Posted by Patrish (208.32.6.133) on May 04, 2003 at 15:46:49:
“Do you know that old man?” asked the waitress.
“No,” I answered, “why do you ask?”
“He’s rude. I’d like to hit him with his cane.”
“I bet he’s a retired preacher,” I laughed, “ask him and see what he says.”
She didn’t ask, so as I got up to leave, I did. “Oh no! but my mother always said I should be, that or a lawyer! What makes you think that?”
“I was just wondering. What did you do?”
“I was a soldier. I was in the service, in World War II, infantry. I was in for nine years.”
“Then what did you do?”
“I went to college. Studied to be a chiropractor, but never finished, became an insurance man and did that for over 30 years. Covered four states, from Nashville to Indianapolis and over in Illinois, too. Did a lot of traveling.”
Are you happy?”
“My wife ran off and left me after 31 years of marriage. That was in 1970.”
“I see, and are you still carrying that with you? Still letting it weigh heavy on you? Perhaps you should turn it over to the Lord and let Him heal you.”
He started a story that likely had been repeated many times before:
You know, my wife ran off and left me after 31 years of marriage. The kids were gone and in college, and she ran off with a man that had been married five times before. I traveled a lot, you know, but I always did what I had to do, and I always was true to my word.
One day I was headed up to Indianapolis, and as I got ready to leave my wife asked me when I’d be home. Seven or eight o’clock, I told her, and started out the door. I heard her ask in her soft voice again, went back in and she asked again when I’d be back. I told her it would be about seven or eight, probably closer to eight, “because you know how far it is to Indianapolis. Why are you asking?”
“I want to have something ready for you to eat,” she said.
I knew better because I took her out to eat every night of the week, and for breakfast every morning, seven days a week. “I’ll be home by eight,” I repeated, “you know I’m always on time for when I say. I’ll see you then.”
Well I went on up there and had my business meeting. I left about 4:30 or so, right on time to be getting home about eight. I called her, but there was no answer. I figured, well, she’s gone out shopping or visiting or something, and headed on out.
Just as I reached Bloomington, I heard a voice, very clear, out of nowhere, telling me to call Ron Furness. The voice said it three times, “Call Ron Furness.” Well, Ron is a guy I went to school with, and he went to the service, too, and I got back in 1944, and a few months later in 1944, he got back. I had run into him a time or two after not seeing him for so long, and it was good to see him. ]
Anyway, at the time, he was way up there in financial aid or something at Indiana University, and I figured he probably wouldn’t be home, but I stopped at a restaurant and went to the phone and looked up to see if he had a phone number listed. Well he did. Now I had to go get change to dial him, and I hoped he wasn’t home, and that the voice was wrong and it would go away, but he was home. I told him I wanted to talk with him and would he come out and have dinner with me. He came to the restaurant and we talked until three hours had gone by. I don’t know why, but when we left, I asked him if I needed him to say I was with him, would he, and he said of course.
So, it was after eight, and I hadn’t even called her to tell her I’d be late, so I figured as long as it was this late anyway, I’d just take my time driving home. Then I heard a voice again, maybe it was the same one, maybe not, but it was very calm and very clear and said, “Your wife did something awful today. Your wife did something awful today. Your wife did something awful today.” Three times just like that as calm and clear as could be.
Well, I got to speeding very fast and made it to Owensboro, 120 miles, in two hours flat. It took me just two hours, and I was running 90 coming on the Owensboro bridge, you know, where those two curves are. Then I had to drive across town to get home.
When I got home, all the lights were on in the house, every one of them. I walked into the house, and nothing was there; not a bar of soap, not a cover to throw over you to keep warm with, no food, no furniture, nothing. There was no sign of her. Nowhere.
I don’t know what happened, but I went out to try to find her. I drove all over town, to Louisville, Indianapolis, everywhere, and couldn’t find her. I tell you, if I’d have found her and her lover, I’d have killed them both. I had a gun. I would have killed them.
Now the Catholic priest lived across the street, and he was a friend of mine, so I went over and asked him if he knew anything. He said he’d seen a lot going on at the house, and had been over to talk to her the day before (Sunday, this was on a Monday). He had gone over to the house and had talked with her and she had played the organ and he had sung some of the nicest church songs ever and had said how he wished they had those songs in his church. He had talked to her and thought he had her straightened out, but he guessed he didn’t.
At ten after eleven I had called the lawyer to see if he knew where she was, and he didn’t but said he’d try to find out. When he found out what apartment she was in, the priest and I went up there to talk to her. I waited, and he knocked at the door. Some guy was in there and she had to tell him to hide. She said she couldn’t let him in because she wasn’t dressed, and he told her to get dressed, because he needed to come in and talk to her.
Well there she was in that flimsy pink negligee, and let him in. He was in there for about an hour talking with her, then came out. He said she was sick, very sick, as sick as anyone he had ever seen.
Then the lawyer called me and asked me what time I got home that night, and I said at ten after eleven, right when I called him. He asked me was I sure, and of course I was; so he asked me where I was all evening, and I told him. He asked me if there was a witness to where I was and I said, “Sure, call Ron Furness, I went to school with him, and he’s way up there in the administration of Indiana University, and he will tell you at 8:00 I was still with him in the restaurant, why?”
Well the lawyer called him, and said it was a good thing I had an alibi, because somebody had called in to the police at 8:00 and said her name was Mary Ann Jackson, that Ron Kerr (that’s me) had threatened to kill her and my wife at 8:00 that evening. Well, I could have pressed charges against her for false report, but I didn’t, and I didn’t get arrested because the voice had told me to call my friend.
Now, I’m a Baptist, my friend was a Catholic priest and the lawyer was a Jew, and we all agree that it was a good thing I heard those voices. I don’t know who it was, but I would have gone to jail if I hadn’t heard them.
“Thanks for sharing your story,” I said, as I made motion to leave.
“It’s true,” he said. “I’m eight-four years old now.”