OPINION? EVERYBODY HAS ONE

I was fortunate to meet him

I was fortunate yesterday, like I am most days, but yesterday was really special.

I ran into an old friend of one of my old friends. This feller was asking around for Bill Johnson and when I got to the feed store, he was in there talking to the boys sitting in front of the pot belly stove.

Bill Johnson, a feller that came from the same part of the country as I did, died about twenty years ago and just the old men remember him. He was a cowboy to the bone and sorta hard to get to know but a real friend when you did. Bill never did have any children and his wife was not long in following him to Paradise. The place sold and the money must have gone to some cousins or nephews or nieces. We never heard anything from any of the relatives so we allowed that to be one of the mysteries of life.

The feller looking for Bill was cowboy to the bone. He appeared to have broken all of his body at least once or twice and had some scars on his weathered face. He wastall and thin, but broad at the shoulders, and had a strong grip as we shook hands. He grinned easy as he was introduced to me and his eyes were not shadowed by the years he carried. Again, I have to say I was fortunate to meet this feller!

We visited around a few minutes and then he asked me if I could take him out to the old Johnson place. Of course, I said I could, and we left town headed north. It wasn’t easy to get to anymore because the county had stopped grading the road after Mrs. Johnson’s death. The feller that bought the land fenced off the county road and we had to come in by the north end of the place.

Sam Worth, the feller’s name, was pretty quiet on the trip. He nodded as I explained things along the road as we passed but he wasn’t adding anything. We had to open a wire gate and sorta ease along to get to the house place, and when we stopped I drug out a piece of paper and drew a rough sketch of the lay of the Johnson place.

The old well house wasfalling apart, but we got in and flipped the switch and the electricity was still connected. We got a drink with the tin cup hanging there and walked around to the foundation of the house. Finally, I heard Sam clear his throat and lift his hat to wipe his brow. He bent over and picked up a piece of broken pottery and rubbed the dirt off of the blue flowers around the rim.

“She was my sister and I went to Montana and never did write home. I hope she was happy and I would give my right arm to say howdy to her now,” Sam quietly offered, struggling to keep the lump out of his throat.

I walked off and left him to think. When he came back to the truck, we rode in silence to my homestead. We had a good dinner, a long visit, and my close relative told some personal notes about Sam’s sister. She had attended church, was active in the choir, and I was sure happy there were episodes to tell.

It is my opinion, and everyone has one, making the most of what you have is important. Wear your shirts until they are worn out, use your tools until they won’t tool anymore and keep your family close.

Bill is a pen name used by the Gravette author of this weekly column.

Opinion, Pages 6 on 12/14/2011