When Time Was

by BobA. Troutt

  *****

  When Time Was

  Walk With A Blind Man

  The autumn skies laid in wait for the cooling of fall. The clouds streaked across the grayish blue sky as the narrow jazzed strips of clouds lay about as pillows across the Georgia horizon. The tops of the Georgia pines reached upward embedding the tips into the tiring sky as the sun rested upon each.

  My name is Gideon Reynolds and this is my story. I was born in Gifford, Alabama where I lived my first two years with my dad, Will, and mother, Mary. My dad farmed and mama kept house. We didn’t have much compared to a lot of folks around. But there was one thing we had that nobody else had and that was mama’s turnip greens and hot water cornbread. I could eat it every day of the week. Her crackling cornbread with some side meat, salt pork, or middling meat, whatever we had at the time, was like gold to us. I want to say, those neck bones on Sunday and her meatloaf were the best. Why, watch your mouth, my mouth waters just thinking about it. We may not have had as much as a lot of other people but we had a million dollar cook. Dad worked hard to see that we had everything we needed. I had an older sister, Mary Ann, who died before I was born. She became sick with pneumonia and died. I don’t really remember that much about living in Alabama, only what I have heard from others through the years. But, you know, there is something I have thought about from time to time. But, I guess it’s like a lot of other things in life.

  There were things I missed about Alabama. I missed my old dog Jake; we used to hunt rabbits together. He was the best rabbit dog around. One time we were hunting back off the road when Jake started chasing a rabbit, ran through an old fence and tore his back leg something awful. I carried him back home so dad could look at him, but there was nothing left to do but take off his back leg. We never hunted much after that. One day I called for him but he didn’t come. I found him lying out in the yard; he was dead. Dad and I buried him at the edge of the yard. I couldn’t keep from crying. It was hard for me to let him go.

  I wanted to be a writer when I grew up. I loved to mingle words and tell a story that others would enjoy reading. But, I didn’t think I would ever make it as a writer. I couldn’t spell or write that well. I guessed I would have to go to one of those big schools to learn how to do it. But, my stories are not told from degrees, but from my heart. I didn’t know what I wanted to do. I was only fourteen. That was sort of silly of me to think such since I didn’t know what lied ahead for tomorrow. But it was fun to dream.

  Oh well, in 1946 we moved to Fountain Run, Georgia up on Scoop Ridge. Fountain Run was about one hundred and fifty miles south of Chattanooga and about eighteen miles north of Atlanta in Sanderson County located in northern Georgia. Life on Scoop Ridge was not much different from where we lived in Alabama. About the biggest difference I could see was we had more pines and red dirt here. But, I still had my quiet time. That meant a lot to me when I wasn’t doing my chores. I liked to lie down on the ground, look up in the sky, and see what I could see. I liked to watch the birds fly about. Sometimes it seemed like hundreds darted this way and that as they twisted and turned about. I noticed they would weave in and out and then explode and go their different ways. As I lay there, the ground was still held the heat from the sun. I was but a child without a care in the world; I didn’t know what tomorrow would bring.

  Growing up in northern Georgia wasn’t all that bad. I had some good times and good memories of my childhood. But, I can’t really say that about mama. Dad and mama seemed to fuss more now than they used too. Maybe that’s what you do when you grow older. Daddy started drinking more and jumped from one job to another. If that was the way it was going to be when I got older, I didn’t ever want to grow up. Now here’s a thought, wouldn’t it be nice to grow up with a childlike heart? Oh, well there goes the writing in me.

  Time soon passed upon Scoop Ridge. In 1956, I was 12 when daddy finally left home. It was up to mama and me now. I cried for the both of us. I never wanted daddy to leave and I cried for mama since she was left alone to raise us. I was 12 and didn’t know how to provide or make ends meet. Mama never cried much around me. She said we had to be strong; only the strong would get by. But late at night, I could hear her crying and praying to the Lord. I cried with her because I didn’t know what we were going to do. We heard that daddy left because he had a lot of gambling debts. Others say it was because of another woman or even both. But he was gone no matter what the reason. We just had to move on. It didn’t take mama long to find a small job. I got a job at the Trading Post; I cleaned up, took out trash, put up stock and ran errands for Mr. John. The Trading Post was a small country store owned by John Westly Fergusson from Atlanta. Mr. John was nice to me. He would give me some candy when I worked extra hours. Mama did well too. The both of us worked together to take care of our needs. We never heard from daddy again, but I still think about him. Sometimes the anger would grow strong within me, especially when I saw mama go down each day. I didn’t mind pulling my load, but I was only a boy with limitations. I did what I could and so did she, but some weeks things fell short and we didn’t have enough. Mr. John was good to mama. He gave her some things and let her run a tab. I tried to take on extra jobs like mowing yards and raking leaving; seasonal things you know. But the truth stood for itself. Some days we had it, some days we didn’t.

