Making a Difference

By Jerry Mack Grubbs
 
There was no explosion or earthquake that disrupted our lives. It was referred to as a civil unrest. Someone must have thought that the term "civil unrest" was more pleasing to the ear than the truth.  Like when Vietnam was called a conflict instead of a war. Whatever you choose to call it, it was a dangerous time. Gangs were roving the streets, taking what they wanted by force. Law and order was nonexistent in our community. It was dangerous to be out on the street. The only means of transportation was by foot or bicycle since there was no gasoline for vehicles.

With a desire to be together as a family during this turmoil, my son Trevor brought his little family along with my daughter Leslie and her boys to our home. It was a long walk for the little children. The parents were exhausted not so much from the long walk but from the threatening and unsafe circumstances. Leslie's husband Ty had gone to help my son Todd take care of his neighbors. As soon as they were safe within the walls of our home, Trevor left again to help bring Todd's family to our home. I wanted to go with him because I knew there was safety in numbers but he desired for me to stay home incase there was trouble in our neighborhood.

Todd's family lived closer and the walk wasn't as far but it was still a relief when they arrived under Trevor's care. The stories Trevor told of what he had seen on his journey made me realize that the situation in our community was worsening. We had no way of knowing if the situation was as bad in the southern end of the valley where Linda Jean had moved. Since she lived the greatest distance away we had previously mapped out a route that she would start following and we would come meet her if anything of this nature occurred. For fear that she might be out on the road and in danger I now wished I had asked her to just stay put in her own home until we came for her.

As soon as Trevor returned I started preparing to go for Linda Jean and her son William. Once again, Trevor stopped me and suggested that I stay with the family and he would go find them. I gave him the course that Linda Jean would be following and my wife Kaye packed food for him to take. It could require the better part of two days for him to make the trip under the current circumstances. I hated to send him out alone but I knew it was best that I stay with the family until the other men, Todd and Ty arrived.

To our surprise and relief, Trevor was back home with Linda Jean four hours later. Family members gathered around her, hugging her and celebrating her safe arrival. The spirit of that celebration was dampened when we were told that William had not been willing to come. He said that he needed to stay in their home to protect it from looters. Sadness fell over the family and there was a feeling of loss without him there. True, Todd and Ty were not back yet either but we knew they were together and could protect one another. William was all alone.

I went upstairs and began preparing to bring William home if at all possible. There would be plenty of time while on my walk to think of some way to convince him that he should be with us instead of all alone. I loaded my shotgun and put other shells in my jacket pocket.  I didn't want to hurt anyone. I just wanted to be left alone.  I took the food pack that Kaye had prepared for Trevor and started out the door. Linda Jean met me in the foyer and said that she was coming with me and that she had only come without William in order to get help convincing him to come stay with us. In unison, the family pleaded with me to not let her go. She was safe inside the walls of our home and I would be able to travel faster alone which meant that I would reach William sooner. She reluctantly agreed and as I stepped out the door she opened a small plastic case and handed me a baby tooth belonging to William and asked me to not return without him. She already knew that I would not come home without him if he was still alive. This act of entrusting me with his baby tooth was merely a symbol that we both understood. The last sound I heard as I stepped away from the door was the dead bolt being locked behind me. I looked back and there stood my family gathered at the front window waving goodbye.

As I walked, I thought of what had transpired over the last few days; the collapse of law and order and the shutting down of goods being transported across the country that created shortages.  There was panic buying that stripped the shelves in the stores within hours. Selfishness ruled as did the cruelty of people toward one another when such circumstances should have brought out the best in humanity. I wanted to find William and get back home as soon as possible. I knew that until we returned there would be no peace in the hearts of those locked behind the walls of our home. My thoughts turned to Todd and Ty, wondering if they were home safe yet. Suddenly I realized I had forgotten to ask Linda Jean if she had given William the route that he should follow if he decided to come on his own. Doubt began to creep into my mind. What if I passed him and didn't even know it. What if I went all the way to his home and at the same time he was arriving at our home. I felt foolish for not being better prepared. Subconsciously, I reached into my pocket and touched William's baby tooth that Linda Jean had given me just as I left the house. All I could do was my best with what I had and knew at the time. I picked up my pace to find William.

In the distance ahead I could see three men coming toward me. I felt uneasy. Although I had my shotgun and a pistol, I didn't want any trouble nor did I want to hurt anyone. I angled my direction of travel so as not to come face to face with them but as I did so they shifted their direction also and continued to advance toward me. I eased my shotgun out of its holster and held it in a non-threatening position. Then I recognized the three men coming toward me. To my relief it was Todd and Ty. And they had William with them. After they had finished helping Todd's neighbors they immediately took off to get Linda Jean and William. Arriving at their home they found only William there and brought him with them.

