I remember well when my “career” in the grocery store business started. It was 1980 and I had arrived at the ripe old age of nine. I told my daddy I was bored and wanted something to do. He went to W and R (Rountree’s Grocery) and talked with Bill Rountree.
Daddy inquired about the prospect of the bag boy position. Mike Jones was employed at the time as the bag boy. It was agreed upon that I could start work, even though Mike was still there. Mike graduated from high school and joined the Marines. I became the bag boy of record.
My daddy had once held the same position at the grocery store which for all practical purposes was the hub of life itself in Midville. I will forever remain grateful to the Rountree family for giving me that job, that opportunity which helped to shape my life in so many ways. I also acknowledge the fact that as a young boy I was somewhat of a handful.
The Rountree’s were patient with me in spite of myself. Miss Grace Rountree taught me to sweep the floor just right. Wayne Rountree taught me to stock the shelves and take out the empty boxes. Bill Rountree taught me to cut meat, make fresh pork sausage along with many other things necessary in the store business.
As I thankfully continue to get older, my gratitude is ever-increasing to that family and all they did for me. It was the only store in town, and everybody came there for groceries. I was blessed to get to know so many people. Lifelong relationships were forged back in those days and carry forth even now.
W and R was known far and wide for the wonderful fresh pork sausage and steaks, Delmonicos to be exact. Grain-fed western beef which was as good as good you could find. On Saturday afternoons people would come from all over to buy a few steaks and all the fixings for a memorable Saturday night supper.
On one particular Saturday afternoon a man walked in wanting some steaks. He was a short fellow and whatever he lacked in physical stature he more than made up for in personality. He was a sport to say the least. He lived in a neighboring community and made the drive to Midville to get those renowned steaks.
Our friendship started right then and there. He was a quail hunter and owned several bird dogs. As soon as I knew that I inundated him with questions, and he gladly responded with answers for a young boy wanting to hear stories of bird hunting.
Throughout my life we would see each other and tell stories, lord knows he was full of stories. Work took him away for a while, but eventually he retired and came back to his beloved home of Vidette. We started to spend more time together and we talked about bird dogs, cooking, and whatever manner of nonsense he may have been sharing at the time.
He was undoubtedly full of nonsense, there’s a better word for it, but I’ll let your imagination take over from here. I went to his house often to eat and have a libation or two. I always left with my belly aching from eating and laughing. We always had the best time!
He came to the “suppers” that I had always offering free cooking advice and entertaining everybody present with his myriad of stories. In the last several years he started having a get together about once a month for dinner. I lovingly referred to it as “The Old Codger’s Club”. We ate everything from smoked mullet to fried doves. It was a wonderful time to be together and fellowship.
When I flew home from Texas after being in the hospital the plane landed in Augusta and another dear friend drove me back to Midville. As we were coming through Vidette I saw my old buddy in the yard. I asked my friend to turn around and we went back to visit. He was the first person I saw after a pretty lengthy hospital stay. I opened the door on the truck and my old friend reached in with his arms and gave me a hug - A warm hug. He told me he loved me. I was home….
Not long after that my old buddy shared with me that he had suffered a stroke at age 50. He told me what he had experienced and offered encouragement. He called often to check on me and sometimes he just called to tell me he loved me. He made me a walking stick, sanded it down and stained it along with adding a coat of polyurethane. I needed it and it proved to be invaluable to me.
I had our annual Christmas Party/Fish Fry in December. Of course, he was there full of his usual shenanigans. I shared the story of all that I had been through with my stroke along with a couple things that I had never shared prior. I then asked the blessing and thanked God for all that I had been given.
As soon as I finished speaking, he came straight to me and gave me a warm embrace. He looked me in the eyes and said, “Nobody else here might not have heard what you said, but I did”. I hugged him again. It was a very special moment for us both.
He was like that to me; he was always offering his love and support. My daddy died twelve years ago. As I was helping mama to the car to go to the funeral, I looked up and there he was, stopped in the middle of the road. He rolled down the window, looked at me and nodded. He was there to offer his love and support.
My friend departed this earth last week and I write these words to honor my lifelong friend. I have thanked God for his life and for all he meant to me. I love you Gilbert Peel!