  Like mama always said the good Lord would watch over us and help us. What I didn’t understand was where was the Lord when daddy decided to leave since he was watching out for us. I didn’t know or understand why. Why was it so hard? I apologized to the Lord and told him I was sorry, but I just didn’t understand.

  In 1958 something happened that changed my life forever and sent me on life’s journey into a challenged world. It wasn’t long after that when I was working in the storeroom one day. Mr. John and some woman I had never seen before rushed into the room. I ran and hid behind a stack of boxes. As I peeped around the boxes I could see her face. She was trying to push him away. As they struggled about, he asked her where his money was. She owed him and he was determined to get it one way or another. When he slapped her, her head turned towards me. Her eyes were crying out for help. She was not only afraid for herself but for me as well. She never let him know I was there. I felt so helpless. I had never seen Mr. John so violent. As she cried, he tried to have his way with her. But, he still kept yelling that he wanted his money. She told him that she didn’t have it and to get off of her; he backed off. He struck her with his fist and knocked her to the storeroom floor. As she fell, she hit her head on the corner of a wooden crate. Her body lay lifeless on the floor. Mr. John called her some names, straightened up his clothes and headed for the door. He didn’t know I was in there until I stepped on a loose board. He quickly stopped, but he never turned around. He paused for a minute. I tried to hold my breath because I was so terrified he would catch me; my heart raced a mile a minute.

  Then he spoke without turning around, “Gideon, is that you? The best thing for you to do is forget what you saw here today and never tell a sole. You have a good mother, Gideon; I wouldn’t want anything to happen to her.” As he reached for the doorknob he said, “You go ahead and finish cleaning up and take the rest of the day off. I’ll take care of my lady friend after closing, okay.”

  “Yes, sir,” I replied.

  “Tell your mother I said hello and if she needs anything let me know,” he said.

  “Yes sir, Mr. John.”

  Now, one thing I learned while living in Sanderson County is that you don’t mess with John Westly Fergusson. He owned just about everything in the county, even the law. They said he was the nephew of Arthur Fergusson, a mafia boss from northern Atlanta. John Westly had been in prison for murder, bid rigging and running moonshine from Tennessee to Georgia. The Trading Post, they say, was a front for gambling, prostitution, drugs and moonshine. The Fergusson’s ran moonshine from the mountains nor
th of Chattanooga, Tennessee and resold it throughout the south. They called it Smokie Mountain Fire. It was crystal clear with sparkling white bubbles. I heard once that they took in runaway girls from big cities, cleaned them up and then put them back out on the street. Arthur’s daddy had come to Atlanta from Chicago after the depression. His daddy was pressured out of Chicago by the police and FBI. Later on his daddy was sent to prison for life, where he died, and Arthur took over the family business. They ran and owned most of northern Georgia from north of Atlanta to the Tennessee state line.

  As the days passed, I couldn’t get that woman’s face off my mind. It was what I saw in her eyes that haunted me. I was so ashamed that I didn’t do anything to help her. But, I was afraid if I did he would have killed Mama and me too. Little did I know that I would have to remember her face for a very long time. Every night when I went to bed and closed my eyes, I would see her face. Lord, please forgive me I always prayed. Late at night I dreamed of hearing her cries and would awake when her eyes stared into mine. Mama would come in at times and hold me in her arms and rock me until I went back to sleep. I remember the little song she hummed as she held me in her arms. She would ask me what was wrong and I would tell her it was only a bad dream. She knew better, but she let me handle it my way. I wanted to tell her but I was afraid. Mr. John had been good to us since daddy left. There were times we wouldn’t have known what to do if it wasn’t for him. Mr. John, like I said, was good to us. But, he also had a dark side and evil ways that scared me. I saw it several times, like that day in the storeroom. Besides, I had already lost daddy and I didn’t want to lose mama too. I never told mama or anyone. In fact, as I grew up, it seemed to pass and I eventually quit having the dreams.

  I continued working for Mr. John at the Post. He had people drive behind the store and I would take their goods out to them. Mr. John always had them packaged in a brown paper sack with the top folded down. But, I knew what was going on. The law didn’t care; sometimes they came by for their own Smokie Mountain Fire. Mr. John always gave me extra for working in the back room during those days. But, every time I went in there, I still sensed her presence. I didn’t know what he did with her body. I believed he buried her out back. However, he never brought it up again. I didn’t think she was from around here and if she was, she was probably a runaway and no one would miss her. There were a lot of things that went on in the back room of the Post. I tried to turn a blind eye to it and not pay it any attention. I stayed on at the Post until I joined the army in 1962. Why, I don’t know. I guess I was looking for something; I was looking for myself. There were questions out there in life and the answers are there if you seek them.

