Hey, everyone. I hope that your holiday is going well. I have a ton of stuff to talk about tonight. So, I probably won't talk about any of it. Ha, ha. Google tells me that I can't upload any more photos to my blog unless I buy some storage. So, tonight, while I'm trying to decide whether or not to switch to Word Press, I am going to tell you a story. It is based on a true story. I have changed some particulars to give privacy to the persons who are related to the deceased. The story was told to me by an older fellow that I knew, back when I was a young man. I'll try to tell it in his words, as he told it to me, lo, those many years ago...
Come Out of There
Chapter 1
When I was a teenager I was wont to hang out with a rough bunch of guys. They were unusual people and we didn't all hang together. I made friends, separately, with several guys my mom didn't approve of. One of her favorite things which she routinely said to me was, "You'd make friends with a pile of crap".
The worst friend I had, in mom's eyes, was an older guy named Lewis T. Cobb. When I was 20, Lewis was 30. Lewis was a big, barrel-chested fellow with long, black hair, brown eyes and a mouthful of bad teeth. I was about the only friend he had, I reckon.
He was a quiet man and he lived alone, back in the woods in a little shack he had built for himself. If you wanted to talk about social graces, well, Lewis didn't have any. My dad didn't mind Lewis at all. When dad talked about Lewis, he was known to joke about him.
"I'd expect him to be rough, with a name like Cobb." Then dad would laugh, tell mom to quit griping about my friends and bring him a beer.
Lewis T. Cobb was one of those guys who grew up rough. When he lived at home, his dad punched him and knocked him over a couch. Lewis lost two of his teeth that day. When Lewis got his full growth, he called his dad out and whipped him. Cobb never took any smart remark or disrespect from anyone. As a result, the cops knew him well. They seemed to persecute Lewis a bit. Funny, some cops mostly like people they can bully.
Lewis T. Cobb and I ran around together. We drank together, hunted together and went to football games and movies.
One day we had been hunting. When we came back to the city, we started drinking in different bars and playing pool. On the way home, we were driving through a rough part of town. I told him to pull over at a bar, because I wanted to buy a six-pack. I was young and reckless but Lewis never tried to talk me out of anything. He just pulled over.
Well, five minutes later, I hadn't come out. Lewis got out of his truck, walked over to the window and looked inside. He saw me backed into a corner with three men in front of me. The center one had a knife and was thrusting it at me, while I held a chair at arm's length and blocked the thrusts.
Lewis T. Cobb walked back to the truck and got his shotgun. He walked to the doorway of the bar and stepped inside. He didn't point the gun at anyone. He just held it across his chest and looked at me and my three enemies. The bar went quiet as a tomb and no one spoke a word. They stood still and I stood still.
I could see Lewis' hands shake. I could see he was scared, but his eyes didn't flinch. A damn fool could see that he meant business. He took one hand off the shotgun and motioned to me.
"Come out of there," he said, in a voice that rang like steel. I hesitated, glancing at my assailants as though asking their permission to leave.
"Come out of here!" Lewis roared out.
I set the chair down and brushed past the men. I passed so close that I could smell the whiskey on the breath of the man who held the knife. Cobb watched the men with resolute eyes until I slid past him and out of the door. He and I backed our way to the truck and got in. No one so much as peeked out the door of the bar.
Quickly we drove away, much relieved and counting ourselves fortunate to be alive. Lewis told me later that he had been scared to death during the entire scene. He knew that he would likely have to kill a man that day. He knew that he might go to prison or perhaps even be killed, himself.
As the years passed, I thought about that event a lot more. At the time it happened I thought that it was cool and I was grateful, though of course I didn't see it in its true light.
How many people would have done what Lewis had done? One in a hundred? One in a thousand? Most would have, maybe, called the police. I would have been dead before they got there. Lewis didn't think to ask anyone's legal permission to help me. His respect for authority only went so far. He did what had to be done.
Lewis wasn't pretty, well-mannered or a member of a church. But he was a man. When he stood there in the doorway with the light around him, he looked like an angel of God, to me.
I often wonder, would I have the courage, the common sense to do the same? I don't know. I might well have just ran away.
When I told my parents about the incident, my father turned to my mother, with his eyes flashing fire.
"See, Martha? If he'd have been with one of your choir boys, our son would be dead right now."
"If he'd have been with choir boys he wouldn't have been in a bar!" My mom fired back at him. But after that, mom couldn't do enough for Lewis. She was always cooking for him and even asked him to move in with us.
It wasn't too long before Lewis volunteered for the Army. He fought in World War 2.
The story goes that Lewis stuck his nose in another fight which he had not started. In a little church in France, he found a pretty, young French woman, backed in a corner by 4 soldiers. She had a sickle in her hand and was outnumbered, just like I had been. When Lewis walked through that door, I wonder what that lady thought.
