WANT TO HEAR MORE?

Louis Walker

CHAPTER ONE

There are people you meet during your life's journey that you forget the day after you meet them. Then there are people you meet that you remember till your dying day. If you have a minute, I'd like to tell you about a person I met who fits very securely into the latter category. His name was Louis Walker. Louis was already old when we met. At least he seemed old to me at first. But, after I listened to him speak and got to know him better, I wasn't really sure. I have a perfect picture of him in my mind, but, when it comes to putting Louis into words, that's difficult. Describing what he looked like is easy. Describing who he was is a different story. He wasn't a physically imposing man. He was actually rather slight and nondescript, standing less than 5' 10” tall and weighing maybe 140 lbs soaking wet. His head was crowned with thick, unruly, snow white hair. His features were average with maybe a slightly larger than normal nose. You could have encountered him on the street and never noticed him except for two things, his laugh and his eyes. Louis's laugh could make a dead man split his sides and Louis's eyes...oh, those eyes. If you've ever been to the Caribbean and noticed the blue of the deep water under the noon sun, you've seen the color of Louis's eyes. And, the color was liquid. There was an actual sparkle to them when he was happy or in a teasing mood. There was an endless depth to them when he was angry or very serious. His eyes were a force to be reckoned with. No one could help trusting and believing those eyes. No one could ever lie to those eyes.

So far as Louis the person was concerned, he was a walking contradiction. He was capably but unaccomplished. He was intelligent but uneducated. He was kind and caring yet totally uninvolved with the world around him. He had been married and had several children but acknowledged no family. He was perfectly satisfied to sit alone in his small house and entertain himself. He didn't ask anyone for anything and didn't appreciate it when someone asked something of him. He took a side job now and then when he needed money for food or cigarettes. He didn't worry about what tomorrow would bring. He would say, “I'll burn that bridge when I come to it.” Under the right circumstances, I do believe Louis would have given you the shirt off his back. He was basically a nice person. The main problem with him was he just wasn't much worth a damn. Don't misunderstand. He wasn't mean or hateful or anything like that. I don't think he would have done you wrong if it would have done him good. It's just I guess he didn't put a lot of stock in the part of the Bible that talks about talents. You see, Louis had talent up to his eyeballs. He just didn't make use of many of them. I heard it said you could bring a building or repair problem to Louis in the morning and by mid afternoon he'd have your problem solved. Though he had the skill to implement the solution to your problem, he would never volunteer to help with the work. Louis could sink a well, build a house, fix a car, or cook a meal if he had wanted. He knew a lot about a lot of things. He just chose to do very little. I always thought had God injected into Louis just a small measure of ambition on top of all those talents, this old man could have been a millionaire several times over. But, here we have one of those “If” things that Louis always talked about saying, ”If frogs had wings they wouldn't keep bumping their butts on the ground.”

I think I forgot to tell you just how I met Louis. I have always been the kind of person who loves to explore. One of my favorite pastimes is checking out stores that sell a lot of old, discarded items. Now, I'm not talking about stores with names like “Lowcountry Antiques”. I'm talking about stores with names like “Joe's Junk”. I've learned you can find some of the most interesting things in such establishments. That's what I was doing the day I first met Louis. I had heard of such a store over in Ravenell which is about 20 miles from where I lived. I was told the store was down a dirt road about a mile or so off the main road, Hwy 17. That sounded like fun to me so off I went in search of new rummaging grounds. I had been driving around the area for more than an hour, having arrived about noon. I had driven down every dirt road I could find. Being as Ravnell is very close to the coast, it is honeycombed with marshes and small streams. All of the dirt roads in the area have several small bridges along their course. I suppose there must have been a nail or something in one of the small wooden bridges I drove across because, as I came off that particular bridge, my right rear tire blew out. A flat tire never makes your day but I wasn't too upset being as I knew very well how to change it. It was the early afternoon so I didn't worry about dark catching me out there in the middle of nowhere.

