Unexpected Angel

“So, what kind of work were you doing before this cross-country odyssey?” I asked, squirting ketchup on my fries as we settled into our burger lunch. I was cutting back on red meat but was excited about the Beyond Burger on the plate in front of me.

He paused, as if practiced. “Well, I was in prison for thirty-five years.”

I looked up at Douglas, a man we’d met just an hour ago, a good Samaritan who had offered his assistance (and his portable electric pump) when my husband Richard and I had driven over a screw that had firmly embedded itself in our car tire.

It’s hard to look nonchalant when you’re in shock. I nodded as slowly as possible despite the shot of adrenaline pumping through my body. Douglas doesn’t look or act like an ex-con. He’s too sweet. Not that I would know. I shoved down the image of my whole family murdered in our beds. “Ok,” I murmured, wondering what my husband Richard was thinking. Did he want to bolt? Refuse Douglas’ assistance? That would be awkward. Call the police?

Our companion interrupted my dark musings, hastily answering the looming question. “Armed robbery,” he said. “My co-perpetrator shot someone, and the guy died. So, I was sentenced as an accomplice.”

He looked relatively comfortable sharing this part of his biography, like this wasn’t his first rodeo. Clearly, he’d been in this situation often, meeting strangers and telling his story, prepared for all manner of reactions. After the initial jolt, and despite my growing curiosity I was determined that mine would be muted. At least, look neutral. The guy’s done his time. He deserves a fresh start, respect. Doesn’t he?

Richard and I had just spent a few lovely days at the Shakespeare Festival in Ashland, Oregon, and were on our way to Crater Lake when our dashboard display indicated dangerously low pressure in the right rear tire. We made it to the entrance of the national park and tried to repair it with some Fix-a-Flat sealant procured from the general store. I hovered nearby, shivering in the light rain, while Richard knelt on the wet pavement, swearing. Sundays are a tough day to get a tow truck, or a tire repaired. I noticed a clean (if not a little rumpled), tall, red-bearded man in his 60’s, on the sidewalk, waiting for his electric car to charge.

Our eyes met and he wandered over. “So much fun getting a flat tire in the middle of nowhere,” I said.

“I have an electric pump, you can use. It plugs into the cigarette lighter. It takes four hours to charge my Volt, so I’ve got plenty of time,” he said with a chuckle.

“Four hours? You must be very patient” I said - having, at that point, no concept of the depth of his patience.

We introduced ourselves. Douglas said he’d quit his job in January and was travelling the country. “It was supposed to be a six-week trip. That was nine months ago,” he laughed. An image of Frances McDormand in Nomadland popped into my consciousness. “Cool,” I said, thinking how different my life was from Douglas’s. I had no idea just how different.

After several unsuccessful attempts to refill the tire – the Fix-a-Flat goo clearly wouldn’t hold the seal - we decided to get some food and try again after lunch. We invited Douglas to join us. He graciously accepted. “It’s the least we can do,” I said.

Once I got over the initial shock over Douglas’ history and my pounding heart slowed from a gallop to a trot, a million questions arose.  Had he ever been in solitary? Was the food as awful as it looked in the movies? How did he fend off boredom? Did he go to school? Make any friends inside (is that even the term the prisoners use?) Did he consider himself rehabilitated, and if so, how would he know? How would I know?

“I was released in early 2020, right before the pandemic,” he said, between bites of French fry.  “I worked in food distribution and shipping, which is what I was doing inside (two questions answered! Just let him talk.) “I tried to get a job with Walmart. The manager wanted to hire me, but once the higher-ups found out I was an ex-con that wasn’t going to happen.”

Vainly attempting to sound casual, like this was a normal conversation I have every day, I made a banal remark about how hard it must be in the job market if you had a record. “I can’t imagine the obstacles you face,” I said, shaking my head.

“Yep.” Douglas paused, memory of the rejection clouding his gaze. “I was cobbling a life together but was aware of how much I’d missed. Almost all my adult life. So, I decided to leave Michigan and go see America.” His face lit up as he described a couple who “adopted” him and how they introduced him to his new passion - Renaissance Fairs. With a hint of pride, he described his costume, feathered hat and all and his work at the roasted turkey leg booth. I smiled, remembering twelve-year-old me delighting in my own first Ren Fair experience, how it became an early inspiration for my current obsession with all things Elizabethan.

