Mr. Williams, Florence, Texas, And A Few More Good Folks

Florence, Texas, A beautiful place with special memories.

1971 was only a few months old and I was somewhere between a boy and heading toward being a man. I had about a semester to go and I would be proclaimed educated enough to coach and teach, a really scary thought considering I was apparently the only person who really knew how little I really knew. I had pretty much faked my way through school other than a few literature and arts classes, but I figured it would all come together sooner or later and I was in love at the time, so later would be fine.

It was about this time I was asked by a hometown company, I had been working part time with, if I would be interested in moving to Killeen, Texas and taking a job assisting in setting up a new sales warehouse. It would mean a little more money and full time work. I don't remember all my thought patterns at the time but I was a little impatient with school, I was anxious to prove myself in something, and I was in love. Somehow I thought this would be a good step to take in order to prove I could be responsible, make enough money to get married, come back and finish school, and live happily ever after. I agreed to take the job.

Killeen was a different kind of town. It was certainly nothing like Brownwood, my home town. The first conversation I had in Killeen was when a fellow in a trench coat walked up to me downtown and said, "Psst, hey dude, you wanna buy a watch?". I really didn't mind the idea of working there, but I felt like I needed somewhere a little quieter to relax and sleep after work.

Fortunately for me, after only being in Killeen a couple of days, a customer approached me and said he understood I had been looking for a place to stay. He went on to explain that he lived in a small town about ten or twelve miles away, called Florence, and he knew of a place for rent if I didn't mind the drive. He told me about an old man by the name of Williams, a widower, who lived in an old ranch house out in the country who was wanting to rent out a couple of rooms in his house.

After work that day I drove to Florence and found Mr. Williams' old ranch home out in the edge of town, although it was difficult to determine where the town stopped and the country began. As I pulled up into the drive in front of the house, my first thought was to leave without talking to Mr. Williams and find something else. The house was old. While it did have character, it also needed repair. The paint was faded, but most of the house hid behind out of control hedges and huge trees. I sat in front of the old house for a couple of minutes before deciding to go ahead and see if Mr. Williams was available.

I walked up to the huge front porch. On the porch was a large swinging chair, several heavy rocking chairs, and ornate columns that were hidden from sight until you were actually on the porch. There was no doorbell, only a very large door knocker. I knocked three times, not really knowing the proper door knocker etiquette. It seemed like several minutes, but probably a lot less, before the heavy wooden door opened. There stood Mr. Williams in his starched blue jeans, rugged wellington boots, and long sleeved denim shirt with the shirt tail neatly tucked in. He wasn't wearing a hat indoors, but his distinct tan line just above his heavy eyebrows showed that he always wore a hat when outside. I would guess him to be in his mid seventies; about six feet tall and not an ounce of fat on him; his hands were huge and still bore the scars of yesterday's work.

As he stepped out on the porch I offered him my hand and asked if he was Mr. Williams. He confirmed that he was Mr. Williams and we shook hands. It was a good firm handshake, each of us had the perfect grip. There is nothing more embarrassing than not getting all your fingers located correctly before the grip is applied. I told him I was looking for a place to rent if he still had something available. In a minimum of words he confirmed he had space to rent and invited me inside his house to discuss the details. As we entered his house I was amazed at what was before me. I couldn't believe the difference between the outside of the old house and the breathtaking beauty of the inside, even to a twenty-one year old feller who had never had anything compared to what he was seeing.

All the walls were cedar, not paneling, but heavy natural wood. The ceilings were high with unbelievable light fixtures and the fireplace covered all of one wall and was made of natural stone. Most of the heavy furniture was upholstered in leather and there were beautiful throw rugs laying here and there on the hardwood floors. There were clocks ranging from normal to grand on the walls. I imagined it was like walking into a freshly built house a hundred years ago. He motioned for me to have a seat in a huge padded leather chair. As I sat in the chair I felt like a kid climbing into a giant's chair. "Drink?" he asked as I sat. I told him no thank you and he sat across from me in an identical chair.

"You're not from around here, what brings you to this part of the country?" he asked as he leaned back and crossed his legs.

