Influences and Influencers
There has to be multiple millions of people on the internet who consider themselves worthy of being watched and listened to, spouting their opinions, lifestyles and other unmentionable garbage. That’s a shame. The real lessons about life are being in and amongst real human beings, face to face, up close and personal.
Take Willie for example. Nice guy, quiet, always wore black with a heavy coating of pomade in his hair. He sat at the bar several times a week drinking old stale coffee, didn’t talk much. He was a Korean War veteran in his youth, now he’s a divorced deputy sheriff. He had a look in his eyes of sorrow and heartbreak; can’t imagine what he’s seen, done or experienced. I learned something from him.
Or how about Alan, a drover (cowboy) from Australia, working for the Scottish rancher up the road that raised Simmental cattle. He was also a nice fella, quiet, never seemed to change his wardrobe very often, but he was never offensive. His felt Stetson hat had sweat rings from the headband to the tiptop. Lonely. I’d go with him to count heads or mend fence. He let me ride the thick muscular buckskin, feisty, strong yet exceedingly obedient. I watched and listened.
Ray was an elementary principal, working part time for us as a manager. His wife had a medical condition that prevented her from working and they had a special needs child. He was just trying to make some extra cash for his family. It’s possible that our place was some comic relief from a tough life; loved to tell fart jokes. A total gentleman; never let on that he was hurting inside. I admired that.
Oscar was a snake. Also a part time manager, married to a lovely gal who adored him, three babies at home. His mannerisms and conversations with the ladies were easy to detect a fraud even for a little boy. He thought he was smooth. I doubt his fidelity. He carried out his duties as per the requirements of his position, but as someone to look up to for how to conduct one’s self he was no role model. I discarded his persona without question.
Helen worked in the kitchen for 20-plus years. She lived in an orphanage in New Jersey as a little girl. Orson Welles “War of the Worlds” radio broadcast in 1938 caused the caretakers to stuff the children into mattresses to hide them from the aliens. She ran away and hid on the banks of the local river for three days. She was barren. The government did sterilization experiments back then and she was a part of it. Married a guy who survived Pearl Harbor. He beat her and left her. But she was strong, never gave up. I told her I’d sprinkle her ashes in the Pacific when she passed. Her adopted son less than ambitious, sold her house and took off. I failed her, but I watched and learned.
Ione, our black nanny from the Kansas City ghetto, lived with us for several days each week. She’d chain her German Shepherd up to her porch with a washtub of food and a washtub of water when Dad and I would go pick her up. She’d whip us with branches from the willow tree when we got sassy, then catch crickets and thread them on the tips of the same stick and take us fishing for perch and other pan fish. She made great cornbread and collard greens. She even came to my two oldest sisters’ weddings. I loved that woman. I also saw and learned a different side of civilization other than our cracker white neighborhood.
And then there’s the angel on the bus, constantly singing “Jesus loves me yes I know, for the Bible tells me so.” She never stops, nor should she.
Influencers? I've had thousands, picking and choosing the good from the bad from each, copying their style and temperament and grace and turning them into my own. I could write volumes. I pray someday I will.