I never asked how they convinced William to join them and they never offered an explanation. I was just happy that the four of us were on our way home. We would have enough challenges ahead without worrying about the past. We arrived home long after dark. Most were bedded down but except for the children not many were sleeping. It is difficult to describe the feeling that swept over me as I realized that we were all there, all safe, all accounted for.

As night turned to day we began to stir around the house. At breakfast Todd gave a little speech about how thankful he was that Kaye had been so diligent in preparing for an emergency such as this. We held a family council and it was decided that we couldn't just remain locked behind the walls of our home while others were struggling and less prepared. Unbeknown to me, Kaye, Linda Jean, Julie and Kim had spend the better part of the night doing an inventory of our food supplies. Everything was categorized and a basic menu had been developed.

With gangs roaming the streets and going into the homes and taking food supplies from other people we decided that we should help out in whatever way we could. There were five men in our home. We decided that four men would take food prepared by the family and go out and share it with those in need. Each day one man would stay behind to defend our home. The other four would go out, locate hungry, tired families and share the food with them. They not only shared food but the four would stay and guard over a family while they ate and rested. These men were soon being referred to as the "Peace Warriors." They carried enough fire power to defend a small neighborhood but focused their attention on helping, not hurting. When they extended a hand it was filled with food, not a weapon.

The highlight of each evening was when the Peace Warriors returned home safe once more. After dinner the family would gather and listen to the stories and experiences that they had that day. While our own food supply satisfied our physical hunger, the sharing of our food and the gratitude of those who received it filled our hearts to overflowing. However small it might be, we were making a difference.

I dream every night but most dreams are just bits and pieces of disconnected events. On occasion I have a dream that is so vivid and detailed that I feel compelled to write it down. This dream is not a foretelling of events to come. It is not an omen of impending doom. It is just a dream that both saddened me and enriched me. However, the people of my dream are real. They are precious to me. I hope there is something within this dream that reaches out to you and touches you for good. That's my only purpose in sharing it with you.

Trading Places

By Jerry Mack Grubbs
 
It was a warm summer day. Dad and I were sitting by a stream with water tumbling over the rocks. The water made a gurgling sound as it worked its way around and over the rocks trying to catch back up with the flow of the stream. Dad and I sat mesmerized, watching the water and enjoying the solitude of our surroundings.

I had the feeling that I was experiencing a singular moment that I would never be able to reconstruct. Dad's age coupled with the distance we lived apart helped me realize how precious these times together were. As we sat by the stream looking at our reflections in the water, a third image appeared by my side. "What would you trade for someone else to have a day like today with their father?" asked the image. Turning around I looked to see who was speaking to me and creating the image in the water next to me but there was no one there. I looked back toward the water and the image was still there. He repeated the same question but this time he explained that the trade would be for someone to be able to spend a day with their deceased father.

It was obvious that my father didn't see or hear the image that was communicating with me. I wondered who the image was referring to. I was shocked that the image in the water read my thoughts and answered, "Linda." "What would you trade for Linda to be able to spend a day with her dad?" he asked. Once again, thinking in my mind I asked what it would require. It was as thought the image was bargaining with me. "Would you trade a day of your life for her to have a day with her dad?" I must have answered too quickly for the image immediately asked if I would trade a week of my life. Once again I answered, "Yes."

"It is easy to trade your own life for someone you love. But would you be willing to trade someone else's life?" asked the image reflected in the water. "I can't make that decision for someone else," I said. "Take me. Take a week of my life and let her spend a day with her dad." "I will take a day of your life and a week of your dad's life in exchange for Linda being able to spend a day with her dad." I knew that I would visit with my dad and ask how he felt about it but I already knew what his answer would be.  I knew that a week of my dad's life was asking more than a week of my life because of his age.

Realizing what a blessing that would be for Linda and her dad, I immediately began to think of others who might also benefit from such an experience with a deceased relative. I thought of Kaye spending a day with her mother and Renee spending a day with her dad. There he was reading my thoughts once more, the image in the water said that for each trade I desired I would have to give a day of my life but the other person would have to give a week. He explained that for Kaye to spend a day with her mother, my mother would have to give a week of her life and for Renee to spend a day with her dad, my father would be required to forfeit another week of his life. Then a line of people paraded before my mind and a sadness came over me as I realized that I could not grant each of them such an experience. I couldn't ask so much of my parents.

