Walking In His Shadow
My grandfather and I were often given
the task of going to our neighborhood grocery store to pick up items which my
mother needed for dinner. This was a true corner market which longer exists in
most of America. All of us in the neighborhood called it The Fruit
Stand.
It got that name because during the summer months the owners would have fruit and produce out on the sidewalk in front of the store. At night they would place large wire frame walls around the merchandise.
The actual name of the store was The Broadway Market. When the Webb family first opened their store, it was in Route 66. That was in the days when major highways ran right through small town America.
Most of the time when Grampa and I went to the market, Mr. Webb could be found behind the meat counter. He would always say, "Hello Cliff, I see you have your little shadow with you."
I was generally referred to as "Cliff's little shadow." There was a reason for that title. My grandfather was a primary care giver to me. For six years I was critically ill. My earliest memories of lie feature him as the central person. During those years he spent much time n caring for me and much of my character development was caught from him.
As I lay clinging to life, I would hear his unending prayers. Over and over he would plead, "Baby Jesus, baby Jesus, take care of our little one." His gentle hand would hold cold cloths to my red-hot forehead. His strong arms would carry me when I was too weak to walk.
He would place me in my Radio Flyer wagon and pull me to school when I was able to attend. He would be waiting when school let out to take me home. He was always present for me during my childhood.
Grampa had owned a grocery store himself as a young man. He went bankrupt during the Depression due to his kindness. Customers who did not have money found groceries on credit at his store. He lived by the words, For I was an hungered, and you gave meat.
After the loss of his business he found work in the mines. As he and a work partner set charges in a wall, an explosion occurred. The man next to him was killed. My grandfather lost most of one ear and the vision in one eye.
From that day forward he found strength and beauty in each day. He believe that he was given a second life on earth and that he had to live it in the best way possible. And he did.
His faith was first in his life. I don't recall him using a hymnal very often. He knew almost any hymn verse for verse. I hear his voice as I stand by him at the piano. He sings the words of all of his favorite hymns. I see he aged hands as they move across the keyboard bringing forth beauty, He played by ear. His music as inspiring.
During his final years he was a custodian to two churches in our community. I recall when the larger church first purchased their organ. He had always set near the piano during the church services, but he moved after the purchase of the organ.
I soon learned why. One summer afternoon when I went to the church to help dust the pews, I found him playing the organ. I then knew that he had begun sitting near it so that he could understand how to play it. He mentioned for me to come stand by him, and we began singing the hymn he was playing.
My motives for going to dust the pews were not exactly pure. You see, Grampa would often let my friends and I help him with the dusting. We were rewarded in one of two ways. Sometimes he would reach in his pocket, taking out his leather coin purse and giving each of us a dime. We would fly to The Fruit Stand to buy an ice cream bar or a bottle of orange or grape soda.
Other times he would go with us and he would ask one of the Webb boys to open the large watermelon tank. When they would raise the lid, you discovered many melons surrounded by large blocks of ice and ice cold water. Grampa would thump the melons, finding the one he thought was just right. After it was plugged., he would take a bite, then pass the plug to me for my approval. After making the purchase he would carry it back to the church kitchen and prepare slices for each of the children who had "helped" with the dusting.
He was generous; he was thoughtful. On the night of his final heart attack, he apologized to the ambulance attendants when they came. He assured them that he wouldn't be bothering them again. At the hospital while my parents went to the admitting desk, my brother stayed by Grampa's bedside. Placing his hand in my brother's, he asked him to pray. When my brother finished his prayer, my grandfather smiled and said, "I'm tired now, I want to rest." With a smile on his face he closed his eyes and left us.
At his death, he owned no real estate; he owned no automobile. A large suitcase could have contained all his clothing. His small leather coin purse contained less than one dollar. But he loomed large in life. I hear his voice as he sings the words, I'll lay down the old rugged cross and exchange it some day for a crown. I hear the piano. I reach and place my hand in his. I walk in his shadow.
