Three Cans of Soup (16 page)

In the fall, Bill had signed up for a course working with the poor of Fort Worth. The pastoral care professor, Dr. Charles and a local African American pastor, Dr. Simpson, taught the course. Each Monday, the small group of students would work as chaplains in nursing homes that had primarily poor persons as residents. Then in the afternoon the students would debrief at Dr. Simpson’s congregation. For Bill it was an eye-opening experience.

One Monday he was asked to call on Emma. Emma was in her late sixties but looked as if she was in her late seventies. She was a small, frail African American woman whose entire world now consisted of her bed, small nightstand, and chair. When Bill arrived she was sitting up, propped up by pillows. Her roommate was snoring away in the adjacent bed.

“Good morning,” Bill said as he slowly entered the room, looked around, and tried to adjust to the prevailing odor present throughout the nursing home.

Bill continued as Emma looked up at him and smiled. “I am Bill Thompson. I am a student at the seminary and we are working at this nursing home as chaplains. I just wanted to stop by and visit with you for a moment.”

Emma looked up and lightly smacked her lips, “My, my, you are a tall boy!”

“Not really,” Bill said. “But thank you for the compliment.”

Emma just looked at him and smiled. Bill at this point was beginning to get nervous. “May I sit down?” he asked.

“Sure, child,” Emma said and just looked at him and continued smiling.

“Well,” Bill said fumbling for words. “How are you?”

“Jus’ fine.”

“Is the food good here?”

“Jus’ fine.”

“Do you get out much?”

“Not much, but it is jus’ fine.”

The minutes seemed to drag by. When Bill glanced down at his watch an entire four minutes had passed. It seemed like an hour. Rising from his chair, Bill said, “Well, it has been a pleasure talking with you. I have some other visits to make. Do you mind if we pray together?”

‘That would be jus’ fine,” Emma said and automatically closed her eyes and bowed her head. Bill noted that she did not offer him her hand and he decided not to reach out for it. Bill said a short prayer and left.

Next, Bill stopped by an African American man who was sitting in a wheelchair. Both of his legs had been amputated.

“Hi,” the man said pushing himself over toward Bill. “Are you one of those Reverends that I hear is out calling today?”

“Yes,” Bill said and sat down by the man.

“My name is Phil, short for Phillip. He was one of the disciples, I think.”

“Nice to meet you, “Bill replied. “How long have you been here?”

“Oh, for years. Too long,” Phil said. “So you are a student?”

“Yes, at the seminary,” Bill replied.

“That Baptist school?” Phil asked.

“No the other one,” Bill replied.

They sat in silence for a few seconds then Bill asked, “What did you do, err, I mean before you got in here?”

“I used to be a hobo,” Phil said with a note of pride.

“Oh really?” Bill replied genuinely curious.

“Yep, I rode the rails during the 40’s and 50’s. Started during the depression years. Do you know what a hobo is, young man?”

“Well, I don’t think I do,” Bill replied. Actually, he had an idea but this was proving to be a better conversation than what he had with Emma.

“Well, let me tell you,” Phil said. Bill noticed that Phil’s English was actually quite good. He suspected that Phil was more than he let on.

“A hobo is different from a bum. I was a hobo. We hobo’s worked for a living; we just didn’t hang around for very long. Got that itch to move on. A bum doesn’t want to work and is just looking for a handout.”

“Guess I did not know the difference.” Bill interrupted. “Go on, were you always a hobo?”

“Well, actually, I finished all the way through eleventh grade. I did some teaching and then worked in a factory back east for a while. Then the depression really got goin’ and I was laid off. I couldn’t find a job, so I hit the rails. After the depression was over I just found out that I liked the life of a hobo. I liked to read, so I could read all I wanted, work a little and then move on.” The more Phil talked the more he seemed to want to share. “As a hobo, we had a whole code among us. You pulled into an area and you could read the messages left and find out if there was work, if they were friendly, and if there were not too many bums, and if the local law was open to us. If not, you just moved on.”

“Fascinating,” Bill added.

