Seat of Our Pants

Eighteen years ago a man and his son were on a road trip, driving toward an Arizona destination that has since been forgotten. They passed a road sign that grabbed the man’s attention. He asked his son to pull off the road, pointing in the direction of a small town off the highway. They drove slowly around the town, searching for landmarks the man recognized. The town had changed since he last saw it.

They happened across a hardware store. It was what he’d been looking for. He asked his son to pull into the parking lot and told him that it would only take a minute. The man at the counter welcomed them, asked how he could help.

“I’m here to settle a debt,” the man replied. “The name is Greenamyer.”

A quick check in the register showed no debt in that name.

“You’ll have to check in your old records. Is there anyone here that might remember old debt?” he asked the clerk.

A few phone calls were placed. A retired accountant was tracked down who recognized the name. He pointed the clerk to the location of the proper paperwork. A book was pulled and the debt was found – dated 1939.

This man was my grandfather; his son is my father. He squared up his debt, which was incurred while trying his hand at gold mining. He was a young man then, trying to support his new family. He lost everything in the gamble and left town, unable to pay the debt he owed for mining supplies.

But he never forgot. No, he lived an entire lifetime without forgetting the debt he owed that little hardware store. He was 80 when he stepped back into that store. That’s just the kind of man he was. I’d go as far as saying that you don’t find men like my grandfather any more.

My family lost this amazing man yesterday. At a grand old age of 98, he had lived a full life.

Rest in peace, Bompy – give Grandma a big hug for us. We love you.

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