He sat at the table next to mine, giving a southern “Good morning, mam.”
Greetings properly exchanged, I asked him, “Do you live in Newport?”
It wasn’t long before I learned that he walks with a cane “only
because of Viet Nam.”
“What do you do here?”
“Not much since my wife died last July. Married when I was seventeen.”
“What did you used to do?”
“Drove big rigs all over the country. Rode motorcycle for fun. Always came home to Sarah.”
James Dean, age eighty-four, has seen Pasadena and Ventura in
California and just about anyplace else I mentioned. He remembers them all. Remembers all the presidents, who they ran
against, and some of the women they slept with.
“I guess a truck driver sees a lot of women,” I chanced with a
smile.
“Yes, but none of them compare to my Sarah; she was above all
of them, the only woman I ever slept with.”
James is one of fifteen children, and his parents also stayed together
their all their lives. He and Sarah had eight
children. One of them, retired, called his
cell at BoJangles Hamburgers. I listened
to half of small talk and words of encouragement.
How different and how right his life seems compared to most of
the lives I know. So desirable. What is different about this James Dean of
the swamps of North Carolina?
simplicity
ReplyDeleteYes, but he thinks deeply and still keeps it simple. A good man.
DeleteSweet, sweet James.
ReplyDeleteThat's really his name, or he's more of a card than I imagined. Sweet, yes.
DeleteAs always, you bring us food for thought, Sharon. :)
ReplyDeleteThanks for following from half way around the world, Mandy. If you turn around, we might meet someday.
Deletethanks for the character story
ReplyDeleteenjoyed the glimpse of another side of James Dean
had Harry Chapin met him, there would be a song
since 'you' did the meeting ... a 'poem'
Really, that's his name. He told me. Could he have been kidding?
DeleteIt matters not whether he kids with you ... either way he is pleased to carry that name and pleased to please you with it
Deleteand I am pleased.
Delete