Old Hat
When he talked his words came out in
spurts separated by a stutter. He walked with a limp at a
rapid gate as though nothing was wrong. Some thought he was
simple-minded but he wasn’t. He was the handy man for Mrs.
Jenny Farrar, the lady who owned the house where my family
rented three rooms. Mrs. Jenny in her old age and Elmer a
black man with a handicap supported each other in a kind of
perfect accord, filling the needs of each other.
Few had refrigerators. Mrs. Jenny had an ice box. The ice
man came each day and routinely placed a block of ice in
the ice box. One day he didn’t come and Mrs. Jenny asked
Elmer to go to the ice house on the other side of
Fayetteville to get a block of ice. Not having a vehicle of
any kind it would have been difficult for Elmer to carry a
block of ice that distance. He asked me to let him use my
coaster wagon. I was about five at the time and I agreed
that he could use my wagon if he would let me ride in it to
the ice house. As we got about half way, a gust of wind
blew a grain of sand in my eye and scratched it. I remember
crying from the pain. Elmer in his kind way tried to
comfort me. He told me just to hold on. He would make it
feel better when we got to the ice house. In complete
trust, I stopped crying and waited anxiously to get there.
When we arrived Elmer put me in one of the ice lockers. It
was freezing in there but my eye didn’t hurt at all. I
knocked on the door for Elmer to let me out. The eye felt
fine. But as soon as I entered the warm air the pain
returned and I hurried back into the ice locker. Elmer
laughed as he purchased the ice he had come after and told
me we needed to return home; but I wouldn’t leave the
locker. After begging me for some time to come out, he
asked the owner to help him, but I wouldn’t listen to
anyone. Finally Elmer said Mrs. Jenny would be mad at him
if he let the ice melt and he was going back. He started
toward the road with the block of ice in my wagon. I
realize now he would not have left me, but then I was not
sure. I ran and jumped into the wagon holding my eye shut
with my hand. Before we arrived home the pain had gone and
Elmer seemed relieved.
Five is a good age in many ways. You are old enough to
realize what’s going on but everyone thinks you are too
young to be aware of anything. Your presence is generally
overlooked. You can stand in the middle of situations
without being noticed. When the lady next door paid Elmer
with an old summer hat of her husband for chopping a pile
of stove wood, I watched him graciously accept his
worthless pay, walk to the back of Mrs. Jenny’s and throw
it into the cellar under the house as he mumbled something
in an angry tone, not noticing that I was watching and
listening. I remember thinking it was funny but even at
that early age I knew he had been mistreated. Elmer and I
had a way of communicating without saying much. Maybe that
was because we were not hampered by the complexities of the
day and concentrated on the simpler things that mattered to
us. We were good friends.
Years later I’d sometimes see Elmer in town. We’d always
shout hello to each other and I’d always ask him where his
hat was.
© Dean Brown 2005