On top of those requirements there would be one other stipulation. I would never be able to discuss with Linda, Kaye or Renee what had been traded for them to have such an experience with their parent nor could I or my parents ever take any credit for what transpired. I agree to all the terms of our agreement and as I turned to ask dad if he could see the image in the water who had been speaking to me, I awoke.

Defining Moments

By Jerry Mack Grubbs

“What was the most embarrassing moment of your life?” asked a friend this week. Without question, an experience sprang to life from a cobweb of memories. Before I uttered a word in response to her, I had relived that event as though it had happened yesterday. Some stories don’t need to be told and others shouldn’t be told. My experience might fall into both of those categories. I said that I would write about my most embarrassing moment and share it at some future time. I did write of that event and planned to share it as my point to ponder this week. At least that was my plan until I took an early morning walk and my mind changed gears.

Stepping out the door before daylight, I witnessed a beautiful Fall moon. We have had rain for the past few days and the clear sky was a welcome change. As night turned to day the shadows of darkness gave way to thin rays of light shimmering on the Great Salt Lake. There was beauty all around me even with the thin purple hue of pollution in the valley below. When you live in the foothills with the mountains to the East, there is full daylight bending over the mountain range long before you actually see the morning sun. To see the sun as it climbs its way above the horizon can be breath taking.

The most beautiful sunrise I have ever seen was in Baja. That day the sun poked its sleepy eye from far out across the watery horizon of the Sea of Cortez. In the predawn of that day I headed to the beach for a peaceful walk along the wet sand. It appeared that the whole world was asleep and I had the sand and sea all to myself. That was when it happened; the distant horizon took on a glow and bands of light began to streak across the dark blue water. It only took an instant before the whole sea was flooded with light. That huge ball of orange flame appeared to rise right out of the water. I had witnessed it. I looked around and saw once again that I was all alone. I knew that I would never be able to fully describe the beauty of what I had seen in a way that someone else could see what I saw, feel what I felt. It was a defining moment for me. My immediate desire was to share it with someone I loved. The feeling of wanting to share that moment with someone was so strong I could feel my eyes beginning to grow moist.

That experience and other defining moments in my life are precious. There is certainly not a defining moment or a gorgeous sunrise that occurs each day of my life but I have a little routine that helps remind me of the approaching close of the day, the sunset. The internet tells me the exact time of the setting of the sun so I often set my watch to alert me ten minutes before sunset. Some days when my alarm goes off I go to the window and see it with my eyes. Other times I just briefly close my eyes and relive a previous sunset or the sunrise I witnessed in Baja. These moments bring stillness to my spirit, calmness to my mind and warmth to my heart.

My desire is not to draw you into my defining moments but to have you reflect on your own defining moments. Those events can cause your hardness to melt, your fears to flee and your love to swell for those you hold dear. At a different time, in a different setting I will share my most embarrassing moment but that wasn’t a moment that defined me. It was just a set of events that happened a long time ago. Today I ask you to recognize the moments that define you and share them with those you love. If you look for me and can’t find me I am probably in Baja, walking barefoot on a deserted beach, watching a sunrise, at least in my mind.

Coming Up, Going Down

By Jerry Mack Grubbs

My heart sank when the nurse entered my room with the prep tray. She didn’t look old enough to be a nurse. I wondered if she was a hospital volunteer instead. “Hi Mister Grubbs,” she said as she set the tray on the edge of the bed and turned to leave. With a sigh of relief I realized she was just getting things set up for the real nurse. From the moment I was informed that my private area would have to be shaved for surgery I had begged unsuccessfully to do it myself. My request was denied with no explanation given. The tray she left on my bed contained a safety razor, spare blades, and a can of shaving cream. As I stared at the tray, dreading the upcoming experience I was about to undergo, the door to my room opened once more and in walked the same nurse. “I’m Nancy and you and I are about to get well acquainted,” she said. It was apparent that Nancy was going to get more acquainted with me than I was with her. This was going to be what I would call a one sided relationship. I didn’t want Nancy looking at my private parts but that was just the beginning of my concerns. Once she pulled the sheet back and raised my hospital gown she had breached that private barrier and I just wanted to disappear. I tried to focus on her name tag to keep my mind off the procedure taking place.

The shaving cream felt cool as Nancy prepared me to be shaved. I couldn’t think of a more humiliating experience when suddenly I realized things could get worse. The process of touching, pulling, tugging, pressing and scraping was beginning to bring me to life. I was so embarrassed. I quit focusing on Nancy’s name tag. I became concerned that she might think I was focusing on the darts in her uniform instead of the name badge pinned to her pocket. I prayed for a miracle. I tried to visualize my favorite food, anything to curb the rising beginning to take place.