  Mama was sickly now so I paid a lady to watch over her. I missed her turnip greens and hot water cornbread; I missed all of mama. The world seemed like it had lost it all. The whole country was troubled. They were protesting the war in Vietnam and the civil rights activists moved across the south. Everything was in such an uproar. A lot of it I understood, but some of it I didn’t. It seemed like the young people were exactly like me; they were trying to find themselves. Who knows! The civil rights movement went on strong in Birmingham and Montgomery. There was also a lot of conflict in Nashville. A few months ago when I was in Montgomery, I was able to hear Reverend King speak. He quoted from I Corinthians chapter 13, but when that which is perfect is come, than that which is in part shall be done away. When I was a child, I spake as a child, I understood as a child, I thought as a child: but I became a man, I put away childish things. I want to say today, all across our land and country, it’s time to awake up out of the slumber of a child, to the freedom that we all are equal and free, in the sight of a Holy and living God. For now we see through a glass, darkly, but then face to face: now I know in part; but then shall I know even as also I am known. Let freedom ring, let freedom ring, praise God. It sent chills down my spine. I knew what he was saying and talking about because I’m black and grew up in the south. He held back no punches. The truth will set you free, amen.

  A couple of weeks when I got back from Montgomery, I left for basic training at Fort Benning, Georgia. It was tough. I had come a long way now and I wasn’t going to let Uncle Sam bring me down. I didn’t really know what the real purpose of the war was. I could understand some of it but to this day I’m still not sure. I made a lot of good friends in the army, black and white. They nicknamed me Ace. We all stuck together and watched each other’s back. About a week before I was scheduled to leave for Nam, I got a call from Mr. John. He told me that mama had died. I told my commanding officer and he let me take a furlough home so I could bury her.

  On the way home, I wondered why mama never remarried. She was a pretty woman and would have made a good wife. But, I guess it’s one of those things you never get around to. I never asked her why she didn’t remarry.

  It took just about all my savings to bury her; I wanted something nice for her. She deserved it and more. Mr. John helped me with the arrangements. He was old now and suffered with emphysema. The Post is nothing but an empty building. Some people used it for a storage shed. Fountain run had changed too. A new group of people had emerged with new ideas and new goals. It was hard losing mama; it will never be the same. As I was leaving, Mr. John put one hand on my shoulder and with the other he patted me on the back.

  “You’re a good man, Gideon. You’re different than a lot of people I know. I am proud of you and I respect you, son. I know your mama is holding her head up high for you in Heaven.”

  I never thought I would ever hear Mr. John talk like that. To me, he didn’t seem to be that type. But, I guess we all change over time.

  Within a week after burying mama, I was deployed to Da Nang where I was placed with my platoon, Charlie Company 248. It was a whole different world out there and I wondered at times what I had gotten myself into. We spent weeks and sometimes months of heavy fighting out in the jungle. I saw a lot of men on both sides get killed. I wondered if it was really worth it. The jungle was filled with booby traps. There were underground tunnels leading everywhere. Women and children sometimes fell victim to the war. As the time passed, the casualties grew by the day. It seemed like there was no end or any answer to the madness of the war. The men in my platoon and all of the others over there were like brothers and family away from home. In the fields of Nam we were all the same. We took care of each other. I saw a lot of men crack under the pressure. I saw soldiers go home wounded, cripple, lame and even in body bags. When we weren’t out in the field, we would hang around the base. Sometimes we would get a furlough, a two day pass, and we’d spend it in Saigon drinking and partying at a bar with the other guys and girls. You had to have an escape; if you didn’t, from time to time, you would lose it.

  I made a lot of good friends in Nam. One especially, Chris Murray, from Chicago; we were like brothers. When we were back on base, I would tell stories to the other guys to help break up the tension of the war. We’d laugh and have a great time. They would tell me that I should be a writer when I got out and try to get them published. But, I let them know it was only a hobby.

  Then one day, we were sent to the Mekong River delta south of Saigon for three months. From there we went to Da Nang. Whenever we were not out on patrol in the jungle, we enjoyed a little homebrew that I made for the guys. I would slip in the ingredients and I’d make it in an old rock crock I had found. It hit the spot and helped us get through the war.

  While there, Chris and I had a chance to talk about things. He mentioned to me that his sister had run away from home and they never saw her again. He wished he could find her and make sure she was alright. I told him a lot of children run away to get away from home. I asked him if he had any idea where she might have gone. He said he had no idea. He showed me a picture of her when she was young; she was quite pretty. He told me that if he made it home alive from the war, he was going to try
to find her. I wished him the best. I didn’t know what I would do if I didn’t make it home. I was going back to Alabama where I was born to hopefully get married and settle down. Chris and I spent a lot of our spare time talking about our past and future. We also went through a lot of drunks together and got in several fights at the bars. It was one of the things we did at the time.

