This is the second of a two-part story. Each is complete within inself, yet compliment one another. My hope is that you'll share the insight and goodwill that Captain John inspires with all.
Those who knew him in this small, northern Illinois town doubted that Captain John had ever been a real captain of anything. But the huge, black man called himself that, and somehow the name seemed to fit.
He was new to my town. I'm sure if he'd been around long I'd have seen him. Besides, as he told me sometime later, he'd come from Chicago on the bus the same day I'd first met him.
I never saw him when he wasn't wearing a red-checkered shirt under dark blue, bib overalls and big, black, work boots for shoes. Those boots, that I kept shined, may have been his only pair. I'll always remember my surprise when I found out that his right boot covered a wooden leg. At least, the bottom part of his leg was wooden, sliced off in that train accident.
It had been two weeks since I'd first met him at Bill's Barber Shop. And in that short time Captain John had made a deep impression on me. Now I knew what the expression "bigger-than-life" meant. Captain John was that to me.
I remember Bill saying that he'd never known a black man that he'd liked so much. I may have wondered about what black had to do with it, I don't recall, but I was glad to hear that Bill thought highly of him. Captain John and I were becoming good friends, and I wanted everyone to like him.
My dad was wondering, though, why Captain John was interested in making friends with me, an eleven-year-old white boy.
"Captain John makes friends with everyone he meets," I told him during dinner one evening. "I know he'd like you, and I bet you'd like him, too."
My dad just looked at me and said, "Finish your dinner, Jack".
Going to the barber shop after school to shine shoes wasn't something I'd ever looked forward to. But when Captain John entered my life, I hurried from school, hoping to see him at Bill's either wedged into the shoe-shine chair or sitting down by the barber chairs, chit-chatting with Bill or a customer or both.
When I came into Bill's that day after school, there he sat, crammed into the shoe-shine chair. "Afternoon, Jack." He greeted me with the usual smile on his round, dark face.
"Hi! Captain John," I said, smiling back.
"I think it's time for a little touch-up on the boots."
I was glad to hear that. It was much easier to talk with him while he was sitting up there, close by. After about five minutes of friendly talk and shoe-polishing, my polishing rag slapped at his boots for the last time that day. I looked up at him and asked the question I'd been thinking about since last night. "How'd you like to come to dinner at my house and meet my dad and mom?"
He hesitated a moment, looking down at me with as serious a look as I had ever seen on his face. I could tell he was thinking hard, and I was afraid he might say no. Then his face softened and a slight smile played at the corners of his mouth. "I'd be happy to, Jack," he replied. "When would you like me to come?"
"That's great," I said happily. "I'll let you know when, tomorrow. Tomorrow's Saturday, you know. I'll be here all day.”
I didn't know it then, but I'd made a big mistake. It first occurred to me on my way home that afternoon. What if my parents said no to having Captain John over for dinner? What would I say to him? Well, that wouldn't happen anyway, I convinced myself. I'd invited my friends over often, and my parents had hardly ever said no. But I'd wash my hands extra clean, comb my hair, and help mom set the table tonight, without her asking just to help things along.
Dinner-time at my house was a time for sharing what went on during the day. It was almost the only time during the week that the three of us in my family got together. My dad always started off the talking after we all had our plates full of food. Usually I didn't care if they ever got around to asking about my day, but that evening I did. I had something important to ask, and I thought dad would never wind down. Finally! Mom asked me, "And how was your day, Jack?"
I looked at my dad. "School was good. I got a ‘B’ on the math test you helped me study for, dad."
"Great! I knew you could do it. Keep it up," my dad said, obviously pleased.
I glanced at mom. She smiled.
That was a good start, I thought. "Made fifty cents at Bill's. Ten cents from Captain John," I added.
I looked at them both. No smiles. But no frowns either.
"And, oh, I almost forgot", I lied, and then I just spit it all out. "I asked Captain John to dinner at our house. He said okay. When can he come?"
Mom and dad stared at each other.
Mom answered first. "You should have checked with us before asking him, Jack."
"But I don't check with you when I bring my other friends for dinner. Maybe I do ask you an hour or so before dinner most times, but you almost always say yes. Please say yes, I pleaded."
"Your mom's right, Jack." It was my dad's turn. If someone was going to say no, it would be dad. "We've never said anything to you about inviting your friends to dinner because those kids are your age. You go to school with them, and you've known them for a long time. This is different. That man is definitely not your age, and you surely don't know much about him. You really should have asked us before inviting him."
