A Lifetime in a Bag

Every morning, a gray-haired man enters my small café that’s nestled amongst the tall buildings in the business district of Portland, Oregon. There’s nothing real special about this gentleman except that he is never without his brown leather bag.

He is always well-kept wearing a brown suit and a bow tie. Today he had on a black trench coat and sported a black felt hat with a narrow brim that upturned in the back, for the weather was exceptionally cold today.

Hearing the bell over the door jingle, I looked up and watched my favorite patron enter my establishment and make his way towards the table that was centered in front of the big bay window.  After setting his large satchel down on a wooden chair, he then removed his hat and coat and hung it over the same chair.  The small statured man sat in another chair facing the window.  Carefully he pushed back the RESERVE sign to the back of the wooden table. 

“Morning, Joe. I see you’re dressed for the weather.” I sat his steaming cup of green tea in front of him.

Turning towards me, I could see that he was freshly shaven with a hint of Old Spice scent. “Good morning, Bethany. I see business is good.”

I smiled. It’s the same conversation we always start with. “So, Joe, who did you meet yesterday?” 

No matter how busy my restaurant may be, I always made time to visit with Joe. He never disappointed me with a tale to tell. 

Joe had a knack for meeting new people and drawing them in to hear a story that seemed to always be tailored for each person he was talking to. The bag he carried always got opened and an item was revealed as Joe drove home a climatic point in the anecdote he was sharing in hopes the recipient would comprehend the meaning of his message.

As I sat down next to him, Joe began to recall his previous day. 

“I came across a young man sitting on a park bench. He was hunched over and appeared to be distressed about something. So, I sat down next to him.” Joe blew on his drink creating a puff of steam that rose then dissipated.

Joe was never a fast talker, but always spoke each word with meaning making sure the listener was receiving the message.

“I remained there for some time with him until he sat up and turned towards me. He seemed surprised like I had just materialized right in front of him.” Chuckling to himself, he continued. “After asking him if he needed an ear to hear him out, he began to talk. Evidently, he had been interviewing for a position with some big law firms but had no luck in obtaining a job after ten months of job hunting.”

While Joe took a drink of his tea I interjected.   “Yes, that’s a hard thing to go through. What piece of advice did you have for him?”

Joe looked up at the window.  “Well, that poor kid looked so depressed that I couldn’t leave him in the state he was in.  So, I opened up my case and pulled out my resume that I used when I was in my twenties looking for a job here in Portland. The kid looked perplexed when I unfolded the piece of paper and handed it to him. After he looked at it for about a minute, he folded it up and handed it back to me.” 

I leaned in eager to hear the rest of Joe’s story.

“You see, when I came to Portland about sixty years ago, I was young full of hopes and dreams. But the world can be a cruel and self-centered place making it hard to survive. I told the kid to not give up, but to persevere, and maybe look into a smaller company to work at. He seemed to take in what I was saying so I continued to tell him to work on building his reputation that would speak volumes. Who knows, maybe he will be well sought after and instead of working for a large firm he might just start his own.”

Joe continued to watch the people outside hurriedly walking to their destination most likely trying to get to work on time. “We talked for hours, it seemed. We ate lunch together and talked some more. Afterwards, we parted.”

“Wow, you spent a lot of time with him. How was he when you guys parted?” I watched Joe leaned over and open his satchel. It seemed that his hand landed on the item he was wanting. He pulled out an envelope and handed it to me.

“He had a smile on his face and he seemed to have a better outlook on his circumstance with new energy to continue his quest for a job.”

I opened the envelope, pulled out the piece of paper and unfolded it. As I read this man’s resume, I was surprised to learn that he graduated from Harvard University. His work experience at age twenty-four only consisted of a job at a local store as a clerk. While growing up he worked on some local farms. There wasn’t much to his resume. At least not like what you see these days. Although, one paragraph did catch my attention. ‘I’m a hardworking, dependable, honest, and trustworthy person who will give it my all to do the job at the best of my ability.’

The paper looked old like it had been handled many times. “Is this really your first resume?”