I began talking giving him a brief history as to how I ended up on his front porch. Time passed with little detection, as I sat in his glorious room of memories and spoke with him. His words were few but their meaning, though simple, was clear. As I spoke he looked directly into my eyes and never did I doubt that he heard my every word. His face bore the effects of time but his gray eyes seemed to reflect a calm, relaxed clarity that invited you to talk more than you probably should. Finally, after I ran out of stuff to tell him, he stood and I followed him to see the rooms he had for rent.

The rooms were attached to the main house and, as was the rest of the house, all the walls were cedar and the rooms were unusually large. In very few words, he said that he wanted one hundred and twenty dollars a month and he would pay the utilities. He said if I took the rooms, I could do whatever I wanted to as long as I didn't bother him and said that he would let me know if I was bothering him. I told him I would take the rooms and asked when I could move in. We shook hands on the deal and he said I could move in any time I wanted. He handed me the keys and on that day, although I had no idea at the time, I began one of the most interesting phases of my life.
II

The next day, on the way home from work, I stopped at a small cafe (the only cafe) in Florence. It was also a gas station and small grocery store. I figured I'd get me a bite to eat for supper before going on to the room. Little did I know, I was also going to meet the other five people that for the next several months were going to be an important part of my life.

I walked into the cafe and sat down at one of the three tables. There was an older lady behind the counter (Granny) who owned the place, a waitress/clerk (Bonnie) a beautiful young lady who was Granny's granddaughter, the cook/waitress/clerk (Mary), and sitting at another table were two young men (Sam and Dave) who , although dressed in civilian clothes were soldiers from Ft. Hood.

As always, when in doubt, I ordered a chicken fried streak from Bonnie. By the time my food was ready, I had been introduced to everybody and had figured out Granny, although she talked like a grouch, when she stopped talking and smiled, you knew that she wasn't. I knew that Bonnie had been homecoming queen a couple of years before and that her high school sweetheart had gone to college and found someone else while Bonnie had stayed home to take care of her sick Mama. I knew that Mary, a forty-something year old had worked for Mr. Williams and his wife as a housekeeper and cook for years until Mrs. Williams died. She still cleaned his house once a week, worked at the cafe and owned and operated a small bar out in the country. I also knew that Sam and Dave were Army cooks at Ft Hood, they were from way up north somewhere, and they loved hanging out in the peace and quiet of the country every chance that they had. And, they all knew I was the young guy from out of town that was renting from Mr. Williams.

As I sat there eating my first meal in Florence, Texas, I was amazed at how friendly everyone was toward me. Then Granny made mention that Mr. Williams' rooms had been up for rent for about six weeks and that he had turned down a half dozen folks that had asked to rent from him. She turned to me and growled, "So, if you're good enough for Mr. Williams, I 'spect the rest of us can put up with you", then letting a slight smile show as she tuned and started wiping off the counter top.

I sat and visited with them for well over an hour, then other folks started drifting in as the end of the work day had come. Sam and Dave paid their check and left and the others were busy waiting on the evening rush of customers. I had learned a lot over that chicken fried steak. I learned that Mr. Williams owned the old cotton gin that used to be a heck of a business. He also owned several thousand acres of land and, either part or all of several other businesses in and around the area. He was hard working, honest as the day was long, and was loved and respected by most folks in the community. His wife, apparently the sweetest woman to ever live in that area, had passed away about ten years before and everyone knew he missed her terribly. He had a girlfriend that he had been engaged to for a couple of years, but nobody could explain why they hadn't gotten married.

I paid my check, and as I started to leave, Granny, Bonnie and Mary stopped what they were doing and said goodbye and Granny said "Guess we'll see you tomorrow, tomorrow is all the fish you can eat." That was the way it started. It was the highlight of my day. Every day I would stop by the cafe, have the special of the day, and visit with my new five friends.

III

I would go home to Brownwood every weekend, I think I have mentioned I was in love, then come back either Sunday late in the day or early Monday morning. It was the beginning of my second week and I came back to Florence late Sunday afternoon. As I was unloading my car, a pickup with an elderly man driving, wheeled into the driveway. He asked if Mr. Williams was there. I told him that he wasn't there, that his old pickup was gone and I had no idea when he would be back. The old feller told me that one of Mr. Williams' gates had been knocked down, down the road a piece, and that several head of his cattle were out in the road and he was just too old to do anything about it. I told him I would take care of it and let Mr. Williams know.

