The Luck of Knowing Dorsey B. Lewis

 

One of the greatest gifts that life gives you is knowing people.  Especially certain ones.  They most often come to you out of the clear blue yonder and impact your life in innumerable ways.  None of them are the same.  Many times, the special ones are like fireflies in the darkness.  They light up the world around them and when their light is gone, you know it because of the absence of that light they brought to the world.  Especially to your world.      

Some fade away but others up and die on you. The former is hard enough but the latter is the worst. You get a call one day and the voice on the other end tells you the news that no matter how you get it is never welcomed.  And then your mind starts to churn over all the memories that made someone else know that you would want to know if anything ever happened to that person.

For me, a man named Dorsey B. Lewis was just such a person.  He was a true character of the South if ever there was such a thing and he was a tried and true friend of mine. I don't know when my childhood mind started to remember events and people but whenever it started clicking, he was one of my first memories. I loved him.

His first name was Dorsey but I never could pronounce it as a small child so I called him "Bee".  It was an extension of his middle initial, B.  It was the best I could do but as I recall, every time I saw him and said, "Bee!" an old familiar smile would ease across his face like the sun coming up over Georgia farm fields. 

When I came to know Bee, for him, it must have been like an old dog having to put up with a hyperactive puppy running around under his feet and nipping at his heals.  Lucky for me that Bee was Bee so he not only put up with me but he took me in and showed me kindness and love.

Bee could operate anything powered by a diesel engine.  If it didn't crank, he could take a bottle of ether, a flathead screwdriver, a pocket knife and a variety of good, solid cuss words and bring to life the massive diesel engines.  I watched every single thing he did.  I'm a better diesel mechanic for having done so.  He taught me a lot about life.   

I spent ever so many days of my childhood standing in his shadow working under the hot Georgia sun or riding beside him in his pickup truck.  He knew things that no one else did.  He had a feel for the world around him.  Some of it came from a lifetime of experience in dealing with all things agricultural.  But the rest came from a sixth sense that can't be taught.  He knew if a cold front was coming the next day by looking at the color of the sunset on the day before it arrived.  He could pick out the crazy cow in every herd.  And there always is at least one cow in a herd that will run straight through a panel wire fence if they get exited or spooked.  Without ever looking at a rain gauge, he could tell you whether or not there was too much moisture in the ground to harrow cropland.  And I always wanted to plow that ground with him because he let me sit on the fender of the big International tractors while he drove and I observed.    

One of Bee's virtues was hard work.  He believed in it.  He thought it made a man a man and if anyone ever practiced what he preached, it was Bee.  We took off on a fishing trip one afternoon later in his life and we went through Harrison, Georgia on our way to the river.  As we passed a particular house, there were several folks sitting on the porch and Bee politely waved at them and they waved back.  After we passed, I asked him if he knew them and he said he did but that in his opinion as only Bee could say it, "and every one of em' need to get up off that damn porch and take their ass to work."  Bee's belief in work was an extension of his character and his love for his family.  He sacrificed himself so that his children could see a better day.  In the end, his greatest aspirations were realized.  I was recently reunified with two of his daughters and they have gone on to do great things.  Both are successful, strong women and you can see his resemblance in their faces.            

One of the striking things about Bee were the things he did but didn't have to do.  For starters, he certainly never had to like me.  The was plenty of racism in these parts around the time I was born.  There was plenty more when he was born.  If you look up "Ku Klux Klan" in a 1960's version of the World Book Encyclopedia, you will see the picture to the right.  This picture was taken in downtown Wrightsville, Georgia.  Bee lived right up the road from where this picture was taken when it was taken.  Yet, he let me ride in his lap and, at times, saved me from danger.  I particularly remember one time when I climbed over the top of a cattle chute with 800 pound heifers stacked up underneath that could crush you if they pinned you against a fence.  He saw me up there and said, "boy, you better get your ass down from there before you fall in."  I started my way down, slipped and fell in.  Soon as I did, a 2x4 slat immediately appeared before and aft of my position inserted through the side of the chute courtesy of Bee which walled the cows off from trampling me and he fished me out unharmed but covered with mud and cow manure.  And that's just one story of many.  But that's from my perspective.  From his perspective, he could have hated me because of my skin color.  He didn't.  Instead, he chose to be my friend.   

Why did Bee do what he did and why was he the man he was?  Only he knew for sure.  The answer in my opinion and in Bee's words is, "because he gave a damn."  He was an optimist.  He cared about his family and wanted better for them.  He cared about the world and his friends in it.  He had values, character and wisdom.  He had seen hard times yet he wanted no handouts.  Life had not been fair at times.  But still he believed in a better day even if he might not live to see it.


A picture of me and Bee taken on

December 15, 1995. 

Bee and I had a special sort of friendship.  As I had grown older, we became even closer and I tried to find time to spend with him because I valued it and never took that friendship for granted.  Every summer was fishing season for us and whenever I had some spare time, we took off to the river.  He was decades older than me but it never seemed that way.  When we hit the water, we were like two carefree boys and we had a ball even when the fish weren't biting.  We'd tell stories and laugh, while filling a cooler full of Ogeechee River Redbreasts.  I thought those times would last forever. Then, about seven years ago on a cold, random December day, I was working and I had several missed calls from my mother.  I called her back worried that something was wrong.  Something was wrong.  She said it the only way you can say it, "Dorsey B. died last night."  A tear rolled down my face.  More than one in fact.  I had planned on us doing quite a bit more fishing and spending time together.  But, he had slipped away without me being able to tell him goodbye and how much he meant to me although I hope and believe he knew.   



The time I had with Bee was a gift.  Will there be men like him in future generations?  I hope so.  I think our future depends on it.  I began this piece talking about fireflies but that wouldn't apply to Bee.  He was more like a spotlight.  He's gone now but his memory and his shadow remain.  And a very tall shadow it is which is surrounded by wonderful memories of a good man and a true friend.