A KENTUCKY AFTERNOON
By Mrs. Dee Duchesne, Guest Contributor
A heartwarming and surprising look at small town kindness and humanity!
Driving in the mountains where I lived was my favorite thing to do. It cleared my mind, and the natural beauty I saw around me always made me feel closer to the Earth, and at the time, whatever Great Source was out there.
I used to take long trips through the mountains. I’d get my map out, and just close my eyes, stick my finger on it, open my eyes, and that’s where I was going! At the time, it seemed not to matter much to me where I went, or where I ended up. I felt always I was certain to find something. What that something was, I could not explain. I only knew “something” was out there, and if I drove around long enough, I would be sure to find it.
So, after fixing the usual road snacks—a big bag of Frito's, soda, and some bologna and cheese sandwiches—off I went. This time my finger had fallen on Hazard, Kentucky. I had been there before, and lived there a short while, so I had a fairly good idea of where I was going, how to get there, and what I would see on the way.
I had at the time an old Honda Civic. It was a $500.00 car, liked to leak oil, and the gas gauge was always broken. Sometimes the heat worked, but the air conditioning definitely didn't come included in the sale price!!! So on the way I went, with 10 bottles of oil in the back seat, 4 gallons of water for the radiator (had problems with that, too!), my snacks and a full tank of gas.
I don’t remember any type of feeling that I shouldn't go. I was excited, thinking about stopping at some points along the way. I remember thinking about a beautiful waterfall I had seen before and passed by, considering this time hiking to it and maybe camping out there overnight, finishing my trip the next day. It was a beautiful day, the kind of sky so clear and blue and perfect a person just had to stand there and look at it awhile. Sun shining, a gentle breeze, perfect day. I thought I can’t get any more perfect day than this. Today I just might find what I'm looking for.
Up and down the road I went, along that mountain two lane highway. I loved taking the back roads, running into people and towns, and things along the way; a person can learn so much from going the back way to find the front door.
Soon to my dismay, trouble found me; or I found it; or we met in the middle of the road and said 'hey' to each other. My little Honda, going up a mountain road, just got slower, and slower, and slower, and I kept pressing the accelerator more and more and more. Then BOOM!!! Brown stuff all over the windshield of my car, steam rising from the hood, a grinding sound (which is never, ever a good sound). I pulled off quick and threw the car into park. But it's a stick and on a hill so started going backwards!!!! So I found myself doing what any hillbilly would do at that point, put the car in reverse, kept the driver’s door open, and looked for some rocks. Big rocks. Finally I found them across the road. I pulled the car over to the 'wrong side' and threw it in park, jumped out, grabbed rocks, jumped back in, put my foot on clutch and brake and smelling the sweet smell of burning brakes, put the emergency brake on. Y’all were waiting to ask, 'Why didn’t she just put the emergency brake on the first time?' Because it was a 50/50 proposition that the brake would even work or I would even get it to brake. I had never used it before. Unknown factor there. Maybe it was adrenaline. Maybe it was luck. Or, hey, maybe the darn thing really worked all this time and I had just never considered that fact.
I threw big rocks behind the back wheels. At least the car was no longer trying to go down the mountain! I put the hood up and surveyed the damage. I was looking at my engine and thinking well, maybe some oil will help, maybe that’s what’s wrong. And I’ll throw some water in the radiator, give it a few minutes, and it’ll be right as rain. But I had two problems. One, I only knew about was oil, and water in the radiator. Anything else and I was totally lost. Now, you may be asking yourself, since I knew so little about emergency car stuff, why in the world would I choose to just drive around in my Honda dearly loved rust bucket up and down mountain roads with no cell phone? Well, I had a sense of adventure—or stupidity, and really nothing had happened to me I couldn’t fix with oil or water up until that time. Lesson learned: complacency will lead you places you don’t want to go and when you arrive there, you tend to realize all that stuff you thought you knew? Well, you really didn’t study it out, and worse of all, you didn’t feel any reason to, because you thought you knew it all already. That is the worst feeling ever in this world, I believe.
So, there I am. The hood is up, radiator sizzling, brown stuff on my windshield, and nowhere to go. Nobody coming down the road. It's so quiet I’m hearing frogs and crickets. Worse, I didn’t have enough money to pay for whatever was wrong with the car. I thought, 'I believe my engine just blew a gasket or plain blew up or cracked the block or threw a rod.' I didn’t know what any of that actually meant, had heard people talking about it before and it usually meant a funeral for the car. I started getting scared. First time I ever got scared. I realized how many chances I took all these years, how lucky I had been. That the current situation I found myself in now could have happened long before; remembering all the remote places I had been alone, and felt very small on that road.
