Our house was directly across the street from the clinic
entrance of Johns Hopkins Hospital in Baltimore. We lived
downstairs and rented the upstairs rooms to outpatients at the
clinic.
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One summer evening as I was fixing supper, there was a knock at
the door. I opened it to see a truly awful looking man.
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“Why, he’s hardly taller than my eight-year-old,” I thought as I
stared at the stooped, shriveled body. But the appalling thing
was his face, lopsided from swelling, red and raw.
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Yet his voice was pleasant as he said, “Good evening. I’ve come
to see if you’ve a room for just one night. I came for a
treatment this morning from the eastern shore, and there’s no
bus ’til morning.”
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He told me he’d been hunting for a room since noon but with no
success, no one seemed to have a room. “I guess it’s my face…
I know it looks terrible, but my doctor says with a few more
treatments…”
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For a moment I hesitated, but his next words convinced me,
“I could sleep in this rocking chair on the porch. My bus
leaves early in the morning.”
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I told him we would find him a bed, but to rest on the porch.
I went inside and finished getting supper. When we were ready,
I asked the old man if he would join us. “No thank you.
I have plenty.” And he held up a brown paper bag.
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When I had finished the dishes, I went out on the porch to talk
with him a few minutes. It didn’t take a long time to see that
this old man had an oversized heart crowded into that tiny body.
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He told me he fished for a living to support his daughter, her
five children, and her husband, who was hopelessly crippled from
a back injury.
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He didn’t tell it by way of complaint; in fact, every other
sentence was prefaced with a thanks to God for a blessing.
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He was grateful that no pain accompanied his disease, which was
apparently a form of skin cancer. He thanked God for giving him
the strength to keep going.
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At bedtime, we put a camp cot in the children’s room for him.
When I got up in the morning, the bed linens were neatly folded
and the little man was out on the porch.
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He refused breakfast, but just before he left for his bus,
haltingly, as if asking a great favor, he said,
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“Could I please come back and stay the next time I have a
treatment? I won’t put you out a bit. I can sleep fine in a
chair.” He paused a moment and then added, “Your children made
me feel at home. Grownups are bothered by my face, but children
don’t seem to mind.”
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I told him he was welcome to come again.
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And on his next trip he arrived a little after seven in the
morning. As a gift, he brought a big fish and a quart of the
largest oysters I had ever seen. He said he had shucked them
that morning before he left so that they’d be nice and fresh.
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I knew his bus left at 4:00 a.m., and I wondered what time he
had to get up in order to do this for us.
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In the years he came to stay overnight with us, there was never
a time that he did not bring us fish or oysters or vegetables
from his garden.
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Other times we received packages in the mail, always by special
delivery; fish and oysters packed in a box of fresh young
spinach or kale, every leaf carefully washed.
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Knowing that he must walk three miles to mail these and knowing
how little money he had made the gifts doubly precious.
.
When I received these little remembrances, I often thought of a
My son told me how wonderful the care packages we had sent them
from the ladies auxiliary were and wanted me to tell everyone
thank you.
.
He said that one guy we’ll call Marine X, got a female care
package and everyone was giving him a hard time. My son said,
‘Marine X got some really nice smelling lotion and everyone
really likes it, so every time he goes to sleep they steal it
from him.’ I told my son I was really sorry about the mistake,
and if he wanted I would send Marine X another package. He told
me not to worry about Marine X because every time I send
something to him, he shares it with Marine X.
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He said when my husband and I sent the last care package, Marine
X came over to his cot picked up the box, started fishing
through it, and said, ‘What’d we get this time?’
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But my son said they had the most fun with Marine X’s package.
He said he wasn’t sure who it was supposed to go to, but the
panties were size 20, and he said one of the guys got on top of
the Humvee and jumped off with the panties over his head and
yelled, ‘Look at me, I’m an Airborne Ranger!!!!’
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One of the guys attached the panties to an antenna and it blew
in the wind like a windsock. He said it entertained them for
quite awhile. Then of course…….they had those tampons. When
he brought this up, my imagination just went running, but he
continued.