“Yep, and you had to be familiar with all the trains, schedules and such. You had to know which ones were long-distance haulers and which ones stopped at every little village and town. It was hard but I loved it. I made a lot of friends along the way.”

“Were you hungry?” Bill inquired.

“Sure, you get used to that. But among us hobos we shared what we had so you never starved. We had something called ‘hobo stew” that I still miss. This crap here is awful. By the way, I am a little short today. I am pretty thirsty. Could really use a Coke.”

At first Bill tensed. He was being panhandled. What should he do? Should he give in or resist? Phil might have been good at this at one time but he was pretty transparent now. What the heck, Bill thought, it is only a quarter.

“Sure, here,” Bill said reaching into his pocket and giving Phil a quarter. Phil had a big smile on his face. He had that smile as he quickly rolled his wheelchair to where some buddies were seated after Bill left.

When Bill returned for debriefing, he shared his concerns about Emma and Phil with Dr. Simpson and Dr. Charles. Dr. Simpson was the first to speak.

“Sometimes it is difficult to break through. Folks just don’t trust people, especially white folks. So you just have to keep trying.”

Dr. Charles added, “Bill, were you bothered by the fellow asking for money?”

“No, not at all. I just wonder if it is for his good to give him money.”

Dr. Charles thought for a moment. “If it does not bother you, it is harmless. It is probably the one thing he could do well in his life. He just doesn’t realize he isn’t doing it as well.”

Bill felt better after the discussion. He continued calling on Emma and little by little she seemed to open up. She especially enjoyed hearing about his adventures in school and about the adventures at the church. At the end of each visit she would say, “My, my, your mama must be proud of you! You comin’ down here to visit us? What a nice boy you are!” Bill felt pretty good about his visits with Emma. As far as Phil went, he just made sure that he had plenty of quarters. Each time he tried to make it more and more difficult for Phil but in the end he would give in, Phil would smile and then brag to his friends about the stupid preacher that he panhandled every week.

Bill was feeling pretty good about his visits to Emma until Dr. Simpson explained to him what Emma was really doing. “She is really putting you in your place. She grew up in a time when you could never directly tell a white person what you thought of him. What she is really saying, and I hate to burst your ego, is that you sit in your ivory tower and come down to the poor section to make yourself feel better.”

Bill looked crestfallen. “You mean all this time and all she is doing is telling me to get lost?”

“Oh no. She is enjoying your visits. But when she over-praises you she is really telling you that she has to stay here and you can go back to your nice place, your nice safe place.”

“What can I do?” Bill asked.

“Just keep going, keep visiting, and one day she will trust you.”

That day did not come for several more weeks. One day as Emma and Bill were having their usual surface conversation, Emma suddenly stopped and looked hard at Bill. Then she said, “Okay. I will buy what you’re selling!”

“Excuse me, Emma, I don’t understand? I am not selling anything.”

“You’re not selling Bibles or something?” Emma asked with almost as much surprise as Bill had over her question.

“Emma, I told you we are just a group of students coming down here to visit. We are not selling anything!”

Emma looked at him and this time her smile was different, almost motherly. She reached over to the drawer in the nightstand and slowly opened it.

“I believe you. I want to show you something.” She pulled out several boxes of rocks. The rocks were nothing special, just gravel and rocks that one could find anywhere. Emma had them sorted according to shape and size. With great joy she began to show Bill her secret and private rock collection. Afterward, she began to tell Bill about her real life. She went on to explain how in her neighborhood people would come through, act like a friend and then always sell you something. Sometimes they disappeared before you ever got what they sold you. Bill could not believe the hard life that these people had endured and were still enduring.

Later, when Bill shared this with Dr. Simpson, Dr. Simpson had an all-knowing smile. “Bill you made a real breakthrough. She really trusts you. That is something very special.”

“Is it true what she said about people coming in and talking religion and then taking her money?”

Dr. Simpson looked over at Dr. Charles and they both nodded. “Bill, it is rough for these people. Lots of people come through promising all kinds of things and take what little money they have. She probably liked you but did not trust you until she showed you her rock collection. You have a real friend now.”