I hopped in my car and drove down the road a ways and found several head of cattle grazing in the ditch on the county road. I jumped out of my car and started trying to herd the cattle back through the fence where the gate had been destroyed. I found out real quick that I was a boy who lived in the country, but I was not a country boy. After what seemed like forever, I finally herded the cattle onto the correct side of the fence. The gate was unusable, and I didn't particularly want to stand guard all night, so I started trying to think about possible options. On inside the field about a quarter of a mile, I saw an old tractor setting next to an old tin barn. I pulled my car up to the fence and blocked the opening. Then I walked up to the tractor and after about thirty minutes of crawling all over the tractor and doing a lot of head scratching, I managed to get the tractor started. I moved the tractor down to the gate, moved my car, and replaced it with the tractor.

I pulled back into the driveway just as the sun was setting. I was plenty hungry so I cleaned up right quick, wrote a note to Mr. Williams, who still hadn't come home, letting him know what I had done and that I was heading to the cafe for supper. I had ordered my meal and was sitting at the counter talking to Granny and Bonnie while Mary was doing the cooking when Mr. Williams walked in. He walked over, shook my hand and said he wanted to thank me for what I had done. I told him that if there was anything else he needed to do that evening, I would help. He said he had driven over to the damaged gate and felt like my tractor blockade would hold until the next day. He said he wanted to buy my supper and we moved to a table. Mary came out of the kitchen and brought Mr. Williams a cup of coffee and a hug around the neck and was visiting for a minute until Granny told her to quit flirting with Mr. Williams and get my supper cooked.

We sat and talked, me doing most of the talking, and he said he would go buy a new gate in the morning. I told him that I would help him install the gate when I got off work and he just nodded and said that we would see. He drank his coffee, said he'd see me the next day and walked to the counter. He talked to Granny a minute, paid for my supper and left. I sat and visited for a while, not being in a hurry to get back to my room and stare at the walls. We talked for an hour, between visits from other customers, and finally I picked up a Big Hunk candy bar and headed for the counter to pay for it. As I paid, Granny said, "Oh by the way, Mr. Williams said he would be paying for your supper the rest of the week."

The next day I hurried home from work and went straight to the room to see if Mr. Williams was there. He wasn't there so I drove over to the broken gate location and found him making some final welding modifications to the new gate. Without a half dozen words said we installed the new gate and I drove his old tractor back up to the barn. He pulled up next to me in his old pickup and hollered, "Get in!" As I slid into the seat he asked if I was in a big hurry and when I told that I wasn't he said, "Got some stuff I want to check while we're out here."

Together, in his old rusty red pickup, we drove across his property along some rugged, rutted roads, and in some locations I'm pretty sure there wasn't a road. We pulled up to a huge cotton gin that didn't look like it had been in operation in many years. Without saying a word we got out and walked through the old building with Mr. Williams stopping occasionally and placing his hand on some equipment and almost smiling. As we walked out of the building and he was locking the door he said, "Yes sir, this used to be a busy place, yes sir, a mighty fun place."

We drove on through the beautiful, undisturbed countryside. He pointed out some old corrals where he had once run thousands of cattle and horses. We stopped at an old rock wall with nothing but an old windmill and an old rock fireplace standing within them. He nodded that direction and said, "Mom and Dad's old place....yep, that's where I was raised."

Then, as we had driven to the farthest point on his property, we topped a hill and below us was a beautiful valley. It was the only land of his that I had seen that looked as though someone had actually sculptured and manicured a calm relaxing scene in the middle of a wilderness. There was a large pond surrounded by huge trees, and at one end of the pristine pond was a concrete picnic table sitting in a rustic but beautiful gazebo. There were ropes with swings attached and an old windmill still pumping running water into the clear pond. It was like a dream. He cleared his throat, looked down at the site and said, "We were too busy for vacations and trips, this was our get-a-way."

As we drove back toward my car I told Mr. Williams that if he needed any help with work around his property, I would be happy to help out. He said that he might take me up on that offer. He went on to say that if I was going to be helping him from time to time, he was going to lower my rent to seventy-five dollars a month. I told him that wasn't necessary because I really didn't have anything else to do. He responded, "Work is work! A man needs two things in exchange for the work he does, compensation and recognition."