"But you'll never get to know him to find out what a nice man he is if you don't meet him." It surprised me when I said that. It sounded like a good argument.
My dad looked hard at me and said in a firm voice, "What I'm saying, son, is no! When your friend's been around awhile longer and I've met him, maybe down at the store, we can talk about it again."
I looked at mom, but she wasn't looking my way. I knew better than to say anything more about the invitation.
"Okay," I said. I'd lost my appetite and had to struggle to finish my dinner.
The next morning I got up early, before my parents did. I dressed, had a bowl of cereal, and left the house. That morning I didn't want to talk to my folks, I just wanted to be by myself and walk. Think about nothing. Just walk. The cool air smelled clean and fresh, and I headed for the town square a few blocks away.
I was about half a block from the square, almost in front of the grocery store where my dad worked, when I spotted it lying on the sidewalk. At first I thought it was an orange ball, but when I got closer, I realized it was an orange. Stooping over I picked it up.
I hadn't taken but three or four steps with the orange in hand when I saw the glass on the sidewalk in front of the door to the grocery store. The door stood part way open, but I couldn't find the courage to walk over and look inside. My heart pounded and I felt cold. I was sure it was a robbery, and the robber might still be in there. Not waiting to find out, I ran as fast my short legs would take me to the end of the block, across the square, and then one more block to the police station.
Luckily, Pete Jenkels was on duty. I knew him better than the other two town policemen, and I'd even shined his shoes, more than once. In between gasps for air, I told him about the break-in. He started searching in the phone directory before I'd finished talking. Dialing a number, he reached someone on the phone. He quickly spoke a few words and hung up. "Let's get goin'," he said looking at me. He locked the door behind us and moved rapidly toward the police car. I jumped in beside him, afraid he might change his mind if I didn't hurry. It was the first time I'd ever ridden in a police car, and I was thrilled. Just like in the movies, I thought.
I had to stay in the police car while Pete went into the store to check things out. No more than a minute later, a car drove up and the owner of the store, Mr. Lizter, climbed out and rushed into his store. Shortly, the two men came out talking to each other. Pete got into the police car up front and Mr. Lizter, my dad’s employer, climbed into the back.
I was anxious to learn what they'd found out. "Is anything missing?" I asked.
"Nothing we could see right off," Pete replied. Then, staring at my left hand he asked, "Ah, Jack, where'd you get the orange?"
I looked at my left hand. In all the excitement, I hadn't noticed that I was still clinging to the orange. "I found it on the sidewalk in front of the store before I noticed the broken window," I replied.
"Did you see anyone around the store, Jack?" asked Mr. Lizter.
I turned and looked at him. "No sir," I answered.
"Aren't you out rather early?" he continued questioning.
"Yes Sir. I woke up early and felt like going for a walk."
I was beginning to wonder if they thought maybe I had broken into the store when Pete said, "Thanks for reporting this to us right away, Jack. Why don't I take you home now?"
"Okay," I said, not really wanting to go home but glad for another ride in the police car.
Later the same day, at the barber shop, I had no lack of customers. Being busy that Saturday helped me keep my mind off thinking about what I'd say to Captain John about the invitation.
Holding tight to the ends of my shoe-shine cloth, I took a few quick finishing swipes to a pair of brown wingtips. The man sitting in the shoe-shine chair looked down at his shoes and smiled appreciatively. I got up from my stool, thanked him, and stuffed the dime in my pocket.
I turned and looked out the front window and there, not ten feet away, stood Captain John with his hand resting on a boy's shoulder. They were standing sideways to me, and Captain John was talking. I recognized the boy. He was in some of my classes at school, but he wasn't one of my friends.
Captain John turned his head and saw me staring out the window. Extending his right arm in my direction, he motioned with his hand for me to come out. I look down at my fingers, brown from shoe polish, and finding a rag, wiped the dirtiest ones off as best I could and went out to meet them.
“You know Donald, don't you, Jack?" Captain John said as I neared them.
"Sure," I said, hesitantly reaching to shake his hand with my not-too-clean right hand.
Donald shook my hand but didn't look up at me. I noticed a heavy-looking brown bag cradled in his left arm.
"Donald needs to go home now," Captain John said. "He has a pretty sick mom who could surely use some fresh-squeezed orange juice."
So that's what's in the bag, I thought.
"Thank you," Donald said, looking up at Captain John.
