(YOU SON OF A GUN!)
You say you missed the bus -- again?
Because you didn’t listen to your friend?
For it’s when you ain’t payin’ attention
that you don’t hear someone close by mention
that you’re wasting your time at a game
when the world all around ain’t the same.
It’s a-changing all the time
passing by while you spend your dime.
So keep your hand from your pocket;
Move away from there like a rocket.
You can’t think if your ears are shut,
So open your brain like cracking a nut.
(from “The Big Book of Best Loved ‘Pomes’ For Fambly and Friends”)
Nobody likes to be reminded of those times when he failed because he didn’t listen to someone else. Especially when that some
one else is not living in this world any more. And nobody likes to be reminded of those times his failure created a great inconvenience for everybody else; or be reminded of the fact that this particular failure was nobody’s fault but his own. But I am writing this now to remind myself of such things. It is painful to do it, but I just felt I had to get it out of my system.
Growing up in West Texas my brothers and I would visit our grandparents in Oklahoma every summer. Sometimes it wasn’t practical for them to drive us up there (around 500 miles or so, one way); and flying was too expensive. So they would load us up on a bus, usually in the nearby large town of Odessa, Texas, and we would make the long drive with many stops from there to Minco, Oklahoma or Oklahoma City, whichever relativ
e happened to be our destination. We did this for at least two summers. Then of course at the right time, our grandparents would take us back to the bus station for the return trip. I never did know if they just bought us a return ticket, or made use of a round-trip ticket that Mom and Dad bought for us. But that is how we got to central Oklahoma and back for several summers.
Anyway, because that is such a long trip and involves a couple of different bus routes, you had to change buses in Abilene, Texas. That meant you got off the line which travelled Interstate 20 on the way to Dallas, and you got onto the bus line which travelled U. S. Highway 277 up to Wichita Falls, which then switched to Interstate 44 through Lawton, and on to Oklahoma City. I know, I know. That’s more than you wanted to know . . . .
But one summer I was travelling back home to Crane, Texas in the early 1960s with my younger brother Joe. We stopped in Abilene at the bus station as usual. And it was there that I discovered over in the corner of the room, far from the front/ticket desk a set of pinball machines. Remember those? That was back in the day before they had the more sophisticated arcade games and computer and video games.
The pinball machines operated on the basis of springs, gravity, and momentum. You used a spring-pull to shoot the ball up hill and into the field of pinball obstacles and bumpers; and you used these flipper knobs on both sides of the machine to keep the big, steel ball in play. The ball would be rolling downhill and bumping into things; and If you could catch and strike the ball at just the right time in just the right place you could send that thing back up hill and start it bumping into things all over again. As it bumped it would set off a small alarm and generate points. If you earned enough points, you could win an extra game. I was never that good, but for some reason in just that moment I became fascinated with, even addicted to, the game of pinball. I used up all the quarters and dimes in my pocket, then wen
t to the front desk to get more change. Joe just tagged along quietly making few comments.
On this particular trip we had a kind of long lay-over between the south-bound bus and the west bound bus – maybe a couple of hours. So I limbered up and really got busy with the game. Eventually I began to notice the voice of the depot master, sounding over the loud speaker in the background. He was announcing when it was time to get on a bus, which was departing for Weatherford, Ft. Worth, etc.
Eventually our bus came in, and he announced it too. I was ten at the time and Brother Joe was seven. I don’t know how it is now, but back then when children were travelling together station masters, clerks, and drivers, were pretty careful to make sure the children stayed together and got on the right bus; and that they got on on time. This particular station master was attempting to do that too. He kept calling out our bus number and destinations, and indicated several times that now was the time to board. I know this because I vaguely heard his voice over the loud speaker in the background; but I was so caught up in the heat of my pinball game, that I kept on thinking I had time for just one more pull; or perhaps he wasn’t calling out our bus after all. Joe heard the announcements more explicitly though because he was paying less attention to what I was all wrapped up in. I recall his telling me a couple of times, and even tugging on my sleeve, that it was time for us to leave. “No, it isn’t! We still have time for one more game!” I insisted.
But finally I ran out of quarters and dimes. I was low on cash, so I knew I could not get more now. It was then that I walked up to the front desk and asked if our bus had come in. He looked at me in utter astonishment and disbelief.
