{"id":7611,"date":"2012-11-30T18:00:18","date_gmt":"2012-11-30T23:00:18","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/www.irawagler.com\/?p=7611"},"modified":"2012-12-01T10:58:54","modified_gmt":"2012-12-01T15:58:54","slug":"the-other-cheek","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.irawagler.com\/?p=7611","title":{"rendered":"The Other Cheek…"},"content":{"rendered":"

photo-2-small.JPG<\/a><\/p>\n

What things are these, what shells and curios of outworn
\ncustom, what relics here of old, forgotten time?<\/p>\n

—Thomas Wolfe
\n_______________<\/p>\n

It was such a small thing when it happened that I didn\u2019t think about it much at the time. No reason to, really. But later, I analyzed the incident a bit. And one thing led to another, in my head. And when that happens, you never know where you\u2019ll end up. <\/p>\n

I get those messages now and then. Through Facebook, or my email address, which is posted on this blog. Hey. What would it take, to get a signed copy of your book? Would you consider that, sending me one if I paid for it? And I always respond. Of course. I always have copies on hand. Send twenty bucks to my work address, and I\u2019ll get you a signed copy. Made out to you, or to anyone you say. <\/p>\n

And so it is that once in a while, every couple of weeks or so, I slip by the local post office in Christiana, and walk in with a few signed books to mail. I always take one of those nice little padded envelopes from the rack there, that they offer for sale. I slip the book in, and seal the little adhesive flap. Slap on the mailing sticker I prepared back at the office. And walla, it\u2019s ready. With book-rate postage, the whole thing costs four bucks and change. <\/p>\n

A few weeks back, I walked in one day with a couple of books to mail. The postmaster lady is used to seeing me. She always smiles in welcome. She got so curious about seeing me mail so many books that she asked about it a few months ago. Then she bought a copy for herself and read it. Claimed she really enjoyed it. So we have a nice little friendship. That day, though, she wasn\u2019t around. Some young guy, a part timer, waited on me. I did the usual. Grabbed two padded envelopes from the wall, stuck in my books, sealed them, and passed them over the counter to him. Book rate, I said. He jabbed at his computer screen, and printed out my postage stickers. Then gave me the total. Four bucks and change. For both books. Something was wrong. <\/p>\n

That\u2019s not enough, I said. He looked at me strangely. \u201cIt\u2019s the price of the postage,\u201d he answered. I almost turned and left. But then it hit me. The envelopes, I said. You forgot to charge me for those. \u201cOh, you got those here?\u201d he asked. Well, yes. I always do. He quickly scanned the envelopes, and I handed him the money. He thanked me for telling him. Not a problem, I said. <\/p>\n

And it wasn\u2019t a big deal at all, in my mind. That\u2019s just what you do, when a mistake like that comes at you. You make it right, that\u2019s what I was always taught. There is no agonizing, there are no questions about whether or not it\u2019s the right thing to do. It always is the right thing. <\/p>\n

But that wasn\u2019t what struck me, when I thought about it later. What struck me was, what if it\u2019s you on the other side of that equation? What if someone actually tries to rip you off? Comes at you with that intent from the get-go? What then? How do you handle that?<\/p>\n

And I thought back to years ago, of how it was when my father was running his metal sales business back home in Bloomfield. <\/p>\n

The summer before we moved there, Dad built a brand new dairy barn. Laid it out with all kinds of newfangled but untested ideas, almost all of which eventually proved entirely worthless. But that\u2019s a bunny trail. He had to order the metal roofing and siding for the barn from the only local supplier. Bloomfield Lumber. And they delivered a quality product. Sure, it took some time, because they had to order everything in. And their prices were right up there. <\/p>\n

After we moved and were settling in, Dad had other building projects. He wasn\u2019t particularly satisfied with the product, mostly the prices, of Bloomfield Lumber\u2019s offerings. He still bought from them, those first few years. But something stirred, in his mind. <\/p>\n

