I have always been a jogger, well, since the eighth grade. It is the one form of enjoyable exercise that middle-school P.E. offered, and since then, running has been a way of life. I conned Paige into joining me for all of two days. Then she lost interest and retreated to her indoor life.
My freshman year in high school, though, my motivation for jogging changed. It happened one Sunday morning at the church we attend on Tybee Island, in my usual place on the tenth pew, left-hand side. I had not expected to encounter any life-altering milestone that morning, and so I was caught unaware. Pastor Brice took his place behind the acrylic podium and began his simple message titled “The State of Your Soil.” It was all about a gardener’s inability to plant a crop of any substance or value unless he first prepares his soil. He used the parable of the sower and the seed from the Gospel of Matthew. And he let us know in the most tender of ways, that unless we spent time preparing the soil of our hearts through prayer and actually dusting off the coffee-table Bible, no seed would ever take root.
Since that day, morning has been my “tilling time,” beginning with a jog. I put on my earphones and play some inspirational music. Then I head home and read from my grandmother’s Bible, digging for the same treasures she did before me.
I’ve come to realize that those moments in the morning have done exactly what Pastor Brice said they would. Focusing on my heart, focusing on my life, taking time to actually ask the Lord to show me His will—I’ve seen things take root.
This particular morning I grabbed Duke and we headed toward Forsythe Park. I greeted the lightness in the air with thankfulness that the heavy heat had not yet arrived. Spring in the South is simply a wish.
As Duke and I trotted along, a curly-headed beast on a bicycle attacked from out of nowhere. Duke turned around so fast that his leash wrapped up my legs like a bad mess of Christmas-tree lights, leaving me in a dreadfully knotted heap. The maniac came to an abrupt stop, and I tried to unwind my legs from my neck as graciously as possible.
“I’m so sorry,” he said, half apologetic, half laughing.“Here, let me help you.” He tried to untangle Duke’s leash from around my legs. Duke thought this whole thing was a game and couldn’t decide who needed licking more, me or Evel Knievel, so he just lavished us both.
“I’m OK. Really, it’s no big deal,” I said, trying to act cool as my feet finally touched the sidewalk again. He helped me up and handed me Duke’s leash. Duke clearly wanted him to stay, but I was ready for him to go.“Really, I’m OK. But you need to slow down a tad on that thing,” I said, raising my right eyebrow.
“Yeah, slow down a tad. I haven’t heard that word in a very long time.”
“What word?”
“Tad.”
“I didn’t say tad!”
“Well, I don’t have time to argue over a young, attractive woman like yourself using the word tad, because I’m kind of late for work. I’m really sorry. Are you sure you’re OK?” he asked again as he headed over to pick up his blue bike off the concrete.
“Yes, I’m OK, really,” I said, making it clear I was oblivious to the fact that he had called me both young and attractive.“It’s all of five thirty in the morning. Where on earth do you work?” I asked, trying not to notice how toned and tanned his arms were as they grabbed the handlebars and his muscles flexed magnificently.
“Oh, just up the street. Maybe we’ll bump into each other again,” he said, an irritatingly straight, beautiful white smile lighting up his annoyingly dramatic dark eyes. “But if you’re OK, I really have to go.”
“I’m OK. So just go,” I said, shoving my hand at him.
He departed with a smirk, and Duke watched as he and his bouncing black curls rode up the street in the direction of Bay Street, forcing me to have to watch as well. Grant was the only man who had ever turned my head, and that head had been stuck inside books for so long, even Grant hadn’t been able to turn it in years. Duke and I had a long talk about his leash, and I tried to “till” as best I could, but I confess I was a tad distracted.
How do newspaper people dress? Do they wear their hair back, or down, or what? I pulled up my wet, stringy hair, then let it fall, then pulled it up just to let it fall again. Duke was sitting at my bathroom door with a cocked eyebrow.“Do they walk around with pencils behind their ears and their shirttails out, always racing around on a deadline? I should have gone in yesterday before I came home and scoped out the joint.”
After great deliberation, I settled on a simple black pantsuit with a pale blue tank underneath, slid myself into my black mid-heeled mules, certain flip-flops were inappropriate, and pulled my hair back in what I hoped was a Lois Lane do. She’s about the only newspaper reporter I knew. Then I was on my way, sneaking out to join the world of the employed.
When I turned left onto Bay Street off of Abercorn, I could see the sign SAVANNAH CHRONICLE hanging vertically from the side of the building up ahead. Those two words seemed to mock me, “SAVANNAH CHRONICLE, and you don’t know anything about us.”
