Week of 5.20.2007
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by Ron Cruger
The Cabin and Mr. Johnson
We wanted a different kind of vacation this year, so my beautiful bride
and I spent a week in a one bedroom log cabin nestled in
the lush,
overgrown hills high above the central California coastal town
of Cambria.
The cabin, built in 1921, is made
of trees felled and
hewn from the Cambria area. It sits, secluded in a jungle like
setting, grown lush thanks to the moist currents
blown up country by
the winds of the nearby Pacific Ocean. The cabin hides behind the
vegetation – trees, vines and flowering plants.
A narrow road winds
in front of the hidden cabin. A few steps down the road and one can
look down the mountainside and there, far
below, see the crashing
waves of the Pacific Ocean meet the picturesque, rocky shore of
central California.
The cabin
contains an ancient television set, not capable of receiving
programs. The set is there only to serve as a player for viewing
old
movies recorded on video cassette. No cop shows, no murders, no
rapes, no psychotic killers, no cooking shows. No television,
no
computers, no microwave – and thankfully, no cellular phone
service.
Stacked
under some yellowed magazines were three
old movies – “Chocolat,” “Out
of Africa” and “Babbette’s Feast.” What a treasure find. Three
intelligent, gentle, sensitive movies
that bring hope and charm into
our lives. We watched the three videos over three evenings and
after each one felt remarkably different
than we did after an evening
of watching standard television. The difference was palpable
– the comparison between eating a cheap
TV dinner and that of eating a
fine, gourmet meal. Sometimes, in the hustle and bustle of
our daily lives we overlook the richness
of what abides around us.
The combination
of quiet days and nights, clear, sweet air and restful days gave birth to new
thoughts. Clarity crept into our minds.
Three days of
quietness had passed. We decided to drive to Cambria and shop for
food. While
in the quaint village we noticed a coffee shop and decided
that a cup of coffee would go nicely as the sun began its day ending
descent.
The coffee shop bore no resemblance to a Starbuck’s. This one had been
in town for many years. It was the meeting place
for the old
timers. It seemed as though everyone knew everyone. Many of the
customers didn’t have to order a specific drink. After
all those years
the servers knew what they wanted. These were the regulars.
We ordered. “One
coffee, one decaf.”
We sat down next to an older man sitting alone. We exchanged
polite smiles.
As we waited for our order the older man
glanced across the
table, smiled sociably and said, “New in town?”
“Yes, we’re just here for the week
– vacation.”
He reached out to shake my hand, saying, “Johnson, Theo Johnson,
glad to meet both of you.”
“Nice to meet you,
Mr. Johnson.”
Our coffees came in two sturdy white cups.
“Please, call me Theo, everyone around
here does.”
“Okay, Theo, our pleasure.”
“Lived
here long, Theo?”
“Most of my life. Born in Minnesota, lived in
Illinois
for a few years, but this has been my home since ’59. Great place to
live. Gets a bit cold and windy at nights sometimes,
but other
than that it’s paradise here.”
“What kind of work did you do, Theo?”
“Me?
I was a journeyman cabinet
maker. Learned the trade from my dad.
Worked building fine cabinets in Illinois. Then came out here and
opened my own shop. Made
cabinets and did fine woodworking in some of
the nicest homes around here.”
“You still working, Theo?”
“Me?
No. Hell, I’m 92 years old. I stopped working
a long time ago. Oh, once in a while I get out my tools and build a
small cabinet and
go to the farmer’s market and make a few bucks,
but mostly I hang around my little house, spend time with my dog,
Charlie. I read
a lot and every day about this time I come down
and grab a cup of coffee here. Meet some old friends and sometimes
some new ones,
like you two.”
“Sounds like a good life, Theo.”
“May sound like it, but it ain’t. Too lonely.
My wife, Edith,
died 17 years ago. Ain’t got no kids. Was a time when
people used to think a lot of me. Thought I was the best cabinet
maker in the
world. Thought I was something. Now, I’m just an old man
with a limp and a cane that hangs out in the coffee shop. Anyone
who bought
a cabinet that I built knew that my two hands touched every
inch of that wood. I smoothed it and rubbed it ‘til it shined.
That cabinet
was part of me and I was part of it. I took a lot of
pride in everything I built. You ask anyone who’s seen my work.
They’ll tell
you what kind of a man Theo Johnson was.”
“You’re still quite
a guy, Theo. Seems like everyone here knows you.”
“Yeah, they know me as the
old man with the cane. Most of them didn’t know me when I was young.
When Edith was with me. We were quite
a couple. That Edith was
a wonderful woman. Smart and good looking. We were together for 52
years. I still miss her. Hard to face
each day without her with
me. I’m just hanging on. I know I don’t count much anymore. I used to
be somebody.”
Theo
reached towards the back of his chair and gripped his cane with
his left hand. With his right hand he leaned on the table top,
pushed
himself up from his chair. He stood still and stared out the
front window of the coffee shop for a moment. Then he held out
his hand
and said, “Nice to meet both of you. Hope you enjoy your
vacation. Take care of each other. Maybe I’ll see you again down
here.”
We drank our coffee and drove back to the little cabin in the hills
of Cambria.
We didn’t go for coffee again
during our stay, so we didn’t see
Theo Johnson again.
I hope Theo will be at the little coffee shop next time
we go
to the little cabin in the hills.
We left the cabin a week ago, but every
day since we seem to talk about Theo Johnson.
We want to return to the
little coffee shop and talk with him again. Theo is like all
of us – just wanting to be somebody.
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