After a while had gone by, sitting on the side of the road, I had convinced myself there was nothing for it but to start walking. Maybe I might find someone with a phone, but what good would that really do me? There was nobody for me to call for help. As I was getting up to start walking, I saw a highway work truck stop. There were three gentlemen in the truck, and they looked like they had just gotten off work. The driver, an older gentlemen, said to me, “ I got a call on the CB radio saying that some gal was out here with a broken down car sitting by the side of the road. So, we came to check on you and make sure your ok.”
“ Well," I said, "I’m OK, but I don’t believe my car is at all”
After the men got done laughing at that, one of them said to me, "Girl, your car has a busted radiator, the engine threw a rod, and I don’t really see no hope in fixin' the dang thing cause it ain't worth what fixin' it would be what you paid for it”
Well, they were right. Dead on right. I couldn’t fix all that stuff. Somehow they were looking at me like they knew my story, and they kept looking at my clothes in the backseat. They hemmed and hawed amongst themselves, looking over at me every once in a while. Finally, the older gentleman came over to me.
“Girl, why you riding around with all your clothes in the back of your car? Who you running from?”
What was I supposed to say? That I was homeless, been running for my life from an abusive husband that technically I was still married too? That today was just about the worst day of my life? So, I did what any well-raised Southern girl would do in that type of situation—I cried.
Oh, why did I start that? All of a sudden these guys were giving me hankies and patting me on the back and I was telling them the whole entire story. They didn’t know me. I sure didn’t know them. Maybe it's true what they say, it's sometimes easier to tell a stranger than your closest friend. After I had calmed down somewhat, the general consensus was one, I couldn’t stay there and sleep in the car on the road, two, since I needed the car, they were going to try and figure out a way to fix it or get me another one or something. I clearly remember as I was getting into the truck, why are they even bothering me with me?
So, I asked. The older gentleman driving the truck said, “I would hope that if that was my wife, my daughter, my kin folk in your situation on the side of the road somebody would stop and offer help to them, plus you're in Kentucky, girl, and we help each other out.” After that, there was nothing else I could say.
We drove into a town smaller than I'd ever seen. Maybe four or five houses, a small gas station, and that was it. No motel. No convenience store. No nothing but what I saw. We parked the truck behind the gas station and we all got out. We walked up front and went through the door, where an older gentleman was sitting behind a greasy counter.
“Where in the Sam Hill y’all been? Do you know what time it is? I ain’t paying you for overtime!!” He was mad. Face all red. And, then, like the Red Sea parting, the guys pushed me up front and told him the story. Told him everything. Meanwhile, the old man is just staring a hole through me and I’m wishing I could be anywhere else right now other than where I was. When the guys got done telling him, the old man said to me, "So, I guess you be wanting charity, right? Wanting somebody feel sorry for you 'cause you a woman and got trouble with your car and ain’t got no place to go to start with. Well, I ain’t giving you charity!”
I said, “I didn’t ask for no charity. These guys told me to come with them, so I did, and their boss man told me if it was his kinfolk, he’d hope somebody do the same for them, so that's why I be here. I don’t know you, and you don’t know me. And, I see you don’t want to deal with me, so I’ll just be going down the road.”
I turned around to go. I figured if I walked down the road, maybe somebody pick me up and give me a ride down to Hazard. I had a few friends there who might be able to help me out. The old man said “Stop there, gal! Where you think you going? You ain’t got no place to go no way. You staying here with us!!”
Now, there are some things I had never done before. Stay at a stranger’s house who obviously didn’t want me there and stay with a man. It seemed I had no choice and nowhere to run. And this, I didn’t like. The talk soon turned to where was I going to stay? How were they going to get my car to the gas station? Who was going to tow it? What was wrong with it? Etc. Meanwhile, I’m just standing there like a deer in the headlights. I found out soon enough the old man was mayor of the town, the police chief of the town, and basically everything else important, including AAA.
Next thing I know, I’m told my car fixin' to be towed to the garage, and I’m staying at the local, and only, preacher’s house for the night because nobody was going to look at it until the morning. The old man made a phone call, and in about two minutes, a lady showed up with long hair, long dress, and not smiling. They told her who I was, and she motioned for me to come with her. Seeing as how I had no other choice in this matter at all, I went with her.
We walked awhile, not saying anything to each other. We turned down a road and there was a modest house. A man and a bunch of kids were standing outside, I guess waiting on me. We went down there. The man said, "Welcome!!!! We sure are glad to have you here!!!! Praise Jesus, he sent us another lost lamb. Yes, Jesus going by the highways and byways and caught himself this little lamb!!”
