“THE MAN IN THE TRENCH COAT”

I Corinthians 13:13: “But the greatest of these is love!”

Have you ever seen a man in a trench coat with six legs? A nurse at a VA hospital did.

It all started as a young man. He was a carpenter at heart, but a laborer by trade. His job? Grinding brake linings in an auto parts manufacturing plant. Not exactly his passion, but it brought in the bread and fed the babies. While his hands were grinding asbestos lined parts, his mind was envisioning finely-crafted cabinets of cherry, oak, ash and maple. He was a hardwood connoisseur. Pine was for construction; hardwoods were for custom cabinets, his passion.

Years later he lived his dream: he built kitchens. Not just any kitchens, custom kitchens. Why, one kitchen was so nice a photo of it made it into a national magazine. He was good! Real good. Don’t check the archives, you won’t find him there. He wasn’t famous, just a man with a knack for wood and a fondness for fine furnishings.

For years he was just like you and me. Got up early, read the paper and his Bible. Dressed in those blue work pants and shirt that he bought at Sears, then filled his thermos full of black coffee and out the door he went. Until one day he got the flu. Nothing unusual, we all get the flu. He coughed, sometimes heavy and hurtful. But it was just the flu.

He kept working. That’s what people from his generation did. Sickness on a grand scale was never in his thinking. He tried hot tea, hot soup, expectorants and all the normal things that we fellow sufferers have downed in our times of influenza. One day it had gone on long enough. Time to see a doctor, this cold just wasn’t taking flight. “Breath in, breath out,” the doctor said. “Your lungs are a little congested. We’ll take an X-ray.” Within days a cough became cancer--asbestosis. Asbestos from grinding brake linings had found it’s way to his lungs, and now he had a fatal disease.

Not much changed for a while. The cough hung on and became gradually worse, yet many a kitchen was still touched by the hands of this master carpenter. Sadly, there was no cure. Eventually, this dread disease would slowly but surely take his life. The concluding scene was on the third floor of the Veteran’s Hospital. A ward, not a room.

It was in the final days that the man in the trench coat stopped to see the finest craftsman he had ever known. The clerk at the desk stopped him and said: “Where are you going?” “To the third floor to visit,” came the response. “No children!” came the curt reply. The visitor smiled, leaned over and whispered, “It’s their grandpa. He’s real sick. I mean real sick (he didn’t want to use the die word). What do ya’ think? Can we get ‘em in?”

“If you can get them there without anyone seeing them, have at it,” the clerk responded.

Their daddy looked down at the two pre-schoolers and said: “You guys each grab a leg. Every time I step, you step.” He then wrapped the coat around them and headed for the elevator. A man in a trench coat with six legs. They boarded what they hoped would be an express to the third floor. The little ones were giggling and fidgeting and making far too much noise, but they were all alone. It was O.K.. To the dismay of the father, at the second floor the elevator stopped, the door opened slowly, and in came the meanest looking nurse in all of nursedom. She looked at the twenty-something man (whose heart began to pound like a low-rider), gazed down at his legs and said, “Never seen a man with six legs before. Must be real hard keeping them all going in the same direction.” Then she smiled. “Where you going, sir?” she asked. “Third floor,” the nervous father responded. “That’s where I’m going,” came her response. Just then a girlish giggle came from under the coat. The nurse just smiled and asked, “Who you going to see?” “Ah, Ed, ah, Ed Lobley,” the father chortled. “I’ll take you right to him,” the now-not-so-mean looking nurse replied.

Off they went, past nurses stations and custodians, who were all snickering at the young father with six legs. Into the ward they shuffled. The over coat was opened and out popped a blonde boy and a brunette girl. “Hi Grandpa!” they giggled.

“How did you guys get in here?” He asked through gasps for air. “Children aren’t allowed on this floor.” They told him the whole story, and then said something that made his thin face flinch to hold back tears. “We snuck up under Dad’s coat because we love you, and we wanted to see you!”

A few days later, my father-in-law, one of the finest finish men the carpenter’s world has ever known succumbed to cancer. That six-legged journey was the last time my children got to be tickled and teased by Grandpa. All because they loved him.

What journey do you need to make to show your love? It might just be a trip down the hall to a child’s bedroom to kiss a sleeping cheek. Or maybe a stroll to the lady loading the dishwasher to share a hug and a thank you. It might cost you a plane ticket, a bus ticket, three hours in a car, or it may only necessitate a little sneak to the third floor.

By the way, if you see a man in a trench coat with six legs, don’t be concerned. It’s just some dad with his kid’s going to the third floor to visit Grandpa!