From that day on, things were a lot more relaxed between Mr. Williams and I. I spent a lot of time cleaning out the brush and shrubs from around his house. At least once a week we would drive around his property checking fences, his buildings and his livestock. Several days a week we would sit out on his front porch in the evening and talk. When I say talk, for the most part I would do the talking and he would listen. He just didn't have to use a lot of words for you to know what he had on his mind. In one of his more talkative moments he once told me that the reason his gal friend and he had not gotten married was because they were both widowed, they both had and loved their land and houses and that neither of them wanted to give in, sell their property and move in with the other one. It was also apparent that he still was deeply in love with his wife and everything he had was a memento of her and the magic time they had together.

IV

Time passed and the closeness between me and my new family of friends grew rapidly. I continued to stop by the cafe every evening for supper. Sam and Dave were there almost every day. We would gossip and visit and occasionally if the ladies had a problem or chore that needed attention, Sam, Dave and I would help them. We helped them unload the grocery supply truck, helped with the cleaning from time to time and even helped repaint the cafe. A lot of times after the cafe closed , and I didn't have chores lined up with Mr. Williams, we would go to Mr. Williams' house and sit out on his front porch and play hearts or spades. Bonnie and Mary would usually drop by for a while but Granny always just went home, claiming it was close to her bedtime.

Usually once a week, after the cafe closed, Sam, Dave and I would drive out to Mary's country bar and have a beer, shoot a little pool, or get in a game of forty-two. It was usually the same crowd, mostly older local folks and we had been pretty well accepted as regulars. There was an occasional reference to us being the only three white folks in the bar but Mary always said, "it doesn't make any difference to me what color your skin is, it's what is in your heart and wallet that counts."

I really don't remember where Sam and Dave were from other than large northern cities, but they were fascinated by the country and could be entertained by the smallest detail as long as it had anything to do with country. They would occasionally help me with work on Mr. Williams place and it would be like two kids in the zoo. They were always fascinated by the way we talked down here and made poor attempts to talk like us. I had told them about my hometown, Brownwood, and Brownwood Lake, making the drag through town and sitting at the Dairy Maid at night and seeing who all was out and about having a chocolate milkshake. 

They followed me to Brownwood one weekend that they had off. I took them by to meet my folks and then had to excuse myself, after all I was in love and I was there to see my gal. Sam and Dave sat there and talked to my Dad for a couple of hours and were amazed about all his stories about the old days. When we got together Sunday to head back to Florence, Sam and Dave were chattering like little kids about Lake Brownwood, the town, the friendly people and the things that they had done. I guess I had forgotten, just a little, about how neat a place home was.

V

A week or so later we were all sitting at the cafe and I asked Mary if it was possible to have a breakfast type supper, because I was sure hungry for pancakes and stuff. She said yes, that she still had some mix made up from that morning and that she could fix it for me if that's what I wanted. Dave spoke up and said that sounded good to him too. Mary made up a dozen or so pancakes, sausage and hash browns. Dave and I made pigs of ourselves and ate it all. After visiting a while I left and headed for the room. About an hour or so later, I began to have terrible stomach pain and became nauseous and began sweating heavily. I had never had such stomach pain and dizziness before. Before I knew it , I was so weak I could hardly move....I became really scared and didn't know what to do.

The next thing I knew there was a lot of hollering and pounding on my door. It took every ounce of my energy to stumble over to and unlock the door. There stood Bonnie and Mary. I didn't have a chance to say anything, not that I could have, before they grabbed me, put a t-shirt on me and walked me out to the car. They drove me to the doctor's office where a doctor was standing at the door waiting when we arrived. I was taken inside and treated for about an hour or so (probably best that I don't go into detail). After being released to go back home, Bonnie and Mary loaded me up and took me home. My room was a mess (again, best if no details given). Mary told Bonnie to take me out on the porch and she would clean up my room so I could get some sleep. I told her that she didn't have to do that and she responded, "That's what I do!".

Bonnie told me that they had gotten a call from Sam who said that on the way back to the base, Dave had become terribly ill and he had taken him to the hospital where he had been treated for some type of food poisoning. He said he knew I had eaten the same food as Dave so he called the cafe. Bonnie said that luckily they were just locking up when Sam called. She said just as they were leaving, Granny called the doctor's house and asked him to meet us at his office. What a night, I made it! Friends are good!