  I had nearly two years in Nam and my time was coming to an end. A lot of the guys were going home, but I didn’t know what I was going to do. I thought that maybe we were doing the right thing in Nam. I didn’t know since I didn’t have much waiting for me at home. I didn’t know what to do. Chris still had one more year. I figured I would sign up for a second tour. War has a way of bringing a lot out a person, whether it is good or bad. When my time came, I reupped. When I told Chris he let me know real quick that I was crazy as hell. Maybe he was right. Who knows?

  It wasn’t long until we were back out in the jungle. The rainy season had started and it created a mess. We were out on patrol when a sniper opened fire on us. Two men were hit, but they were not seriously injured. It was like shooting at a ghost. Somewhere up in the heavy jungle growth was our man, but we didn’t know where. We couldn’t see him, but he sure did see us. Finally, we found him and opened fire. After spraying several rounds into the trees, we hit him. When we went to check on him, we couldn’t find him. However, we did find fresh blood. When we searched for him, we found a tunnel he may have escaped through. We knew then to get the hell out of there; we knew they were there. We threw some grenades into the hole, sealing it up. About that time, they came out of the jungle growth; they were coming from everywhere. We lost three men and several others were wounded. We opened fire, shooting randomly into the jungle. As we made our way back to the clearing, the chopper landed for the wounded. It took off and we continued to move deeper into the jungle. We had been on patrol for little over a week in Cambodia and Laos. We were on our way back when we were ambushed by the Vietcong on the Ho Chi Ming Trail. The North Vietnamese had us cornered. We called for an air strike, but for some reason they didn’t show. The casualties started accumulating. The more we fired back at them, the more they came. Chris got hit and he lay out in the open. I jumped up, shooting at will. As I tried to rescue him, the others covered me. I hit the ground beside him, reached over and rolled him over to face me so I could pick him up. When I did, I looked into his face but I saw her face instead. For the first time in years, my heart sunk into my stomach. I lifted him up on my shoulder and rushed back to the others. Bombs exploded around us from every direction. As our air strike drove the Vietnamese back, the chopper was finally able to land in the nearby clearing. I picked Chris up on my shoulder and carried him to the chopper. As I placed him inside, the Vietcong began shooting again. As I was about to get into the chopper, I was shot in the head. The others grabbed me and pulled me into the chopper as it lifted off. The chopper took us back to a company hospital near Saigon for treatment. Chris and I were hospitalized for two weeks. He lost his leg and I lost my eyesight.

  It was 1965; they sent us stateside to Walter Reed Hospital in Washington for rehabilitation. Our time was over with in Nam. I pulled two years and three months; it was good to be back in the states. I wasn’t happy to be blind. My stay at Walter Reed seemed like a lifetime. I did get to see, so to speak, some of the guys I met in Nam. They all seemed glad to see me and I was happy to be back with them. From the way they talked, they were in bad shape too. We talked about old times and exchanged war stories. Also, while there, I was awarded the Purple Heart for my bravery. I was so proud of it and everyone was happy for me. Some of the other guys also received medals. The ceremony was beautiful and I’ll never forget it. I was blind and couldn’t see the Purple Heart, but it was a touching moment in my life. War had a way of crippling a person for life. As the nurse took me around in a wheelchair, some of the voices sounded familiar. Some called out my nickname, Ace. What it is man or what’s happening, Ace were some of the greetings I remember. Some of the guys were about to be discharged and others were just being admitted. The rehab was not too bad. I was dependent on my other senses especially my hearing, more now than ever to help me get by. They taught me the feel of the cane and I also received a Seeing Eye dog. They taught me how to let the dog be my eyes. After about two years of rehab at Walter Reed, I could get around pretty good. I got to talk to Chris about three times before he was released. After that I didn’t see him anymore. He got an artificial leg and was only there for about fourteen months. He didn’t have to stay as long as I did.

  After I finished rehab at Walter Reed, I decided to go to college. The GI bill helped pay for it so why wouldn’t I. I always wanted to become a lawyer. I always enjoyed helping others and besides that is what mama always wanted me to be. I knew she would be proud. I enrolled at Cambridge Dalton College in Maryland. It was a four year school in Northern Maryland. They were well equipped for the disabled student and offered several classes such as Braille; they allowed Seeing Eye dogs. The college was well rounded for its education department, science, and business and commerce too.

