Cut Grass & Easter Baskets

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Hat Tip: Garry Hamilton

The following story from today was related by one of my friends living in Virginia. We will call him “Doc” for this story. The names have been changed, for the usual reasons:

So, the door bell rings…

You’ve got to want to come to my house ’cause it is kind of, shall we say, not easy to approach or something like that. We’ll leave why that is to your imagination.

Anyway, the door bell rings.

Now I’m pissed; Alice is up north with her dad on spring break, Chelsea is out with her mom until 8:00 pm, I’m finally putting the scope on the carbine and Cindy is baking, so who is bothering me!??!

I adjust my sweater over the .357 at my waist and go to the door. It is a young man known to me.

Billy lives down the road a ways and he was walking.

“What’s up, Billy?”

“Mr. Doc, I noticed your lawn needs a mowing and I have been laid off for a month. I start a new job Monday and I am embarrassed to tell ya I can’t afford gas for the car or an Easter basket for Gracie.” (Gracie is 3.)

The lawn in question is some 90 feet by 100 feet, just over a 5th of an acre.

“What do you have in mind, Billy?”

“I’ll mow and trim the whole thing for twenty-five dollars.”

“Billy, my nephew Dean usually does it for free, but since you’re here, go ahead.”

Big smile. Hour and a half later, not only is it done, but damn, it is Perfect.

Gave him 50 bucks, drove him home. Meanwhile Cindy called a couple of the wives of the motorcycle club (bunch of old crone do-gooders). Seems Billy’s wife is the niece of a member’s friend (it’s a small town). The story checks out and the need is verified.

Let’s just say the tank got filled and Gracie will have a basket.

Me? I feel good.

And you know what? Hearing that made me feel good, too.

Figured it might make someone else feel good.

What you didn’t get from that story is who Doc is. You see, Doc is a disabled veteran policeman who works part time to make ends meet. They get by, but “luxury” doesn’t describe any part of their life. Doesn’t seem to get in his way when a friend and neighbor needs help. Some people talk it, some live it. Doc lives it.

Me? I’m proud to call him my friend.

————-

Real tales from the Greatest Depression.

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