| Biographical Non-Fiction posted April 24, 2022 |
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A story of Understanding others needs.
Understanding Need
by Terry Broxson
Gene and Mary Ellen were good friends of Zoe and mine. On Friday nights, we would go out for dinner in the Oak Lawn area of Dallas. We lived there. Gene and Mary Ellen lived a little north in a more exclusive area of University Park.
Oak Lawn had great restaurants, and Gene entertained us by telling us where he had his paper route as a boy because he grew up in the area. Zoe and I were a generation younger. But those twenty years did not seem to make much difference.
Gene was a senior executive with a major oil company. He was a notorious check grabber. I am sure he made three times more money than Zoe, and I put together.
"Gene, let me get this check."
"No, Terry, I already told the waiter to bring me the check."
Maybe he was this way with everyone. Maybe it was because I worked for a nonprofit. Maybe it was because he was older. I didn't know.
One night at a very nice Italian place, he grabbed the check as usual.
"Gene, before you pay that bill, I want to tell you a story. Have the waiter bring another glass of wine. It's that kind of story."
I guess he was intrigued. Mary Ellen and Zoe looked a little intrigued too, but it could have been the wine.
"Gene, I would like to tell you about this friend, Jack Fryar. He is the husband of my debate coach from high school. He was an English teacher when I first met him. Later he would become the principal of the high school I had attended.
"Jack's parents were farmers. They had six hundred sixty acres, farming mostly cotton. Like most farmers in Texas, they had a vegetable garden and a few fruit trees. Their farm was about twenty-five miles from Midland, Texas, where I grew up, and Jack, his wife, and two kids lived.
"One day, Jack told me about his parents.
"He said, 'Terry, my mother, and father would bring us baskets of vegetables, fruit, and baked bread every time they came to visit, and it embarrassed me and made me angry. I had grown up on that farm. I live in town now! I told them we are successful teachers making good salaries, and we don't need these things!
'But two weeks later, here they come again, loaded with more baskets!'
"Gene, let me stop here and say I knew part of the story. It had happened on a cold December night, that a gas space heater malfunctioned in his parents' farmhouse, and they died.
''Jack said, 'looking back on those events; I now understand that my parents did not bring those food items to us because we needed them, but because my parents needed to give them to us.' ''
I looked at Gene and said, "Gene, I need to pick up that check."
Thinking for only a moment, he slowly passed the check over to me.
Only a month or so later, Gene told us Mary Ellen was having a second battle with breast cancer. A fight she had won fifteen years earlier. She would not win this one.
Gene said, "The chemo is making her very sick. I need to help her. I have heard that marijuana can help. I have no idea how to get it for her." It was 1980. Marijuana was not legal for medical use anywhere.
"Well, dang, Gene, you are a senior executive of a major company, a good Catholic, a father of three. No wonder you don't know. I don't know either, but I bet I know someone who does."
I called my friend Grady Paul and explained the situation.
"No problem, Terry, I will get you some tomorrow."
The next day a fellow named Mark brought me a bag of marijuana. I paid him thirty-five dollars. My only drug deal.
When I gave Gene the bag, he tried to pay for it.
"No, Gene."
We both understood need.
Two last things:
Mary Ellen reported that using the marijuana before her chemo treatment did help her a great deal.
The most famous librarian from Midland, Texas, is a lady I graduated high school with; her name was Laura Welch in those days. She married George W. Bush. A few years back, the high school decided the library needed a name. They named it the Jack Fryar Library. I am thinking they understood about need.
Story of the Month contest entry
Gene and Mary Ellen were good friends of Zoe and mine. On Friday nights, we would go out for dinner in the Oak Lawn area of Dallas. We lived there. Gene and Mary Ellen lived a little north in a more exclusive area of University Park.
Oak Lawn had great restaurants, and Gene entertained us by telling us where he had his paper route as a boy because he grew up in the area. Zoe and I were a generation younger. But those twenty years did not seem to make much difference.
Gene was a senior executive with a major oil company. He was a notorious check grabber. I am sure he made three times more money than Zoe, and I put together.
"Gene, let me get this check."
"No, Terry, I already told the waiter to bring me the check."
Maybe he was this way with everyone. Maybe it was because I worked for a nonprofit. Maybe it was because he was older. I didn't know.
One night at a very nice Italian place, he grabbed the check as usual.
"Gene, before you pay that bill, I want to tell you a story. Have the waiter bring another glass of wine. It's that kind of story."
I guess he was intrigued. Mary Ellen and Zoe looked a little intrigued too, but it could have been the wine.
"Gene, I would like to tell you about this friend, Jack Fryar. He is the husband of my debate coach from high school. He was an English teacher when I first met him. Later he would become the principal of the high school I had attended.
"Jack's parents were farmers. They had six hundred sixty acres, farming mostly cotton. Like most farmers in Texas, they had a vegetable garden and a few fruit trees. Their farm was about twenty-five miles from Midland, Texas, where I grew up, and Jack, his wife, and two kids lived.
"One day, Jack told me about his parents.