I wasn't on what could exactly be described as a well traveled thoroughfare so I just stopped the car right where it was, in the middle of the road. All went well as I got the jack and the spare out of the trunk. As I started to set up the jack, I realized there was a potential problem. I said I was driving on a 'dirt' road when I had the flat, well, that's not exactly accurate. The road was covered with deep sand as are many unpaved lowcountry roads. When I started jacking the car, the jack just sank into the sand. Trying to appear not quite so stupid, I decided I'd better look around for something rigid like a board to put under the base of the jack to prevent it from sinking. Because I was so focused on the flat tire, the jack, and the sand problem, I must have had tunnel vision because I didn't notice I had company until I turned around to look for the board. I was more than a little bit startled when I realized an old man was standing in the gravel driveway behind me watching my every move. I decided I would be polite and say “Good Afternoon” because I'd always heard that most ax murderers react positively to good manners. He replied, “Good Afternoon”, as he walked into the shade of the tree line on that side of the road and sat down on a stump. I felt a bit more comfortable with him sitting there as I still had a white knuckled grip on the jack handle. I said something about the jack sinking into the sand and my need for something solid to put under it. He nodded his head affirmatively and told me someone had dumped some pieces of concrete from a driveway down by the wooden bridge. He suggested I might find something useful there. I thought to myself, “Well, thank God, chivalry is not dead yet. This old fool is still stomping it.”

I walked the short distance back to the bridge and peered down the ditch bank. Even though the area looked like an ideal environment for really big snakes, I climbed down to see what I could find to solve my problem with the jack. I found a piece of concrete slab somewhat smaller in circumference than a #2 washtub and about 4 inches thick. It was flat on one side and would serve my purpose well. The only problem I faced was getting the heavy bastard back to where the car was. After the initial strain of pulling the heavy weight up the ditch bank, the going got surprisingly easier. As it turned out, that deep sand was good for something. It acted like a skid. Leaning over at the waist, I got behind the load and pushed. With the smooth side down, the concrete rock mostly glided over the sand. Every so often, though, the front of the rock bogged down and the sudden stop would send me to my knees. The thought crossed my mind, “So this is how the Egyptians moved those heavy stones to build the pyramids.” Of course, there were thousands them doing the pushing.

As I was straining with the slab, I saw, out of the corner of my eye, the old man still sitting, contentedly, in the shade. He didn't make one move or offer to help. Finally, I reached the car with my heavy load. I scooped out the loose sand from the area under the axle so the slab would sit level and low enough that the jack would fit between it and the axle. Did I happen to mention that this story took place in late July? Well, it did. And as everyone knows, July in the Lowcountry usually brings temperatures in the upper 90s to low 100s with humidity levels somewhere around 4000% . This particular July was no exception. By the time I got the flat off and the spare ready to go on, there wasn't a dry thread on me. At each point in the process, placing the jack, loosening the lugs, raising the car, taking off the flat, I stole a glance at the old man sitting on the stump in the shade. That old man was really beginning to get on my last nerve. After I managed to strain the spare up and on and finger tighten the lugs, I looked over my shoulder to find the old man had quite silently disappeared.

The job was on the downhill run now. I let the jack down, finished tightening the lugs, replaced the hubcap, and removed the concrete slab from under the car. I must have been a sight to behold. Wet with sweat, sand was stuck all over me from grubbing under the car. My hair was stringing down on my face. I was not in a good mood. As I pushed the slab to the edge of the road and sat back, exhausted, against the newly installed wheel, I became aware that the old man was back. I looked up to see his hand outstretched toward me offering a six ounce bottled Coke. Without any hint of a smile he said, “You look like you could use a cold drink.” That was the first time I had been close enough to the old man to notice his eyes. I reached up for the Coke and said, “Thank you. I do hope this hasn't caused you to exert yourself too much.” Then came that laugh. It was deep, genuine, spontaneous, and infectious. I couldn't help but join in. My mood ascended from just below crappy to the most joyous laugh I had had in years. The sparkle in the old man's blue eyes virtually danced. By the time our laughter was brought under some control, we were both sitting in the middle of that sandy road wiping away the laugh tears that were running down our faces. He reached out his hand to shake mine and said, “Hello, I'm Louis Walker.”