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Sent: Monday, December 19, 2011 6:06 PM

Subject: FW: CHRISTMAS at the Gas Station

Subject: CHRISTMAS at the Gas Station

This just gets better every year.

The old man sat in his gas station on a cold Christmas Eve. He hadn't been anywhere in years since his wife had passed away. It was just another day to him. He didn't hate Christmas, just couldn't find a reason to celebrate. He was sitting there looking at the snow that had been falling for the last hour and wondering what it was all about when the door opened and a homeless man stepped through.

Instead of throwing the man out, Old George as he was known by his customers, told the man to come and sit by the heater and warm up. "Thank you, but I don't mean to intrude," said the stranger. "I see you're busy, I'll just go." "Not without something hot in your belly." George said. He turned and opened a wide mouth Thermos and handed it to the stranger. "It ain't much, but it's hot and tasty. Stew ... Made it myself. When you're done, there's coffee and it's fresh."

Just at that moment he heard the "ding" of the driveway bell. " Excuse me, be right back," George said. There in the driveway was an old '53 Chevy. Steam was rolling out of the front.. The driver was panicked. "Mister can you help me!" said the driver, with a deep Spanish accent. "My wife is with child and my car is broken." George opened the hood. It was bad. The block looked cracked from the cold, the car was dead. "You ain't going in this thing," George said as he turned away.

"But Mister, please help ..." The door of the office closed behind George as he went inside. He went to the office wall and got the keys to his old truck, and went back outside. He walked around the building, opened the garage, started the truck and drove it around to where the couple was waiting. "Here, take my truck," he said. "She ain't the best thing you ever looked at, but she runs real good."

George helped put the woman in the truck and watched as it sped off into the night. He turned and walked back inside the office. "Glad I gave 'em the truck, their tires were shot too. That 'ol truck has brand new ." George thought he was talking to the stranger, but the man had gone. The Thermos was on the desk, empty, with a used coffee cup beside it. "Well, at least he got something in his belly," George thought.

George went back outside to see if the old Chevy would start. It cranked slowly, but it started. He pulled it into the garage where the truck had been. He thought he would tinker with it for something to do. Christmas Eve meant no customers. He discovered the the block hadn't cracked, it was just the bottom hose on the radiator. "Well, shoot, I can fix this," he said to himself. So he put a new one on. "Those tires ain't gonna get 'em through the winter either." He took the snow treads off of his wife's old Lincoln. They were like new and he wasn't going to drive the car anyway.

As he was working, he heard shots being fired. He ran outside and beside a police car an officer lay on the cold ground. Bleeding from the left shoulder, the officer moaned, "Please help me." George helped the officer inside as he remembered the training he had received in the Army as a medic. He knew the wound needed attention. "Pressure to stop the bleeding," he thought. The uniform company had been there that morning and had left clean shop towels. He used those and duct tape to bind the wound. "Hey, they say duct tape can fix anythin'," he said, trying to make the policeman feel at ease.

"Something for pain," George thought. All he had was the pills he used for his back. "These ought to work." He put some water in a cup and gave the policeman the pills. "You hang in there, I'm going to get you an ambulance." The phone was dead. "Maybe I can get one of your buddies on that there talk box out in your car." He went out only to find that a bullet had gone into the dashboard destroying the two way radio.

He went back in to find the policeman sitting up. "Thanks," said the officer. "You could have left me there. The guy that shot me is still in the area." George sat down beside him, "I would never leave an injured man in the Army and I ain't gonna leave you." George pulled back the bandage to check for bleeding. "Looks worse than what it is. Bullet passed right through 'ya. Good thing it missed the important stuff though. I think with time your gonna be right as rain."

George got up and poured a cup of coffee. "How do you take it?" he asked. "None for me," said the officer. "Oh, yer gonna drink this. Best in the city. Too bad I ain't got no donuts." The officer laughed and winced at the same time.

The front door of the office flew open. In burst a young man with a gun. "Give me all your cash! Do it now!" the young man yelled. His hand was shaking and George could tell that he had never done anything like this before. "That's the guy that shot me!" exclaimed the officer.

"Son, why are you doing this?" asked George, "You need to put the cannon away. Somebody else might get hurt." The young man was confused. "Shut up old man, or I'll shoot you, too. Now give me the cash!" The cop was reaching for his gun. "Put that thing away," George said to the cop, "we got one too many in here now." He turned his attention to the young man. "Son, it's Christmas Eve. If you need money, well then, here. It ain't much but it's all I got. Now put that pea shooter away."

George pulled $150 out of his pocket and handed it to the young man, reaching for the barrel of the gun at the same time. The young man released his grip on the gun, fell to his knees and began to cry. "I'm not very good at this am I? All I wanted was to buy something for my wife and son," he went on. "I've lost my job, my rent is due, my car got repossessed last week."

