One of the things that I have learned over the years is, “Karma” (or whatever you care to call it.
) Is real… and it works!
I’ll share with y’all, the incident that awakened me to the fact stated above. Many, many moons ago, (‘bout 25+ years, give or take) like EvilTOJ, I was driving a POS old car, from central Louisiana back home, to Houston. One leg of the trip runs from the La. state line, west towards Lufkin. That first stretch of highway from the border going west is (or was, back then) very sparsely populated, and with it being kind of late in the afternoon and in the middle of the week, there was very little traffic. All of a sudden, my old “hoopty” began to run a serious “fever”, and developed a nasty “cough”. I got it to the shoulder and popped the hood, and was just starting to ascertain the problem, when a pickup truck swung onto the shoulder and came to a quick stop. The guy that got out of the cab looked to be about ten years or so, older than I was. (I was approx. 22) He walked back to my car and after brief introductions, "Hi y’all doin’?" “Oh, been better, been worse… ‘preciate cha stoppin’.” “No problem, atall. Figger out whats wrong?”, he said. “Naw sir, just got it stopped, fixin’ to look n’ see.” We both poked our heads under the hood and it didn’t take but a second to see what the problem was… a broken fan/water pump belt. The remains of the broken belt were still hanging there, and were quickly pulled free.
“There’s a place up the road a piece, they usually got a few fan belts and what not, they’ll probly have whatcha need, and I’m goin’ that way. Come on, I’ll give ya a lift there.” he said.
Well, “up the road a piece”, turned out to be about 20 or so miles. “Thank ya’ kindly, lemme give ya a few bucks for yer gas.” “Oh no, I was already headin’ this ways.”, he said. This was the ONLY store, of any kind, with in at least 20 miles, but I had figured on catching a ride back to my car, from someone stopping for gas, that was headed in my direction. And so, after refusing to take anything a second time, I thanked him again and went on into the store.
The place was a typical, “crossroads, country store”, and had been in business there since the 1930’s, if not longer. (I have been taking this route from Houston, where I was born, to visit kinfolk in Winn Parish, La., a couple or more times a year, all of my life.) A couple of antique lookin’ gas pumps out front, along with a noisily humming soft drink machine that looked to be as old as I was, at the very least. The double front doors were both opened wide inside, the two sagging, repeatedly repaired, wooden framed screen doors keeping the considerable, flying insect population, at bay. Inside was a veritable, cornucopia of merchandise, which at first glance, looked to be as eclectic, as could possibly be. Upon a closer look though, it became apparent that the widely varied, and seemingly erratic inventory, had probably been formulated and refined over many years of supplying the local populace, with items that would have otherwise entailed a lengthy trip to “town”, meaning Lufkin, which was a good 45-50 miles, one way, from there.
The place had very high ceilings, 9’ at least, and looked closer to 10’. Across the back wall and along one side, were two rows of automotive type “fan” belts and radiator hoses, hung on rods sticking out from the wall, up close to the ceiling. Garden hoses, shovels, rakes, hoes, axes and various other garden implements were in racks along the wall, underneath. All of the shelving in the central part of the store was 8’ high, with shelves that were full of canned goods and other grocery store type items, along with lots of things you won’t ever find, at your local “convenience” store. Stuff like, an assortment of traps for catching and/or killing various “nuisance” wildlife, that must be dealt with occasionally. Flea and tick “dip” for the local livestock (and probably considerable) hunting dog population, along with numerous different ointments, salves and remedies to treat minor ailments and injuries incurred by various domesticated animals. They weren’t a “full blown” feed store, but they stocked a lot of things, that might be needed in an emergency. Behind the counter were shelves stacked up with a good supply of ammunition, for the various common calibers and gauges of firearms. Like I said, a typical “country store”.
I explained my predicament and showed the proprietor the piece of fan belt that I had brought along with me, he said “I don’t rightly know, if’n I got the right one 'r not, son. Ain’t got no kinda book, er enny ways ta match them numbers on this here belt. Let’s see if’n we kin match 'er up.” We walked to the back of the store where he grabbed a square sided pole about 8’ long, that had a kind of a long hook attached to the end. He proceeded to hook belts down from up high on the wall, and together we finally found one that was the proper length, give or take. I paid him and went to wait outside for someone to come along, headed my direction. Much to my surprise, the fellow that had given me the ride was still sitting there in his truck. “Any luck?” I told him I thought that I had the right one. He said, “Good, hop on in.” “Man, I can’t ask you to go back, all that way.” “Ain’t no problem, you might set a pretty good spell, ‘fore somebody headin’ yore way stops, an’ I got time.” “Well, I sure do appreciate it.” We drove back and pulled up in front of my old car. I thanked him and again tried to offer him some money for his gas, time and trouble, and once more he politely but firmly, refused. As I opened the truck door, he proceeded to get out, also. “Figger, I’ll wait an’ make sure you git 'er started back up.” I repeatedly thanked him for his generosity in helping me so much, and he just as quickly laughed it off, saying “Shoot, it ain’t nothin’.” I sure as hell thought otherwise, but didn’t say so.
