Chet and Martha
By Rodney Vickery
The day was done. I was off now, so I made my way, amid the afternoon traffic to Chet (short for Chester) and Martha’s.
Former in-laws, now friends, but still Mom and Pop to me, they have lived in the same modest, unpretentious house, in Huntsville, Ala., for more than 20 years.
After Pop retired from his third career, they chose Huntsville as their last place to live because their oldest child, a son, and the Army’s Redstone Arsenal are there. Pop’s first career ended around 1966, when he left the Army as a Lieutenant Colonel.
In the late 30’s, at the height of the depression, and with war fast approaching, an Army career was patriotic and promised a future for him and his young wife. It was either the Army, or accept a job selling cement. They chose the Army.
Chet and Martha met when he rented a room in the boarding house Martha and her invalid mother owned, a few blocks from Kansas State University. They fell in love and were soon married; Chet, Martha and mother-in-law, a small family of three.
Their history was playing in my mind as I recently climbed the few stairs to their front door. I still see them on occasion, to "look in," to say "Hello." They are both 85 and because their door is always open, enjoy frequent visits from friends and family.
Because Pop is almost deaf as a stone, Mom answered the bell. Pop only knows someone’s at the door when he sees Mom rush by to answer it.
"Come in! Come in," Pop called from the den. Teetering, now small and frail, he rose from his chair by the very loud TV and wobbled over to greet me. These days, it takes him a few steps to catch his balance.
"Oh Rodney, honey! You made it!" Mom said as she hugged me, her eyes sparkling and gave me a peck on the cheek. "That Memorial Parkway traffic is just awful, but you made it!" Her words and Pop’s were stacked on top of each other.
Mom, constantly moving, almost flighty, swirled me into the den and deposited me on the sofa with the Huntsville paper. "Here, you sit right there while I finish making your supper." Scurrying back to the kitchen, she grabs the remote and kills the TV. "I know you’re ready for a rest after your long day!" Pop, watching me, sat, away from the TV, but close by.
Mom continued from the kitchen. "The soup’s on and I have rolls with real butter whenever you’re ready. We’ll have cookies and ice cream later. Pop likes a dish of ice cream in the evening." Conversation continued like this, catching up on the affairs of family and friends. Pop was still close by, watching.
After a few minutes, Pop propped himself up on an elbow, leaned towards me and said, "Say, I might have told you this already, but...I was a very fortunate young...young boy. We had some friends outside of town in Bennington...They had one child, a retarded daughter...and they would let me drive their combine...I got paid the same as a man."
"No Pop, I don’t believe I’ve ever heard that one," I said. Mom, overhearing from the kitchen, leaned in and quickly asked me a question about one of her grandchildren.
Pop, in quick response to Mom’s question to me, asks, "What was that, Martha?" "I was just asking Rodney about John, Pop," she said. "Oh...John," he said.
I answered her question, which led us into a discussion of the grandchildren. Current events or their church affairs would follow soon.
It was while she and I were talking about Susan or David that Pop propped himself up on an elbow, leaned towards me and said, "Say...I might have told you this already, but...I was a very fortunate young...young boy. We had some friends outside of town in Bennington...They had one child, a retarded daughter...and they would let me drive their combine...I got paid the same as a man."
"No, Pop, I don’t believe I’ve heard that one," I said. Mom from the kitchen, again overhearing, "Come on to the table now, Rodney. I know you’re hungry and everything’s ready."
"What was that, Martha?" Pop asked. "Come to the kitchen, Pop," she replied, "Your supper’s ready."
"Oh...supper," he said.
Pop didn’t say much more that evening. We ate the soup and rolls with real butter. We had ice cream and cookies. And Mom filled me in on Pop’s decline. He was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s 11 years ago and it is worse.
He sleeps longer; forgets he’s eaten; doesn’t know what time or day it is; and seems not to recognize all of the children. Names and faces are swapped and misplaced. His prognosis isn’t good. Yet, he spends most of his time thinking he was a very fortunate young man.
Though their "Golden Years" have been stolen, Mom does not complain; she has never complained. She stays busy with him; their son lives close by; and "help" regularly comes in so she can take a day off.
Fortunately, they are financially secure.
When the time came, we said our "Good-byes" and parted.
I left, wondering about Mom and Pop, and the countless others like them. And I wonder why we are so ready to spend billions on a dubious war for questionable motives, when behind hundreds of doors across America are more Moms and Pops, people who have contributed to this nation and whose welfare should be of more and larger concern to this nation’s leaders.
This country is full of courageous, uncomplaining people like them. People who believe they are fortunate; who survived the depression; who fought World War II, one staying at home the other slogging across Europe; who raised, like themselves, hardworking, virtuous children and who are facing, without remorse or regret, a final struggle they know they will lose.
These people made America great. They pointed the way. And they’re pointing the way now. They‘re saying, "Yes, it’s too late for Pop but it’s not too late for those behind us." And, they ask, "What kind of miracles in medical research could be accomplished with the money we are about to spend on a war no one seems to understand? Wouldn’t, couldn’t cures for Alzheimer’s, cancer, muscular dystrophy, just three diseases on an incredibly long list, be hastened with that money?" They ask, "How many children could have medical insurance with that money? How many drugs could perhaps cost less? How many people immunized and fed? How many more people could go to college? How many teachers, nurses and doctors trained?"
I wonder, and I hear Pop say "...I was a very fortunate young...young boy..."
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Rodney Vickery lives, works and writes in Marietta, Ga.
Copyright © 2002 by RodneyVickery. All rights reserved.
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