Then the man did a little Holy Spirit dance, and in the house we went. I thought this man crazy. He has flipped his lid and was certifiable crazy! No wonder his wife don’t smile, she probably scared of him!!! I was.
Next I know, the kids was climbing all over me, asking me where I from, where I’m going, how I got there, why I’m there, am I staying for daddy’s sermon next Sunday, did I come to help their mama out with the housework? The lady told me I’d be sleeping on the floor with the older kids, then went upstairs. The preacher man sat in a chair staring at me. He said, "Everything will work out the way it's supposed to work out.” And he went upstairs. I didn't sleep well that night. Scared mostly.
The next morning, I walked down to the gas station/garage/ police station/mayor’s office. When I got there, the old man was there. He "good morning"-ed me, and asked me to come around back. When we turned the corner of the building, the highway guys were standing there. They told me they couldn’t fix my Honda—it was too far gone—but they had found me something else I might like. The Red Sea parted once more, and my eyes fell upon a Chrysler. Not just any run of the mill Chrysler, but a New Yorker. Fully loaded. Brand new tires and paint job, cherry red with black interior and leather. All my clothes were packed neatly in the trunk. The guys were falling all over themselves, showing me this and that and the other about the car, how this worked and the other worked.
I could not believe this beautiful car was mine. How in the world could somebody give away this car to somebody like me? A complete stranger. A lost lamb. Whoever owned this car could sell it and make good money off of it, make the town better, help the preacher’s wife out with her kids, something, anything other than give this to me. I remember I kept asking is it really mine? Are y’all serious? And, oh, was I crying and crying. The old man kept quiet, not saying a word to nobody, letting them have their fun. Then he spoke, “This here car was my late wife’s car. She been dead for aught 20 years now. Every week I clean her car, every month change the oil, every year give it a tune-up. Twenty years, my kids have been on me to sell it, or give it to them. No. Didn’t seem right to sell it to some car shuckster who wouldn’t care and appreciate my wife’s car. My kids just wanted the car for the status over in Lexington.” Then he got quiet. We all got quiet. I knew those guys had known all along whose car this belonged to.
I said, "Why in the world would you give me your late wife’s car? I’m a stranger to you, I ain’t no kinfolk of yourn. From what you just said, I can tell you love this car, been grieving on it twenty years, I don’t understand, sir.”
He looked at me and lit a cigar. He said, “My wife was a good woman. Christian lady. She said not to give her car to nobody unless I seen somebody deserving of it and then give it away. She said it when she was dying. So, I been meeting people here and there for nigh on twenty years and drifters come and go from here and they ain’t worth a damn. But there’s something about you different. My wife would have liked you. You're in bad trouble with that husband of yours and this car carry you all the way to the Pacific if you wanted to go there. It's yours, and it's free. Plus, the backseat so big when you sleep in it at night, you’ll be comfortable. You got a full tank of gas. You come by here every year and let me see that car and I’ll tune it up for free for ya. We took care of the taxes, and the license plates for you. Welcome to Eli, Kentucky, population 15.”
I just sat down in the dirt and buried my head and cried some more. This man had given me such a gift from his heart and it had cost him something intangible and dear. These highway guys had planned all along to give this car to me, and so did the old man the night before. The preacher and his wife were in on it, for the preacher’s wife had folded my clothes and put them in the trunk for me. A bag of apples in the passenger seat. A homemade cross hanging from the rear view mirror. A note from the kids saying come back soon. Was this home for me? Little Eli? Could I be population number 16? Then it hit me hard.
The car was loaded up with food, my clothes, a full tank of gas. I had been offered free tune-ups every year, but the old man didn’t want to see his wife’s car around Eli, not everyday, not every week, maybe not even every month. He had made sure he took care of that car, while he spent twenty years grieving his wife’s passing, and now he was done grieving for her by handing me this car. He had paid for the taxes and license plates. The reminder of this car was not something he chose to see except once a year. There was no place for me in Eli. Yet I had learned that a dying wish and grief could span twenty years, in the unlikeliest person of all. I knew then what I saw on the outside of a person said nothing at all about their secret life on the inside. This man’s friends had become his family, and they most likely had wanted him to stop grieving long before this day. Amazing to me was how a small town could all become a family, loving each other, helping each other, and most important knowing when it was time to help someone let go.
