A great friend of mine just got married. He’s a very good guy, and I wish him and his new bride all the happiness in the world. This news also inspired me: I want to take this opportunity to tell about how we met. His name is Wes Patterson, and he was my very first friend in Georgia.
The good news about my move to Georgia from the Library Park section of Kenosha, Wisconsin was that I had a job waiting for me. The bad news, I came to learn, was that the job paid twice a month, with time accumulating on one pay cycle, and pay being delivered at the end of the second pay cycle. In other words, I was going to have to wait a full month before I saw a dime.
This was going to take some creative budgeting!
The first thing you learn while sleeping in your car in Georgia in June is that it’s really hot and humid out there. At about 1:00 in the morning, I walked over to Rio Grande, a local bar/restaurant, because it was the only thing in sight that was open that I thought might have drinkable running water. Inside, patrons were patronizing, fun was being had, and I sat at the centrally located bar with nothing more in mind that a little hydrogen-oxygen compound in a glass.
The bartender was a friendly guy with close-cut hair and a goatee. I also learned that subtle Southern accents sound friendly to Yankee ears. “What can I get you?”
“A water would be good.”
My first surprise that night came when a nice waitress put a full bowl of tortilla chips and a smaller bowl of salsa in front of me. Free appetizers = actual food in the belly! When he wasn’t mixing drinks, the bartender asked me if I wanted something more substantial to eat. At some point after I told him my pay cycle dilemma, he disappeared into the kitchen. I was shocked again when he reappeared with a much more substantial dip, consisting of melted cheese, hamburger and salsa. That tasted and felt great! During my second visit, as I ate the dip he prepared and served without my even asking for it, Wes shared with me that not only was there no charge for the dip, it wasn't even on the menu. It was just something he slapped together in the kitchen to feed his temporarily penniless customer.
Favors like this I don’t forget.
I learned when Wes was working, and over the next month, I stopped in a few times to shoot the breeze. The “special” dip was always prepared by Wes without even asking for it. Weeks later, when I finally did receive and cash my first check, I headed straight for Rio Grande. It was a busy Wednesday night with a live band, and the joint was jumping. I had no intention of staying, though. I went there just to carry out one mission. Making my way to the bar, I flagged Wes over.
“Do you remember me?” I asked without preamble.
“Yeah, sure!”
I put a ten-dollar bill in his hand. “Thank you,” I said, and left.
With an actual income, I returned to the Rio Grande now and again. I paid for and got filling meals, and until the place closed several months later, I got to shoot more breezes with Wes. We kept in touch over the years, and in 2008, my fiancé and I stopped in to visit with him and his daughters.
Wes will probably say what he did was no big deal, cost the bar nothing, and was the right thing to do. That’s his way. From my side of the bar, however, it was an incredibly generous favor that deserves to be publicly recognized.
Thanks again, Wes! You’re a Christian and a gentleman, and I’m truly grateful.
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