Old Men on a Park Bench
I have a favorite niece, Susan, that lives in Ft. Worth, and we go to see her as often as we can get away. Her home is always open and there is plenty of food, soda pop, and books. Lot of books. She and I enjoy books of all kinds and find pleasure sharing tidbits from whatever we are reading at the present time. However this time she wanted to introduce me to some one across town.
If you haven’t driven around in Ft. Worth in awhile you might be surprised. The town is abuzz with growth and excitement. Houses have been built in fields that a few years ago were planted in cotton. Between the clumps of houses businesses have sprung up to serve the communities. Downtown Ft. Worth is harder to find these days. We drove toward the old city on fine streets, crowded with cars searching for their own destinations. We passed Will Rogers Coliseum, past Southern Methodist University, and even the old “stock yards.” The yards don’t look the same, but I fancied I could still smell them. We soon entered an expansive, wooded park filled with climbing toys for kids to enjoy. Walking trails, for us more sedate, went in many directions, some skirting the Trinity River. Benches were scattered throughout the park, and it was easy to see this was a comfortable patch of nature to enjoy, nestled in the middle of a great city.
We parked and I spied a man sitting alone on a bench near the river. I was surprised when Susan, my niece, approached the man. He sported a mop of unruly hair, a baggy suit of some indistinct color, and slippers on his feet. He was reading from a small book, poems, I fancied. Susan introduced us. “Mr. Clements, this is my uncle I have spoken to you about.” I could see all of this was a well cast blob of bronze, but the magic of the moment swept me up and carried me back a hundred years.
We shook hands and he invited me to sit on the bench with him. Still in shock I sat and stammered a question. “Mr. Twain, what are you doing here in Ft. Worth?” “Well, he stated, I came to speak to the citizens of your fair city.” He continued, “I am waiting here for the steamboat, ‘Texas Belle’, to take me down river to Galveston.” I was surprised at how well he looked. He must have been near 75 yeas old. I asked him about his age. He said, “Age is a issue of mind over matter. If you don’t mind, it doesn’t matter.” This seamed to fit my question quite well. In my eagerness to keep the conservation going I asked if he might tell me about the famous Calvarias County jumping frog. You remember this is the story that ignited Mark Twain’s fame across the nation. Did that realty happen? He smiled and said, “Well, it might have happened, but if it didn’t, it should have.” He could see with his piercing gaze that I had another question and he answered it in advance. “A lie can travel half way around the world, while the truth is putting on its shoes.”
About this time we heard the unmistakable steam whistle of the “Texas Belle” as it rounded the bend and sided up to the loading wharf. Mr. Twain stood and proffered his hand in a cordial good-bye and walked to the waiting side-wheeler. As he reached the ship he turned and said “Son, always do right. This will gratify some people, and astonish the rest.”
With a shout from the Capitan, a blast of the whistle, and the boiling of black smoke the “Texas Belle” pulled away from the wharf and headed down river towards Galveston. Mr. Twain faded from view; leaving me standing on the bank of the Trinity River, with heart pounding, mind whirling, and totally exhilarated. Thanks Susan.