True, but that was all about to change. I walked into the office and wasn’t greeted by anyone. I came early, wanting to catch Mr. Hicks fresh before the onslaught of appointments and crises. The receptionist’s desk was empty, and the people who were there were running around in such a tizzy that they noticed nothing but the path ahead of them, if that. I decided to make myself at home and find Mr. Hicks’s office without assistance.
I searched the first and second floors without encountering so much as a hello, and decided to make my way to the third floor. As the elevator ascended, the fear in my mind did as well. Maybe this is the week he decided to take his wife and kids to the south of France. Or maybe he doesn’t even have a wife. And he probably doesn’t like kids. In fact, he probably would hate the south of France. Or maybe he’s a nice man who likes everyone and was just upset the day I called because of the loss of Gloria. Who knows?
The elevator doors opened, and I heard his booming personality before sighting the body that went with it. “So much for fresh, free from crisis, and no appointments.” I eased up the maze of aisles, following the noise toward a half-open door. The words coming from the office were loud and direct.“I told you yesterday I didn’t want to see you here this morning. So go to your office, pack it up, and get out of here. And if I see your face around here at lunch, I’ll pack you up and throw you out myself.”
I began to perspire. Southern ladies don’t “sweat,”Vicky says. She could have been proven wrong ten times over that morning, however. As I neared the door, the name placard that read “Mr. Samuel Hicks, Editor at Large” confirmed my fear. From my vantage point, his office looked rather sparse but possessed a fabulous view of Bay Street. Then, the object of his torment came into view—an elderly woman, whose black hair had strands of gray, and whose etched chocolate hands made it evident she was in her glory years. I couldn’t make out her soft words, but Mr. Happy Hicks’s roaring verbosity didn’t allow for much of a reply anyway.
I sat down in a chair on the other side of the door, which kept me out of view. “So that’s Mr. Hicks,” I said to myself. “Just like I thought, a man who takes vacations in his recliner with the remote control, who hates children, his wife left him years ago because he didn’t know how to be nice, and when he dies, only a handful of people will come to his funeral, and they will only be there because he owes them money.”
And the longer I sat there contemplating this afflicted life, the madder I became. I should have let it go. But who could? Someone stronger maybe, but self-control was a quality I had yet to successfully till. I saw no reason to start today. When I heard her faint whisper and then the power of his voice begin to consume the air again, I stood and took a moment to set my course. Fortunately, one of my professors had been a hard one to melt, until I stole his heart with my Georgian graciousness. Well, maybe not completely stole his heart, but he did at least quit glaring at me. I wasn’t confident that a similar tactic would work here. But wars had been won with less. Then the spirit of Vicky welled up inside me, and I decided this wasn’t a moment for graciousness. The only appropriate approach for this brute was “The Vicky.” No lady should ever be spoken to in such a rude, ungentlemanly, and unacceptable manner. So, I spun my little heels around, steeled my jaw, and let Vicky take over.
As Mr. Hicks jerked his head to see me standing there, I realized he was a rather calm-looking man in his late fifties. The precious lady turned and smiled a beautiful white smile. She sensed rescue had come. I pushed the door open the rest of the way, and it flew so fast, I’m certain the doorknob stuck in the wall. For a moment, I wished he had been standing behind it. I walked over to his desk, where he had already assumed a seated position, his slight belly from too many fast-food lunches poking out in front. I put both hands on his desk and leaned over where he could see me clearly.
“What can I do for you, young lady?”
“Actually, I don’t need anything from you now. At first I thought I wanted to work at your newspaper. But I can tell you’re not a man who appreciates talent or even people, for that matter.”
That statement caught his attention, and the lady crossed her arms and leaned back in amusement.
“No, anyone that would speak to a precious lady like this”— I patted her on the arm— “the way I’ve heard you speak to her isn’t a man that deserves fine, raw talent. This lady has probably worked for you for years. Met your deadlines, listened to your rantings, spent sleepless nights wondering what would possibly make someone like you happy. She comes into the office every day and isn’t allowed to drink McDonald’s Coke or even have pictures of her golden retriever on her desk.”
“She doesn’t have a golden retriever, and she drinks coffee.”
“Like you know what kind of dog she has.”
“Yes, I do. She has a cocker spaniel.”
I looked at the lady, hoping he was bluffing, but she nodded with a smile.
“Well, the point isn’t what kind of dog she has; it has to do with who she is. She’s a human being who deserves your respect. She deserves to be treated like a lady and respected for her, well, for her age if for nothing else. There’s wisdom behind these gray hairs, gray hair you probably contributed to. Lord knows she’s probably spent a lifetime having to make sure you’re happy. And frankly, I don’t want to spend the rest of my life doing the same.”
