could see he was deep in contemplation: once more moved into that realm of attention and reflection I so marveled at and envied. I had tried, often, but I could never reach his inward depth.
I placed my hand upon his shoulder. “Moses, tell me what you’re thinking, please. I need to know.”
He backed the wheelchair next to the small table positioned in the front of the library, and I took the chair opposite him.
“My son, to immerse yourself in literature, is to comprehend the dimension of personality, the character of man, perhaps even the depths of goodness and evil. By way of such understanding and realization, one can see clearly and judge fairly. Without this, there is only bias. Jory, remember this, please. Through insight and thoughtfulness, we can begin to walk in the shoes of another. Without such empathy, no person, no people, no country can ever taste peace.”
My mind flew back to the night of the cross burning in our front yard, when Moses pleaded with Russell to release the KKK members who knew nothing but their prejudice. I finally understood why he had looked at them with no anger, wanting them to return to their families rather than be tossed behind steel bars in a dark, cold prison as the rest of us demanded. Through the books that surrounded me, Moses had sought out the gift the rest of us had not—empathy. That night, Moses alone had owned it. As impossible as it seemed, Moses had stepped into the shoes of his adversary.
“I will remember,” I said quietly. “I promise.”
His rough hand reached over the table to settle gently on mine.
67
Of Loss and Freedom
A WEEK WENT BY and Moses seemed happier than ever and unusually talkative. Even Julie commented about the change.
I was at my office downtown when I heard an ambulance scream by. I looked out the window and saw Russell’s police car race up to the building about the time my secretary came in telling me I needed to go downstairs—Russell had just called for me. I felt the pounding of my heart as it tried to burst out of my chest.
I hurried out of the office and to the car. He flung open the door from inside and I got in. He hit the siren and sped away from the courthouse as I put on my seatbelt. “Jory, I believe Moses is dead.”
I froze, couldn’t breathe or think. “What? How?”
“Don’t know.”
We raced out of town. Pulling into the driveway, I saw the medics sliding a sheet-covered body on a gurney into the ambulance. Bess was sitting on the porch stairs, her face in her hands, and Ellie’s arms around her. I ran to the ambulance and yanked back the sheet. It was Moses, and he was soaking wet.
“How did he die?” My voice sounded strangled.
The medic said, “My guess is he had a heart attack and fell forward out of his wheelchair into the pond.”
I stared at his old face. There was no frown; he was at peace. I bent over and kissed both cheeks, and my entire body began to shake. “Oh, Moses. I’m so sorry. I love you.” I held his cheeks in my hands, kissed his forehead, then placed my forehead against his.
“Goodbye…goodbye, Moses. Thank you, Grandpa, for loving me so much.” Tears fell on his wrinkled face as I pressed my cheek against his and squeezed him tightly, not wanting to let go. The medics sat there quietly, giving me time. I felt hands upon my shoulders—Russell.
“He’s gone, Russell.” I couldn’t believe it. “My grandpa is gone.” My grandpa is gone. Russell squeezed my
shoulders hard, he knew there were no words, and I squeezed my grandpa with every bit of love I could summon. A part of me wondered if it could bring him back to life.
I kissed his forehead one last time, replaced the sheet, walked a blinded path to Bess, and sat down beside her, the tears blurring my vision. The ambulance pulled out, silent and slow, and Russell went to his car. I leaned up against Bess, feeling numb. Her face and apron were wet, but she had a smile on her face.
“He’s happy now, Jory,” she said in the high, raw voice of someone who had cried. “I said goodbye on the dock.”
That was when Julie pulled into the driveway. She ran over, eyes red, and sat on the other side of Bess, next to Ellie. “What happened?”
“He wanted to read by the pond, as usual, and he wheeled out to the dock with his book. I fixed him a cranberry juice and sandwich a while later and went to the porch to take it to him. I saw the wheelchair had fallen, and I couldn’t see him. I called Russell and went to the dock. Moses was floating, face down, not moving—I couldn’t reach him. I knew he was dead. I could only stand sentinel over my husband until the ambulance came.”
I squeezed Bess and forced the words past the painful lump in my throat. “I’m sorry you had to see him that way, so sorry.”
“Don’t feel sorry for me, son. I watched over a happy man. He told me he loved me before he went to the dock. I told him he was a silly old man, but he knew. I think he knew.”
I hugged her, and Julie hugged both of us. I said, “The medic thinks he had a heart attack and fell out of his chair.”
My Water Path Page 28