  College was a struggle at first. It was hard for me to adjust to the college setting. It took me forever; it seemed, to find everything. I had to get an early start to make it to my classes on time. I lived in an off campus apartment not far from the school. I made a home brewing station out of one of my closets. I loved it; I made enough during my four years of college to get thousands drunk. In college I met the girl of my dreams, Charlene. Oh, I dated other girls before, but she was something special. I let Charlene try some of my homebrew, but she didn’t like it that much. She was more of a connoisseur of the grape. Unfortunately, Charlene was one of those that got away, and I wished I had her back. She was a good girl and a big help to me. My blindness didn’t seem to bother her. She accepted me like I was and that was good in 1968. We had a lot of fun together and did a lot of fun things together. She was studying to be a teacher. We both took a creative writing class just for fun. That’s where we first met. We analyzed each other’s stories. She wanted to do some writing for a magazine. I told the same old stories I had told time and time again, but now with a different twist. We had our ups and downs like all couples do. I told her several times I couldn’t see that, but she didn’t catch on at first. When she finally caught on we both laughed hysterically. It helped to ease the tension at times. We talked about getting married after we graduated. I didn’t know about that. I told her I would see. She helped me a lot in college. I don’t know what I would have done without her. The time in college passed as quickly as Vietnam did. She went on to get her masters and I went on to law school. After that we went our separate ways. We kept in touch and saw each other during the holidays. We still talked about getting married. I guess I wasn’t as ready as she was. But, we kept in touch by phone.

  Law school wasn’t as bad as I expected. There weren’t too many blind law school students; I was the only one in my class. It was awkward but I made it through it. My other senses had now developed into a more helpful tool than at first. My hearing was exceptionally keen. I had taught myself to identify things from the way people walked. It’s funny the little things people do when they walk, whether it is a heavy person, a thin male or a thin female. Some stepped hard; some clicked or shuffled their heels. My smell became more precise; the smell of a woman’s perfume or a man’s cologne, a person who smoked, and so on. My other senses improved as well. I graduated from law school in 1976 with honors and passed the bar exam. I received job offers from several law firms, but I didn’t accept any of them. I wanted to open my own law practice.

  In 1978 I moved to New York where I rented an office with upstairs living quarters. Yep, you’re right; I set up a room for my homebrew. I had to remodel the office part. I had taken on some small cases to help me get started; at that point I was appreciative for
anything. Then one day, as I was going over some court papers, I smelled her.

  “Charlene, is that you?” I asked.

  I heard her walk up behind me. She placed her hands over my eyes and said, “Don’t look.”

  I turned around and kissed her. I was so happy she was there.

  “I knew it was you,” I said.

  “How did you know that?” she replied.

  “Oh, I have my ways of knowing,” I laughed.

  Charlene was in town for the weekend and she had come by to see me. We had a lot of catching up to do. We found an eating place off 8th street called Burning Tree Barbeque Pit and Grill. They specialized in baby back ribs and pulled pork. It was the best I had eaten since I had left home. Charlene loved it too. There’s no telling how many baby back ribs I ate myself. She was not teaching at the time and she thought she’d get away for a while. She decided to stay with me and help me out. I told her I needed a secretary and she said she was the person for the job. I told her that I was having the office remodeled; the office was in a mess and she would have to make her way around. She let me know that would not be a problem. She was ready to start that day. Things progressed right along. I picked up some new cases, still nothing big. At that point, I had to take whatever I could get. Starting a new practice turned out to be more work than I realized. Then one day a man came in looking for a lawyer. But when he saw I was blind, he started laughing.

  I turned to him, took off my dark glasses and said, “I like your blue pullover shirt and your fly is open.”

  Quickly, the man zipped up his fly and said, “How’d you know that? You’re blind.”

  “Oh, I can tell you more if you want me too.”

  “No, no, I’m sorry,” he said. “You’re a good man.”

  Charlene and I started laughing and so did he. He had no idea Charlene had communicated everything to me through my earpiece. We had a lot of fun with people that way. I only wished I could see the look on their faces. I asked him what I could do for him. He then went on to state his case. I told him I would represent him. I had Charlene take his name, phone number and address; I told him I would be in touch.

  As he left, Charlene told me that the glass people called to schedule the installation of the new front window.

  “They will be here Thursday to put in the new window. It will read Gideon Reynolds, Attorney-at-Law, 20854 Perry Street, 620-9859,” she said.

  “That will be fine,” I told her.

  On Wednesday another man came into the office. When he spoke and asked about retaining a lawyer, I recognized his voice. I didn’t want him to know who I was. I asked him about his case and how I could help him. He said he had to go to court for a shoplifting charge, public drunkenness and loitering. They were simple charges; a public defense attorney could have represented him in court. But, for some reason he didn’t want to go that route. I told him I would take his case. That based on his behavior I would talk to the judge and see what I could do. He told me thanks and that he would see me tomorrow in court.

  “By the way, what is your name?” he asked.

  “Matthew,” I stated, which was my middle name.

  I was named after my daddy. Luckily, Charlene had left for the day. I didn’t want her to know. That night I tossed and turned in the bed. I couldn’t get his voice out of my head. He didn’t recognize me; I had grown up and was blind. There was so much I wanted to ask him, but at the same time I cared less.

