Musings of A Simple Country Man
By Hobie Morris
(Brookfield, NY – Dec. 2015) This story is true. It happened in the Mohawk Valley many years ago. America was far different then, but as we’ll learn some things should never change.
A young boy lay on the floor reading his school lessons. His family lives in a sparsely furnished home located on a rural dirt road overlooking the historic valley. Dinner was over as he began jotting down notes in his school book. The young boy yawned several times. His mother and father talked quietly so as not to disturb him.
It was a cold, snowy Thursday evening in early December. The next day would be the last school day before Christmas. A special day because students would be bringing to the principal money they had saved to give to less fortunate children in their community.
America was in the vice grip of the worst depression in our history. Americans struggled to make ends meet, but in the great tradition of this country people often in desperate circumstances were still generous. It was an essential part of the incomparable American character. It was a time when public school students began each day with a prayer. They could open the red cover of The American Singer (No. 6) and joyously sing “God of Our Fathers” and many other popular religious and Christmas songs. Time honored traditions such as Christmas and Easter were celebrated in public schools all across America.
Before going to bed the young boy put his hard earned coins that he had saved for a less fortunate child, in a white hanky that he carefully folded and stuck in the back pocket of pants he would be wearing in the morning. As he drifted off to sleep he could hear the wind begin to blow harder and swirl around his modest home.
The boy’s mother was up early Friday morning. Anxiously she looked out the kitchen window. It had snowed all night and the wind had made the road impassable for the school bus. She thought there was no way the school would be open on such a stormy day.
The boy got up, ate his breakfast and began dressing for school. His mother hated to be the bearer of bad news but she told him nevertheless. The boy was terribly disappointed but after a few minutes of sadness, he told his mother he was determined to get his money to school, even if he had to walk through the snow. His mother of course pleaded with him, but like most mothers she knew her son well. Soon she anxiously watched him trudging through the deep snow.
The principal, Harold Rankin, sat at his desk. The school is empty, cold and silent. Suddenly he hears an echoing noise down the dark hallway. It is the boy, exhausted and covered with snow. Taking off his wool mittens he carefully reached his cold hand into his back pocket. He walks up to the principal’s desk, holding towards the principal his tied up white hanky.
“I promised to be here,” said the boy. “I want to help the unfortunate kids.” He carefully unties the hanky and 11 cold coins roll onto the desk. A smile comes over the boy’s reddened face. He has been saving these hard earned coins for many months.
The principal profusely thanks the young boy. As he did, Mr. Rankin’s voice quivers a bit and, not noticed by the boy, a tiny tear or two moistened the corners of the principal’s eyes.
You see, what the principal couldn’t in a thousand years tell the young boy, the school’s collection was to be given to him. But of course the boy would never need it because the young lad was already the richest boy in the community.
Some things should never change.
Merry Christmas to one and all from two simple country people.
Hobie Morris is a Brookfield resident and simple country man.