For Bill this experience at the nursing home was why he felt called into ministry. Ministry was about helping people find God and find themselves. Over the years, Bill would discover that this aspect of ministry energized him. Yet, as the years moved on he would forget all this. Instead, Bill would become caught up in what so many become caught up in—the push for recognition and success. For now, however, he knew that here was “where it was.”

As the semester drew to a close, Bill was continually short of cash. Expenses had been more than he anticipated, especially since the Dodge was beginning to act up. The work at the grocery store and the little church brought in barely enough income to manage. The bad news from the family was that although his father was holding his own, they too had run through resources with the growing medical bills. Bill knew that since he had just been home, this Christmas he would have to stay in Fort Worth.

As the holiday approached, Bill got more and more depressed. Most of the students were heading home for the holidays. David was going home to Indiana, Paul and Lynn were going out to Montana and then to Oregon, Ernie was staying on campus and Chris was headed to his home in west Texas. Chris had been nice enough to invite Bill but he politely thanked him and said he had other plans. Except he did not have other plans, except work and more work.

At the church Bill, Emily, Sam, and others donated some festive decorations for the little church. They put a tree on the small platform and decorated it in with handmade ornaments, paper chains, and strung popcorn. Susie made a special star for the top. Emily and Bill worked on some special music for Christmas Eve. It would be the first Christmas Eve service the congregation had observed in memory. Most of the time the student pastors were away for Christmas, as a result Christmas Eve services seldom happened at the Murray church.

The Sunday before Christmas Eve, Bill was invited over to Emily’s for dinner. She also invited Mary Pond to join them. Bill had developed a special love for Mary. Perhaps it was how she was able to care for the ex-husband who had jilted her or perhaps it was her loving and willing spirit. Bill was still impressed with her system of making ends meet. “I have a can of soup for lunch and one for dinner,” she would say. “That way,” Mary explained, “I use two cans of soup a day. So I go and buy enough soup for two weeks and can live on my budget.”

After Emily, Bill and Mary said grace, the conversation turned to Christmas plans. “So Bill, are you going home to your family?” Emily asked as she cut into a piece of pot roast.

“No, not this year,” and Bill’s answer betrayed his disappointment.

“I am sorry to hear that. How is your father doing?” Emily asked. Mary continued quietly eating and listening.

“Dad is doing better, but the outlook is still not good. He is still going through treatments for the cancer, and at least for the time being seems to be holding his own. He is working a few days a week and that keeps his spirits up. What are your plans?” Bill said trying to guide the subject away from his family situation.

Emily smiled and said, “Well, after our Christmas Eve service I am leaving the next morning to visit my daughter in Dallas. I will spend Christmas with my grandchildren.”

“And you, Mary?” Bill asked.

“Oh I will just be around here. Most folks in the town are taking off so someone has to hold down the fort.” Mary paused and then added. “Actually I have been invited over to the Tyndale’s for Christmas dinner. It should be real nice.” Mary paused and looked kindly at Bill. “So, what are your plans?”

Bill really did not want to go into this. He thought about whether he should just make something up or tell the truth. The truth was that this Christmas he had no plans. There was a celebration at the Wesley Center, a Methodist center for divinity students. He probably would go to that or just stay home and feel sorry for himself. He was really sad that Paul and Lynn were going to be gone. They had invited him to Montana, but at the point when they were making plans, he still hoped something would come through from the family. Paul and Lynn had left the day before, and although Bill waited by the phone, no call had come from the family. Deep inside he realized that if it were at all possible for him to go home his family would pay his way. He understood about the medical bills but he still wanted to be home for Christmas. Bill thought for a moment and decided to put up a good front.

“Oh I have some nice plans. There is a big dinner at the Wesley Center for students who are in town. I plan to attend that and be with friends. It should be real nice.”

Emily and Mary both smiled and Mary added, “Well I am glad you have plans. You know you can always join me and the Tyndale’s for Christmas.”