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After two nights of meet and greet with old classmates, we were off to visit those not from my class. I was able to hook up with my old friend, Brad. He is one of those buddies who you might not see for a decade but can pick up right where you left off. Brad tends to the rich soil around Marshall, Illinois, keeps a bit of livestock, raises and trains race horses, and manages an auto parts shop. He was a bit gimpy from a small horse wreck but none the worse for wear. We always laugh for a few hours – really hard laughter. It is good for the soul. I’ll not mention all that we laugh about.
Our next stop was to an elderly gent who put a brush stroke or two on my canvas. His name is John. He is the man that taught me to hug. That doesn’t sound like a big deal but it has turned out to be so. Over the years lots and lots of people have needed a hug. Had it not been for John, I would have been bereft of a gift that has expressed itself much better than words. Many people feel un-huggable. John taught me that was a load. Everyone deserves one. With John, everyone got one. Moreover, a hug once saved my life.
Our family lived just down the street from a single mother – a bit of a rarity in my youth. Her name was Rovene and she worked with my dad at the printing factory. One day Rovene found her true love in this big, gregarious guy by the name of John. He made sense from day one. He was fun loving. He liked to eat. He was a mechanic. He liked boats. He was a hard worker. He was a wicked smart businessman. He liked going to church. And, he hugged people. He hugged at both hello and goodbye. Sometimes he hugged in between. And because it came from a big jolly chap with grease under his fingernails, I was okay with it.
Rovene passed away on Christmas Eve of 2016. I wrote a small obituary for her. But I couldn’t talk about her without mentioning John. The two were a match made in heaven and for earth. And I couldn’t talk about John without mentioning his hugs.
So, it was with these thoughts in mind that we made our way to the home he has lived in since 1969 that he bought for $14,000. I had heard he wasn’t doing too well. I didn’t know what to expect. As we wandered about outside I heard his booming voice: “Come in through the garage.” We did. He didn’t have a clue who was coming to visit. He just seemed glad that someone was coming for a visit. I turned the corner through his familiar kitchen and into his living room. He was propped up in an easy chair with large compression devices on both legs. He didn’t look very well until we locked eyes. Immediately those big arms were up in the air reaching for me and I went in. Then it was Jan’s turn. We both got thoroughly hugged. We talked for quite some time and got caught up. He talked with such tenderness about Rovene’s last years with Alzheimers – four years of her not really knowing for sure who he was. Sometimes she was scared of him – a complete stranger to her spotty and failing memory. But he would gently talk to her and sooth it all out. He was so happy to share that a day before she passed she was squeezing his fingers in the familiar way of their lifelong love. It was God’s little signal that a pathway had been cleared just long enough to let John know that she knew whose hand she was squeezing. Of course he cried through the whole story and I joined with a bit of that. We ended the visit with another round of hugging. I’m a bit of realist. I realize that it is most likely the last hug I will give or get from that very good man. But it’s okay. He taught me well. He gave me the courage to hug the world.
As I mentioned earlier – one time it saved my life. In my driveway was a distraught man who had lost a son in a terrible accident. He was drunk and he was angry at God. Since God wasn’t handy to answer for what he considered Divine neglect, he thought that offing a preacher might do. As I stood listening to him, it became quite clear that this was not heading in a good direction. He pulled out a .357, pointed it right between my eyes and basically was ready to give God some payback through his very lesser of servants, CJ. I had only one thought, and that I believe from heaven. I went under the upraised weapon and crushed the grieving father in a John hug. And it wasn’t a short one. I held him until the sobbing began and it until it subsided.
John Hayward & CJ
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