George handed the gun to the cop. "Son, we all get in a bit of squeeze now and then. The road gets hard sometimes, but we make it through the best we can." He got the young man to his feet, and sat him down on a chair across from the cop. "Sometimes we do stupid things." George handed the young man a cup of coffee. "Bein' stupid is one of the things that makes us human. Comin' in here with a gun ain't the answer. Now sit there and get warm and we'll sort this thing out." The young man had stopped crying. He looked over to the cop. "Sorry I shot you. It just went off. I'm sorry officer." "Shut up and drink your coffee " the cop said.

George could hear the sounds of sirens outside. A police car and an ambulance skidded to a halt. Two cops came through the door, guns drawn. "Chuck! You ok?" one of the cops asked the wounded officer. "Not bad for a guy who took a bullet. How did you find me?"

"GPS locator in the car. Best thing since sliced bread. Who did this?" the other cop asked as he approached the young man. Chuck answered him, "I don't know. The guy ran off into the dark. Just dropped his gun and ran." George and the young man both looked puzzled at each other.

"That guy work here?" the wounded cop continued. "Yep," George said, "just hired him this morning. Boy lost his job." The paramedics came in and loaded Chuck onto the stretcher. The young man leaned over the wounded cop and whispered, "Why?" Chuck just said, "Merry Christmas boy ... and you too, George, and thanks for everything." "Well, looks like you got one doozy of a break there. That ought to solve some of your problems."

George went into the back room and came out with a box. He pulled out a ring box. "Here you go, something for the little woman. I don't think Martha would mind. She said it would come in handy some day."

The young man looked inside to see the biggest diamond ring he ever saw. "I can't take this," said the young man. "It means something to you." "And now it means something to you," replied George. "I got my memories. That's all I need."

George reached into the box again. An airplane, a car and a truck appeared next. They were toys that the oil company had left for him to sell. "Here's something for that little man of yours." The young man began to cry again as he handed back the $150 that the old man had handed him earlier. "And what are you supposed to buy Christmas dinner with? You keep that too," George said. "Now git home to your family."

The young man turned with tears streaming down his face. "I'll be here in the morning for work, if that job offer is still good." "Nope. I'm closed Christmas day," George said. "See ya the day after." George turned around to find that the stranger had returned. "Where'd you come from? I thought you left?"

"I have been here. I have always been here," said the stranger. "You say you don't celebrate Christmas. Why?" "Well, after my wife passed away, I just couldn't see what all the bother was. Puttin' up a tree and all seemed a waste of a good pine tree. Bakin' cookies like I used to with Martha just wasn't the same by myself and besides I was gettin' a little chubby."

The stranger put his hand on George's shoulder. "But you do celebrate the holiday, George. You gave me food and drink and warmed me when I was cold and hungry. The woman with child will bear a son and he will become a great doctor.

The policeman you helped will go on to save 19 people from being killed by terrorists. The young man who tried to rob you will make you a rich man and not take any for himself. "That is the spirit of the season and you keep it as good as any man."

George was taken aback by all this stranger had said. "And how do you know all this?" asked the old man. "Trust me, George. I have the inside track on this sort of thing. And when your days are done you will be with Martha again." The stranger moved toward the door. "If you will excuse me, George, I have to go now. I have to go home where there is a big celebration planned."

George watched as the old leather jacket and the torn pants that the stranger was wearing turned into a white robe. A golden light began to fill the room. "You see, George ... it's My birthday. Merry Christmas."

George fell to his knees and replied, "Happy Birthday, Lord Jesus"

This story is better than any greeting card. MERRY CHRISTMAS AND GOD BLESS!

Now clear the lump from your throat, blow your nose, and send this along to a friend of yours or someone who may need a reminder as to why we celebrate Christmas.

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Christmas at the Kegley's- Thanks brother Jim!

From: Jim Kegley

Sent: Monday, December 19, 2011 12:27 AM

To: Scioto Voice

High Notes 12-22-2011

On Christmas, 1949, there were still seven Kegley kids living at 1227 McConnell Avenue, Portsmouth.   Christmas with a houseful of eight kids, ages one, Sandy, born in 1948, up to Sam, 17, born in 1932, was a big deal. My brother, Sam 17, was an usher at the old Ohio Theatre in New Boston, and George and I shared the Times newspaper Route 107, which included McConnell Avenue, and Grant Street, from Hutchins to Grandview, and Highland from Hutchins to McConnell. We had all attended Highland School, and Mom and Dad had bought the two-story seven-room house in 1941.

That was one of the years we drove in Dad’s Hudson out to Candy Run, Lucasville, to Mom’s sister Pearl’s, (Mrs. Floyd Miller) small farm and cut down our large nine-foot tall white pine Christmas tree. Dad had to haul it home in his home-made wooden trailer. I can remember it was a cold day on Candy Run, and their house was warm with the wood-burning space heater roaring in the living room.

