My greatest inspiration is a man whose name I can’t remember and who I only met for 8 hours.
I had a period in my early life where I lived as a drifter on the coast of Calif in the early 1970s. At the time I was living on a beach in Monterey with a group of hippies and beatniks in a cave. We would hitchhike into Monterey and dumpster dive for veggies - then bring everything back and make a giant stew over an open fire. We always had more food than necessary and would go up and down the beach inviting strangers to share it with us. Sometimes they would bring us cases of beer in return.
After watching my compatriots all get so drunk one night that they danced on the bonfire barefoot and all burned their feet, I decided that I had to get out of that scene and put my life back on track. I picked up my pack which had all my stuff and hitchhiked back to LA to get a fresh start.
As soon as my thumb went out a huge 1969 Country Squire station wagon pulled over. A nice gentleman and his son were in it, with about 1000 pounds of salmon they bought in Monterey and were taking back to LA. So I had a ride the whole way. Good thing as it had started raining and I only had a worn out cotton jacket and woud soon bev sopping wet without a ride.
I asked about him and his son and he told me just the basics. “I buy and sell fish.” He was a very modest and unassuming man.
Then to my surprise he turns and looks at me with a smile. “Ed, we have a long ride and I love stories. We’ve got 8 hours driving ahead of us so tell me your life story in detail.”
I was flabbergasted. No one had ever wanted to hear about me like that.
Who could possibly be interested in my stupid little life? Heck here I was flat broke sleeping on a beach. I felt like a loser and he wanted to hear everything about me!
He looked very conservative, dressed in a suit and I was a beach bum hippy from Hollywood, an odd couple indeed. I didn’t want to offend him or his son so I said, “well I will if you want but it involves some shady parts, some law breaking and even sex and drugs, I don’t want to upset you or your son.”
He laughed out loud. “Ed, every good story, whether a book, a movie or a life has all that and more. You look to me like one heck of an interesting story. My son is already asleep in the back. Just tell me the whole thing, warts and all. A great pleasure of being here on Earth is learning through others. My eyes can only see a little tiny slice of the world, your eyes will show me more.”
I never forgot those wise words. “My eyes can only see a little tiny slice of the world, your eyes will show me more.”
We drove beautiful highway 1 along the coast for hours. I talked. He bought me lunch at an A&W Root Beer stand while I chatered on. We drove on in the rain along the grey coast, the sun set, I talked. I started from as far back as I could remember and walked him through the traumas, the dramas, the failures and victories, the moral confusion of facing the Vietnam war and realizing I could not kill, the alienation from my parents that decision caused.
As the light dimmed to black and the car echoed with the rhythm of the windshield wipers slapping back and forth, I talked on and on.
What an amazing day. You learn a lot about yourself when you try and relate all those countless details of what you remember of your life to another person.
He never lost interest, no matter how mundane the detail, how pointless the narrative became sometimes.
Instead of disinterest this wonderful man would encourage me on, looking at me with amazement and delight as I went on for 8 hours straight. From the way he treated me you would have though he was listening to the President of the United States or the Pope. He really acted like it was the most interesting story he had ever heard.
When we reached my destination, Topanga Canyon exit in LA’s San Fernando Valley he let me out. He calle me over to the window and said ‘What an amazing story you are Ed”. Then he handed me $20, which in 1972 was about the equivalent of $100 today. I said, “Thanks I’ll be able to go get some food and survive for a few days.”
He said “No, that is not what it is for. This is for you to start a new prosperous life with, not to spend. You take this $20 and you use it to create your new life. Leave behind that interesting but sad story you told me and start a new one. A story with a very happy ending.”
He rolled up the window and I watched the taillights of his Ford Station Wagon fade away as he merged onto the Ventura Freeway in the drizzle. I looked at the $20 and burst into tears of gratitude.
By the next day I had already forgotten his name. I’m sure he forgot me soon afterward.
He changed my life forever with his acts of kindness. I did exactly with that $20 as he said.
Isn’t it funny how sometimes those whose names we cannot even recall can make the greatest difference in our lives?
