The Answer

By Ron Soldano, Stone Harbor. Those wishing to comment on this story, may call Soldano at 609-961-0268, or email him at Ronald.Soldano@LongandFoster.com.
The year, 1969. I was 16 years old, a high school junior at St. Joseph’s Regional High School in Montvale. “Mr. Bo Jangles” was playing on the radio as was The Friends of Distinction.
My part-time job, which turned full-time in the summer, was a grille man at Huck Finn Restaurant in Hackensack. I worked there sophomore through senior years in high school. Bill Karas was the owner and my boss; the best I ever had, bar none.
There was Frankie Fondo, Kathy, Judy, Dean, Mensur and his brother Izri, Nick; a host of others and this fellow, Mr. Greene. Mr. Greene was an elderly black gentleman of slight build who was employed to clean the parking lot in the mornings of the variety of soda cups and other restaurant debris from the previous nights.
We were a big extended family back then. We each knew each other’s families and friends, all except Mr. Greene’s. That was a mystery to us. One of my duties, as instructed by Bill, was to cook Mr. Greene’s lunch for him, which I did every day I was there. Sometimes Mr. Greene would ask me for extra food, which I readily gave him. He would carefully wrap his lunch and then take his parcel home with him out the back door as he said to me, “Ronnie, you’re a good boy.”
He had a way about him. He would shuffle his feet, much the way Mr. Bo Jangles did. Sometimes Mr. Greene would laugh so hard he would slap his thighs and have to stretch out his arm against a wall to steady himself to keep from falling over. We would laugh with him, never at him. He was our elder and we respected him.
We did notice there was something, well, different about him. He had a drinking problem. One morning as we were all readying our respective work areas, Bill came out of his office and asked if anyone had seen Mr. Greene. The parking lot was a mess prior to opening and Mr. Greene was nowhere to be found. “No” we all answered in unison. I then overheard Bill instruct Paul, the manager, to go out and look for Mr. Greene. Perhaps he had fallen, was Bill’s thought, and needed assistance.
Bill was that kind of person. He cared for the people in his business and personal life.
Mr. Greene eventually showed back to work several days later and prepared lunches went on.
All this time, I kept wondering about him. I certainly had a nice life in Montvale, , in a very nice home with heat and air conditioning. Where did he live? I thought. Where was he from? What was his past? Were there children, siblings, a wife? Certainly he must have a family. Everyone has family, don’t they? Who were they, I mentally questioned? Did he even have a future; future plans?
Remember, I was 16 years old at this time.
Although curious, I never asked.
One day Bill, came to me and mentioned Mr. Greene was in the hospital. Bill and a group of us loaded into two cars and went to visit him after work one particular Saturday. Mr. Greene, lying in his hospital bed, had tubes coming out of his body and was understandably somber. He was so appreciative we were there, it made his entire day. Where was his joviality? I thought to myself. Apparently, he was much sicker than I thought.
Work continued and my questions about Mr. Greene stayed with me. Questions that literally haunted me, especially when my shift was over and I was heading home to a nice family and comfortable surroundings.
*****
Time went on, burgers and steaks were cooked, customers served, until one bitterly cold December day this routine was broken as Bill came to me and said, “I have some bad news for you, Ron. Mr. Greene passed away.”
I was shocked at the news.
Bill mentioned he would be going to his wake that afternoon and asked me if I wanted to go with him. “Yes” was my answer without hesitation.
Three o’clock came, Bill approached me and said, “The lunch rush is over, Ron, take off your cook’s apron, grab your coat and let’s go pay our last respects to Mr. Greene.” Interesting in that Bill Karas did not ask anyone else to go with him; just me.
As we exited the kitchen door I couldn’t believe how frigid the outside temperature was. A strong northwest wind blew hard; the kind no matter how many layers of clothing worn, warmth could not be had. Boot-print laden ice lined the sidewalks as no one had shoveled the previous snowfall.