"He said, 'Terry, my mother, and father would bring us baskets of vegetables, fruit, and baked bread every time they came to visit, and it embarrassed me and made me angry. I had grown up on that farm. I live in town now! I told them we are successful teachers making good salaries, and we don't need these things!
'But two weeks later, here they come again, loaded with more baskets!'
"Gene, let me stop here and say I knew part of the story. It had happened on a cold December night, that a gas space heater malfunctioned in his parents' farmhouse, and they died.
''Jack said, 'looking back on those events; I now understand that my parents did not bring those food items to us because we needed them, but because my parents needed to give them to us.' ''
I looked at Gene and said, "Gene, I need to pick up that check."
Thinking for only a moment, he slowly passed the check over to me.
Only a month or so later, Gene told us Mary Ellen was having a second battle with breast cancer. A fight she had won fifteen years earlier. She would not win this one.
Gene said, "The chemo is making her very sick. I need to help her. I have heard that marijuana can help. I have no idea how to get it for her." It was 1980. Marijuana was not legal for medical use anywhere.
"Well, dang, Gene, you are a senior executive of a major company, a good Catholic, a father of three. No wonder you don't know. I don't know either, but I bet I know someone who does."
I called my friend Grady Paul and explained the situation.
"No problem, Terry, I will get you some tomorrow."
The next day a fellow named Mark brought me a bag of marijuana. I paid him thirty-five dollars. My only drug deal.
When I gave Gene the bag, he tried to pay for it.
"No, Gene."
We both understood need.
Two last things:
Mary Ellen reported that using the marijuana before her chemo treatment did help her a great deal.
The most famous librarian from Midland, Texas, is a lady I graduated high school with; her name was Laura Welch in those days. She married George W. Bush. A few years back, the high school decided the library needed a name. They named it the Jack Fryar Library. I am thinking they understood about need.
Oak Lawn had great restaurants, and Gene entertained us by telling us where he had his paper route as a boy because he grew up in the area. Zoe and I were a generation younger. But those twenty years did not seem to make much difference.
Gene was a senior executive with a major oil company. He was a notorious check grabber. I am sure he made three times more money than Zoe, and I put together.
"Gene, let me get this check."
"No, Terry, I already told the waiter to bring me the check."
Maybe he was this way with everyone. Maybe it was because I worked for a nonprofit. Maybe it was because he was older. I didn't know.
One night at a very nice Italian place, he grabbed the check as usual.
"Gene, before you pay that bill, I want to tell you a story. Have the waiter bring another glass of wine. It's that kind of story."
I guess he was intrigued. Mary Ellen and Zoe looked a little intrigued too, but it could have been the wine.
"Gene, I would like to tell you about this friend, Jack Fryar. He is the husband of my debate coach from high school. He was an English teacher when I first met him. Later he would become the principal of the high school I had attended.
"Jack's parents were farmers. They had six hundred sixty acres, farming mostly cotton. Like most farmers in Texas, they had a vegetable garden and a few fruit trees. Their farm was about twenty-five miles from Midland, Texas, where I grew up, and Jack, his wife, and two kids lived.
"One day, Jack told me about his parents.
"He said, 'Terry, my mother, and father would bring us baskets of vegetables, fruit, and baked bread every time they came to visit, and it embarrassed me and made me angry. I had grown up on that farm. I live in town now! I told them we are successful teachers making good salaries, and we don't need these things!
'But two weeks later, here they come again, loaded with more baskets!'
"Gene, let me stop here and say I knew part of the story. It had happened on a cold December night, that a gas space heater malfunctioned in his parents' farmhouse, and they died.
''Jack said, 'looking back on those events; I now understand that my parents did not bring those food items to us because we needed them, but because my parents needed to give them to us.' ''
I looked at Gene and said, "Gene, I need to pick up that check."
Thinking for only a moment, he slowly passed the check over to me.
Only a month or so later, Gene told us Mary Ellen was having a second battle with breast cancer. A fight she had won fifteen years earlier. She would not win this one.
Gene said, "The chemo is making her very sick. I need to help her. I have heard that marijuana can help. I have no idea how to get it for her." It was 1980. Marijuana was not legal for medical use anywhere.
"Well, dang, Gene, you are a senior executive of a major company, a good Catholic, a father of three. No wonder you don't know. I don't know either, but I bet I know someone who does."
I called my friend Grady Paul and explained the situation.
"No problem, Terry, I will get you some tomorrow."
The next day a fellow named Mark brought me a bag of marijuana. I paid him thirty-five dollars. My only drug deal.
When I gave Gene the bag, he tried to pay for it.
"No, Gene."
We both understood need.
Two last things:
Mary Ellen reported that using the marijuana before her chemo treatment did help her a great deal.
The most famous librarian from Midland, Texas, is a lady I graduated high school with; her name was Laura Welch in those days. She married George W. Bush. A few years back, the high school decided the library needed a name. They named it the Jack Fryar Library. I am thinking they understood about need.
 Recognized |
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Artwork by Cindy Sue Truman at FanArtReview.com
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