Remembering Will

     The weather's been gray, cold, sullen and thoroughly wet for the last several weeks. That's usual weather in our part of Oklahoma for late February/early March. It's made me thankful I haven't had to walk through it back and forth from classes to my dorm. But it's made me wonder what Will is doing.

     Will was the resident Jehovah's Witness missionary at NSU. He was a friendly, soft-spoken, obese, middle-aged guy who had to retire early because of severe back pain after thirty years of working in publishing/printing in Colorado. He has a grown daughter in Denver and several grown sons in Georgia. His wife ran the quilting supplies shop downtown just past Felt's Shoes, where he occasionally helped out when his back allowed. The rest of his time - probably three days a week, on average - was spent manning the table of JW fliers halfway between Seminary Hall and the Fine Arts Building.
      Most of the time he was ignored, accepted as part of the scenery, except for the folks from CCF, who would aggressively attack his theology whenever they had a couple spare minutes. The BCM folks were kind of scared of him.
     I would stop and talk with him for five or ten minutes if I had time; if I didn't I'd always wave and he'd holler a wisecrack about my speedwalking setting the pavement on fire.
     We didn't talk about theology much. Sometimes we would ask each questions about various points about what the other believed, and then we'd try to answer those questions as best we could. I would occasionally take some of his literature to talk over it with him later, and he would occasionally read the online articles I mentioned. Since I was a MassComm major, and he'd worked in journalism, we would usually talk about those kinds of things. Local news, the merits of coffee, campus gossip, what we'd been reading lately, observations about people-watching. And sometimes we'd just sit and people-watch together, since a college campus is an excellent spot for doing that: one girl he always called Pirate Boots, because he didn't know her name and she wore boots that looked piratey nearly every day.
     If I was running down to Morgan's Bakery, I'd once in a while ask if he wanted me to get anything for him. If his health was especially good for a few days in a row, he'd usually go on a baking spree, and sometimes would bring the extra cookies for me that he and his wife didn't eat the night before.
     One day we were talking and he frowned in midsentence and gave me one of those curious, hard stares for a minute. "Y'know, Wes....you're different." I must have looked surprised, because he continued: "I know we don't believe the same things, but you don't try to ram it down my throat like those other people do. You just treat me like a person. I can't remember meeting a Christian who ever did that. Thank you."

     That's always stuck in my head ever since, and often replayed itself while working on homework late at night. I didn't think of it as anything special; it was just something that needed to be done, so I did it, just like guiding my blind classmate Russell back and forth from Dr. Fuller's psych class freshman year. Will was discouraged, everyone ignoring him like that. It doesn't take much to brighten somebody's day.
     Hope he's doing okay.