  It was early the next morning when Charlene and I made our way into the courtroom. I really needed her, especially on this case. We stood as the judge entered the courtroom. The judge called the first case. As we sat there in the courtroom I wanted to tell him so much, but I held back. Charlene took my hand into hers and rubbed it with her thumb. She sensed something was wrong. We were finally called before the judge. I presented his case and plea bargained on my client’s behalf. I asked him to consider it since my client was moving out of state. The judge looked over the charges and made his decision.

  “Counselor, I’ll drop the loitering,” he said, “since your client is leaving the state. If he will plead guilty to theft under $500, I’ll suspend the charge of 11-29 in jail to time served.”

  I and asked my client if he wanted to accept the plea bargain and he told me yes.

  “He will, your honor.”

  The judge slammed the gavel down on the desk, “Court adjourned for lunch. We will reconvene at one o’clock.”

  My client thanked me and tried to slip some money into my hand. I told him to keep his money that mama could have used it a long time ago.

  He placed one of his hands upon my shoulder and asked, “Gideon, is that you?”

  I removed his hand from my shoulder and replied, “You got it, dad. Let’s go Charlene.”

  She took me by the hand and led me out of the courtroom. She told me daddy was standing there with his head down. I never heard from daddy again. I thought about him often and I still missed him. I wondered if I had done the wrong thing in the courtroom that day. But, that’s life. We have to live with our choices.

  Time soon passed and my business had taken off. Charlene and I had a small wedding at a chapel in downtown Manhattan. She had started teaching not far from the office and I had hired a new secretary, Birdie. She raised canaries for a hobby. She was an older lady, but she knew what she was doing.

  I noticed some street children who hung around close to the office. I heard some of the things they said and I also heard a basketball bounce. One day as I was passing by, I stopped and said hello. They didn’t have too much to say. I gave them words of encouragement because they were handicapped in a different way. Every time I passed by there, I always tried to stop a few minutes and spend some time with them. Some of them didn’t have time for me; while others were glad I stopped. We would shoot the breeze, laugh and have a good time. There were a couple of times I represented some of them in juvenile court; nothing real bad though.

  Then one day I was asleep in my chair when a young boy slipped into the office and was snooping around. When I heard him, I woke up. But, I pretended to be asleep. I heard him prowling around in the front room. I could tell he was a young boy by his walk. I lowered my hand down beside me and placed it on the dog’s head to keep him from moving. Gently, I rubbed his head so he would stay put. Birdie had already gone home for the day. I heard him when he came into the office where I was.

  “Easy dog,” he mumbled.

  I still pretended to be asleep with the dog at my side. He waved his hand up and down in front of my face. I felt the slight breeze from the movement of his hand. I didn’t move or make a sound. I kept my hand on the dog’s head so he would stay. The boy turned around to leave when I spoke up.

  “Four fingers and one thumb.”

  He stopped in his tracks and said, “What’d you say, man?”

  “You heard me. Four fingers and one thumb.”

  “How did you know that, man, you’re blind?”

  “First of all, my name is Gideon not hey man. I guess you can say it was a lucky guess. What’s going on, little brother?” I replied.

  “I’m not your little brother,” he stated. “I’m Scratch.”

  “What kind of a damn name is that?” I laughed. “What’s the name you were born with?”

  “Jerome, but everyone on the street calls me Scratch.”

  “Well, good to meet you, Scratch. My name…”

  “I know, you’ve already told me, Gide… or something. That dog bite?” he asked.

  “He could,” I said. “He likes fingers and thumbs.”

  The dog got up and went and sat in front of Scratch.

  “He’s a smart dog too ain’t he?” replied Jerome.

  “Pretty smart,” I boasted.

  “Can I pet him?” he asked

  “Sure,” I replied. “But be careful.”

  Jerome slowly reached down and
started rubbing him behind his ears. The dog licked his hand and then came back over to me.

  “Cool, man,” he said.

  “I want to know what you are doing hanging out in my crib?” I questioned him.

  “Well,” he said. “I noticed that you had moved in and I was wondering if you had any work for me to do. I could use some cash, bro.”

  “Like man, what do you do?” I replied.

  “I can sweep, clean and take trash out; general stuff like that. You know what I mean. I can take care of you old man.”

  “Well are you any good at it?” I asked.

  “It doesn’t matter because you’re blind anyway,” he smarted off. “You won’t be able to tell.”

  “Oh, I won’t,” I said.

  “No, you can’t man,” he assured me.

  “What about your hand waving in front of my face?” I asked. “You don’t know how blind I actually am.”

  “Check this out,” he said. “What am I doing now, Mr. Gideon?”