Captain John stared down at him with a hard look on his face. "You know how to thank me," he replied, placing a hand on Donald's shoulder again. "Don't forget our talk."
"I promise I won't," Donald said as he shuffled away.
Captain John looked down at me. "You got some time, Jack, so we can walk over to the square and chat a bit?"
"Sure. It's about lunch time and I don't see any shoe-shine customers." I called through the open door telling Bill I'd be gone awhile.
We walked slowly over to the town square. Slowly because it was the only speed Captain John's wooden leg would let him move. On the way he asked me if I'd do him a favor. He wanted me to try to become friends with Donald. "I know his being a black boy might get you some razzing from some of your friends, but Donald could use a friend like you. He really seems like a nice lad."
"Of course, I'll try," I answered. Captain John needed only to ask.
When we got to the square, which was really a large park in the center of town, we sat on a wooden bench in the shade. "There's something you need to know, Jack. Donald had a problem this morning. He broke into a store and took some oranges," Captain John confided in me.
I couldn't have been more surprised. "It was Donald who broke into Mr. Lizter's store?"
"Yes."
"Wow!" I shouted. "So that's how the orange got on the sidewalk in front of the store this morning. Donald must have dropped it in his hurry to get away from there."
"So you already knew about the break-in?"
"Yes," I replied. "I was the one who got the police."
Captain John went on talking about Donald. "It's a sad thing, Jack. The lad's father has gone somewhere. Donald and his very sick mother are living in a badly run-down house not far from where I'm staying. He said he was sure that if his mother had a lot of fresh orange juice to drink, it would help make her well. There was only one problem. They had very little money, and his mother wouldn't give him any to spend on oranges for her.
"Well, this morning he felt desperate enough to try stealing some. When he came home with the oranges, she knew he'd stolen them. I wish you could have heard her yelling at him. I think it woke up everyone around, and I finally got involved. Luckily, we were able to work things out with the police and Mr. Lizter."
Captain John smiled. "You know, that Mr. Lizter is a mighty nice man. The police had taken us down to his store, and after he heard Donald's story, he refused to press charges. We all agreed it would be best that Donald work at Mr. Lizter's store for as long as it takes to pay him back for the broken window and oranges. And before we left the store, Mr. Lizter gave Donald a large bag of oranges. He told him they were free, and he hoped they'd help Donald's mother get well. Nice man," Captain John repeated.
Then, my being away from home so early that morning suddenly occurred to him. "By the way, Jack. You must have been out walking pretty early?"
"Uh huh, I was." I thought this would be as good a time as any to tell Captain John that my parents had said no to his coming to dinner. I looked at the ground and kicked the dirt at a bare spot in the grass. "My parents think that I should wait awhile," I began, "before inviting you over. Just a little while, until I get to know you better and my dad gets a chance to meet you. I don't think it's fair, but--"
Captain John interrupted me, putting a hand on my arm. "I understand, Jack. Don't let it bother you a moment more." He reached into an overall pocket and removed the bulge I’d been noticing since we sat down. He offered the large navel orange to me, and I took it.
"Isn't it beautiful, Jack," he remarked. "Mr. Lizter gave it to me this morning. Roll it over in your hands and feel its perfection."
I did what he asked and looked back at him.
"You can peel it and eat it if you want," he said. "I expect it tastes as sweet and juicy as it looks."
Captain John watched as I made a face when I bit off a small, bitter-tasting piece of the skin and started to peel the fruit. He continued talking.
"You know, Jack, I've found that most people are a lot like that orange, if you give them a chance. Really, predictably good inside, just what we hoped for. But like you found when you took a bite out of that orange's skin, we sometimes get a bitter taste in our mouth when someone disappoints us. Learn to expect that nasty taste from people once in a while. But always remember what lies just beneath the skin."
By the way, while I was sitting here finishing the writing of this story, something caused me to look up at the bookends on my desk. When they're put together they appear to be a big, sweet, juicy orange sitting on a block of brown wood. Right now, they look like two half oranges and they're holding together some of my favorite books, like the one Captain John gave me with almost all the pages blank.
Donald gave me those bookends a long time ago. He and I eventually became good friends, and neither of us has forgotten Captain John and the oranges.
Eight e-books regarding Pathological Narcissism, relationships with abusive
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The e-book version of Sam Vaknin's "Malignant Self - Love - Narcissism Revisited". Contains the entire text: essays, frequently asked questions and
appendices regarding pathological narcissism and the Narcissistic Personality Disorder (NPD).
