Powerful People Come in All Packages

One summer weekend in my boyhood we heard the sounds of screeching tires on the road above our house, followed by a loud crash and someone screaming.

We lived in the hills of Los Gatos, California. I was ten years old, playing with a neighbor buddy on our driveway. My mother exited the house and joined my father, sweeping leaves.

“That didn’t sound good,” my father said as he handed my mother the broom and jogged down our driveway to investigate.

My buddy and I followed. When we got to the bottom of the driveway, we saw our neighbor, Jonce, running past us.

Jonce was a cowboy turned successful contractor, and his construction company erected many homes in our area. He lived nearby, below our house.

I was told that Jonce had an 8th-grade education and that his wife handled much of the construction business details. I don’t know if this was true, but what I did know is that Jonce was a bonafide barrel racing cowboy, and a charismatic, rugged, humble man.

Jonce was faster than us and disappeared up the street, but we could still hear his cowboy boots running on the pavement. “Up here,” he called out.

Around the bend, we saw an overturned car in the street with smoke wafting out of the engine compartment like a demon fleeing its handiwork.

The driver, a young man with tattoos on his arms, had crawled out and lay on the street. Jonce sat on the ground beside him, gently touched the young man’s shoulder, and said, “Help is on the way, buddy, so just try and relax.”

Jonce lit a cigarette, held it to the young man’s lips, and said, “Have a smoke to steady yourself.”

I don’t know how Jonce knew he smoked, but sure enough, the young man puffed away and it seemed to calm him. His hands shook less.

My father spoke with another neighbor who said she called the authorities, and before long we heard sirens. Fire department personnel, a Sheriff’s deputy, and an ambulance showed up.

It was all very exciting for my buddy and me. Even the neighbors were animated. My father, a former Marine, was calm. But most of all, it was the steady presence of Jonce the cowboy that brought order and reassurance to everyone. Especially for the injured man.

After it was all over, my Dad shook Jonce’s hand and said, “Well done.” Jonce smiled and said, “Gotta get back to my horses.”

Jonce adjusted his cowboy hat, winked at my buddy and me, and lit up another cigarette as he strolled down the street.

These are the kind of random events in life when young people learn a thing or two from exemplary adults. About the importance of showing up, even for strangers. About compassion.

About what it means to meet the moment.

Powerful people come in all packages

My neighbor buddy and I sometimes watched Jonce ride his horses, Texaco and Bouncer, in the dirt field that made up his backyard.

Jonce placed a few barrels in his backyard where he’d race his horses around and practice his rodeo skills. He offered to let us ride those energetic horses, but we were intimidated and afraid. We settled for watching Jonce ride around like a madman.

In hindsight, I wish I’d taken him up on riding those muscled horses. Maybe some of Jonce’s cowboy mystique would have rubbed off on me.

There was just something magical and down-to-earth that emanated from the core of Jonce. He possessed a quiet, folksy confidence beneath his cowboy strength and humility.

My parents told me, years later, about the time Jonce went to a Cadillac dealership to buy himself a new car. The showroom staff eyed Jonce in his faded blue jeans, old boots, and cowboy hat. They figured he was a dreamer, and ignored him.

Jonce asked a question about one of the cars and the salesman gave him a short, disinterested answer.

Jonce left, walked across the street while puffing on a smoke, and strolled into the Lincoln dealership. A short time later, Jonce drove off the lot in a brand-new Lincoln Continental. He took the time to drive through the Cadillac dealership’s parking lot, tipping his cowboy hat to the regretful salesmen who’d ignored him earlier.

Powerful people come in all packages. Sometimes unpredictable and unsuspecting packages. Each with their own priorities, dreams, challenges, gifts to give, and journey. —Julieanne O’Connor

In those days, I watched the cowboy/action show Wild Wild West. I admired the main character, James West, and his sidekick Artemus Gordon. They were simple episodes, where the good guys always won and did the right thing.

I viewed Jonce similarly. He was always kind to me, was a good neighbor, and carried himself with a quiet yet humble confidence.

He was the kind of man I wanted to become.

The people who had insights about you

Helen was my journalism teacher in high school.

Her background was in physical education but she also taught journalism and ran the annual yearbook project. Back then, I joined the school’s newspaper staff as an editorial cartoonist.

Helen used to show us different newspapers from around the country, discuss how they were designed, what kinds of news they covered, and what made their articles good or bad. And she even mentioned the various editorial cartoonists, knowing that was my main interest.

In those days, I was an average student.

I spent more time drawing, hanging out with my girlfriend, and playing tennis on the varsity team than studying. My teachers prodded me, but my academic interest didn’t kick in until college.

My teachers mostly focused on the higher-performing students. Helen was different. She took a special interest in me, and she knew that my love of drawing editorial cartoons was a pathway to broaden my interests.

Helen complimented my cartooning ability but told me that great editorial cartoonists must have a command of history and current events. Two things I was weak in. She added that I needed to read more and to read broadly. That way, I’d have more knowledge and wisdom to infuse into my editorial cartoons.

The most intriguing people you will encounter in this life are the people who had insights about you, that you didn’t know about yourself. —Shannon L. Alder

Helen planted a seed where others had failed.

My father was an avid bibliophile and my sister and mother both read constantly when I was a kid. They encouraged me to read more, but I was too lost in drawing and playing outside to focus much on books.

Helen connected my love of drawing cartoons to something bigger, the acquisition of knowledge and wisdom as a way to become a better cartoonist. Not to mention, a better student.

And that’s when I began reading more and eventually fell in love with books and lifelong education.

The growing good of the world is partly dependent on unhistoric acts

Some people are not designed to capture the world’s attention or change the course of history.

They live seemingly hidden lives, in their small towns or anonymous cities. Perhaps they marry and raise children, or they remain single and focus on work and personal interests.

But along the way, if their souls are good and their hearts are bright, they inspire others through quiet acts of grace, leadership, and kindness.

The growing good of the world is partly dependent on unhistoric acts; and that things are not so ill with you and me as they might have been, is half owing to the number who lived faithfully a hidden life, and rest in unvisited tombs. —George Eliot, Middlemarch

Jonce died in 2004, the same year my beloved father passed away.

Both men inspired me and taught me things about being a good man. As for Helen, I went to university and never saw her again. She died too early at age 59, but I’ve never forgotten how she helped me grow.

I’ll wager after all these years, not many people visit the gravesites of my father, Jonce, and Helen.

They are some of the hidden people in this world, who quietly shaped the lives of others for the better. They may not be famous, and once those who remember them pass on, they will suffer their second death. They will be lost to the ages.

But they made the world a better place.

 

John Patrick Weiss writes stories and essays about life, often illustrated with his black and white photography. Visit  JohnPatrickWeiss.com.

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This post was previously published on Medium.com.