Tom had been sitting at the dining room table, sipping on a cup of hot tea Becky had brewed for him to chase away a sore throat.
Tom never passed up an opportunity to add his two cents.
“I don’t know. I’ve kinda been enjoying not having so many electric things.”
“Seriously?” Sara’s body language, placing her hands on her hips and staring at him with her mouth slightly open, indicated she doubted his sincerity.
“It’s true. It feels more… rustic now, I guess. Like the way I remembered it when I was a kid.”
“Seriously? You grew up without electricity, Tom?”
Sara could sense a tall tale coming.
But she didn’t get one.
“Not quite,” Tom said. “But some of the older folks did back then. Including my grandparents, God rest their souls.”
“Seriously?”
“You’re starting to sound like a broken record, Sara. But yes, seriously. You see, I grew up on a ranch in Bastrop County, just outside the tiny town of Sigmund. Wasn’t much back then, even less today. Just a fleck of dust on a very big map.
“Granny and Pops lived on their own ranch a little farther outside of town. They were the last holdouts of Bastrop County to get power. They were born in the days when none of the houses had electricity. In order to put lights in your house you had to have it retrofitted. They ran ugly wires along the ceiling and the walls on the inside of the house. Tearing into the walls themselves was too much work and was too expensive. So the houses that had electricity had ugly black wires strung up all over the inside of the house.
“Later on they started making the wires in white so it blended in better. But it was still ugly.
“On top of that, The Bastrop County Electrical Coop didn’t bring the power lines to your house. You had to do that yourself, and Granny and Pops lived more than twelve miles from the nearest power pole they could tap into. Pops would have had to plant the poles himself, along the highway for twelve miles, then run the wire along the poles, just to have lights.
“All his neighbors tried to talk him into doing it, or paying somebody to have it done. Because if he had, it would have been cheaper and easier for the neighbors to run power to their own houses. Because they could tap into Pops’ poles.
“Pops had a reputation for being an old grouch…”
Linda couldn’t help but interrupt him.
“Well, that explains a lot.”
“Oh, shut up, you. Anyway, Pops said, “I’ve lived without electric lights for seventy years. I reckon I can live without ‘em for a few more.
“Back then wives thought their husbands knew what was best in every situation that didn’t involve cookin’, so Granny just went along with him.”
He winked at Linda and added, “That’s somethin’ I miss about those days.
“Anyway, I was like everybody else. I figured Pops was just being his usual contrary and stubborn old self, but when he passed away a couple of years later, Granny shared the truth with me.”
“The truth?”
“Yes. You see, back in those days it was quite common for older people to be afraid of electricity. In Bastrop County back in the twenties and thirties, high school educations were a rare thing. It was a county of ranches and farms. People went to grade school to learn the basics of reading, writing and arithmetic, but most didn’t graduate from high school. It was widely believed that the basics were good enough.
“The same schools closed down during planting and harvest seasons so the kids could stay home and work in the fields alongside their families.
“An education was a nice thing to have, but it was far from essential in most folks’ minds.
“Partly because of that, and partly because people tend to be leery of things they don’t understand, they were leery of the new-fangled thing they called electricity. Many people were afraid of it. Rumors spread that it caused consumption, or cancer. That it emitted invisible waves which could drive people insane.
“Many people in rural areas, like my grandparents, figured they were doing well enough without electricity. They figured why should they spend all that time and money to get something they were used to living without.
“Especially since word was going around it could hurt them.”
Sara tried her best to stifle a yawn, but couldn’t.
Tom got the message. He’d started to ramble, as he often did.
He tried to wrap it up.
“I’m just saying that when I was a boy I spent summers with Granny and Pops. They had no electricity, and I didn’t miss it at all. They didn’t have indoor plumbing either. They were people who couldn’t fathom the concept of people actually using the bathroom in the same house they cooked and slept in.
“Yes, it was a pain. There were many nights when I knew my friends were watching a cool show on TV and I couldn’t. And I hated having to watch out for rattlers every time I got up at night to go to the outhouse.
“But looking back, it was kind of fun. Like every day of my summers I was at a campout.
“This whole blackout thing has reminded me of the fun I had back then.”
“So, Tom, are you saying you’re just as happy living without electricity? Doing things the way your grandparents did?”
“Actually, yeah. I mean, I miss turning on the coffee pot in the morning for a cup of hot Joe. I miss the convenience of a microwave for heating things up. But if they all went away today for good, we’d survive.”
Linda looked at Sara and asked, “You wanna tell him or should I?”
“Let’s both tell him.”
And they did, in perfect harmony.
“Tom, you’re crazy.”
Tom looked to Scott and Becky for support.
Becky just shrugged her shoulders.
Scott said, “Sorry, buddy. I’m with them on this one.”
Tom felt all alone until Millicent crawled into his lap.
