After completing a long career with the New York City police department, Adolphus P. Abernathy retired and returned to the small town in South Georgia where he grew up. Because he had seen so many homeless people living out their lives at the bottom of the pile, and with no hope of crawling out, he made up his mind; “I will become friends with all God’s creatures when I don’t have to work anymore”. He had seen a sign on the side of a country store as he traveled the back roads with his father. Before “frigidaires” became standard furnishings of every southern home, his father delivered ice to the iceboxes on his route in a good part of that rural county.
The sign on the side of the store, “I’ll build me a house by the side of the road and be a friend to man.” He remembered all the talks he had with the down and out in the city that never sleeps. He became friends with more than a few, and discovered that many of them, in addition to what else they had been, were philosophers of some sorts too. They were eager to share their opinions, but never their real names. He listened patiently to whatever they said; for in his best judgment, he was a philosopher as well. He formulated theories about every contemplation, and shared them with all who would listen. He shared them, some times, when no one could tell. When chided by his wife, “Adolph, hush your senile rambling, they don’t understand”, he would smile and say, but that’s what old men do all day.
He built him a house with a glassed in room facing a path where many of God’s creatures trod. He waved his hand, and made no rule, until they all knew, he was friend for sure. Adolph went to his room each morning, to see who came by today. He invited them to sit at his table, but their answer was always the same, we are not dressed for the inside of a place like yours. Understanding their feelings, he built their place near his back door. Where they could feel welcome, in whatever they wore, while he visited through the window of his glassed in room. He regularly prepared food he thought they would like, and not one complained, not even Luke. When the day was over, and time for them to go, he would smile and say, y’all come back some time, you are welcome at my place on any day.
One came each morning to the table Adolphus P. Abernathy had affectionately made, and no one knew his name. Thinking he might have something to hide, Adolph did not press him to tell. He seemed to like his visits, as demonstrated by his trust, but whence he came and where he went, not one of us knew. I’ll give him a name that is easy to know, and from that day forth, it was ‘Leroy’ who came to call. They discussed, through the window, politics and literature, finance and war, and philosophy a good bit too.
Many years passed, while they talked through the window of the glassed in room in the house Adolph had built by the side of the road. When asked by his wife to decide on an issue, he would answer this way; I’ll talk to Leroy tomorrow, and see what he has to say. Adolph was pleased that Leroy listened to his opinions without challenge, while nodding his head to concur. There was never any debate over who was right on an issue, or any global problem on which they would confer. They agreed in unison together, there needs to be more tolerance for birds of a different feather. As Adolph grew feeble, Leroy seemed to know, and moved closer to the window, in a place easier for Adolph to go.
Through the window one morning, Leroy was not there to see. Adolph thought little about it, must be some young thing he likes better than me. Days passed, Leroy did not come at all, and Adolph worried and wondered, did I hurt his feelings one day. Adolph, himself, had feelings, that my good friend would do me this way. The neighbor came to visit, and Adolph finally knew, Leroy had not left in madness, but was the main ingredient in the neighbor’s squirrel stew.
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