When the smoke cleared that day, Lewis T. Cobb and her 4 enemies were all dead, but she was alive.
Lewis T. Cobb was my friend. He lies in Arlington National Cemetery. He was awarded the Bronze Star. He was a man.
The End
From the author's green retreat, I'm CE Wills.
Come Out of There
Chapter 1
When I was a teenager I was wont to hang out with a rough bunch of guys. They were unusual people and we didn't all hang together. I made friends, separately, with several guys my mom didn't approve of. One of her favorite things which she routinely said to me was, "You'd make friends with a pile of crap".
The worst friend I had, in mom's eyes, was an older guy named Lewis T. Cobb. When I was 20, Lewis was 30. Lewis was a big, barrel-chested fellow with long, black hair, brown eyes and a mouthful of bad teeth. I was about the only friend he had, I reckon.
He was a quiet man and he lived alone, back in the woods in a little shack he had built for himself. If you wanted to talk about social graces, well, Lewis didn't have any. My dad didn't mind Lewis at all. When dad talked about Lewis, he was known to joke about him.
"I'd expect him to be rough, with a name like Cobb." Then dad would laugh, tell mom to quit griping about my friends and bring him a beer.
Lewis T. Cobb was one of those guys who grew up rough. When he lived at home, his dad punched him and knocked him over a couch. Lewis lost two of his teeth that day. When Lewis got his full growth, he called his dad out and whipped him. Cobb never took any smart remark or disrespect from anyone. As a result, the cops knew him well. They seemed to persecute Lewis a bit. Funny, some cops mostly like people they can bully.
Lewis T. Cobb and I ran around together. We drank together, hunted together and went to football games and movies.
One day we had been hunting. When we came back to the city, we started drinking in different bars and playing pool. On the way home, we were driving through a rough part of town. I told him to pull over at a bar, because I wanted to buy a six-pack. I was young and reckless but Lewis never tried to talk me out of anything. He just pulled over.
Well, five minutes later, I hadn't come out. Lewis got out of his truck, walked over to the window and looked inside. He saw me backed into a corner with three men in front of me. The center one had a knife and was thrusting it at me, while I held a chair at arm's length and blocked the thrusts.
Lewis T. Cobb walked back to the truck and got his shotgun. He walked to the doorway of the bar and stepped inside. He didn't point the gun at anyone. He just held it across his chest and looked at me and my three enemies. The bar went quiet as a tomb and no one spoke a word. They stood still and I stood still.
I could see Lewis' hands shake. I could see he was scared, but his eyes didn't flinch. A damn fool could see that he meant business. He took one hand off the shotgun and motioned to me.
"Come out of there," he said, in a voice that rang like steel. I hesitated, glancing at my assailants as though asking their permission to leave.
"Come out of here!" Lewis roared out.
I set the chair down and brushed past the men. I passed so close that I could smell the whiskey on the breath of the man who held the knife. Cobb watched the men with resolute eyes until I slid past him and out of the door. He and I backed our way to the truck and got in. No one so much as peeked out the door of the bar.
Quickly we drove away, much relieved and counting ourselves fortunate to be alive. Lewis told me later that he had been scared to death during the entire scene. He knew that he would likely have to kill a man that day. He knew that he might go to prison or perhaps even be killed, himself.
As the years passed, I thought about that event a lot more. At the time it happened I thought that it was cool and I was grateful, though of course I didn't see it in its true light.
How many people would have done what Lewis had done? One in a hundred? One in a thousand? Most would have, maybe, called the police. I would have been dead before they got there. Lewis didn't think to ask anyone's legal permission to help me. His respect for authority only went so far. He did what had to be done.
Lewis wasn't pretty, well-mannered or a member of a church. But he was a man. When he stood there in the doorway with the light around him, he looked like an angel of God, to me.
I often wonder, would I have the courage, the common sense to do the same? I don't know. I might well have just ran away.
When I told my parents about the incident, my father turned to my mother, with his eyes flashing fire.
"See, Martha? If he'd have been with one of your choir boys, our son would be dead right now."
"If he'd have been with choir boys he wouldn't have been in a bar!" My mom fired back at him. But after that, mom couldn't do enough for Lewis. She was always cooking for him and even asked him to move in with us.
It wasn't too long before Lewis volunteered for the Army. He fought in World War 2.
The story goes that Lewis stuck his nose in another fight which he had not started. In a little church in France, he found a pretty, young French woman, backed in a corner by 4 soldiers. She had a sickle in her hand and was outnumbered, just like I had been. When Lewis walked through that door, I wonder what that lady thought.
When the smoke cleared that day, Lewis T. Cobb and her 4 enemies were all dead, but she was alive.
Lewis T. Cobb was my friend. He lies in Arlington National Cemetery. He was awarded the Bronze Star. He was a man.
The End
From the author's green retreat, I'm CE Wills.
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