my life

My visitor.

Sunday morning, I woke up a little late, and was happily plodding around in my PJ's and bunny slippers when Maxx went to barking madly. I peeked through a couple of windows to see what he was on about, but didn't see anything, and went for coffee. Sometimes, he barks at people walking by on the other side of the street up the hill, so it didn't concern me deeply (what does concern me is if he doesn't stop). He kept going, though, and presently, someone rang the doorbell.

It was a middle-aged black man of average build. He was wearing work gloves, a jacket, hat and big grin. He said, "Rake your leaves for you?" I looked at him and blinked a couple of times, and he said, "Do the whole yard, front and back, $40."

I said, "$40? Really?"

"Yeah. Whole thang. Even get these dead leaves outta the flower beds here. Get everythang."

I said, "For forty dollars?" My yard is almost a full acre, with several full-grown trees. It had a veritable carpet of leaves.

He said, "Yeah. Whole yard. You'll see. I do a good job."

I said, "OK."

He said, "You got a rake?"

I opened the garage and handed him a rake and the sheet I use to cart leaves to and fro, and he went to work. I asked his name, and he said it was Larry. I introduced myself, then Mich and I drove to the grocery store to pick up a couple of items and some cash to pay him. When we got back, about 20 minutes later, he'd accumulated several ample piles already. The man was making time.

We took him some water and he asked if we had a soda. We said sorry...no soda. He took the water and went back to work. I went back to my thesis.

The backdrop of my thesis is the Jim Crow era of Southern history. As you might imagine, reading material on this is not scarce. I have piles of books on Jim Crow and the black experience in the early 20th century, and have steadily been spending almost every spare moment reading them. My weekend was committed to work on my thesis, as most of them (I suspect) will be between now and graduation. I'm getting an education on various methods white supremists used during the era to ensure their race would continue to be "supreme." They did all they could to ensure black people didn't learn, or at least...didn't learn much. The uneducated are so much easier to deceive, manipulate and take advantage of. Besides...a black man that got too much education might think himself above picking cotton and just get out of "his place."

Larry piled the leaves out by the curb for the convicts to pick up. By noon, he'd started on the back yard (Maxx was indoors with us, pacing), and presently said, "HEY!"

I went out. He said, "You ever give a fella something to eat?"

I said, "Sure. Sandwich okay?"

He said, "Yeah. That's good. You got coffee?"

I went in and built a double-decker with the random things I had available, made coffee, and brought it out. He thanked me, sat and munched, and talked about how his mama had told him to work for his money, and stay away from drugs and people that used drugs. He told me about his cousin who'd been shot in the head three times down the street a ways this year, and another cousin who'd recently drowned at the lock down the street. They said he'd been bitten by a moccasin while he was swimming, or something.

Larry struck me as a simple but happy man. Perhaps a bit lonely. He speaks with a deep Southern black accent that suggests very little formal education and a lifetime spent with people who speak the same, and thus understand its wealth of nuance. I can't mimic it any more than I can mimic Scottish, and it's almost as unintelligible to me at first blush.

He polished off the sandwich and went back to work. I went back in to resume work on my thesis. I was reading the personal accounts of black Southerners who remembered the Jim Crow era, and they were talking of how white people assumed all black people worked for them. If they spotted a black man walking nearby, they might say, "Hey boy! Change that tire. I'll give you a nickle." The nickle may or may not be forthcoming, but the black man was obligated to change the tire.

Those who presumed to use a title of any sort--Mr., Mrs., Miss--would be scorned, at the very least. They had to visit homes via the back doors. White men would come into their homes and not remove their hats. The little signs, you know, somehow make the most profound statements.

Larry ran out of energy around 3pm. He was about 3/4 through. He'd seen Mich walking through the house drinking a beer. He suggested he'd like something cold to drink. I said, "Sorry. Remember when you asked for a soda? We don't keep those. You should have asked for a beer if that's what you wanted. That's the last one, right there...the one she's drinking. You missed your chance."

He asked me to go ahead and pay him and he'd come back tomorrow and finish. I said I'd pay him half at this point, but he'd get the rest when he finished. He said, "Aww...don't you trust me?"

I said, "Larry, I don't know you. This ain't about trust. It's just business. You get all the money when you finish."

He agreed to carry all the leaf piles up to the curb and take $30, and he'd come back the next day and do the rest. He made quick work of what was left the next day. Mich put Maxx in the house at lunch and unlocked the back gate so Larry could get in and finish, then left a couple of beers out for him and went back to work. I came home around 4 and Larry was finished and gone. He'd done an awesome job. I locked the gate, put everything away and let the dog back out. Then Larry came back by on his bicycle.

I invited him in for a beer. I paid him $20 more for finishing the job, and we sat and talked for a while. He told me about the way the kids back in the neighborhood get when they smoke crack, and how it scares him to be near them. He talked about how he'd spent some time in prison, and his girlfriend had died from diabetes while he was in prison, and her family had sold everything he had, and he'd come home to nothing. Every time I laughed at a comment, he'd tell the anecdote again, with more detail and emphasis, to squeeze all the enjoyment out of it before moving on. He talked about washing cars down at the used car lots in town. He washes them all every day, and sometimes mows lawns and rakes leaves and whatnot for people if they need it.

He's a simple fellow with simple needs. He likes living alone because he doesn't have to worry about someone stashing something illegal and the cops raiding his home. He can listen to his stereo and watch TV when he feels like it. He comes and goes as he pleases. But I think he's lonely, and he doesn't really understand the younger generation, and they scare him sometimes. He doesn't have much, doesn't need much, and just works day to day, and stays out of trouble.

Then he said Thank You for the work and the pay and the beers, and went on home. I went back to my books, wondering if we've really come as far as we like to think we have.

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