That was the year I had seen some of my ten-year old school mates wearing those ankle-high combat-style boots with the knife pouch mounted in a snap-sheath on the outside of the right shoe. The sheath contained a small three-inch long, pearlized white-plastic handled hunting-style knife.

Those boots were my dream Christmas present for 1949; after-all we kids were still fighting those dirty Nazis and Japs, in our minds. My brother Forest (Bud) was soon to be in the army, and stationed inGermany, in 1949-50, and Sam would be drafted and was to be in Japan, by 1953. I had seen that Harry Delotell, who owned Harry’s Department Store at 2025 11^th Street, had them in stock when my Dad had taken a few of us to buy our school shoes.

Dad, along with his railroad brakeman/conductor’s job was also a refrigeration repairman, and a Mason work-shoe salesman on the side. Mason did not sell kid’s shoes at that time, so I made my appeal for the combat boots through my Mom.

In those days, I slept in a bunk bed bottom, while younger brother, Paul five, slept on top. George and Sam shared the double bed, and the girls; Mary Lou, eight, Sharon, six, and Sandy, slept in the front bedroom.

Our house on McConnell was still heated with coal, and I can remember running down our steps in my housecoat to be the first one at the down-stairs heat-register, and my robe billowing, as the heat would blow. I wasn’t allowed to go into the front living-room where we had our tree and presents, until the rest of the family were down. As you can imagine it was a mad-house that morning, and my five-year-old brother Paul got his black cowboy hat, and my sister, Mary Lou, my eight-year-old sister, got a fringy cowgirl outfit. I don’t remember what Sharon, my three-year old sister got, nor do I remember what George or Sam got, but I do know that I got my longed-for boots.

What I can’t seem to understand, is how?

How did my Mom and Dad manage to treat all of their brood as if they were special?

All I know is they certainly did it, because I know that 1949 year was a wonderful Christmas at our house.

I just wish everybody could have Christmases to be as much fun as were ours at 1227 McConnell Avenue, Portsmouth.

Jim

Thanks Jim!

Excellent rememberances! Christmas was always special at our house as it has been throughout America’s existence. The Sears Roebuck catalog got a lot of business from Forest and Mary Kegley. I remember one Christmas when Bud and I each received a beautiful cream and white wagon. At two years difference in age, they could hardly give one without the other. We know now, as adults, how they must have struggled with all the bills, and then their big annual expenditures, other than normal living costs, were Christmas presents for all of the kids. In 1949, Ted, Joan, and Bud probably weren’t living at home. Sandy, our youngest was a one year old. Bud graduated from Portsmouth High School in 1948 and I would soon graduate in June, 1950. It was probably very nearly the peak for all kids home at once. Ted’s wife, Helen Keyser, Joan’s husband, James Dexter White and the married ones’ kids, and Bud’s girl friend, Norma Newman, and my girl friend, Jeanette Weddington, seemed already part of the family. That made for a large houseful of fun at Christmas.

I had a sad experience this past week in remembering Uncle Floyd’s and Aunt Pearl Miller’s Candy run visits by our clan. I hadn’t checked on our cousin, Charlotte Miller Tosher, for the last couple of years so I “switchboard.com” checked for her husband John. There were a couple of addresses and one was not ‘live’. I left a message one morning and a younger John, his son, called me back later. John had died last September and Jeanie and I missed reading his obituary. Charlotte was still living in Summit Traces nursing home near Bexley, but only with very assisted care in being fed and dressed by attendants. I called her brother Walter, living in Lucasville. He said that Charlotte doesn’t recognize him on visits. Their sister, Agnes Chiccini (SP?), a widow for a few years, lives in California. Walt is a widower now for a couple of years and he and Agnes got together for a vacation in Australia and New Zealand last summer. Anyway, I visited Charlotte, 90 now, and she didn’t recognize me, although I mentioned our dad’s and mother’s by name, her service in WW II as a Navy Wave, and the Kegleys’ visits for Christmas trees and their pony, Beauty, we all loved. Her eyes opened; however, I had neither a sign that she saw me nor that she knew I was talking.

We, a blue collar family which so populated Portsmouth then, were nourished in a wonderful home. Portsmouth has since lost the steel mill, most of the railroad employment, and two great shoe factories. Goodyear Atomic came in and helped the local economy of Southeastern Ohio for a few years, but that too is now gone. Those blue collar jobs kept those houses in good repair and families fed all over that part of Ohio. Is there any wonder our P’Town lady is showing her age?

I just offered a prayer for Portsmouth and for those who are keeping the lady going, such as you and Paul from the Kegley family. So many of the rest of us have moved or passed away.

Sam