I believe we are all frugal in our own way. The color of satisfaction lines the second-hand coat you find for next to nothing. It’s the reason why women shop the clearance racks, why I and my friends get excited for estate sales, why Pinterest has its followers and why Jeff wants to be a junk man.
If you look into the heart of a Redneck, you’ll see the stuff of a hoarder who recycles. My man stashes away car parts like a chipmunk hides his nuts–err, sorry Mom–like a dog buries his bones. He may not always remember exactly where it is, but there will come a project that requires that one piece of metal he already owns. That Redneck’s soul thrives on taking items beyond repair and re-designing them in ways that make other Rednecks envious.
Our cold winters—Jeff’s off season—fed his obsession by allowing him time to think of ways to benefit from picking up the junk of others. A few years ago, it hit its peak when he decided he’d try to barter with a few people who needed their junk hauled. He’d remove a trailer full if he could keep “the good stuff.” And he soon had more “good stuff” than we had room to store. He even borrowed a semi trailer from a friend to store what he thought we might sell at yard sales in the spring. Little did I know that I’d be enlisted as the yard sale queen, nor did I believe the number of smelly chairs and couches that could fit in a semi. (Jeff, you see, has very little sense of smell after years of breathing paint and other fumes in his garage.)
We didn’t get rich from selling junk. No, we didn’t even pay for the gas to cover hauling his loaded trailer back to the house. But we did collect a few items to use around the house. A lamp here, a patio set there, a desk without the keyboard tray, or a few old photos of someone else’s family. And it kept Jeff busy and happy. I’d come home from work and hear, “Hey Honey, come down and check out what I brought home today!” I’d grin and bear it, because I have one of those re-use-it genes too.
So today, when we were enjoying lunch with a friend, I smiled as Jeff told us his dumpster diving story. It had been raining all week, and since business is slow with this weather, he took one of his trucks to our neighbor’s shop for its required inspections. Jeff enjoys being able to circumvent the system and walk through the shop entrance like one of the guys instead of going to the service desk. While he sat in the shop office waiting—no sterile waiting room with old magazines and a TV tuned to CNN for this guy—he looked around a bit.
In a nearby trash can, he spotted the top of an umbrella that appeared in serviceable condition. “It only had one spot at the top with a slight bend in it,” he explained. So he started rearranging the other trash in the vessel to maneuver his prize out without dumping yesterday’s lunch or the morning’s stale donuts in the process. As he pondered his find, he noted the two construction workers standing outside watching him, chuckling between themselves and shaking their heads. He looked up and grinned, holding up his hands as if to say, “So?”
He pulled the umbrella from the can like Mary Poppins would from her valise and proceeded to open it. (Yes, inside.) His satisfied smile didn’t last long though, as just after he had it opened fully, the handle broke in two, and the top fell off onto the ground. The two workers outside roared with laughter, when he just shrugged, tossed the pieces back into the can and walked out into the rain.
I guess some junk is just that.
eulogy
Henry, A Eulogy
This was a eulogy delivered today in honor of my father-in-law:
Oh Henry!….Vinn….Dad….PawPaw….Mr. Dempsey…each of us here knows you from a different viewpoint. As one with the least amount of history with you, I can only touch upon a few moments of your life that represent 89—almost 90—years of a life fully lived. May I honor you as much as we are honored having known you.
He was the twin brother of Hugh, and brother to Jack, Geraldine (Booby) and Mary Rose. Henry was born May 2nd, 1925, in Potts Camp, Mississippi and reared by his country doctor father, Davis Terrell, and Mama Lois Dempsey in Kennett, Missouri.
He enlisted in the Navy in 1943. He and Mary Alice, high school sweethearts, eloped as teenagers in 1944; stealing away to Peragould, Arkansas to tie the knot, accompanied by his brother Hugh and his sister-in-law.
Henry left Mary Alice with the Dempseys to serve in the Navy and found his bunk on a merchant ship during World War II, assigned to protect her carried supplies and precious cargo. He was a member of our Greatest Generation—he was one among those courageous men and women who served our country; unfailingly devout and steadfast in their duty, yet closed-mouthed about the danger or the terror.
When he returned, he attended Southeast Missouri State to study chemistry and biology before transferring to Arkansas State in Jonesboro. He would share more war stories about sneaking off to hunt or fish with his mentor, Doctor Demery, and how he’d barely stay awake in his classes the next day, than he ever would’ve considered telling from his overseas experience.
He was a high school Chemistry teacher in Mathews, Missouri, at a time when to teach also meant to encourage, to discipline, to share morals and values, and to drive the bus.
Two years later, he moved his young family to Fort Wayne, Indiana, where Falstaff Breweries had a bottling plant, to work in Quality Control. He told me once that he travelled a territory checking the brew quality at the point of purchase—local pubs, taverns and restaurants. (It was a rough job, but someone had to do it!)
In 1961, Henry was promoted and the family moved to Camellia Drive in Webster Groves, MO. He worked at Falstaff’s headquarters until the late 70’s when the company was sold. He finished his career as Quality Control Manager at Western Lithoplate in Kirkwood. He retired in 1995.
He and Mary Alice were blessed with three children, whose deliveries were spread over 17 years. Marilyn Ann was born in 1946, Henry Vinn Jr. in 1955 and Jefferson Lee in 1963. He was a patient mentor to his daughter and sons, and he enjoyed his family foremost. He was known to take his grandsons fishing at Suson Park regularly, and he watched them grow to fine young men. He would also beam with pride over the accomplishments of one of his granddaughters or great-granddaughter.
Henry was a kidder, and he was known to pull a practical joke occasionally. He loved to tell stories about himself and his friends. He fondly remembered his friend Beefy, for instance. Jeff has told me a few stories with those two characters at the center, involving levees, the Mississippi, gigging and a few cold ones. (At least they did have a half-sized designated driver, well before their time.) He and his identical twin brother Hugh were known to pull a fast one on each other or on others as well.
He was a staunch member of Webster Hills, and he served here as an usher for 45 years. He was also an adult leader in the church-sponsored Boy Scout troop, of which his sons took part.
While I met him later in life, I can tell you he was a quiet, unassuming man who was a home body—probably just enjoying being off the road after many years of travel with work. He loved to putter around the house or hand water the beautiful azaleas and impatiens he and Mary Alice planted. But he truly just enjoyed being there. He could fix just about anything, and I believe he passed that skill on to his two boys.
Anytime he was away from home, you could tell his heart was in his own backyard, and he’d soon after arriving say, “Well I best be getting back home, she’ll be waiting.”
Whenever we had pie for dessert after a family meal, he’d ask me, “You like that? I baked it myself!” …even if I had brought it with me that day. He laughed with his eyes, a true Irishman in spirit.
The Henry we all remember started to leave us a few years ago, when Alzheimer’s struck both him and Mary Alice. They say that this unfair disease is known as the “Long Goodbye.” I’ve seen it take our parents’ best memories from them, but it won’t take our memories OF them. My own father is suffering from the ravages of this beast too.
But the confusion and sense of loss for Henry are now gone.
Henry, the Long Goodbye is now over. It’s time to go on home. Mary Alice and Marilyn and all the others are waiting.
Susan's Path 