The story of old Sam.
When I was a small boy old Sam was in his late 70's. He came from a generation that did not complain, and instead just did. I only met him twice before he died. But he was a good man.
Now it was winter and old Sam was married to one of my Grandmothers cousins. Married their whole life as people in those days tended to be.
Sam was a woodworker. In his heyday he had specialized in building staircases in the most grand of houses. But now he was according to his wife--too old for that. So to keep up with Medical bills for his wife he worked in an old fashioned filling station, snoozing out front in a chair most of the time.
They lived in a house that he had built himself. In fact he had built 4 houses side by side and rented the other three out. His house was not the Taj Mahal, it was in fact rather small, but had the touches you would expect of a man who had spent his life building fine homes. Much finer than his own.
Now Sam was an easy going sort and the first time I met him he promised to show me his woodworking shop but never did. So the second time I was taken to his house I waited outside the shop, which was in his backyard, for him to come home.
After what seemed forever in the cold snow, there he was, walking down the old alley towards the shop dressed in workman's clothing of the era. As soon as I saw him I reminded him about showing me the wood shop, but he said no, go back in the house. Which being a decent youngster I did as I was told, but about halfway there I turned around and decided to go back and plead my case again in hopes he would change his mind.
As I rounded the corner of the shop I could see the rear door was open, so I walked in. There sat old Sam in an old fashioned wooden chair drinking from a half pint of bottle of whiskey and sadly crying. All I said was Hello, not ever having seen an adult cry before.
Sam immediately lit up with enthusiasm, and said "don't tell my wife I've been drinking--she doesn't know." I agreed and asked him why he was crying. He replied "my wife is sick and is going to die, I can pay the bills for the doctor but there is nothing he can do". I replied as any child would, "will you please show me your woodshop"? Which brought a smile to his face.
He pulled out an old pocket watch, looked at it, and said sure.
As he explained the milling, sanding, and turning equipment my eyes fell to the collection of hand planes which he said were for shooting mouldings, and he admonished me (a small boy) to not touch them.
He showed me a stall where once he had kept a horse in there, and the old pot belly stove. I asked him why he chose to work at the filling station now instead of building staircases. He simply replied "son, people are not building houses like that anymore. No one will pay for it. Times change." With that he admonished me to run along , and get back into the house. He'd be in directly as soon as he finished the whiskey, and don't tell his wife about the whiskey because that's mans business.
As soon as I came inside I said Sam will be in shortly. To which his wife replied, "he stands out there behind that shop everyday drinking before he comes in--I'll never understand why".
Even as a child I understood why, and when Sam came in he said I had cheered his Christmas up by getting him back into the shop he hadn't been inside for years, and he handed me a Silver Dollar as a Christmas present.
Just after New Years I was told old Sam had passed away unexpectedly, and then right after that Mrs. Sam had passed away from her ailment.
When spring came that year I went back to old Sam's house and found a grouchy mean mustachioed man living there. I asked him if he owned the other three houses too, all he said was go home I have no time for children. Times change, tastes change but people remain the same. Everyone is different.
So Merry Christmas to old Sam looking down on all of us from above, in our nice modern shops. And Merry Christmas to all!