“The Young Man and Sinbad”
It’s a beautiful sunny afternoon traveling north on US 287 on the high plains of the lower Texas Panhandle. The thermometer on the rear view mirror says it is 48 degrees outside. We have just passed over the Red River, so I guess that makes us officially in the Panhandle.
On this January day of this brand new year, 2010, there isn’t a cloud in the sky. Before I left Houston this morning just after five o’clock, the TV weather news said the weather in the Panhandle would be exceptionally cold and bad later today. My wife, Corinne, was really worried about me going on this trip.
For months now I have been preparing for this trip. Last spring at the Lubbock Art Festival, I was invited to have an exhibit of my paintings and drawings at the Carson County Square Museum in Panhandle, Texas, by Viola Moore, the museum's director. This amazing and extensive museum features Texas history and the ranching and farming culture of the settlers of the Panhandle area.
My Tahoe is completely loaded with 80 paintings and drawings and 55 of my stories mounted on boards. We are pulling a trailer that has the display panels to hang the artwork where there isn’t a wall in the gallery.
Going through Dallas, Texas, I picked up our daughter, Karen Duban, to go with me to help set up the exhibit. She is taking a nap in the car now as we cruise along through the countryside. Not far back down the road, we went through the little town of Quanah, named after the famous Comanche Chief, Quanah Parker. Those of you who have read my stories are familiar with who he was.
I look over to see if Karen is awake yet, and I notice through the passenger window a thin blue line way off up to the north on the horizon. Up here on the high plains of Texas the land is very flat. I can see the horizon in every direction without any obstruction, except for a few trees. The farther north we go the more the trees begin to thin out and soon there won’t be any trees to obstruct our view.
That thin blue line on the north horizon is rapidly getting thicker and a darker blue. Being born and raised in Texas, I know that it is the coming cold front. In Texas, such a storm is called “A Blue Norther.” I wake up Karen to show her the coming storm. We watch it racing toward us and wonder about our fate.
Soon it goes over us: the sun disappears, the temperature starts dropping and the wind is rocking the Tahoe and trailer. By the time we get to the outskirts of Amarillo, the drizzle is freezing so bad on the windshield that the defroster can’t keep up: we can’t see through the windshield and it is now dark. There are big eighteen wheeler trucks everywhere. We get a room in the first available motel and are relieved to be safe and in a warm room while the wind howled outside.
The next morning, as we headed to Panhandle, Texas, where the Square House museum is located, I noticed the temperature was now 5 degrees. At the museum, a nice looking young man was assigned to help us unload and to help hang the paintings, drawings and stories. It took us three full days of hard work to set up the exhibit, with the exquisite advice and artistic help of Mrs. Moore and her assistants.
The young man who assisted us was hard working, very polite and rarely said a word. With time, I would learn that fate had recently dealt him two simultaneous spirit-crushing blows. Out of respect for him, I will not discuss those events in this story. However he has been on my mind ever since I met him.
On Sunday, January 10, 2010, at 2:30 PM the exhibit opened with a reception. A lot of people came and I got a lot of compliments and kudos. The Amarillo TV station, KVII, sent a cameraman to interview me for their evening news programs. It was a big milestone in my on-again-off-again art career. The exhibit will be up until March 31, 2010.
At 4:30 PM after the reception was over, Karen and I, full of excitement and the adrenaline flowing, got into the now empty Tahoe and trailer and headed for her home near Dallas.
Ever since getting into my Tahoe that day to leave, the young man has been on my mind. I have wondered what can I possibility do and/or what can I say to help him. All of my thoughts of what to do seemed shallow or inappropriate. I have lived a long life and I also have had to face adversity from time to time when all seemed to have been lost.
There is a poem written by an Englishman about one hundred years ago that has helped me in times of crises in my life. Yesterday, I copied that poem in calligraphy for him on one of my note cards. The note card I selected was of a pen and ink drawing of Sinbad, a male tiger that lives at PrideRock Wildlife Refuge. I selected Sinbad, because fate has also dealt him some severe blows and yet he is managing his life with great dignity.
The poem I sent to him is as follow:
Invictus
William Ernest Henley
1849 - 1902
Out of the night that covers me,
Black as the Pit from pole to pole,
I thank whatever gods may be
For my unconquerable soul.
In the fell clutch of circumstance
I have not winced nor cried aloud.
Under the bludgeonings of chance
My head is bloody, but unbowed.
Beyond this place of wrath and tears
Looms but the Horror of the shade.
And yet the menace of the years
Finds, and shall find, me unafraid.
It matters not how strait the gate,
How charged the punishments the scroll.
I am the master of my fate:
I am the captain of my soul.
Cheers,
Acree
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