I grew up in one of the better-off families of our little town. Potwin only had 500 people, so better off was a relative term, but Mom and Dad were business owners and owned 15-20 rental properties including three post offices. We had a nice house. We had a maid. We hung out at the El Dorado Country Club. My siblings all went to college, and Dad wouldn’t let me take shop in high school so that I could get ready for college as well.
Part of the ritual in growing up in our house was working in the family businesses. Somewhere in the grade school years, I started riding in pickups delivering appliances as had my older brothers. Back at the shop, I would be the one cleaning out whoever’s refrigerator we just took in on trade. As I got a little older, I started working on Dad’s rental houses and met Jim Ledgerwood.
Jim was a school teacher who worked for Dad on the weekends. The first time I met him, Dad had asked me to drive to El Dorado and help Jim install a garage door. I had been in this situation before, and normally whoever was hired to do the job wasn’t too excited that the the boss’ kid showed up. Jim smiled and said “I have no idea what I’m doing here, want to help me figure out how to hang this thing up?” I was a little concerned that I was the brains of this particular bunch, but I could read instructions, and a few hours later the garage door was up. I was treated like an equal and walked a little taller on the way back to the car to drive home.
After that, whenever I was available on a Saturday in high school, I was working with Jim. We put on new roofs on several rentals, fixed toilets, fixed floors, replaced carpets, painted, and did some minor electrical repairs. In especially cold winters, water lines would occasionally freeze. Jim and I would put on about eight layers of clothes, and crawl under the house to repair the pipe. I was the first to crawl in because there were places I could get to that Jim couldn’t. Once, I remember replacing a pipe while staring at a huge rat carcass, and lying on my back under a house. Lunch was always fun. If we were close, we’d grab a couple of veal sandwiches at Job Lunch in El Dorado and Jim would tell me about farming and ask what’s going on in my life.
Later, I spent a couple of summers bailing hay in the hot Kansas sun, so any self image problems I had went away pretty quickly.
I’ll always be grateful for Jim. He gave me the opportunity to prove myself. He seemed to genuinely enjoy my company. And I learned a ton. I think my allegiance to Jim surprised some of my friends. One summer, Jim and I were building apartments in Potwin for Dad. One day, we were working on the roof and it was hot. A friend and I were working and had walked back to my house for lunch. Jim stayed and ate his lunch there. I felt like my friend and I had taken too long, eating lunch and watching television in the air conditioning, and I was concerned that Jim would be up on the roof by himself. About halfway back to the apartments, my friend looked over at me and said “you realize your practically running…” I realized he was right, and I slowed down a little. But not much. I didn’t want to let Jim down.
Every young guy has a mentor, or mentors, who helps you work your way to manhood. Jim was a big part of my journey.