“I understand what you mean, Mister Tom. I like to camp out. And I don’t mind it when you wash my clothes in the pond, even when it makes me smell like fish poop.”
“Thank you, Millicent.”
“You’re welcome. Now, then. If you’re finished telling your story can you hang that tire swing in the oak tree like you said you’d do today?”
“Is that the only reason you agreed with me? So I’d shut up and hang that swing for you?”
“Yeah, pretty much. But it’s true what I said. I like to camp too. But I also like a house with a shower that’s warm at night in the winter and cool in the summer. I also like hot water in my shower. Without hot water, you smell like an old bear.”
Tom could have been offended. But he’d lost his heart to this young girl some time before, and could do nothing but smile.
Especially since he knew she was right.
-16-
Millicent wasn’t the only one winning hearts.
Young Charles had a rocky start, but everyone accepted that it wasn’t his fault. He’d relied on adults to be there to protect him and help provide for him when he suddenly found himself alone in the world.
Instead, he seemed to meet an endless number of people who used him in various ways; who tortured and abused him. Who told him he was worthless and good for nothing.
After awhile he started to believe them. He learned to fend for himself and to be independent.
Eventually he gained the self-assurance of knowing he could survive on his own. He needed nobody.
And when kind people tried genuinely to help him, he was suspicious and resentful.
He saw no need to acquiesce to the wishes of others. Not when he’d progressed to the point where he felt in his heart he needed nobody.
But while he didn’t necessarily need anyone, he did want them.
It was something he’d never admit to anybody else, and indeed barely admitted it to himself. But he remembered his early years, when the world was still normal, when the tender touch of his mother made him feel warm and sa
fe.
He longed to be with others, but at the same time was certain beyond all doubt that everyone he’d meet would abuse him in some manner.
Everyone except Millicent.
For she was genuine and kind and real.
And she helped protect him from the others.
He latched on to Millicent and they became partners. Forever partners, she’d promised him.
It took Charles awhile, but he finally started to realize if Millicent could be kind and decent and good to him, perhaps there were others out there capable of doing the same.
Sara maintained that to make Charles whole again… to cure him of the damage so many others had caused him… would require a lot of patience and tender loving care.
She was constantly reminding everyone not to make demands of the young man.
“His soul is wounded, and deeply so,” she said. “Making demands of him or telling him to do things will likely make him feel he’s being used all over again.
“It’s better to ask him to help, but to make it clear to him that helping is an option.”
Scott was skeptical at first.
“Won’t that make him lazy? Won’t he be content just to sit by and watch everyone else do the work?”
“Not if we explain to him that the chores are optional, but so are the rewards.”
“Explain.”
“Yesterday I told him and Millicent I was going to the orchard to pick some apples for a fresh pie. I told them both they didn’t have to go, but that only those who helped with the pie project would get to enjoy it.
“Millicent asked what I meant by ‘the pie project.’ I told her that Jordan ground the wheat into flour. That Scott had picked up a jar of ground cinnamon and a box of yeast from a Walmart truck last week. That Linda had milked Daisy and then churned some of the milk into butter. That it was my job to gather and peel the apples and Becky was going to actually put the pie together and bake it.
“I told her that everyone who had a hand in the project would get to share in it. And that if they helped me they could get an equal share.
“Millicent is always the first to volunteer for everything. You know that. She said she’d help right away.
“Charles was in a grumpy mood and said he was tired of adults telling him what to do. So he stayed here.
“Later on, when the pie was done and being cut into pieces, he regretted his decision. I could see it in his eyes, and in the way he kept licking his lips.
“I offered to share my piece with him and gave him a sliver of it.”
“Ha!” Scott said. “That proves my point. He didn’t share in the work, but he shared in the reward. If that’s not promoting laziness and encouraging him not to help, I don’t know what else you’d call it.”
“No, Scott. You’re dead wrong. He could see that his piece was smaller than everyone else’s. He desperately wanted more, but understood it wasn’t his place to ask.
“I didn’t promote laziness. I showed him compassion. That’s something he’s seen precious little of in the last months.
“I showed him that even when he chose not to participate, that we’d still love him and include him. We’d still take care of him, even when he didn’t want to participate on his own.”
“And explain to me again how this prevents him from being lazy?”
“Scott, he came to me and asked me if I was going to pick apples again today. And he said he wants to go along to help.
“He didn’t stay home the first time because he was being lazy. He stayed home the first time because he didn’t feel as though he was one of us. He felt like an outsider. By showing him even outsiders were loved and cared for, we made him want to work a little bit harder to become one of us. We showed him our group had value. And that it was worth becoming a part of.”
Scott scratched his head. He’d always been self-motivated. No one ever told him he had to contribute his share to the group. Or to society. Or to his family.
His sons were the same way.
This was new to him, this whole concept of having to woo someone into carrying their fair share of the burden. But Sara had gotten Charles to volunteer without yelling, screaming, cajoling or punishing him.