Up to that point in my life, I had never been one to go out of my way to stop and offer help, like this man was doing.
I proceeded to attempt to install the new belt. I say attempt, because wouldn’t you know it, the piece of belt I had taken with me was apparently just that, only a piece of it! The new belt was quite a bit too short to fit around the pulleys, where the old one had been. As I’m pondering what I ought to do next, he says, “Hold on a second, I got an idear!” and starts walking back towards his truck. He reached over into the pickup bed and produced a piece of rope about 7’ or 8’ long, like the kind you would see tied around a bale of hay. He handed it to me and says, “You kin wrap this 'round them pulleys 'n tie a knot in it, so’s you’ll git the right size when we git back to that store. I think you oughter move yer alternator to 'bout middle ways. Jist in case they ain’t got one exactly the right size, we’ll know we kin go up 'r down a skosh, an it’ll still work.” After thinking about it for a few seconds, I realized that it was, a damned good, idea. At that point, I was becoming aware that I was pretty lucky that this guy had stopped to help. We got back in his truck, turned around, and once more headed west, back to the crossroads store. When we pulled back into the store parking lot, I again thanked him for his help, (Albeit, a little more profusely, this time.) and tried even harder, to get him to accept some money for his troubles. And again, he politely and just as firmly as before, refused, insisting that it, “T’weren’t no trouble, atall.” So… back inside, I went.
The old man didn’t seem very surprised to see me again, and in fact, was already coming out from behind the counter, with his hand held out, reaching for the piece of rope I had in my hand. “Musta been a piece missin’, I reckon.” was all he said, as we proceeded to the back of the store, again. He went thru the same routine as before, finally discovering one that was close to the same length as the piece of rope I had brought along. Before handing it over, he paused for a second, “That’s a pretty neat trick there, usin’ that hay rope ta git the right size, I reckon I need ta be memberin’ that one.” he said. “Well, I can’t rightly claim it as my own idea, that ol’ boy that brought me up here, suggested I do that.” “That sounds ‘bout like him, he’s been a comin’ in here ever since he was a youngun. That boy’s smarter than a hog, sometimes.” “I’ll have to agree with ya’, on that count. I was still scratchin’ my head when he suggested it. This ones quite a bit longer, how much more do I owe ya’, sir?” “Aww, they probly 'bout close ta the same price. Ain’t no need to worry yerself, on that.”, he said.
I thanked him and headed out the door, and just about tripped and fell with surprise. The man (who I assumed had left, as he had started up as I went into the store), had only turned his truck around, and was sitting there waiting for me to come back outside.
As I started to protest that he had already went far out of his way to help me, he shushed me and said, “I reckon I done gotcha this far along, I jus wouldn’ feel right ifn I didn’t getcha back rollin’. Come on, git in this truck and lets getter done.” By his tone, it sounded like he wasn’t going to take, “Thank you, but I just couldn’t…” for an answer, so I sheepishly climbed in and we headed back east. As we got near to my old clunker, he again stated that he wasn’t leaving, till he was sure that it was gonna start back up. This time, I forcefully insisted that he let me reimburse him for his gas. “Sir, you’ve already went 80 something miles out of your way, not to mention the time it took. I’m not hurtin’ for cash, please, let me give you somethin’ for your time and trouble!” “Lets getter back runnin’, fore you go talkin’ all that.”, was all he said.
Well, it didn’t take very long at all before I had the belt back on, and everything tightened up. (Damn, cars were SO much easier to work on, back then!;)) I fired the ol’ girl up, and after it became apparent that it was running normally, I returned to the subject of compensating him for his extensive help. I already had a couple of twenty dollar bills pulled out of my pocket, and was proffering them, along with profuse declarations of thanks, when the guy shoved both hands in his pockets. The guy looked at me with a serious look on his face and said, “I ain’t a takin’ yore money son, that ain’t the reason I stopped an’ helped ya’. I helped ya’ out, ‘cause I could. If ya’ really wanta pay me back, pass it along.” And with that, he turned and started walking towards his truck while saying, “Y’all take care now, y’ hear.” Leaving me standing there with the money still in my hand, and a somewhat goofey, puzzled look on my face.
I stopped counting long ago, the times that people have stopped and offered to help me, in one way or another.
(0ften times without it being obvious, that I even needed help.)
That one day, caused an indelible (and still present) effect upon me. I’m still repaying that man’s kindness and generosity. And over the years, it seems that it constantly “comes back around”. Just sayin’…