As we carefully walked to the funeral home, I rehearsed in my mind what I would say to his family I would meet there. “My name is Ron, you don’t know me but I cooked Mr. Greene’s lunch for him every day. I am sorry for your loss. He was a nice man”
“I am Ron, I worked with Mr. Greene. We enjoyed his sense of humor and personality; he will be missed.” Yes, these are some of the things I would say upon meeting his family. I replayed these over and over in my mind as anticipation of meeting Mr. Greene’s family increased.
I remember looking south as we passed the old sandstone Revolutionary War Church. The sun was already low on the horizon.
Gosh it was so cold!
I wish it wasn’t so darn cold, I thought.
“Here we are” was all Bill said, as we stopped, turned and climbed a small concrete staircase to the front door of the funeral parlor. We entered, made a left down a narrow hall and then a quick right into the viewing room.
There is Mr. Greene, I thought, as we quickly approached his casket. I thought he looked nice; I had never seen him in a suit before. He was all dressed up to go away.
We stood there for a few moments when I turned to my left to approach his family to express my condolences. I stopped before taking a step.
You see, as I looked over the three rows of chairs neatly placed to receive Mr. Greene’s friends and family, I had my answer.
His past shall remain a mystery. He had no future, only the present and for whatever reason or reasons, Bill Karas and I were part of it. There are no coincidences in life, you know. People are brought together for reasons not fully or easily understood.
It was then I knew, with the exception of Bill and I, NO ONE was there to pay their final respects to Mr. Greene. NO ONE. The chairs were empty. We were all the family Mr. Greene had. I turned back toward his casket not quite sure how to process the multiple emotions I was experiencing. The silence was deafening as we both stood there for what seemed to be an eternity. It was finally broken by Bill as I heard him softly whisper, “Good bye, Mr. Greene.”
I always had a tremendous amount of respect for Bill Karas and truly liked him as a boss. At that moment my respect for him rose through the stratosphere.
It is said, there is a book of revelations in everyone’s Iife; books filled with answers to life’s questions yet to be asked. These books come to us at the most unexpected times. Mine was delivered to me very early on in my life that frigid day at age 16. It didn’t, though, come in a fancy box with a ribbon and nice card attached. They never do. My book was in a deep brown leather binding, and had my name embossed on the front cover, in gold.
I found it that December day in 1969 in Mr. Greene’s viewing room sitting on the table, right next to the receiving book no one signed.
We turned and exited the room and then the funeral home. The wind picked up. Gosh, I couldn’t believe how cold it was! I pulled my collar up high with the hopes of shielding my skin from the cold. It didn’t help. Nothing could help. We carefully made our way back to the restaurant.
Not one word was uttered by either of us the entire walk back. Gosh was it cold!
By now it was about 4:30 in the afternoon. I looked southwest as we past the old sand stone church. The branches of the witness trees that adorned the cemetery adjacent to it were now silhouetted against the sky as the sun vanished. Their long, crooked, limbs reached out as if in a desperate cry for help.
There was none, there was no light; no warmth.
Bill and I didn’t speak about Mr. Greene on the way back to Huck Finn. In fact, we never mentioned him again, ever.
What was left to be said, I thought, to be done? Besides, Bill had a restaurant to run and I had my job to do. We both knew what each of us felt.
I experienced it through the mind of a 16-year-old and he through an adult mind.
Looking back now, Bill probably purchased Mr. Greene’s suit for him so he could have a proper burial.
Knowing Bill, it is conceivable he paid for Mr. Greene’s entire funeral. That was the kind of boss Bill Karas was; that was the kind of person he was.
Still, all and all, when the northwest wind blows strong on any given, deep December day, as the sun disappears on the horizon late afternoon, I look south though barren trees and am brought right back to that wickedly cold day in 1969, when I received my answer.
The day Bill Karas came to me and said, “I have some bad news for you, Ron….”