Why not find metal roofing and siding at a better price? And he made some calls, found a dealer in Missouri. A guy who would ship it in for a lot cheaper. And Dad put the word out, in the community. I got good metal prices. Order from me. I\u2019ll save you money. I don\u2019t think he mentioned the grade or quality of the metal. Metal roofing was metal roofing.<\/p>\n

It was never planned, this business. And that\u2019s the beauty of it. It just sprouted on its own, because Dad saw a need and provided for it. During those first few years, in the late 1970s, he got a load together every month or two. It was seconds metal, if I remember right. You couldn\u2019t order a specific color, necessarily, even. It was mostly white or off-white. But the price was so low, compared to Bloomfield Lumber\u2019s, that it didn\u2019t matter. It was metal, it would cover your buildings, and it was cheap. During those first few years, the loads were delivered from somewhere in southern Missouri on a battered old single axle white International flatbed truck. Russell Krause, the one-armed driver, usually arrived during the night and slept slumped in his truck. And he usually ate breakfast with us. The boys, my brothers and me, went out after breakfast and unloaded the metal sheets by hand. The whole load, stacks and stacks. Hundreds and hundreds of sheets. <\/p>\n

Russell Krause was a pure southern Missouri hillbilly, probably in his mid-50s or so, wizened and stooped and one-armed. He was the only person who was ever allowed to smoke inside our home, near as I can recall. And that\u2019s because he didn\u2019t ask, he just lit up. Filterless Camels. Mom always just smiled and gave him a Mason jar lid for an ashtray. He sat at the breakfast table, devouring Mom\u2019s delicious food, and told large tales of the things he had seen and done. And it always got a little uncomfortable for him after we finished eating. Because that\u2019s when Dad would take up his Bible and read a passage or two. And then we would all kneel for the morning prayer. Except Russell. He never knelt. Just leaned over, on his chair, like he was kneeling. It was a natural reaction for him, I guess, in an unfamiliar setting. Just bending over. But we saw it, that he didn\u2019t kneel. And we judged him for it. We figured he was probably not a Christian. Maybe even a wicked man, seeing that he smoked and all. <\/p>\n

It was all a bit of a ramshackle affair, but Dad\u2019s metal business grew steadily over the next few years. Actually, it was just plain primitive. The whole setup. We piled the metal in stacks on the south side of our new machinery shed. Outside, in the weather, which is a huge no-no. And during the summers, great weeds sprouted among the stacks, sometimes almost overwhelming them. We built a rack inside the shed, to hold a small selection of trim. <\/p>\n

When a customer arrived, we boys took care of him, most often. He would tell us what he wanted, and we\u2019d find the closest thing we had to that. We\u2019d hand load the metal, then write out a bill of sale on a little white and yellow pad. White to the customer. Yellow for the record. Those were heady days, when wads of cash flowed in and out of our pockets. Some small bits of it stayed there, now and then, as Dad\u2019s bookkeeping was also very primitive. He wouldn\u2019t miss a $20 bill now and then, we figured. We were right. He was so disorganized that he rarely caught on. But he sold a lot of product, because his prices were low, way lower than those at surrounding English lumber yards. And you couldn\u2019t beat his hours. Any time during daylight hours, six days a week. No Sunday sales. That was just assumed. And they came, locals from all around, and many non-locals from out of state, to buy at discount prices from Wagler Metals. <\/p>\n

Dad advertised, and his metal business grew and grew. By the time I left for good in the late 1980s, it was his main source of income. Long before that, he had switched suppliers. Russell Krause no longer came up from southern Missouri in his old rattletrap International. Instead, Graber Post Buildings<\/a> from Daviess County now delivered Dad\u2019s inventory by the tractor-trailer load. And about then, my brother Joseph bought a share of the business and took over the day to day operations. I\u2019m not sure of the exact timeline of some of these events, but it\u2019s not important. They built a brand new but somewhat ramshackle building halfway out the drive to keep their metal in. And people flocked in from miles around and bought. Wagler Metals was a flourishing business in Bloomfield. <\/p>\n