  I slowly turned toward him and replied, “You’re doing nothing. You wanted me to think you were doing something, so I would take a wild guess.”

  “Are you sure you’re blind,” he questioned.

  “Blind as a bat, but I have learned to read people,” I said.

  “Well, dude, what about the job?” he asked.

  “My name is not dude either.”

  “Okay, okay, I catch where you are coming from,” he replied.

  I said, “Okay, Jerome I’ll pay you ninety cents an hour. You’ll work three days a week and no weekends. I’ll pay you every two weeks. The job is yours if you want it.”

  “I don’t know about all of that now, we are brothers you know or haven’t you noticed that. I tell you what, $1.25 an hour three days a week and weekends off. I’ll even run errands,” he said.

  “Not bad,” I chuckled. “You might turn out to be a good lawyer.”

  “Nope, that’s not my bag,” he said. “I want to play baseball.”

  “For who,” I questioned.

  “The Yankees, you should have known that by the Yankee baseball cap I have on, that is if you can see.”

  “Okay, alright Jerome, you don’t have a baseball cap on. Don’t try to play me.”

  “How did you know that?” he replied.

  “I can’t give away my secrets,” I said. “But you don’t have a cap on, do you?”

  Scratch didn’t reply.

  “Okay then, Scratch, we have a deal,” I replied. “You’ll also take care of the dog. When can you start?”

  “What about tomorrow,” he said. “What about a little cash advance?”

  “Are you hungry?” I asked.

  “Well, sort of,” he answered.

  “There’s a hotdog stand down the street we can try. What about that?” I suggested.

  “Well, I don’t know. I stole from them so I’m not allowed to go near their stand anymore. I was hungry and didn’t have any money for food.”

  “You do know stealing is against the law,” I told him.

  “I know,” he replied.

  “There’s an Italian restaurant up the street. Do you like spaghetti?” I asked.

  “Yeah,” he replied.

  “You haven’t been stealing spaghetti have you?”

  “No,” he laughed.

  We left the office to get a bite to eat. I walked slowly with my cane in one hand and held onto my dog with the other hand. From that day on, Jerome and I became buddies. In his free time, Jerome hung out with the kids down the street or with me. Charlene became attached to him also. He was a big help to both of us. He later moved in with us; we had an extra room and were happy to give him a place to live. We took him to watch the Yankees play several times. I bought us a Yankee ball cap, even Charlene one. He never said much about his family or where he was from. When I mentioned it, he didn’t want to talk about it. So, I didn’t press him. He did good with the other kids, playing ball and all. He wasn’t too interested in school. He said he could hustle on the street and make a good living. One day when Charlene and I went out, he stayed at home. I want you to know he got into my homebrew and got drunker than a clown. By the time we got back home, he was sicker than a dog. I couldn’t do anything but laugh. I felt so sorry for him, but it was still funny. Charlene got mad at me, but she laughed at him too.

  “He’ll be alright,” I said. “Let him sleep it off.”

  I took him into his bedroom and he never even knew it. The next day I talked to him, but he didn’t have much to say. I believe he learned his lesson the hard way. Not long after that, I noticed he kept coming in later and later each night. And he had a substantial amount of money in his pocket. I asked him about it and he said he had picked up some odd jobs to earn some extra money. I doubted that, but I didn’t press the issue. Then one night he didn’t come home at all. We were so worried that we called the precinct but as far as they knew he hadn’t been brought in. I told Charlene that I was going to chew him out for worrying us this way. It was about ten-thirty when we received a call from the hospital. They had found my business card in his billfold. We rushed over to the hospital. But, by the time we got there he had died. According to the officer in charge, Jerome had been gambling, shooting dice, in the alley with some other people. He had won a lot of money according to one of the boys they interviewed. Someone either in the game or watching followed him as he headed home. He never made it; he was found in an old abandoned building on the East River.

  “Do they know who did it?” I asked.

  The officer replied, “We are still rounding up the boys that were there, but we don’t know anything yet.”

  We buried Jerome with his Yankee baseball cap on. He would have liked that. For the next few months I didn’t realize how hard it was to let him go and how much he impacted our life. He was the son I never had. Charlene had a hard time dealing with it. The police kept working on the case. The word was out on the street, but there was little to no leads until they were finally able to bring in a suspect for questioning. I went down to the station. The boy had been in the alley that night, but left early. However, he was seen later on the eastside with Jerome. He had a criminal record and spent five years in reform school. There was enough evidence to book him and charge him with second degree murder. But days later he was released due to a technicality during his arrest; he walked free. I tried to do what I could because I believed he was guilty in some way or another. If he didn’t do it, he knew who did. But, my hands were tied. The law was the law.

