Banking on Kindness

One Man's Undercover Mission

This week, I'm going to tell you about a powerful man I met over a decade ago. I've not written about him because he's admonished me countless times – "I don't like to read about me … or talk about me. That's just the way that I am." So, I'll honor that by changing his name to Larry.

I first met him when he was a major player in banking and finance. He hired me to do some freelance writing for him. I initially thought I'd be writing about (yawn) banking,  But no. He wanted me to write about programs that helped people experiencing hard times – homeless folks and those in shelters around our county. I soon discovered that's where his heart lived, as he used his extraordinary business skills to do high-dollar banking deals from an executive office in California's capital city.

His own story started in the Dust Bowl era when his family packed up the car and made the journey west on Route 66 from drought-ridden Arkansas to Needles, California. There, they joined the flood of desperate migrants, hoping the state held salvation and the promise of a better future for their families. Larry was only a young boy, but he remembers nights spent sleeping in roadside ditches and late afternoons under the shade of highway billboards that admonished, "Oakies, Go Home."

Once over the high pass into southern California, Larry's family found work together as migrant farm labor, following crops up and down the state. Sleeping in tents, on the move with the crops in season, and, eventually, finding a one-room cabin in a makeshift migrant camp near Bakersfield. Like countless children of the Dust Bowl, Larry attended elementary school sporadically because work sent his family traveling up and down the Golden State. Even as a young child, he joined the adults in the field. Crops like cotton, grapes, and fruit trees sent migrants to distant parts of the state. Families spent nights in cars, tents, and irrigation ditches, anywhere deemed safe – no shelters were provided. Eventually, Larry's family settled in a small desert town near Bakersfield with a nearby school, some simple resources, and farmwork that didn't force them to pack up and hit the road for weeks and months on end.

It was a hand-to-mouth life. Material pleasures were few, but Larry's extended family brought a priceless tradition with them - their love of traditional country music, guitars, fiddles, and their voices. They sang songs that honored simple values – like family, faith, and the hope for a better tomorrow. After long, hard days in fields and furrows, his family joined neighbors to fill hot summer nights with songs and memories – sending tunes from the Great Plains out into the darkening sky.

When Larry was old enough to work on his own, Willah Stacy, owner of the General Store in Thornton, hired him to do a few odd jobs. At the same time, he was finally able to attend school on a regular basis. There, he met Don McCormick, a seventh-grade teacher who took a special interest in Larry's education He taught and mentored him. Instilled an awareness that school was a brass ring to success in California. Larry grabbed it and set his future in motion.

Once out of school, he got his first job in a local bank, thanks again to Willah Stacy. He started modestly with a broom and cleaning supplies. But, little by little, Larry was given more responsibility and opportunities to learn the baking trade.

He rose fast and high, drinking in education and opportunities provided by folks who believed in him. Each of them became a cherished memory as Larry learned, climbed, and proved himself worthy of their support. He never forgot where he came from and who gave him wings to fly.

Along with gratitude to folks who set him on his professional path, Larry also honored his family's tradition of playing music. It's been a background for his journey from migrant camps to high finance and into active retirement  – the old-time fiddle tunes and country songs of childhood. He's cut some records with friends and requires no prompting to pick up a guitar and play. A fine Martin even leaned against a wall in Larry's high-rise office. I felt honored to listen to a tune now and then – though country music was an anachronism in the high-rise environment. But Larry's pure Nashville voice (as good as any I've heard on recordings) was – and is – a pleasure to hear.

Larry retired from banking several years ago. But he'll never retire from his personal mission to honor folks where they are in life. Making his rounds along the river bank, he treats the down-and-out with the same dignity he affords to friends and associates. If the moment is right, he hands over some cash to help people make it through another day. He's tapped friends and neighbors who are happy to make donations to his personal outreach and adds his own cash. He doesn't talk about these treks. Likes to stay under the radar.

I consider myself lucky to have met Larry so many years ago. There are few people like him. From a historic era in American history when nothing was easy, most things were physical, and few people soared to the heights of opportunity, Larry's story is worth sharing, even though I may get fired for doing it. But I believe good people ought to be celebrated and recognized. Larry (again, not his real name) has been on my list for too long.

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Thanks for being with me and supporting my lifelong love affair with the written word. And special gratitude to the many readers who wrote such beautiful notes to me when I had to say goodbye to my best friend - Murphy. The little dog who made my world a better place.

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And if you have someone who enjoys a good mystery - consider my highly rated “The Song of Jackass Creek.” Based on character and place, lacking graphic violence - readers have logged great reviews - check them out!