Mr. Hicks was having trouble stifling a grin, which incensed me all the more. “Are you through?” he asked as he folded his arms and rested them on the top of his stomach.
“No, not quite. I came here today to get a job. Gloria Richardson’s job. But I am leaving here disillusioned and dismayed. You wouldn’t appreciate me. You probably didn’t appreciate Gloria any more than you appreciate this fine lady.”
“It’s Ruby,” she said with a smile and a nod of apparent satisfaction in Mr. Hicks’s direction.
“Thank you, Ruby, nice to meet you. I’m Savannah. Anyway, I have decided I wouldn’t want to work for someone who would treat anyone the way Miss Ruby has been treated here today. So for all of the beleaguered souls, I quit.”
“Is that so?”
“Yes, and remember you could have had your Gloria back by next week, only her name would have been Savannah. You could have published stories the next generation could appreciate and the older generation would have respected.”
“Yeah, that the older generation would have respected.” Miss Ruby snickered.
I looked at her, shook Miss Ruby’s hand, and turned on my heels, not so gracefully. Fortunately, I gathered myself prior to disaster, and proceeded to walk toward the door. Vicky was good, but Savannah had just raised the bar.
“Hold it just one moment, young lady.” I turned around cautiously to face the now-standing and rather looming figure in front of me.“Do you mean you are just going to come in here and rant and rave and then leave without ever allowing anyone else to speak?”
“Well, I . . .”
“Now it is time for you to listen. Miss Ruby, would you like to tell her what was happening here today?”
Miss Ruby walked over to me and took me by the hand.“I just want you to know, Miss Savannah, that is the kindest thing I’ve seen anyone do for someone else in a long time. I thought kids your age didn’t think about much else than the opposite sex and mooching off their parents.” I decided then never to introduce her to Paige.“But on Mr. Hicks’s behalf, I must tell you, he was making me go on vacation.”
Her face lit up and every ounce of blood drained from my own.“Oh.”
“Yes, that’s what I was telling her . This woman, as you can tell, is here before anyone else and works after everyone else leaves. She doesn’t go on vacation unless absolutely forced and hasn’t taken a sick day in thirty years.”
“Don’t need a sick day, Samuel. I’m healthy as a horse. My husband’s no longer living, all the kids are grown, and I just enjoy being here,” she said, looking at me with a wink. I tried to smile back, but I was totally incapable. I no longer had a book deal and had just successfully rejoined the world of the unemployed without ever having left.
“So see, Savannah. Things aren’t always as they appear. Now, if you’ll excuse us, I’d like to talk to this lady for a minute,” he said.
“Sure, I’m sorry. I hope you have a great vacation,” I said, nodding to Miss Ruby. “And I hope you have a pleasant day as well, sir.”
“Savannah, I was actually talking to Miss Ruby. I’d like you to stay for a moment,” he said, smiling.“Ruby, I meant every word I said. Get going.”
“I’m going, I’m going. Savannah, if you don’t make it in the newspaper world, you’d make an excellent defense attorney,” she said, patting me on the arm. She left the room, and her chuckle trailed her up the hall.
Then there were two. I looked at him with a pathetic grin, and he motioned for me to have a seat. “So you’re the one I told to send me some of her writing. Do you always follow instructions this well?”
“Well, I wanted to make sure you read my articles. I didn’t know where they would end up if I simply mailed them.”
“You’re a brave soul, Savannah.”
“I believe I just knocked on the door of stupidity myself.”
“Well, that too,” he said chuckling, his belly bouncing as he laughed.“I’ve only seen that kind of passion one other place before.”
“Where’s that, sir?”
“In Gloria Richardson. She had it from the moment she arrived and it left with her. Don’t get me wrong. We’ve got excellent journalists. But passion and an ability to write are two different things. You’ll have to learn to harness your passion, Savannah. And I’m not sure if you can even write, seeing as I never got what I asked for.”
“I have some samples with me, though I can’t imagine you’d actually want to read them now.”
“Well, I do. Leave them with me, and I’ll call you later.”
I retrieved what I had brought and placed them on his desk. “Does she really have a cocker spaniel?”
“Yes, his name is Sam, after me, and he just turned eight. And she takes her coffee with cream, no sugar. I know the people who work with me, Savannah. And I know them well.”
“Hmm.” And with that I pulled the embedded door closed, certain I had left a couple of lingering impressions.