“But number 73 to Odessa? Are you kidding, son? It just left!” I was in shock when I heard that. “But that’s the bus I’m supposed to be on to get home!” He said, “Son, we called the name of that bus several times and asked for people to get on board. The driver even delayed a few minutes because he was sure he had two more riders on his travel list.”
“Oh, my goodness!” I cried in anguish. I felt so bad – for myself, and for my little brother. “Oh, my gosh!” I repeated with astonished sobs.
“Well, son, we tried to get your attention, but I guess it didn’t work.”
“I was playing the pinball game,” I said, with weeping.
“Yeah, I guess you were . . . .”
“What am I going to do now? I got my little brother with me here!”
“Yeah, well, you can’t stay here. We close this place down in a few minutes. It’s nearly seven o’clock, and there’s nothing else going out for a few hours. Hmmm
. Wait a minute. ‘Irene! Hey, Irene!”’ he called. Back to us he said, “You got a home? Parents, right? Let’s see if we can let them know where you are.”
A nice looking woman, a little older than my parents came out from a back room. She was the receptionist or bookkeeper for the bus station, and I could tell from having seen her around before, that she was a kind of general flunky and jack of all trades for the business.
“Irene: I know it's hard to believe, but these two boys missed the six o’clock to Odessa. Can you take’em home with you? Maybe let them use your phone to call their parents?”
Irene showed her true colors right then and there, with those wonderful words: “Sure, I could do that!” she said nodding.
“I know it’s a lot to ask on short notice. But we’re kind of thin on options now, if you know what I mean . . . .”
“Oh no, I’d be glad to do that. Come on, boys,” she said to us with a smile. I was still weeping when I heard her words of welcome. And I have never in my life warmed up so quickly to the words and invitation from a total stranger. Joe was with me of course, hearing all of th
is, and I believe he was equally grateful; but he was quiet, calm, and compliant, simply going along with our good fortune.
Irene finished up her office duties quickly, and led us out to the car. I was still crying at what a mess of things I had made; but also crying because I was glad someone, seemingly out of nowhere, had come to our rescue. Boy was I relieved at that. We drove through some nameless streets of Abilene as it became dark and wound up at Irene’s nice, simple home somewhere in the suburbs. Her husband, Ray, was already home and couldn’t believe his eyes or ears as Irene quickly told him our sad, yet foolish story. “Now then, Paul – that’s your name, right? Your parents live in Crane? Would you happen to know your home phone number?” Even though I was still very distraught and guilt-ridden I did remember the number. She dialed it as I called it out, and soon I was, unbelievably, speaking, between huge sobs, to my own dear mother. I let her know we were all right, and that a real nice lady had picked us up and taken us home.
I didn’t realize then what a huge favor I was asking of my own parents, for them to come and get us there in Abilene, some 200 miles away. I felt so stupid and helpless. But of course, if you are a parent, you know the powerful bond of sacrificial love you have for your children, and my parents were no different: they didn’t berate me over the phone – or ever in person – for being so foolish as to miss the bus for a really long game of pinball. I guess they knew they didn’t have to: the emotional trauma of the that came from realizing what I had done to myself and Joe was enough. Dad even started out shortly after hanging up the phone.
Irene fed us, and showed us her collection of horned toads – that was interesting because Joe and I were lovers of reptiles, and we had a lot of horned lizards out in West Texas. And then she put us to bed in a spare room, Joe on one single bed and me on the other. How amazing it was that she just happened to have a spare room with two beds in it. I was still upset when I put my head down on the pillow, but I was feeling something else too: overwhelming joy that someone had stepped forward to take us in and make up for my horrendous blunder.
I usually do not like being shaken awake in the middle of the night. But I was so, so glad to see my own dad and mom by the bedside at some time after midnight! They
had driven all that way to get Joe and me. We expressed our gratitude to Irene and Ray, and soon were on our way home. So in a few short hours, I had experienced my own sin of willful negligence and inattentiveness. I had learned the serious consequences of that sin. I learned that poor choices on my own part often hurt others, and created some kind of hardship in their own schedules and lives. I learned that it required sacrificial love, even on the part of parents, to make up for the sins and blunders of their children. And I learned that sometimes the opportunity to show saving love comes when one least expects it. Irene and her husband Ray were given that opportunity by me – and perhaps also by our Lord and God – and they took it up and passed that test with flying colors! Aren’t you glad there are people like that in the world? You know I am. And the reason there are is because God put them there!
LBC
