Old Lady\'s Man

by Nelson Lauver
Source: http://web.wenxuecity.com/BBSView.php?SubID=mysj&MsgID=52287

My dad was in the oil business, you know…gasoline…heating oil…diesel fuel…motor oil. He got his first delivery truck back in 1955. Started in a little shed down in the back alley there in McAlisterville in Juniata County. In time, his little business would grow and he moved the company out on to the main drag.

Mrs. Crenshaw would stop every three or four months to buy a five-quart of motor oil to take home. She'd crawl under her car and loosen the drain bolt herself. She wasn't about to pay anybody to do something she could do for herself. Her hair was gray and her clothes were tattered. My dad always made a big fuss over her.

“Mr. Lauver.” she said. “Did you know tomorrow's my birthday?”

“Well, Mrs. Crenshaw,” he'd reply. “Are you finally turning 50?” She'd smile a big grin.She was well into her 80s.

My dad's favorite thing in the whole world was making people feel good about themselves. But nothing made him feel better than making an old lady's day.

He often spoke how difficult it must be for an old widowed lady struggling to hold on to everything she had left to hold on to.

Old Mrs. Smith was a mean old lady who lived back of town. Every time one of dad's drivers would deliver heating oil, she would come out of her house, cross, and yell and scream at the drivers. It got so bad that the deliverymen wanted to cut her off. But my dad didn't want to do that. So he decided he would make her next delivery.

As he drove in the old bumpy lane, he could see her there on the porch ready for him, shaking her cane, angry at the world, and prepared to take it out on him. As he hopped down from the cab of the truck, he interrupted her angry oration and said, “Oh, Mrs. Smith, it's cold out here today. Do you…do you think you could make me a cup of hot chocolate?” She was taken aback.

“Well, why…well…yes. I…I believe I could do that Mr. Lauver.” As she turned to go back into her house, he continued, “Oh, and Mrs. Smith, I've been told you bake the best cookies. Would you have any of those?”

“Why…why…why yes Mr. Lauver! I would!”

From that time on, drivers were always met by a very sweet and lovable Mrs. Smith.

Then there was that old lady who had called the oil company office and informed the secretary to take her off of the automatic delivery schedule -- only bring oil when she called. Her husband had died, and she was having a very difficult time making ends meet. It was the holiday season and unusually cold that year.

On a delivery run past the old lady's tiny house, my dad stopped. He quickly jumped down from his truck and hurriedly dragged the hose through the deep snow. He placed the nozzle in the tank, and opened it full blast. By the time the old lady got outside, it was too late.

In a troubled voice she said, “But, Mr. Lauver, I…I called your secretary and I told her I couldn't afford any more heating oil.”

My dad put his big arm around her tiny frail shoulders and quietly whispered in her ear, “This is my Christmas gift to you.” A tear streamed down her old weathered and wrinkled cheek.

My dad never said, but I have a feeling he kept that old lady's tank filled for the rest of her life.