Nancy must have understood my humiliation. “Don’t worry; it is just a natural reaction that should be expected.” Easy for her to say, she wasn’t lying flat on her back with her pointer signaling “I’m number one.” The more I tried to focus my mind elsewhere the less success I had. I prayed for relief but it did not come. I looked up at Nancy. She was focused on her task of finding and removing every sprig of hair on that part of my body. She must have sensed my despair. Looking at my facial expression, without the least hint of warning, she took a pencil from her pocket and said, “Down boy,” as she whacked the defiant head. It immediately went limp. The crisis was over. With the stroke of her pencil, Nancy had answered my prayer. I breathed a weak sigh of relief.

With my mind somewhat relaxed I became aware of two distinct sounds: the scraping of the razor against my skin and laughter coming from outside my hospital door. A group of my friends had come to the hospital to visit me just prior to Nurse Nancy entering the room to prep me for surgery. That is why she had temporarily left the room before getting started. She had explained to my friends in the hallway that she would be just a few minutes then they could come in and visit.

“Is the door locked?” I asked. “No but they won’t come in until we are finished,” she said. “How do you know?” I asked. “Because I told them before we started that you were being prepped for surgery and they would need to remain outside until I finished.” Oh great. It wasn’t bad enough to experience this “get acquainted” session with Nancy. Now my friends were right outside the door. They could probably hear everything that was going on. I was sliding from one humiliation to another. Nancy completed her task and washed me off with a warm cloth. I didn’t wait for her; I quickly lowered my hospital gown and pulled the sheet up to my waist. I wanted to cover up the evidence of what had just taken place.

Gathering up her instruments of humiliation, Nancy said, “You did very well Mister Grubbs. Don’t worry; you’ll remember this experience much longer than I will. I have three more surgery preps tonight. Within a few hours I won’t remember what your ‘you –know-what’ looks like.” It has been forty-five years and I still remember her face, her hair and hands. But most of all I remember the nametag pinned to the pocket of her uniform. It was black with white letters spelling out the words NANCY, RN. Even at fifteen, I knew that “RN” stood for Registered Nurse but that night I thought a better definition would be “Razor Nazi.” As Nancy prepared me for hernia surgery I said to myself, “Registered nurse, razor Nazi, registered nurse, razor Nazi, over and over trying to send my mind anywhere besides where it naturally wanted to go. But now that part was over.

Nancy opened the door and invited my friends into the room. As they crowded in and asked how things went, the last act Nancy performed on my behalf was to give my friends the “thumbs up” sign. Some of them roared with laughter while others were trying to figure out what was so funny. I was content to leave them wondering. For the most part they were kind. Only Lonny Posey asked what the nurse meant when she said, “Down boy.” Those were the only words the group had overheard from the hallway as they waited just outside the door.

I was saved by my girlfriend’s mother walking into the room. With her entrance the group quieted and gradually said their well-wishes and goodbyes. She and I were left alone. It felt so good being with her after what I had just been through. Her presence, coupled with her smile, had an immediate calming effect on me. As she stood by my bed she began to stroke my arm. After a few moments my girlfriend Karen came through the door carrying a strawberry shake and a lucky rabbit’s foot. Although strawberry was my favorite flavor of shake until I discovered raspberry, I couldn’t drink it because of the early morning surgery. And as far as I was concerned, the rabbit’s foot arrived too late to be of any use. Regardless of whether I believed in such lucky charms or not, I was happy to be with Karen and her mom.

With Karen on one side of the bed and her mother on the other side, I felt surrounded by what I understood love to be. Karen wore my ring on a chain around her neck signifying that we were attached. Turning to her mother and looking into her eyes, I knew that she and I were attached and it didn’t take a ring on a chain to remind me. We talked frequently but she often said more with her eyes than she ever conveyed by the spoken word. I had been taught how to listen with my eyes years earlier by a girl who visited me in my dreams. As Karen’s mother prepared to leave, she leaned over and kissed me on the forehead and said, “You’ve already experienced the worst because you won’t remember the rest.”

The surgery went well the following morning. My father was the first person my eyes focused on as I was coming out of the ether-induced coma. In my delirium I kept trying to get out of bed. Each time I rose up my dad would push me back down and say, “Down boy.” Gradually I became aware of my surroundings. Meeting Nancy the razor Nazi, the pencil coupled with the “down boy” episode and my friends all laughing when Nancy gave them the “thumbs up” sign were just a memory. But it is a memory that will remain with me for the rest of my life.

