Carl was
a quiet man.
He didn't
talk much.
He would
always greet
you with a
big smile
and a firm
handshake.
Even after living in
our
neighborhood
for over 50
years, no
one could
really say
they knew
him very
well.
Before
his
retirement, he
took the bus
to work each
morning. The
lone sight of
him walking
down the
street often
worried us. He had a
slight limp
from a bullet
wound received
in WWII.
Watching him,
we worried
that although
he had
survived WWII, he may
not make it
through our
changing
uptown
neighborhood
with its ever-increasing
random
violence, gangs, and
drug activity.
When
he saw the
flyer at our
local church
asking for
volunteers to
care for the
gardens behind
the minister's
residence, he
responded in
his
characteristically
unassuming
manner.
Without
fanfare, he
just signed
up.
He
was well into
his 87th year
when the very
thing we had
always feared
finally
happened. He
was just
finishing his watering for
the day when
three gang
members
approached
him. Ignoring
their attempt
to intimidate
him, he simply
asked,
"Would
you like a
drink from the
hose?"
The
tallest and
toughest-looking
of the three
said,
"Yeah,
sure,"
with a
malevolent
little smile.
As Carl
offered the hose to him,
the other two
grabbed Carl's
arm, throwing
him down. As
the hose
snaked crazily
over the
ground,
dousing everything in
its way,
Carl's
assailants
stole his
retirement
watch and his
wallet, and
then fled.
Carl tried to get himself
up, but he had
been thrown
down on his
bad leg. He
lay there
trying to
gather himself
as the
minister came running
to help him.
Although the
minister had
witnessed the
attack from
his window, he
couldn't get
there fast enough to
stop it.
"Carl,
are you okay?
Are you
hurt?"
the minister
kept asking as
he helped Carl
to his feet.
Carl just
passed a hand
over his brow and
sighed,
shaking his
head.
"Just
some punk
kids. I hope
they'll
wise-up
someday."
His wet
clothes clung
to his slight
frame as he
bent to pick
up the hose.
He adjusted
the nozzle
again and
started to
water.
Confused
and a little
concerned, the
minister
asked,
"Carl,
what are you
doing?"
"I've got to
finish my
watering. It's
been very dry
lately"
came the calm
reply.
Satisfying
himself that
Carl really
was all right,
the minister
could only marvel.
Carl was a man
from a
different time
and place.
A
few weeks
later the
three
returned. Just
as before
their threat
was
unchallenged.
Carl again
offered them a
drink from his hose.
This time they
didn't rob
him. They
wrenched the
hose from his
hand and
drenched him
head to foot
in the icy water.
When they had
finished their
humiliation of
him, they
sauntered off
down the
street,
throwing
catcalls and curses,
falling over
one another
laughing at
the hilarity
of what they
had just done.
Carl just
watched them.
Then he turned toward
the warmth
giving sun,
picked up his
hose, and went
on with his
watering.
The
summer was
quickly fading
into fall.
Carl was doing
some tilling
when he was
startled by
the sudden
approach of someone behind
him. He
stumbled and
fell into some
evergreen
branches. As
he struggled
to regain his
footing, he
turned to see the
tall leader of
his summer
tormentors
reaching down
for him. He
braced himself
for the
expected
attack.
"Don't
worry old man,
I'm not gonna
hurt you this
time."
The young man
spoke softly,
still offering
the tattooed
and scarred hand
to Carl.
As
he helped Carl
get up, the
man pulled a
crumpled bag
from his
pocket and
handed it to
Carl. "What's
this?" Carl asked.
"It's
your
stuff,"
the man
explained.
"It's
your stuff
back. Even the
money in your
wallet." "I don't
understand,"
Carl said.
"Why
would you help
me now?"
The man
shifted his
feet, seeming
embarrassed
and ill at
ease. "I
learned
something from
you," he
said. "I
ran with that gang and hurt
people like
you. We picked
you because
you were old
and we knew we
could do it. But every time
we came and
did something
to you,
instead of
yelling and
fighting back,
you tried to give us a
drink. You
didn't hate us
for hating
you. You kept
showing love
against our
hate."
He
stopped for a
moment.
"I
couldn't sleep
after we stole
your stuff, so
here it is
back." He
paused for
another awkward
moment, not
knowing what
more there was
to say.
"That
bag's my way
of saying
thanks for
straightening
me out, I
guess."
And with that,
he walked off
down the
street.
Carl
looked down at
the sack in
his hands and
gingerly
opened it. He
took out his
retirement
watch and put
it back on his wrist.
Opening his
wallet, he
checked for
his wedding
photo. He
gazed for a
moment at the
young bride
that still smiled back
at
him from all
those years
ago.
He
died one cold
day after
Christmas that
winter. Many
people
attended his
funeral in
spite of the
weather. In particular the
minister
noticed a tall
young man that
he didn't know
sitting
quietly in a
distant corner
of the church. The
minister spoke
of Carl's
garden as a
lesson in
life. In a
voice made
thick with
unshed tears,
he said,
"Do your best and
make your
garden as
beautiful as
you can. We
will never
forget Carl
and his
garden."
The
following
spring another
flyer went up.
It read:
"Person
needed to care
for Carl's
garden."
The flyer went
unnoticed by the busy
parishioners
until one day
when a knock
was heard at
the minister's
office door.
Opening
the door, the
minister saw a
pair of
scarred and
tattooed hands
holding the
flyer. "I
believe this
is my job, if you'll have
me," the
young man
said.
The
minister
recognized him
as the same
young man who
had returned
the stolen
watch and
wallet to
Carl. He knew
that Carl's
kindness had
turned this
man's life
around. As the
minister
handed him the
keys to the
garden shed,
he said, "Yes, go
take care of
Carl's garden
and honor
him." The
man went to
work and, over
the next
several years,
he tended the flowers and
vegetables
just as Carl
had done. In
that time, he
went to
college, got
married, and
became a
prominent member of the
community. But
he never
forgot his
promise to
Carl's memory
and kept the
garden as
beautiful as
he thought Carl
would have
kept it.
One
day he
approached the
new minister
and told him
that he
couldn't care
for the garden
any longer. He
explained with
a shy and happy
smile, my wife
just had a
baby boy last
night, and
she's bringing
him home on
Saturday.
"Well, congratulations!"
said the
minister, as
he was handed
the garden
shed keys.
"That's
wonderful!
What's the
baby's name?"
"Carl,"
he replied.
Author
Unknown This
page is
dedicated to
Brothers Don
Shelton and
Jimmy Stroud which
both were Deacons at
Apollo Heights
Baptist
Church.
Bro's Don
Shelton and
Jimmy Stroud went
home to be with the
Lord. These
two
men were both like
Carl in Carl's
Garden.
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