VI

Time rolled on with a few changes along the way. Mr. Williams lowered my rent to fifty dollars per month, Sam and Dave were absent for a couple of weeks because of a training exercise they took part in, and, a real setback, Bonnie's Mom died. I took off work and went to the funeral. Of course everybody I knew was there; Granny, Bonnie, Sam, Dave, Mary and Mr. Williams. Bonnie asked if I would drive and sit with her and Granny and I was very happy to do so. It took a few days for things to fall back into our usual happy-go-lucky patterns. I guess out of sympathy and respect I became closer to Bonnie as did Sam and Dave. It appeared to me that Bonnie was becoming more attached and reliant on our company.

One night at the cafe Bonnie was going home early and I volunteered to drive her home. Bonnie didn't say a word all the way to her house, but, to my surprise, as we pulled up in front of her house she quickly leaned over and gave me a kiss. I started to say something and she placed her fingers over my mouth and said, "I know.....I just wanted to say thank you for all that you have done and......I think I'm in love with you."

I immediately grew a heck of a lump in my throat. It had never been a secret about the fact that I had a girl back home that I loved and planned on marrying. I took a deep breath and began the most difficult conversation I had ever had. I looked into her beautiful eyes and thanked her for sharing her feelings and I was honored by her feelings and by the fact that she was a close and loving friend. I told her that I hoped we could always be the friends that we were now, but there couldn't be anything beyond that between us. To my surprise, she smiled and said, "I know....but love you anyway" and walked away toward her house.

After that night, things were a little uncomfortable between Bonnie and I, but within a few days we were back to almost normal. As I walked into the cafe, she would greet me with a big ol' hug and hello, just like she had always done. One day Granny walked over to me when Bonnie wasn't in the room and gave me a hug and said, "Thank you for caring for Bonnie and thank you for being honest with her."

I really didn't know what to say, so, the best I could do was, "You're welcome Granny" and nothing else was ever said.

VII

A few more months passed and life seemed to be perfect, or as perfect as it had ever been for me. The daily meetings for supper at the cafe, the occasional trip to Mary's country bar, the fishing trips with Sam, Dave and Bonnie, the gratifying work, front porch chats and inspection trips with Mr. Williams. I guess I thought it could be that way forever.

Then came Wednesday. Wednesdays were always a little special because I would always try to get back to the room early, borrow Mr. Williams' phone and call my girl. As I walked up on the front porch, Mr. Williams opened his door and said, "Time for the call?" and told me to me to help myself to the phone. He would always go into the other room to give me privacy, but I could always hear him coughing and clearing his throat in the distance, but it never mattered. I made the call and as she answered the phone I sensed that this was not going to be the usual call. 

As usual, when I felt uncomfortable or if there was a long pause, I said, "I love you!" and there was an even longer pause. Then, after an eternity she said that we needed to talk and she did. I'm not even sure that I heard everything she said but I can remember the pain and the sudden loneliness that robbed the very breath from my lungs. 

I don't recall much of what I said but as I hung up and headed for the door, I can remember Mr. Williams walking around the corner, as I tried to hide the tears in my eyes, and he placed a firm hand on my shoulder and said, "I'm sorry son, I'm so very sorry."

The decisions I made the next few days were made purely as a result of emotion, it was not my finest hour. I quit my job and for some reason felt like I needed to be home around family and friends. I felt if I were back in the environment I grew up in I could better hide from the emotional ravaging that my heart and soul were being subjected to. I had long talks with all my Florence family, Bonnie, Mary, Sam, Dave, Granny and of course Mr. Williams. However, no one but Mr. Williams knew the whole story as to why I had quit my job and decided to move back home.

We all said our emotional goodbyes. We held each other, we laughed, we cried and we talked of getting back together from time to time. They all came to Mr. Williams' to help me load my car and say goodbye. I was so wrapped up in my pitiful situation I don't think I realized exactly what I was saying goodbye to. As I backed out of the driveway and waved to these people that I had grown to love, little did I know, I would never see any of them again....only in my dreams and memories.

Memories of Florence, Texas