The day Bill Duval thought would be his greatest victory turned into the day of his greatest defeat.
For nearly 20 years, Bill had dutifully reported to his bank branch in downtown Jackson, Mississippi. And every morning his routine had been the same. He woke up at the same time. Ate the same food. He then drank the same coffee. He even shaved the same side of his face first. There had been the same morning commute at the same time. Bill was very happy with his same routine. He liked his same comfort zone. He prided himself as the bank’s most loyal employee. He hadn’t even taken a sick day in 15 years. He was the poster child of same.
He saw the memo on his desk. “Bill, come see me, Paul.”
Paul was Bill’s boss and friend. Bill’s heart skipped a beat. Could this be the promotion to Assistant Vice Bank Manager? No one else in the branch had worked harder and the position had been open since Joan left last month. Bill closed his eyes. This promotion would solve all his problems. His wife Ann would be happy again. His bills would finally get paid. They might even get to take that vacation after all.
He walked into Paul’s office. If he had been observant, he might have noticed something was wrong. The office was quiet as a tomb. Bill wasn’t walking into glory. He was walking into a trap.
If his ego wasn’t so focused on his promotion, he also would have noticed Paul wasn’t looking him in the eye. Bill sat down with a smile, “What’s up?”
Paul handed him an envelope. “I’m sorry. Corporate mandates these cuts. It’s nothing personal. Just business. Your separation package is in there.”
Bill’s world fell apart. He looked at his boss and said the only word he could, “Why?”
Paul looked out at the empty room and said, “It’s just business.”
From that moment, Bill quickly discovered who his true friends were. No one would look at him as he took his box and plant out of the branch office. His wife Ann left him a note that said, “I’m staying with my mother for a while to think this other.”
Depression covered Bill Duval like a cold, dark blanket and pinned him to his bed for a week. He didn’t eat. He didn’t shower. He didn’t even shave the same way.
Sunday: Jackson, Mississippi
Bill woke up and noon and decided to take a walk. He looked at the leaves and uncut grass in his yard and just coldly walked down the street. Maybe a car could hit him.
“Nah,” he thought. “I’m not a quitter.”
He heard a truck rumble up behind him. He stepped off the road but the truck came up on the sidewalk. Bill dove into the bushes and cursed the driver. Who he saw next shocked him.
“Why hello Bill. Thought you might need someone to talk to.”
It was the crazy old priest who had used to be at his church. Retired, he had taught his lessons using old rock and roll songs. He had also been with Bill when he had had his surgery. No one had brought him more peace.
“Hey Father Riley, how are you?”
“Better question, how are you?”
“Sh*tty.”
“You always talk to a man of God like that?” Father Riley smiled. Bill knew he was giving him a hard time.
“Sorry about that. Can’t think of a better word.”
“How about blessed?” Father Riley continued. “What are you doing for the next week?”
Bill looked at the old man with a glare, “What do you THINK I’m doing?”
“I’m taking a trip. Why don’t you ride along?”
Bill thought for a second. What else did he have to do?
It must have been a God moment, but he said, “Sure. Let me get some stuff together.”
Father Riley looked at him and said, “Just bring your tooth brush and a change of clothes. We’ll live off the land.”
And that’s when Bill Duval’s redemption began.
Monday — Northeast Mississippi.
The old truck pulled into the parking lot in Tupelo. In front of them was an old shotgun shack sitting by itself on a big lot. It was obvious it had been moved to a nicer location. A historical marker revealed where they were: “Elvis Presley’s Birthplace.”
Father Riley put the truck in park and the engine backfired. The sun’s rays were peeking over the trees.
“OK,” Bill questioned,”Why are we here?”
Father Riley just said, “C’mon.”
Bill was impressed at how simple the house was. He realized that one of music’s greatest icons had come from incredibly simple roots.
“Elvis came from nothing. He was dirt poor. But the boy had passion. He had a love for music that burned in his heart.”
Bill thought about the young Elvis. How he had changed modern music.
“Do you think this kid felt sorry for himself because things didn’t go his way? No. He worked his butt off. He “Took Care of Business in a Flash.”
Bill smiled thinking of Elvis’s TCB necklace.
Father Riley said, “It’s passion boy. Let Northeast Mississippi teach you that. You have to have passion.”
Tuesday: The Mississippi Delta.
Father Riley’s truck kicked up a huge cloud of dust as it drove through the cotton field. The crop-dusters had sprayed their magic potion, leaving the plants defoliated. All Bill could see was miles and miles of white.
“Why are we here?” Bill would be asking this question more and more as the week went on.
Father Riley stopped the truck and commanded Bill to get out. “Now,” he said unusually forcefully. Bill obeyed.
He stepped out into the Delta’s rich, dark soil.
“Smell the pain?”
Bill cocked his head slightly. “What?”
Father Riley ran his fingers through the dirt. “Smell the pain? The history of this land is one of great struggle and great victories.”
Bill still didn’t understand.
“B.B. King lived in a small building with no lights. All he had was an old guitar to comfort his pain.”
Bill started to see where this was going.
“Out of great pain came one of music’s greatest musicians. Look around at this field. This, son, is the birthplace of the blues. B.B. worked his fingers bloody, went to Memphis, set high standards for him and those who played for him. But never forget, out of the worst moments come the greatest gifts. B.B. would never have played that guitar if he had been comfortable.”
Bill looked at the old priest as the suns rays backlit him. He almost looked angelic. Almost.
Wednesday: Natchez, Mississippi
Both men sat on a bench in the part overlooking Natchez Under the Hill. The sun set slowly over Louisiana and the lights on the Hwy. 84 bridge flickered to life. Neither said a word. They just watched the water of the mighty Mississippi pass. A lone plane flew down the river, breaking the calm. And then stillness covered the land.
“You know all those problems you have?”
Bill watched the water and nodded.
“Pretty minuscule compared to this, aren’t they?”
Bill nodded again.
“This river will be around long after we are gone.”
Bill exhaled. He could feel the pressure leave his body.
Thursday: Near Hattiesburg, Mississippi
“Order the ribs,” Father Riley commanded Bill.
“Kind of bossy, aren’t you?” Bill said. They were sitting in Leitha’s Bar-be-Q Inn between Hattiesburg and Columbia.
“The old location was in Columbia, but the food is still amazing. Eat the ribs.”
“Why,” Bill asked.
“Because, you can’t understand heaven until you taste it.” Father Riley looked him in the eye. “Today you’ll learn to enjoy the moment. Eat the ribs. Savor each bite. All we have is the moment we are in.”
Bill promptly ordered the ribs.
Friday: Biloxi, Mississippi.
Father Riley parked the truck on the beach. Both got out and felt the breeze blown across their faces. The Mississippi Gulf Coast had one of the world’s longest man-made beaches and Bill walked across it toward the brown water of the Mississippi Sound.
Father Riley gestured at Bill, “Walk out in the water.”
“But…” Bill argued. He took his shoes and socks and waded out to waist deep.
Father Riley walked behind and grabbed the back of his head and shoved his head into the water.
“Dear Lord forgive this man’s sins. Allow him to find peace. I baptize him in your name Lord.”
Bill jumped up from the cool water and yelled, “I thought you just sprinkled!!!”
Both men laughed. Father Riley looked at his friend and said, “Mississippi has healed you. Now go start your life over.”
A low-flying gull buzzed Bill. As he looked at the Mississippi Gulf Coast, he knew if the people here could recover from Katrina, he could rebuild his life, too.
r went on to be a graphic artist at the Weather Channel). A dream germinated that day. I wanted to be a cartoonist just like him.