The Color Fades

By Jerry Mack Grubbs
 
"Whites Only" was posted just above the drinking fountain. Next to that cold water dispenser was a small porcelain bowl hung on the wall. Above the bowl was printed "Colored." I grew up with those signs and generally thought little of it. Most likely that was because I wasn't colored and could always find myself on the better side of those barriers. I didn't agree with segregated drinking fountains nor did I think I would catch some dreaded disease from drinking after a black man.  But I didn't see it as my responsibility to try to change the world's perception. Anyway, what could one boy do?

I no longer believe that the influence of one person can't make a difference. I have lived long enough to realize that to change one attitude, one person, to improve the circumstances of a situation even if only for a few moments, makes a difference.

The summer of my sophomore year in high school I took a job working for Evans Corner Market. The market sold groceries and feed products. I earned forty cents an hour and was happy to be employed. Two other young men worked in my same capacity with Evans Market. One was white and the other black. Marvin, the white boy made the same wage as I did while Jesse, the black boy, earned only thirty cents an hour for the same work. Marvin and Jesse were both already working at the market when I started my employment. I'm not sure that I was needed at the store but the mother of my girlfriend persuaded Mr. Evans that I would be a good employee. She always had a higher opinion of me that I held of myself.

We sacked groceries, stocked shelves, delivered sacks of feed and bales of hay. The summer was hot and I didn't look forward to the feed deliveries. I preferred to stay inside the store where the ceiling fans stirred the air and cooled the sweat on my back. The old ladies who needed help with getting their groceries to the car were pleasant and I enjoyed teasing them. As much as I wanted the tips they offered, I knew that most of them needed the money more than I did. I took pleasure in closing their fingers back around the coins that they offered. It didn't take them long to learn my name and I became friends with many of them. It is amazing what the refusal of a tip consisting of a couple of nickels can buy. Those smiles of appreciation were worth far more to me than what their tips could have ever purchase.

I received quite an education in the short time I worked at Evans Corner Market. Although Jesse had a driver's license, he was not allowed to drive the delivery truck because he was black. Either Marvin or I had to go on those deliveries with him. Jesse never complained that when Marvin drove he had to do all the unloading while Marvin just sat in the cab of the truck and listened to the radio. Marvin loved to make the deliveries because it was easy duty for him. I preferred to stay in the store so it appeared that everyone was happy.

One day I saw Marvin steal two comic books from the magazine rack and stick them under his shirt just as he was leaving for the day. When I asked him why he took them his response puzzled me. "Old man Evans isn't paying me enough for the work I do around here so I steal once in a while to get even," he said. I had never bumped up against that concept before. I said, "If you aren't happy working here why don't you find a job somewhere else?" With a sneer on his face, Marvin said, "Get real, idiot." I asked Jesse if he knew that Marvin was stealing from the store. Jesse acknowledged that he did know of Marvin's stealing but had never mentioned it to anyone.

The following morning I asked Marvin if he was aware that Jesse also knew that he was a thief. "I'm not worried, that nigger ant tellin' nobody. If he does he knows I'll get him fired," responded Marvin. "My daddy owns the vacant lot next door that old man Evans rents for additional parking so I have a job here as long as I want it," he said. "What does a nigger lover like you care anyway? I learned a valuable lesson at that moment: calling a black man a nigger has much more serious degrading connotations than I had ever supposed. I had called my brother and friends the "N" word before but I had never addressed a black man with such words. Turning to Marvin, I said, "I'd rather be a nigger lover than a thief."

The color of Jesse's skin faded from my view that day. He had become my first black friend. I was fifteen years old. I lived in a town that was thirty-five percent black yet I had never even carried on a meaningful conversation with a black before I met Jesse. He worked harder than either Marvin or me. He made twenty-five percent less an hour for the same work. He never complained about his situation.

Not all blacks are like Jesse and not all whites are like Marvin but they each taught me valuable lessons in the summer of 1962. I have often wondered what became of Jesse. I even miss Marvin and contemplate where he might be today. I often quote an old saying, "If I had to go to war who would I want defending my back side?" I never had to fight in the jungles of Vietnam, a war that waged in the remote land of Southeast Asia and tore the heart of America apart when I was a young man. But if I had found myself in that war or any other hazardous situation, I think you could figure out which of those two men I would want standing by my side, black or white. When we allow people to become human, accepting their failings and shortcomings along with their strengths, the color fades.