I left Eli, Kentucky, that day and drove into the sun. I didn’t look back. I drove back home, to Maggie Valley, North Carolina. And every week I washed that car, every month changed the oil, and the following year I went back to Eli for my annual tune-up. When I arrived there, I found out that old man had died some months before, and was buried next to his beloved wife. Finally, they were back together. The highway guys gave me a tune-up, but I knew I would not return to Eli again. I stopped at the little cemetery and thanked both of them for the gift they had chosen to give me. It really wasn’t the car, not the true gift. The true gift was they showed me love, warmth, kindness, and a sacrifice brought from that love, and if God existed, I knew surely God had planned this on that Kentucky afternoon.
Addendum: I kept the New Yorker for many years, until the tires and transmission and everything else had been taped up, wired up, replaced at least three times. It felt wrong to sell it to the local car junk yard, so I and a friend drove it back one last time to Eli, Kentucky. And to my knowledge, it remains there to this day. During the time I had the car, I found God and surrendered my life to Him. Gifts, no matter who they come from, have a way of blessing continually the one receiving it.
Thank you Heavenly Father, for blessing me so holistically that afternoon, for after that, everything changed, just the way you planned, and for blessing that man and the town of Eli, Kentucky.
I said, "Why in the world would you give me your late wife’s car? I’m a stranger to you, I ain’t no kinfolk of yourn. From what you just said, I can tell you love this car, been grieving on it twenty years, I don’t understand, sir.”
He looked at me and lit a cigar. He said, “My wife was a good woman. Christian lady. She said not to give her car to nobody unless I seen somebody deserving of it and then give it away. She said it when she was dying. So, I been meeting people here and there for nigh on twenty years and drifters come and go from here and they ain’t worth a damn. But there’s something about you different. My wife would have liked you. You're in bad trouble with that husband of yours and this car carry you all the way to the Pacific if you wanted to go there. It's yours, and it's free. Plus, the backseat so big when you sleep in it at night, you’ll be comfortable. You got a full tank of gas. You come by here every year and let me see that car and I’ll tune it up for free for ya. We took care of the taxes, and the license plates for you. Welcome to Eli, Kentucky, population 15.”
I just sat down in the dirt and buried my head and cried some more. This man had given me such a gift from his heart and it had cost him something intangible and dear. These highway guys had planned all along to give this car to me, and so did the old man the night before. The preacher and his wife were in on it, for the preacher’s wife had folded my clothes and put them in the trunk for me. A bag of apples in the passenger seat. A homemade cross hanging from the rear view mirror. A note from the kids saying come back soon. Was this home for me? Little Eli? Could I be population number 16? Then it hit me hard.
The car was loaded up with food, my clothes, a full tank of gas. I had been offered free tune-ups every year, but the old man didn’t want to see his wife’s car around Eli, not everyday, not every week, maybe not even every month. He had made sure he took care of that car, while he spent twenty years grieving his wife’s passing, and now he was done grieving for her by handing me this car. He had paid for the taxes and license plates. The reminder of this car was not something he chose to see except once a year. There was no place for me in Eli. Yet I had learned that a dying wish and grief could span twenty years, in the unlikeliest person of all. I knew then what I saw on the outside of a person said nothing at all about their secret life on the inside. This man’s friends had become his family, and they most likely had wanted him to stop grieving long before this day. Amazing to me was how a small town could all become a family, loving each other, helping each other, and most important knowing when it was time to help someone let go.
I left Eli, Kentucky, that day and drove into the sun. I didn’t look back. I drove back home, to Maggie Valley, North Carolina. And every week I washed that car, every month changed the oil, and the following year I went back to Eli for my annual tune-up. When I arrived there, I found out that old man had died some months before, and was buried next to his beloved wife. Finally, they were back together. The highway guys gave me a tune-up, but I knew I would not return to Eli again. I stopped at the little cemetery and thanked both of them for the gift they had chosen to give me. It really wasn’t the car, not the true gift. The true gift was they showed me love, warmth, kindness, and a sacrifice brought from that love, and if God existed, I knew surely God had planned this on that Kentucky afternoon.
Addendum: I kept the New Yorker for many years, until the tires and transmission and everything else had been taped up, wired up, replaced at least three times. It felt wrong to sell it to the local car junk yard, so I and a friend drove it back one last time to Eli, Kentucky. And to my knowledge, it remains there to this day. During the time I had the car, I found God and surrendered my life to Him. Gifts, no matter who they come from, have a way of blessing continually the one receiving it.
Thank you Heavenly Father, for blessing me so holistically that afternoon, for after that, everything changed, just the way you planned, and for blessing that man and the town of Eli, Kentucky.
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Copyright © 2015 by Rent's Due Publications
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, click a button on any page to send email with details of the request.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, click a button on any page to send email with details of the request.