It got that name because during the summer months the owners would have fruit and produce out on the sidewalk in front of the store. At night they would place large wire frame walls around the merchandise.
The actual name of the store was The Broadway Market. When the Webb family first opened their store, it was in Route 66. That was in the days when major highways ran right through small town America.
Most of the time when Grampa and I went to the market, Mr. Webb could be found behind the meat counter. He would always say, "Hello Cliff, I see you have your little shadow with you."
I was generally referred to as "Cliff's little shadow." There was a reason for that title. My grandfather was a primary care giver to me. For six years I was critically ill. My earliest memories of lie feature him as the central person. During those years he spent much time n caring for me and much of my character development was caught from him.
As I lay clinging to life, I would hear his unending prayers. Over and over he would plead, "Baby Jesus, baby Jesus, take care of our little one." His gentle hand would hold cold cloths to my red-hot forehead. His strong arms would carry me when I was too weak to walk.
He would place me in my Radio Flyer wagon and pull me to school when I was able to attend. He would be waiting when school let out to take me home. He was always present for me during my childhood.
Grampa had owned a grocery store himself as a young man. He went bankrupt during the Depression due to his kindness. Customers who did not have money found groceries on credit at his store. He lived by the words, For I was an hungered, and you gave meat.
After the loss of his business he found work in the mines. As he and a work partner set charges in a wall, an explosion occurred. The man next to him was killed. My grandfather lost most of one ear and the vision in one eye.
From that day forward he found strength and beauty in each day. He believe that he was given a second life on earth and that he had to live it in the best way possible. And he did.
His faith was first in his life. I don't recall him using a hymnal very often. He knew almost any hymn verse for verse. I hear his voice as I stand by him at the piano. He sings the words of all of his favorite hymns. I see he aged hands as they move across the keyboard bringing forth beauty, He played by ear. His music as inspiring.
During his final years he was a custodian to two churches in our community. I recall when the larger church first purchased their organ. He had always set near the piano during the church services, but he moved after the purchase of the organ.
I soon learned why. One summer afternoon when I went to the church to help dust the pews, I found him playing the organ. I then knew that he had begun sitting near it so that he could understand how to play it. He mentioned for me to come stand by him, and we began singing the hymn he was playing.
My motives for going to dust the pews were not exactly pure. You see, Grampa would often let my friends and I help him with the dusting. We were rewarded in one of two ways. Sometimes he would reach in his pocket, taking out his leather coin purse and giving each of us a dime. We would fly to The Fruit Stand to buy an ice cream bar or a bottle of orange or grape soda.
Other times he would go with us and he would ask one of the Webb boys to open the large watermelon tank. When they would raise the lid, you discovered many melons surrounded by large blocks of ice and ice cold water. Grampa would thump the melons, finding the one he thought was just right. After it was plugged., he would take a bite, then pass the plug to me for my approval. After making the purchase he would carry it back to the church kitchen and prepare slices for each of the children who had "helped" with the dusting.
He was generous; he was thoughtful. On the night of his final heart attack, he apologized to the ambulance attendants when they came. He assured them that he wouldn't be bothering them again. At the hospital while my parents went to the admitting desk, my brother stayed by Grampa's bedside. Placing his hand in my brother's, he asked him to pray. When my brother finished his prayer, my grandfather smiled and said, "I'm tired now, I want to rest." With a smile on his face he closed his eyes and left us.
At his death, he owned no real estate; he owned no automobile. A large suitcase could have contained all his clothing. His small leather coin purse contained less than one dollar. But he loomed large in life. I hear his voice as he sings the words, I'll lay down the old rugged cross and exchange it some day for a crown. I hear the piano. I reach and place my hand in his. I walk in his shadow.
Posted: Sun - July 25, 2004 at 08:32 AM
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"Art arises from basic needs-a strong need to express and celebrate our everyday events.
In a museum most people spend less than twenty seconds looking at a work of art."
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Published On: Dec 26, 2005 06:36 PM
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Published On: Dec 26, 2005 06:36 PM