And 99.9% of those people who came and bought were honest customers who paid with honest money. Dad took cash and checks. The checks were almost always good. Once in a while, though, some hoodlum would pass off a bad check that bounced. Sometimes, that was not done on purpose. And when that happened, the customer made good. But from a few, those bad checks were planned. Those few refused to make good. They figured Dad was Amish, and he wouldn\u2019t do anything about it. For such a trivial thing, they sold out their good name. Which they had probably done long before, so it wasn\u2019t that big a deal to them anymore, I think. <\/p>\n

Dad\u2019s position on such matters was pretty much what the official Amish position has always been. You don\u2019t get the law involved. You don\u2019t sue, or hire a collection agency to go after your unpaid bills. In most places, I think that\u2019s still their position. And as far a I know, Dad never once got the law involved in any way, to fight for his rights. He didn\u2019t believe in calling the cops for any reason. And he never did. <\/p>\n

But in today\u2019s fast paced business world, I know that\u2019s really tough to do sometimes. Especially when a large sum is involved. It\u2019s tough, to just stand by and let a wrong go, when it might take down your business. <\/p>\n

But they never did go after the bad guys, neither Dad nor Joseph. And once, when I was home visiting for Christmas, Joseph told me the classic tale of how it all comes down, when one sets out to rip off an Amish business. <\/p>\n

It all happened one fine afternoon when a dilapidated old pickup rattled into the long drive of the old home farm out north of West Grove. A redneck coming to buy some metal roofing. Joseph told me his name, which I don\u2019t remember and wouldn\u2019t write here if I did. But the guy came from up north of Drakesville somewhere. <\/p>\n

He was loud and jolly, Joseph told me. And he needed a couple of different lengths of metal. For the sake of this tale, we\u2019ll say ten footers and twelve footers. So Joseph showed him what he had and the redneck bought a stack of each length. Twenty or thirty sheets of each. They loaded the metal on his now-sagging pickup, and the guy pulled out his checkbook. \u201cYou\u2019ll take a check, won\u2019t you?\u201d he asked. Joseph said he would. <\/p>\n

The guy paid and left. Disappeared over the steep hill to the north, heading back to Drakesville. Joseph returned to what he was doing. But then, about twenty minutes later, he looked out toward the road. And behold, the dilapidated old sagging pickup was staggering back into the drive. The redneck pulled up to the yard and braked. Stepped out, smiling sheepishly. <\/p>\n

\u201cYou know what, Joe?\u201d He said loudly. \u201cI just got to thinking. I\u2019m going to hold back on that one part of the roof, for now. I really don\u2019t need all these ten foot sheets I bought. Would it be too much trouble to unload them and put them back in stock?\u201d <\/p>\n

Joseph probably sensed something was wrong. But he couldn\u2019t put his finger on it. Sure, he\u2019d take the metal back. \u201cSure, we\u2019ll unload it,\u201d he said. \u201cI\u2019ll give your check back. You can just write me another.\u201d<\/p>\n

The man was a fine actor. Or maybe Joseph was just easily fooled. I don\u2019t know. We all want to believe in the best in people. And the Amish are especially susceptible to frauds, seems like. Because they trust people easily, in everyday life. It’s just how they were taught. The redneck made a great exaggerated expression of dismay. <\/p>\n

\u201cAh, man, Joe,\u201d he exclaimed regretfully. \u201cThat was my last check, the one I gave you. Any way you could just write a check back to me, for the difference?\u201d And so the trap was set. And Joseph, bless his heart, walked right on in. Completely unassuming. Sure. Sure, he\u2019d do that. And that\u2019s what happened. They unloaded the ten footers, all twenty or thirty of them. And Joseph handed the redneck a check for them. <\/p>\n

You don\u2019t have to think too hard to figure out what happened next. The redneck from up north of Drakesville, that man\u2019s check was bad. Worthless. Not only did he get all his twelve foot metal for free, he also got a good chunk of cash from Wagler Metals when he cashed Joseph\u2019s check. Which was exactly what he set out to do when he came for the twelve footers he actually needed. Which is exactly the kind of scheme he and generations of his thieving blood had pulled off countless times before, I\u2019m pretty sure. <\/p>\n