“Well, I don’t understand this foolishness, but I guess as long as he’s joining in you’ve accomplished your mission. So he finally wants to be one of us?”
“It appears that way. Of course, you can’t rush these things. It’s one of those situations where he might take a step backwards occasionally. But as long as we guide him more or less in the right direction he’ll fit right in in no time.”
-17-
San Antonio had its share of eccentrics even before the power went out and the world descended into chaos. It therefore wasn’t a surprise to John Castro that he’d stumble upon such people from time to time.
Actually, eccentric was perhaps too strong a word. For there was certainly nothing strange or eccentric about wanting to survive when most others were dying in great numbers.
Perhaps it might be better to describe these people as dedicated survivalists who marched to the beat of a different drum.
Who found unusual ways and places to ride out the storm, all the while hoping someday it would get back to normal again.
John was still the Deputy Chief of Police. Technically, it was a desk job, but he hated desk jobs. If the blackout gave him nothing else, it gave him an excuse to get away from his desk and to do the police work he loved.
With a dwindling police force, there was very little personnel paperwork to do anymore.
And every available man on the force was needed on the streets. That was where the survivors were. And the survivors were the ones who needed the SAPD’s help, to keep on surviving a little bit longer.
For as long as he could remember, the San Antonio Riverwalk was one of John’s favorite places. He’d spent summers living with his grandmother on Brooklyn Avenue, just on the other side of the I-37 freeway which once pumped commuters in and out of the city by the thousands.
These days, the new Riverwalk extension stretched to within a few blocks of his grandmother’s old house. But that wasn’t the case when John was a boy.
When John was a boy he had to walk well over a mile to get to the end of the Riverwalk.
Oh, he didn’t mind. In those days things were different. A schoolboy would walk alone through the streets of the Alamo City without being accosted by thieves or molested by evil men.
Those types were around back in those days. They always had been. But when John was a boy they were less daring, less bold. They terrorized the innocent only at night, under the cover of darkness.
When they thought they were more likely to get away with it.
John used to love the hustle and bustle of the Riverwalk. The tourists were easy to spot, in their colorful San Antonio t-shirts and straw sombreros. Their red skin was a dead giveaway, for most of the first-timers underestimated the potency of the city’s mid-afternoon sun.
In those days there was a vendor who rented paddle boats by the hour. John became friends with the kindly old man, and was rewarded with a free pass whenever things were slow and a boat was available.
It had been one of John’s favorite times to pass the summer days of his youth, until the city decided it could make much more money by licensing river barges instead.
John could still vividly remember the day the old man, also named John, told him he was closing down his rental.
“They said they wouldn’t renew my permit,” he said. “But it’s okay. My wife thinks it’s time I should retire anyway. She says I’m way too old to be coming here every day and dragging these heavy boats in and out of the river.”
That was the summer John first sold the afternoon newspaper, the San Antonio Light, to the bustling crowd to put a few meager coins into his pockets.
He hadn’t seen John the paddle boat vendor in several days that summer. He’d been by the concession a couple of times, to find the boats neatly l
ined up on the river bank and his friend nowhere in sight.
He hadn’t thought much of it at first. His friend John was rather old, after all, and had taken time off before.
This time it would be permanent, though, and by noticing a four column headline just beneath the fold of the afternoon’s paper did John finally find out why.
LOCAL ENTEPRENEUR WAS
A PRINCE AMONG MEN
Below the headline was a photo of the boat vendor in an earlier time. He still had his hair, the same warm smile, the same twinkle in his eyes.
The story did a superb job summarizing the life of a man who was a former mayor of the Alamo City in the 1940s. A man who helped bring the sprawling zoo and museum to the city. A man who gave it culture.
A founding board member of the San Antonio Boys’ Club, and a part-owner of a semi-professional football team called the San Antonio Toros.
“John Benavidez was San Antonio,” the story proclaimed. “He, perhaps more than anyone else of his time, made our fair city what it is today. He knew no enemies and every other citizen was his friend. Every visitor was his personal mission. He was above all an ambassador.
“His last venture, spending his idle time renting paddle boats just south of the Henry B. Gonzalez Convention Center, wasn’t to enrich himself. He didn’t need the money, his wife told the Light.
“Rather, he needed the joy from the faces of his customers. It was what he thrived on.
“John Benividez was many things over the course of his lifetime,” the story trumpeted. “A politician, a businessman. A benefactor.
“But more than anything else, according to Priscilla, the wife of forty seven years he left behind, John was a collector.
“A collector of smiles.”
John smiled as his mind went back to the day he’d learned about the boatman’s life. Details the boatman would never have shared with his young friend. For that would have appeared to have been bragging.
The city had hauled away the paddleboats in the days after the old man was buried. Instead of offering the concession to another vendor they simply did away with it. That was okay with John, for it wouldn’t have been the same.
An Acquired Taste Page 6