Passing Time with the Bell Ringer

When Dad retired to Orlando he took on the family shopping to fight off his boredom. One day in November I answered the phone to hear my mother (who was 3,000 miles away) report, in a very worried voice. “Your father went to the store and hasn’t come back." She paused, obviously distressed. "It’s been more than an hour. Should I call the police?”  

“He’s probably putting in an application to be a bag boy.”   

She was horrified. “Can you imagine anyone with your father’s ability as a bag boy?” 

Actually I could. I imagined his thin frame wheeling shopping carts about. “Sure, he’d be the best bag boy that Publix ever had, chatting to everyone, telling his stories.  He'd get tips that he could parlay into winnings at Jai Lai.”  

She hung up.

A half hour later, she called to tell me Dad was home. “Do you know where your father was?”   

“Of course not.”   

Her voice was incredulous. "He was talking to the Salvation Army bell ringer.  It was the man's first day. Your father thought he looked a little lonely so he sat on a bench and helped the man pass his time. Can you imagine?"

Actually, I could. Few people gave donations before Thanksgiving and it was in keeping with Dad’s gregarious nature to keep the bell ringer entertained. Every day at eleven Dad told stories of his life during the Depression, the shows he'd seen, the management of Clubs for the well-heeled and insisted on making sure Harry and I were properly introduced. After Dad died, I returned for one week to Orlando and found Harry ringing his bell. As we sat and shared stories, Harry confided that he continued to wait for Dad's visits like a kid waiting for  Santa Claus. I knew exactly what he met.