An elderly man, sitting in his pickup truck, shouted "Greetings!" to me as I sat out smoking on the bench. I looked up at him and said, "Hello there." I didn't know what to make of this; in all likelihood, it was to be annoying, I assumed. He walked toward me with his hand out, and I stood (as any decent human being ought in the presence of an elder) and gave him a firm handshake. He gave me his name. Joe Gadsden. That's not his real name, but there's a joke in my changing it. I asked him how he was doing.
He told me "I'm getting old, sir." He kept calling me sir. It was absurd, but at the same time, it was kind of neat.
"Aren't we all, sir?" I replied, but not sarcastically.
"Well, when you're 81 you feel it a little more," he laughed.
My jaw dropped. "I don't believe you, sir. You're not 81." He looked to be 65, maybe 70. His voice, too, wasn't old. He boomed with joie de vivre. He has this...presence about him. It's bizarre. I've never quite experienced the like.
"Yes sir, young man, I'm 81 years old. And I've seen it all, everything. I've been everywhere. I've lived with the Esquimaux: they're good people, folks shouldn't make fun of them or hate them."
"No sir, I have no use for racists or racism.
"Me neither, there's no call for it. None at all." There was a pause. He then spoke, as if resuming a different thought: "I've roughnecked in the oil-fields, climbed mountains, explored the entire west. But you don't believe me, do you?"
He looked the part, and I had no reason to disbelieve him. I still wasn't sure about his age, though.
What follows is a composite of what he said next. We actually spoke back and forth, but my part was little more than "Yes sir."
"It's very rare that anyone believes me when I tell of my travels. I tell them I've seen this, I've done that. I've been a janitor in schools and they called me in to tell of watching St. Helens blow. I've roughnecked in the oil fields. I was born in Mississippi, raised in Shreveport. After we'd had children, my wife left me and I started traveling. Never remarried. But I traveled. I didn't stop, I didn't know where to stop, I just kept going. My heart was completely broken, so I started traveling. I kept traveling. Washington State, California, Oregon, I've been all over the West. Alaska. I was there when Mount Saint Helens blew in Washington. I raised my children in Washington. But St. Helens was the most powerful display one could ever hope to see. There was no wind when I watched, it was a column of smoke and ash reaching up into the heavens. It was beautiful and terrifying. But you don't believe me, do you sir?"
"I believe you, sir, and I envy you. I've seen much of the country, myself, but I want to see the world."
"I see in your eyes that you believe me. I didn't see it before. I learned to watch people's eyes. Nothing I've told you is untrue. I do not lie. God doesn't let me lie. Why do people lie to each other, young man?"
"I really don't know. I really don't. I wish I had an answer." I said.
"Neither do I, and I'm 81. I tell the truth. There's nothing more important than telling the truth. And I appreciate that you listen to me. I hope I'm not boring you."
"No sir, in fact, you've blessed me. I've had a lot of problems in my life lately." I hesitated, and then resumed, "it's like everything is flying apart."
"Don't you let it!" He pointed his finger in my face. "Don't you let things fly apart! Any doubt, don't let yourself have any doubt in who you are or what you do or in God. Any doubt you have will make it fall to pieces."
At this point, I started tearing up. Me, not doubt myself? This is what holy-rollers call "a moment of conviction."
He then said "Go out and see the world, young man. See it for what it is, not what you think it is. Don't close your mind to it. There is too much, too much beauty in this world to miss. The mountains, the trees, the cities. Even this town here, Athens. How many people see the town for what it really is, not just what they think it is? For its good or its bad, how many do? And what about other people, like the Esquimaux? Most people make assumptions about other people. They listen to what they think, not what others say. They listen to their feelings about others, not others themselves."
"I'm guilty of that, too, in my own may. But no, not very many. People are basically the same, no matter where you go."
"Yes sir they are. Most people see the world dimly. They don't see it for what it really is, they see it for what they think it is, or what they feel it is, not for what it is. Now sir, I hope I haven't bored you with all this talk. You believe me, don't you?"
"Yes sir, I believe you. And you haven't bored me, you've blessed me. You're preaching to the choir."
"I know you do, sir. I know you do. And I'm no preacher, I'm a roughneck and a janitor. Didn't finish my education, but you know what? The teachers always called me into class when I worked in schools, to tell the kids about something--things like Mount St. Helens, or other parts of the country, or other parts of the world. I was there, I saw it, I lived it."
"Practical experience beats theory every time."
"Amen, sir," he said with this most amazing laugh. "Well, again, I'm Joe Gadsden, pleasure to meet you, sir."
"Ian Hardy, and thank you for talking to me."
"Have a good day young man."
"You too."
The man's presence felt like something from American Gods. I shit you not. I felt both drained and refreshed. It ranks in the top 10 Utterly Bizarre experiences of my life.
In a way, I felt like I met myself--or rather, my ideal self. One day I'll understand precisely what that means. Right now, I can't explain it to you, either.
By the way, don't you love how I spell Esquimaux?
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