You might have read previous blog posts about the remarkable acts of friendship that came my way the year my dad died. This one might seem like a strange choice: the welcome desk lady at City Hall. And through her, I learned some things about how my dad was a friend.
Have you ever tried to write an obituary?
It’s not easy. I knew my dad was nearing the end, and I wanted an obituary that honored him and also captured his joy and positive attitude. One fact to include was that he had been the mayor of Ardmore Oklahoma in the 1970s. My sister and I disagreed about what year it had been, and I figured that somebody at City Hall would be able to help me.
City Hall? Just look for the multi-color buffalo out front.
Once you get past the buffalo, you are greeted by a lady at the welcome desk, who directs you to where you need to go in City Hall:
I imagine she hears complaints over water bills and street repairs, and gives directions to the city jail across the street. I doubt many visitors are looking for mayoral records from the 70s, but she directed me to the City Manager’s office. The woman there was very helpful, and was immediately able to tell me that my father had been mayor in 1972. She led me back downstairs and wished me well.
I got more than I bargained for at City Hall.
“MA’AM!!!! MA’AM!!!!” — I heard yelled at me as I left City Hall — “You have to come back here!” It was the woman from the City Manager’s office, desperate to get my attention. I wondered what I could have forgotten.
When I got back in to City Hall, my summoner pointed to the welcome desk lady, and said, “She has something to tell you.”
I turned to the welcome desk lady, who said, “You told me your dad was mayor.” Me: “Yes ma’am, I did.” She: “You didn’t tell me who your dad is.” Me: “No ma’am, I didn’t.” She: “Is your dad Gene Hill?” Me: “Yes, he is.” She pointed her finger at me, like I was in trouble, and said, “I’ve got to tell you about your daddy.”
Oh geez. What could be coming? My dad was a business man, a car dealer. He was friendly and funny and loved a good joke, sometimes off-color. What was I about to hear?
A woman I had never laid eyes on spoke up.
Here’s what she told me:
“Your father was a great friend to the African-American community in this town.”
This was news to me. I had never been told this. She continued:
“In the 1970s, when nobody wanted to sell a car to a black man, or give him credit, we knew that we could go to Gene Hill and he would treat us right. He would find a way to get us a car, and we could get to our jobs and support our families. He treated us with respect and dignity. Gene Hill did right by us.
I don’t know about your side of the tracks (pointing to the west), but on my side of the tracks (pointing east, over the railroad tracks), your father has many friends and is much-loved.”
What a thing to be told, as I was writing my dad’s obituary, contemplating how to honor him. I teared up. The woman from the City Manager’s office teared up. And the welcome desk lady teared up. There we were, three strangers, all crying about a fine man.
A stranger but a friend.
I have since learned that this woman is Virginia Wrenn. She didn’t need to speak up and tell me about my dad. But she did. She knew that it was important for me to hear that. And I am forever grateful. Thank you, Virginia, for this act of friendship to me and my family.
Dad was a friend, too.
My focus when preparing for this post had been the kindness by Virginia. But I realized there are two lines of friendship in this story: Virginia’s to me, and my dad’s to his beloved hometown. I knew that Dad had always had a stable of friends he socialized with — buddies with whom he shared meals, played sports, and travelled. But I hadn’t appreciated the friends he had made by simply acting with integrity and giving people a fair shake, trusting in them when they needed a break.
For other posts about the measure of friendship, please see:
- The Measure of Friendship: Kalisa
- The Measure of Friendship: A Special Birthday Celebration
- The Measure of Friendship: Chris and Vicky and a Home-Cooked Meal
- The Measure of Friendship: Church Ladies (and they’re nothing like Dana Carvey)