Raising his gray bushy eyebrows and with a glint in his eyes he responded. “What, you don’t believe me? Of course it’s my original resume. I too at one time pounded the pavement looking for the job of a lifetime. After so many rejections I became depressed and began to lose hope. It wasn’t until I met an old man sitting on a bench who had some powerful words of encouragement and inspired me.  I finally did get that job.”

I handed back the resume now tucked in its envelope. “Do you think this kid will succeed?”

Smiling, Joe took another drink of his now cooled down tea. “Oh, I’m pretty sure he’ll be fine.”

Not really knowing what all transpired between the two except that the kid probably had a new viewpoint on his future to continue on his job hunt. “Well, I better get back to work so I can keep this business running.”

Joe patted my hand. “Bethany, you have yourself a really good day.”

“Thanks Joe, you too.”

And like how we start our visit each day, we ended it the same way.

For another five years, Joe never missed a day at my café and I was always there to hear one his stories and what he used out of his brown leather bag.

Then on a spring Saturday morning, Joe never showed up. Even some of the regular customers commented that Joe wasn’t at his table. I had no explanation when asked and instantly I wished I had gotten his full name and address. Now I had no way of checking to see if my friend was okay. All I could do was wait and hoped he would show up.

Days went by with no Joe.

Then at the end of the following week on a Friday morning, a well-dressed young man entered my establishment and walked over to the table with the RESERVE sign on it. He sat an old brown leather bag on the chair next to the table and then sat down in another chair facing the window. He then gently pushed the sign to the back of the table and stared out the window.

I recognized the bag and knew that this might be the last time I’d be hearing about Joe. I gathered two cups of hot green tea and placed one in front of the young man, then I sat down next to him with my own mug.

“I usually start this conversation with, morning Joe. But I can clearly see you’re not Joe”

The dark-haired man turned towards me. “No, I’m not Joe. But I think Joe would have answered you by saying, good morning, Bethany. I see business is good.”

I realized how much I missed those words. “So, where is Joe?”

The man drew himself up in the chair and clasped his hands together around the mug. “Miss Hollister, I’m afraid I have some sad news for you. Six days ago, Joe passed away in his sleep.”

My heart sunk. All week I had been hoping Joe was okay or was just in the hospital for some stupid illness. “I had a sinking feeling that something had happened to Joe. I do appreciate you telling me so that I don’t worry anymore, but why are you here and how did you know about me?”

“My name is Donavan Belmore. I’m Joe’s lawyer. Joe left me instructions on what to do upon the announcement of his passing.” The man reached into his suit pocket and pulled out an envelope and sat it on the table between us.  “This is his will.”

I was a bit confused and I’m sure my face showed it because the lawyer quickly continued his explanation.

“In the span of Joe’s eighty-six years he had accomplished many things. After owning one of the largest companies on the West Coast, at seventy-two years old, Joe made a drastic change in his life. He sold his company, his home and assets. He then started a foundation that has funded and assisted many causes and organizations. He wanted to help people who were struggling and give them a stepping stone to a better life. Many people have benefitted from Joe’s generosity.” 

Over the years I heard a lot about Joes life through his many stories but I never heard much about his own family. So, I was grateful that I would finally get to hear this part about Joe. “I’m curious, why are you giving me Joe’s will?”

The man smiled and continued his explanation. “As I mentioned, Joe accomplished a lot. But the only thing in his life that he could never seem to reconcile was the loss of his daughter and wife.”

I leaned in eager to hear more about my friend. “Did they die or something?”

“I apologize. No, what I meant was his wife had left him and took their only daughter without any information as to where they went. Joe searched for years with no success. He was beginning to lose all hope of ever finding his daughter until one day a detective came upon some information.”

I could tell that this lawyer was being thoughtful in the words he chose. But I wish he would hurry up and finish the story.  I prodded the man along to continue his tale. “Well, did he find her?” 

The lawyer then reached for the arm of the chair next to him and pulled it close in order to reach the brown leather satchel. The bag itself wasn’t small, it was more like a suitcase size. He pulled the bag apart after unclasping the lock. The young man reached inside and moved some items around until he pulled out a large envelope.

