Memories of a Drive

As I mentioned, I drove south on I-30 this week to Texarkana AR, past Malvern, Arkadelphia, Gurdon, and Hope, all other cities I have worked for over the years. There were times I made the trip weekly. There’s a spot between Malvern and Arkadelphia where the lanes split and form an interesting view. It always reminds me of the trip I made on my first day of work after my mother died. I recall the feeling I had that day. Why did all this running around trying to be successful seem so important when it really wasn’t? I still don’t have the answer but the question itself brings peace at times.

I also remember some of those with whom I had the pleasure of working with over the years. One of the most memorable was Mike Kelly, who owned a dress shop in Hope and ran the local housing authority. He was a man of short stature offset by a huge heart. He and his wife Marguerite never had children, but sort of adopted the city as their child.

Mike was a devout Catholic and his wife an equally devout Methodist. How did that work out? “On Sunday mornings, we went our separate ways, she hers and me mine. And we never spoke of it.”

Until Marguerite died, and later when Mike took sick, they had not missed a Razorback football game since 1947—anywhere. I picked up her brother in Little Rock and drove him to Hope for her funeral and he disclosed the most amazing thing, Marguerite didn’t like football at all. She followed because she loved Mike.

I pity our country when we stop producing people like that.