I gaped at Joseph as he finished his tale. Told with all the relish and detail and vocal inflections any respectable Wagler would come up with. What? Are you insane? I hollered. (We talk to each other like that, it\u2019s all good.) You still have the guy\u2019s check in your hand, and you won\u2019t go after him? All you have to do is give it to the cops. It\u2019s a crime, what he did. Here. Give it to me. I\u2019ll take it in to them right now. Come on. You can\u2019t just let him get away with outright theft like that. <\/p>\n

\u201cNope, nope,\u201d Joseph grinned nervously, as he tends to do. \u201cNo. That\u2019s not what we do. Yeah, a man stopped by the other day. He runs a collection business. He wanted all my bad checks. He\u2019d go collect the debts, take his percentage, and give me the rest. But I told him no.\u201d<\/p>\n

And I could only sputter in frustration at my brother. There it was, an easy solution. Give someone else the right to collect your debts, and you\u2019re not directly involved. But still, he wouldn\u2019t even do that. I would, I told him. That redneck needs to be stopped. He\u2019s just going to keep on doing it, until someone does stop him. It\u2019s justice. Do it. And my brother had a comeback even for that. <\/p>\n

\u201cNo, he\u2019s known now, in the community,\u201d he said. \u201cPeople know his name is bad, they know now who he is. That his word can\u2019t be trusted. Sure, it\u2019s hard. Of course it is. I want that money I\u2019m owed. But I won\u2019t go after it. A higher power will deal with that man. I don\u2019t need to concern myself about it, however much I want to.\u201d<\/p>\n

I stood there, still shaking my head in disbelief. And I still told him in no uncertain terms what I thought he should do. You bet I did. Go after the guy. Make him pay. It\u2019s the only sensible thing to do. Surely you can see that. But I\u2019ve thought about it now and then, in the years that have passed. Thought about my brother\u2019s obstinance. It didn\u2019t make a lot of sense to me. Still doesn\u2019t, not from where I am. But it doesn\u2019t have to. He knew where he stood. And that\u2019s all that matters, in the end. It was his business. Not mine. <\/p>\n

But still, I figure it is my business, to think about it. And I keep thinking, who made the best choices? The redneck from up north of Drakesville, a guy with a thieving heart, a guy who started out his day plotting to steal, in a way that would be known? And did just that, to get what he wanted. Because that’s how he lived. Or a guy like my brother Joseph, who somehow found the internal fortitude, the strength to actually follow through with what he claimed to believe? To let it go, even when someone did something bad like that to him. To turn the other cheek, even when it was hard to do. Even when it was especially hard to do, because of the way he’d been taken across. <\/p>\n

And I\u2019m thinking, who would you choose to be, if you had only those two choices? Sure, to outsiders looking in, there are plenty of other options. But that\u2019s beside the point. Because in this little tale, the details can\u2019t be changed. They are what they are. Two flawed people made conscious decisions to do what they did, all the way through the story. Who made the best choices? <\/p>\n

And I\u2019m thinking, it\u2019s pretty strange, looking back. How some of that stuff you walked away from makes a little more sense now than it used to. <\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

What things are these, what shells and curios of outworn custom, what relics here of old, forgotten time? —Thomas Wolfe _______________ It was such a small thing when it happened that I didn\u2019t think about it much at the time. No reason to, really. But later, I analyzed the incident a bit. And one thing […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[1],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-7611","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-news"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.irawagler.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/7611","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.irawagler.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.irawagler.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.irawagler.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.irawagler.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=7611"}],"version-history":[{"count":130,"href":"https:\/\/www.irawagler.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/7611\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":7742,"href":"https:\/\/www.irawagler.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/7611\/revisions\/7742"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.irawagler.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=7611"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.irawagler.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=7611"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.irawagler.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=7611"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}