Late in the afternoon of the day we left Saint Simons Island and walked across the Edmund Pettus Bridge in Selma, we were on our way to the hotel in Meridian, Mississippi, the gas tank was nearly empty. We pulled into a Shell station where I noticed a tired fellow park his rumbling and dented Pontiac Grand Am a few pumps away. He shuffled into the gas station with money in his fist.
After filling up, I saw he had only pumped $8 worth of gas.
"Your car isn't very thirsty?"
"Huh?"
"Eight dollars is not a lot of gas these days."
"You tellin’ me. But it's all I got."
I used my debit card, took the nozzle, and handed it to the man.
"My treat, sir."
"Well, Happy New Year!" he said, with a smile spreading across his face, revealing beautiful teeth.
His name was Willie. I shook his hand and said, "I’m Tom." It was a laborer’s hand, strong and calloused.
"Hey, Willie, you mind if I ask how old you are?"
"Go ahead and guess? People always ask me, and they never guess I'm 73! So what…
Keep reading with a 7-day free trial
Subscribe to Tom Ryan, Author to keep reading this post and get 7 days of free access to the full post archives.