Written By: Marc Kelley Many years ago we began searching for a home in downtown Billings, Montana. We chose the downtown area because I had always spoken of my desire to live on a tree-lined street. As Billings grew the City had planted deciduous trees along the boulevards of the neighborhood streets. Now after some fifty years, the massive trees lined the roadways creating a tunnel-like illusion as you drive through the neighborhoods. I had always loved this effect and vowed one day, I too would live in such a neighborhood. |
| Having found the perfect house, we set about the process of making an offer, getting a mortgage, and finally moving in. It was the perfect place, warm and welcoming, structurally sound, and situated on a deep lot which provided plenty of room for the dogs to run and play. The time was 1978, the war in VietNam was finally and officially over, and it seemed as if America would once again be settling into a time of prosperity. I would like to believe people were simply friendlier at this time, or maybe it was just the exuberance of our youth which drew out the neighbors to say hello and welcome us to the neighborhood. Whatever their motivation was, it seemed a day would seldom go by in which someone wouldn’t stop by with a plate of cookies or a pan of brownies, welcoming us to the neighborhood and telling stories about all of those who lived around us. We were the youngsters back then, not yet even twenty years old. We played with the dogs in the front yard, and they laid beside us as we sat on the porch and drank our coffee in the early morning sun. As people moved about we got to know them all, learn their stories, and truly become part of the neighborhood. |
| Mrs. Nelson lived just three doors down. She had lost her husband two winters ago and now lived alone with her cat Lucy. She was a kind and gentle soul, quick with a smile and a wave, and someone we looked after when winter settled in and she rarely left her home. Jerry lived directly across the street from us. He was a big man who owned a Heating and Cooling Company. As the seasons changed he was always quick to remind us to change the filter on our furnace and we took a great deal of comfort knowing if we had furnace gremlins, he would be the first call we would make…problem solved. |
| As we got to know Jerry it became clear, he was dealing with demons of his own and would, on a regular basis, attempt to drown them in glasses of Crown Royal. Many a morning I would open our door and see Jerry’s truck parked crosswise on his lawn and I would find him passed out in a chair on his porch. Jerry was never a mean drunk and he would never set out to hurt anyone, he drank for one reason…he drank so he did not have to feel the sting of life’s cruel nature. Sadly, my last words with Jerry were spoken in the Emergency Department at Billings Clinic, many years after we met. The alcohol had taken its toll and with it another gentle but very troubled soul. |
| Across the street and two doors down lived Myra and Myron. Empty nesters who rattled around in home three times larger than they needed and twice as big as they could care for. The two were card players by nature and were quick with an invitation for us to join them for a Saturday evening of pinochle or hearts. I truly believe they wanted us to join them, not because we were gifted card players; but rather, because they missed conversation with their own children and thought of us in a similar light. |
| Immediately to our east, lived a middle aged, single man. He too was a nurse by profession and much like Jerry, never found a substance he couldn’t abuse. I never cared much for him, always thought he was a bit of an asshole, and I never liked the way he treated his dog. So when he finally moved from the neighborhood, I shed no tears. |
| It would not take long for the house next door to once again be filled with occupants; and in this case, it would be a late 50’s couple named Mike and Laura Woods. The couple were to say the least, eccentric. Laura was an artist who mixed bright fabrics and metallic threads to produce tapestries in a unique style she called “culture scapes.” Without question her artwork was aesthetically pleasing however, the symbolism she described when she talked about her pieces was indeed a total mystery to me. Laura was married to a man who was as complicated an individual as I have ever met. The two seemed to be oddly paired and as different as day and night, yet somehow when they were together, they worked side by side to accomplish the things they each valued. |
 “Michael” is how Laura always referred to her husband. A tall, relatively thin man, with long hair and a full beard. God had given Michael many attributes including: the gifts of perspective, retrospection, and humor. A man who would quietly observe his surroundings, judging not aloud, but reserving his thoughts for the pages of his journal. If he wasn’t writing, he was reading, and only when he put pen to paper did the outside world get a glimpse into the mind of the man, I would for better than thirty years call… Woods. |
| Woods was a classic, old school, Woodstock inspired liberal. Diametrically opposite from the purple haired, angry liberals we know today who drink kombucha, eat kale rather than cheeseburgers, and willingly choose to smell of body odor as a means of signaling their self flagellation is the only way to save the world from climate change. No sir, when I tell you Woods was old school I mean he believed in his own principles, of fighting against the man and believing in the concept of, “you do you and I’ll do me.” Harboring and valuing such extremist ideas as freedom of association, protecting all life, and the most heinous of all ideology, knowing the government was not here to help us; but rather, to do what they do best…take something simple and complicate it. Woods was also a great thinker and a man of tremendous moral clarity. With his best friend Sam constantly at his side, the old man and the dog would head to the Clarks Fork of the Yellowstone for days on end. Woods and Sam, his loyal Golden retriever, had everything they needed…shelter from the weather, a fire in the hearth, food in their bellies, and most important of all the peace and quiet that comes from being comfortable in your own skin. |
| The old man had a quirky aspect about him and he would never fall short of entertaining me with his antics. He loved Halloween and each year he would dress-up in tattered old clothes and felt fedora, assuming a position of stealth behind the massive tree which grew between our houses. As the children passed by, Woods would step into the dim moonlight, never saying a word, just moaning in a low wretched tone. As the children would squeal and run up onto our porch, Woods would once again step back into the shadows chuckling to himself, as he awaited the arrival of the next group of young goblins. Woods also loved tobacco, in all of its forms, he smoked it in his pipe, hand rolled his own cigarettes, chewed Red Man, and dipped Copenhagen. Hell, on more than one occasion I heard him say “if tobacco was available in a suppository, he would use that form as well.” For all of the things he was or was not, Woods loved life and chose carefully with whom he shared his precious thoughts. Woods was a true intellectual and a voracious consumer of the written word. It mattered not where he was, several books could always be found inside the pocket of his worn and sun bleach overalls. Woods taught me a great many things in the thirty years of our friendship; but, none more important than the lesson of needing to live in the moment and making now the most important time of your life. |
| Like many of the most important people in my life, Woods taught by way of telling stories and positing ideas designed not to sway your opinion to his; but rather, to encourage critical thinking and an openness to perspectives from a fresh point of view. One of the greatest gifts Woods shared with me was when he introduced me to the collective works of T.S. Eliot, the 20th century poet and essayist, known for his commentary on social and cultural issues. It was easy to see why Woods was so captivated by Eliot’s writing. They shared much of the same ideology found in the concept of “live and let live”, even though their lives were separated by nearly one-hundred years. In their own ways, the two men came to grips with the notion, most of us occupy our lives by performing mundane tasks while giving little consideration to the idea, with each passing day the reality of death inches ever closer. Try as we may to hide our wrinkles with fancy clothes and cover our bald heads with the latest fashion, death will eventually win out in the end. Of all of the things he taught me, and of all of the ways in which I miss my friend, I am most thankful he took time to get to know me as an individual and helped me to embrace the notion, our lives are indeed measured out in afternoons and coffeespoons. |