  For the next year I struggled with the court’s decision. Day after day I cried; I was angry, hurt and betrayed by the law I was taught to obey. I even thought of giving up my law practice, but one day a law firm from Connecticut called me. It was one of the law firms that offered me a job after I graduated and passed the bar exam. They wanted to know if I would like to work for them. I told them I would contact them in a day or two with my answer. I talked to Charlene and she agreed we needed to move on, that maybe a new place was what we needed because we had so many memories here. Plus, she could teach in Connecticut. The next day I told them I would take the job. I told them I needed a couple of weeks to close down my office and relocate. They said two weeks would be fine. By the end of the second week we were living in an apartment in Connecticut and Charlene was putting in applications for a teaching job.

  It was 1982 when I started to work for Bennett, Ryan and Blackwell in Connecticut. The first year flew by. I stayed so busy it helped ease the hurt over the loss of Jerome. I had been working on a few high profile cases and I can honestly say they were pretty successful. The time went by and my name and work had become well established. I had plenty of cases, more than I wanted at times. Charlene was doing well; she got a good teaching job for a good school and she was happy.

  You know after Jerome died we never discussed having children. Before he came into our life
we had talked about it from time to time. But, we were more career minded and didn’t want to give up the time to raise a family. We were okay with our decision and it was still a possibility.

  I had been with the firm for about eight years when I got the case of my life; it was unbelievable. I was to prosecute a young man who was charged with murder and aggravated armed robbery. He had robbed a convenience store and killed two people, sounds pretty typical doesn’t it. But, the suspect was the same boy who had been charged with Jerome’s death but let go because of a technicality. It was not a high profile case like I was used to, but the firm wanted me to prosecute the case. I often wondered if they knew something. Several weeks passed and I was ready for the trial. The trial lasted a week and at the end of the week the jury found him guilty. He was sentenced to life without parole. As the court officers led him away, I bowed my head in silence. Charlene was there in the courtroom that day and we thanked the Lord for final closure.

  I worked two more years with the firm and Charlene and I had built up a decent nest egg. We were ready for a change and we both wanted to go back to Georgia. So, we quit our jobs in 1992 and bought a house in the country near Fountain Run. Life was so much simpler there. We raised a garden and two boys.

  We had lived there for about five years when a knock came at the door. Charlene went to answer it and it was a man who wanted to see Ace. She let him in and led him into the living room where I was resting. I tried to get the scent of his presence so I could figure out who he was. Charlene never said a word. Then he said my name, Ace, and that was all I needed to hear.

  “Is that you Chris?” I asked.

  He replied, “You still got the gift.”

  He came over and hugged me. Charlene left to make some iced tea.

  “Man o’ man it has been awhile,” I said.

  “Yeah,” he replied, “it has.”

  “Are you staying in town for a while?” I asked.

  “I don’t know,” he replied. “You remember I told you I was looking for my sister.”

  “Yes, have you had any luck?”

  “Maybe,” he said. “That’s why I’m here. A few days ago I heard they had dug up a body here and Georgia was the last place she had contacted us from.”

  “I remember you mentioned that,” I replied.

  “The remains may be hers.”

  “I bet you would like some iced tea,” Charlene asked as she made her way into the room.

  “Thank you,” he replied.

  “Can you stay for supper?” she asked.

  “Well, I don’t know,” he replied. “They are supposed to let me know something this evening.”

  “Oh, come on, Chris, you have time,” I begged.

  “Well, okay,” he said. “This tea is good, Charlene.”

  “We have a lot to catch up on,” I said.

  We spent the rest of the day laughing and talking about Vietnam and our rendezvous in Saigon. I offered him some homebrew and we drank to all those who didn’t come home from the war. We had a good time as we reminisced about the past. That afternoon the sheriff came by to tell Chris the remains were definitely his sisters; it was confirmed by her dental records. Chris was glad to finally get some closure. He asked the sheriff if he knew how she died. The sheriff said it had been so long ago that they couldn’t pinpoint the exact cause. But, there was a hairline crack in her skull. He said it was possible someone hit her or she could have fallen by accident; they would never know for sure.

  “Sheriff, we are about to eat would you like to stay?” I suggested.

  “Oh, no, I have to run, maybe some other time,” he replied.

  “Go ahead, Chris, and sit at the table. I’m going to walk out to the car with the sheriff.”

  As we walked toward the car, the sheriff said, “Thanks, Gideon.”

  I told him, “I have thought about it ever since it happened. It has been a living nightmare, but I had to protect mama and me. Vietnam was not the place to tell Chris.”

  “I understand, Gideon. Anyway John Westly is gone now and it is between the Lord and him. There’s nothing else we can do. He has his closure.”

  “And me too,” I replied. “Thank you, sheriff.”

  “You’re quite welcome, Gideon. Have a good day.”

  I never told anyone else about what had happened, not even Charlene. As I made my way back into the house and to the table, I said grace and we all said amen.