Summer Education

At an early age, my daddy put me to work. It made it easy since he owned a construction company. I didn’t need a resume or even to fill out an application. At five-thirty in the morning, my dad shook me and said, “Come on, boy, it’s time to get going.”

I was fourteen years old that summer, and for the next several summers I would get going before the sun and work all day in the hot summer weather. There weren’t all of the laws and restrictions back then. Today, a company wouldn’t allow a young kid even to ride in one of the big trucks or especially to climb on top of a tank battery and paint.

I guess you could say I was blessed, although I didn’t think of it as a blessing at the time. Work in the East Texas oil field was hard and demanding. Being the boss’s son didn’t help with my coworkers, either. They were either afraid to be around me or else they would make my row just a little harder to plow.

One exception to that behavior came when I was sixteen. I had had enough experience to know my way around and most of the regular workers knew me as well. One old man in particular seemed to be laboring beside me much of the time that year. Whether we were pouring concrete or digging a foundation, Lester was there.

I learned a lot from the old black man. He was about fifty years old, pretty old to a teenager. Where I would go out in the morning and work as hard and as fast as I could to get the job done, he found a steady pace and maintained it. I took frequent water breaks while he continued to dig in the hard soil.

In some ways Lester reminded of my granddaddy. He would hum or mumble out a soulful tune as he drudged along. Oh, yes, another thing I need to mention, Lester would take his false teeth out while he worked. Man, it wasn’t a pretty sight when he laughed or called out hallelujah, but he never failed to put a smile on my face.

I think one reason I liked Lester so much was because he accepted me as his equal. To him I wasn’t the boss’s son, nor did he think of me as a rich white boy. I was his coworker and that was that. At the end of the day, I was dirty and as dark as him, or maybe he had become as light skinned as me. I didn’t really think about it; it wasn’t an issue.

It wasn’t until the end of the workday that our lives went in different directions. I would go get into my new car, turn on the air conditioner and spin the tires as I hurried home. Lester, on the other hand, gathered his weathered lunch pale and started his walk from near Laird Hill to the other side of town.

For weeks I never noticed. I was a carefree teen, after all. But one day, I stayed to lock the gates for my dad, and that is when I learned that Lester lived in a different world. After closing and securing the gates, I got into my car and headed home. About a mile up the road, not quite to the intersection where I turned to go to the nicer part of town, I saw Lester walking. His slow pace was familiar as he went along.

Something gave me cause to pull to the side of the road and wave for my friend to come get in. His open-mouth smile was warming as he hurried to the passenger door. He looked like he had won the sixty-four thousand dollar quiz. He opened the door, got in and slurred out a gummy thank you.

“Where you heading, Lester?” I asked.

“I’m going to Miss Beulah’s place, Mr. Dan,” he said. “I stays there most of the time. You don’t have to take me all the way there though, just let me out where you need to.” Of course I planned to take him where he needed to go. I couldn’t let him out and go on without worrying about him.

“You point the way then,” I said and pulled back onto the highway. We drove into the main part of town and then crossed over the railroad tracks. I noticed Lester holding his cap over the air-conditioner vent, so I turned down the fan speed to accommodate my friend.

“Miss Beulah lives on the highway past Cedar Top, you know where that be?” Lester asked. Cedar Top was the colored section of town. I knew where it was but also knew better than to go there.

“You think it’s safe for me to go back in there?” I asked. Like I said, I was young and this was back in the sixties.

“Sure, Mr. Dan, we colored folks don’t cause no harm,” Lester said. I drove on, not completely convinced that he was telling the truth. We came to a turn off onto a dirt street that led back to several small shotgun houses. Lester pointed to the last house and I pulled up by the front door.

“Come see my garden,” Lester said as he searched for the door lever. I had heard many a story about Lester’s garden. From the tales he told you would think he had a twenty acre farm. I got out of the car and followed him to the back of the frame house.

“This be my squash and I got melons on the back side. Da beans grows on the fence and I gots turnip greens over here.” Lester danced around his small garden as he proudly showed me his collection. He had turned the soil by hand and planted every seed. I was too young to fathom the pride the old man had, but I could tell it made him happy to show it off to me. To me, his friend.

After we inspected the green garden, Lester showed me to his back porch, or rather Miss Beulah’s back porch, where he offered me the metal rocking chair. It was the nicest chair in his collection. He sat on a wooden keg with a piece of cardboard over the top.

We visited like long lost friends, he told me about Miss Beulah and their living arrangement. I learned a lot on that old porch. Lester offered me a beer, my first, and I sipped it with pride along side my equal.

I tell you this story for a couple of reasons. One, as a young boy you can find friendship from many surprising places. Also, I think it points out that we are all minorities and can find ourselves separated from the larger group. The older field hands isolated me to some extent, isolating me from their friendship. Lester was the one soul who bonded with me. He was the lone black man working in the crew and he was the one who knew my plight better than anyone else.

I visited with Lester several more times that summer, sitting on his back porch, sipping a cold one while he smoked and shelled peas. He introduced me to a world I would probably never have known if it weren’t for him and our unusual friendship.

Before the next summer arrived, Lester was laid to rest in the colored cemetery. I was the only white person in attendance at the graveside service. Miss Beulah cried with deep anguish and it hurt me to my core. Lester had been killed in a senseless shooting less than a block from his home.

Lester, I still remember those hot summer afternoons and wish you were here to share this story. If you can hear me know, have a cold one on Mr. Dan.