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My son said they had to go on a mission and Marine X wanted the
Chap-Stick and lotion for the trip. He grabbed a bunch of the
items from his care package and got in the Humvee. As luck would
have it he grabbed the tampons too, and my son said everyone was
teasing him about ‘not forgetting his feminine hygiene
products.’
.
He said things went well for a while, then the convoy was
ambushed and a Marine was shot. He said the wound was pretty
clean, but it was deep. He said they were administering first
aid but couldn’t get the bleeding to slow down, and someone
said, ‘Hey! Use Marine X’s tampons!’ My son said they put the
tampon in the wound. At this point my son profoundly told Me,
Once upon a time there lived a man who had a terrible passion for baked beans. He loved them, he adored them, he yearned for them. But they always caused him a great deal of embarrassment shortly after eating them.
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One day he met a girl and fell in love. When it became apparent that they would marry, he realized she might be even more embarrassed and humiliated by his addiction to baked beans. He decided to make the supreme sacrifice and give up his beloved baked beans. A short time later they were married.
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Some months later, on his way home from work, his car broke down. He was not too far from home so he decided to leave the car and walk the rest of the way. He passed a small roadside cafe and decided to call his wife and tell her that he would be late for supper. As he entered the cafe, the smell of baked beans overwhelmed him. He still had several miles to go, and decided that he could walk off any after-effects before reaching home. Before he knew it, he had eaten three large plates of baked beans. Even as he left the cafe, the effects began to be felt. He pooted up a hill, and poot-pooted down the other side. As he grew closer to home, the frequency and forcefulness diminished greatly, and he felt reasonably safe.
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Just as he reached his home, however, he felt a great rumbling inside and was seized with a terrible urgency. As he waited just outside his front door to release one last effort, his wife threw open the door. She excitedly exclaimed, “Darling, I have made the most wonderful surprise dinner for you.”
She blindfolded him and led him to his chair at the head of the table. Just as she was ready to remove the blindfold, the phone rang. She made him promise not to peek until she returned and went to answer the phone.
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When she had gone, he seized the opportunity, shifted his weight to one leg and loudly broke wind. It was not only loud, but as ripe as a rotten egg. He had a hard time breathing, so he took his napkin
and began to fan the air about him. He just started feeling better when he felt another urge. He again raised one leg and let her rip. It sounded like a tuba and smelled so bad that he started gagging. He fanned until his arms ached. Things had just about returned to normal when he felt another powerful
In the 31 years since his untimely death, Marley still remains the most-popular figure in Reggae music. Succumbing to cancer at age 36 in 1981, Marley had become a global ambassador for the music he helped make famous.
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Marley’s passing shook the reggae and music community to its core; yet, his legacy remains intact through his timeless music catalog and talented children.
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Marley was born in the village of Nine Mile in Saint Ann Parish in Jamaica (also the birthplace of Marcus Garvey). Marley’s father was a white Jamaican man of English descent and his mother was a native of Jamaica. Discovering music as a teenager, Marley befriended Neville “Bunny” Livingston (aka Bunny Wailer) who shared his dreams of becoming a musician. Through singer Joe Higgs, the pair met Peter McIntosh (aka Peter Tosh) who also had similar ambitions. Recording his first songs in 1962, Marley and his friends would eventually be renamed The Wailers, after being discovered by a local record producer.
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Marrying Rita Anderson (now Marley) in 1966, Marley and his bride made a sojourn to the United States to live near his mother in Wilmington, De. Marley soon teamed up with American singer Johnny Nash (“I Can See Clearly Now”) and nabbed a deal with CBS Records. Marley and the Wailers went on tour with Nash before their label deal went sour and the band ended up stranded in London in 1972. From there, Marley contacted Island Records’ founder Chris Blackwell and was advanced funds to record the hit album “Catch A Fire.”
Shortly after the release of their major-label debut, Bunny Wailer and Peter Tosh went their
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Apr 15 2012