I was going to fall of my chair if I leaned forward anymore with the anticipation building within me.

After closing the bag, the man finally revealed more information. “Miss Hollister, as I said, Joe looked many years for his daughter. With the new information from the detective Joe did seek her out. I remember him telling me how nervous he was when he went to the location where his daughter worked. Joe was overwhelmed with emotion when her saw her.”

Between Joe and this man, they both were about the same with drawing out a story to a snail’s pace. “So, what happened?”

The lawyer took a drink of his tea then carefully place the cup on the table. “With appliances in the kitchen breaking down, the building having structural problems such as a leaking roof, and amidst the COVID epidemic, Joe watched his daughter struggle to keep her business from closing down. He didn’t feel like it was the right time to throw something else in her chaotic life. So, Joe decided to not reveal himself.”

Thoughts began to swirled in my head of how this could have been a beautiful reunion of a long-lost father and daughter relationship. I couldn’t contain myself. “Why would he do that?” 

The man took a deep breath and let it out slowly.  “Of all the advice Joe gave me, I wanted to return the favor and told him to not miss this golden opportunity with his daughter. But despite all of Joe’s strengths, this situation about his daughter paralyzed him with fear of losing her again.” 

I was feeling anxious for Joe and his daughter. “So, what happened?” I wanted to hear a happy ending for Joe.

“Joe did the next best thing that he could do to support his daughter. He bought the building, lowered the rent, installed new appliances, and fixed all the structural problems. COVID restrictions finally lifted and his daughter’s business began to thrive and become successful.”

Realization of where this conversation was going was beginning to set in. “Mr. Bellmore. Please get to the point.”

“Miss Hollister, your father is Joe Hollister.” The man paused, allowing the news to settle a bit before continuing. “He wrote a letter to you which is in this envelope.” He then handed me the letter. “Joe had no other family but you. You are his sole beneficiary”

I eyed the manila envelope as my vision started to blur. “Ever since I was a little girl, I always wondered about my father but my mother would never talk about him. Now you’re telling me that these past years I have been having daily morning conversations with my father?”

“Yes, that is correct.” Patiently the lawyer paused again. “Joe doesn’t have any belongings except for what is in this satchel. There is a foundation and he has a considerable amount of funds invested in various areas. I guess you can say his entire life is basically in this suitcase.”

I was feeling a little flushed and light headed so I took a drink of the now cold green tea. “I’m kind of speechless right now. I’m not really sure what to say or feel about all of this. But why didn’t he reveal himself to me.”

Pointing at the envelope in my hand the lawyer responded.  “The why’s are in his letter.”

All I could do was nod my head while he continued to talk.

“I want to take a moment and share with you how I met Joe. About five years ago, I was sitting on a park bench feeling pretty depressed. I had just failed another interview with a law firm. Joe showed up and sat down next to me. We must have spent most of the day together with him telling me his story and encouraging me to not give up.”

I sat up. “Hey, I remember this story. Joe told me that you were going to be alright.”

The man returned his gaze to me as if being pulled from another time. “Oh, I was alright for sure. Joe gave me a number to call and the next day I found myself in an office for an interview. Then I was offered a job. Joe had many connections.”

“Wow, small world.” I smiled, despite my melancholy mood.

Thoughtfully the young man continued. “In Joe’s way, he helped many people including me. I think it was his way of paying back to society. I know this is a lot to take in, but give yourself some time and know that your father cherished you. Rummage through his suitcase, you will learn a lot about him.”

With that, the lawyer stood up, placed his card on the table, and left the café.

Later that day, I looked at Joe’s table thinking about all the chats we had. It did bother me that he never revealed himself to me about being my father, but I think I’m okay with that. 

When I rummage through the satchel, I’ll be reminded of the various stories Joe shared.   This isn’t the method I would have chosen to get to know my long-lost father, but in Joes way, this was the best he could offer. Now that I’m the keeper of his life’s account all neatly organized in the bag; I have resigned myself to being content with this rare gift and thankful for the opportunity to be reacquainted with the father I craved and missed as a child and longed for in my adult years.