Douglas had missed so much spending over half of his adult life incarcerated. The chance to form a deep relationship, have children, pursue a career, travel. Now he was playing catch-up. How heartbreaking. But was my sorrow over Douglas’ missed opportunities based on my own assumptions about how I thought someone in his situation should feel?  Douglas seemed fine, happy even, profoundly living in the present. “I can’t be bitter,” he told us. “What’s the point? I never would have met you two, or the other cool people on this road trip, if my life had taken a different path.”

I felt myself wondering if I was in the presence of a truly spiritual being. “You’re right,” I laughed.

“I had a lot of time to think in there,” he said. Stating the obvious, perhaps - but to me a bit of a revelation. Undoubtedly, life inside was hard. Douglas had laughed at our stunned expressions when he told us that he slept in his Volt. “I used to sleep on a thin mat on a concrete floor sometimes.” But Douglas’ optimism and sunny disposition, were rewriting the story I’d told myself of prisons being all about violence, gangs and complete deprivation. I was realizing that -with the right attitude - one can survive the most horrific circumstances.

We finished lunch and contemplated next steps. It became clear that a tow truck couldn’t arrive until the next day at the earliest.  Douglas suggested that we try to get Klamath Falls, the nearest city, 60 miles away. “I’ll follow you and you can use my pump in case the tire pressure drops, which it almost certainly will.” We offered to buy the pump from him instead, but he insisted on accompanying us.

“We’ll need to go slowly,” Richard said, ever cautious. “No more than 30 mph.”

“It’s all good,” said Douglas. “I’m not in a hurry.”

Douglas suggested that we exchange contact info, in case we got separated. My throat tightened with apprehension. Now he can find me. No, it’s ok, it’s just a phone number. I can trust him. He’s been so helpful, so caring – without any expectation of payback. With a long exhale, I let the anxiety go, relieved at this practical solution.

Three hours, four tire-pumping sessions, and plenty of pissed-off drivers later, we dropped the disabled car at a tire shop to be repaired the next day. After inviting Douglas to dinner, Richard and I checked into a Holiday Inn Express. We had discussed offering Douglas a room in the hotel, cash, or possibly both. Richard said he certainly needed the cash more.

We went to a hole-in-the-wall but surprisingly good Thai place within walking distance – Douglas’ first experience with Thai food. Richard and I each had a beer, but Douglas ordered a coke. “I don’t really drink,” he said.

Over pad thai and ginger chicken, Richard and I tentatively probed into Douglas’ past. He seemed happy - even eager – to share. We learned that he’d been in fifteen different prisons, all in Michigan. “They don’t like you to feel settled.” He’d earned two Associate degrees while incarcerated. “I would have finished my Bachelor’s but then Pell Grants were eliminated,” he said, shaking his head with regret.

Douglas said he spent a lot of time reading inside. He peppered his conversation with quotes by Nelson Mandela and Benjamin Franklin, some incredibly profound that I’d never heard before.

I asked about his favorite genres. “Fantasy and science fiction,” he said, “especially Bradbury, Heinlein and Tolkien.” He’d also read the classics.

“Like what?” I asked.

“Have you read Ulysses?” he asked. I had to admit I couldn’t get through it.

On the walk back to the hotel, after learning that I was a musical theater performer and teacher, Douglas proudly told us that his father had played Tevye in a community theater production of Fiddler on the Roof and that he had played a village boy. So, we aren’t all that different.

Douglas walked us back to the hotel, a few blocks from where he’d parked his Volt. I sensed his reluctance to part, but it was time to say goodbye. We again expressed our gratitude and handed him an envelope with $200 cash. “You’ve been a real lifesaver,” said Richard. “We can’t thank you enough.”

“It was my privilege,” said Douglas. “For years I was surrounded by hate. I want to give and get kindness with what’s left of my life.”

We hugged. I would miss Douglas. I’d never met anyone like him before and my bias – my vision of what a “typical” ex-con was like had been profoundly transformed. Despite his experience, or perhaps because of it - Douglas was centered, calm, generous. In another era, he might have been a philosopher. I would miss him. A curious, adventurous soul who aided two strangers with no expectation of repayment. I thought of Clarence in It’s a Wonderful Life, and Obi-Wan Kenobi. Angels, wisemen, and gurus can appear in all forms and shapes. Ours was a red-bearded ex-con with a tire pump.