Angel Unawares?

“Be not forgetful to entertain strangers: for thereby some have entertained angels unawares.”

-Hebrews 13:2 (King James Bible)

When I was 16, my Friday nights were usually always the same. My buddy, Woody Rawlings, would stop by and pick me up in his beat up Ford pickup truck and we’d head for Logansville, the nearest “big town” and we would go and “cruise Willie”(Wilmington Avenue).

Woody and me had been pals since 5th grade when he had moved to Kentucky from Detroit. Woody was a tall, skinny guy whose voiced had never changed when he hit puberty. He still had a high, squeaky voice. The fact that he insisted on wearing his hair in a crew cut in the 1980’s didn’t exactly make him one of the “cool kids”, but then again, I didn’t fit in with that crowd either.

Woody and I had some things in common to build a friendship on. We both were diehard fans of the Kentucky Wildcats, professional wrestling, and country music. We both went to the same church, Zion Baptist, a small independent Baptist congregation. We both liked girls, but neither of us had any idea how to get a girlfriend. Yeah, Woody and me had a lot in common.

One of Woody’s quirks had to do with church. Our church would have revival meetings four times each year. At each revival, ol’ Woody would walk the aisle and “rededicate his life”. After these rededications, Woody would be impossible to deal with for a few weeks. He would quote Scripture and talk like a preacher until the rededication wore off.

It was two weeks after the May revival. School was out, and we had made plans to cruise Willie. Woody had wanted to pass out Gospel tracts on Wilmington Avenue instead, but I had talked him out of it somehow. I loved Jesus as much as he did, but I was a 16-year-old kid, after all!

We were driving down Logansville Pike, the road that led from our community to town. We must have spotted the man at the same time. The man was a short, pudgy guy who looked like he was living a rough life. He wore Army fatigues, with the sleeves cut out of the shirt. I could see a hammer and sickle tattooed on his left forearm. There was a battered Texas Rangers ball cap with long, red hair coming out from under the cap and reaching to his broad shoulders. He had about three days’ growth of facial hair. There was a battered knapsack slung over one of his shoulders. His thumb was out- he was a hitch-hiker. He was glaring and mouthing nasty words at cars that passed him.

In my eyes, he had two strikes against him. Number one, he was a hitcher. My parents had always warned me about the dangers of hitching or picking up hitchers. Mom, especially, had a collection of horror stories about hitchers slashing the throats of good Samaritans who had given them a lift. Secondly, the man had long hair. My independent Baptist upbringing had taught me that long hair on a man was a red flag that marked somebody as a potential member of the Manson Family or worse yet, a liberal. I had just seen Helter Skelter on TBS and Charlie and his band of killer hippies were fresh in my mind.

And Woody was slowing down as we approached the hitcher!

“You ain’t thinkin’ about pickin’ him up!” I growled the words instead of speaking them.

“Brother, what did your Uncle Luke preach about last Sunday night? The Bible says that many times, strangers are angels unawares!”

Great, here my best friend was throwing Uncle Luke in my face! My uncle was our pastor and the church folk were always reminding me of the fact and I was sick of it.

If somebody saw me admiring a girl’s figure or heard me say “shoot fire” or “what the heck” or anything that wasn’t singing a hymn or quoting a Bible verse, I’d hear, “Now, Danny, what would your Uncle Luke think? You know what a great Christian man he is!”

And Luke was a great Christian and I respected him and loved him dearly, but I wanted to live my own life. I’d expressed this frustration to Woody many times, so he knew better!

By now, Woody had slowed almost to stop. The hitcher had a grin on his face as he jogged toward the truck.

“Besides that, brother, he has a soul!” Woody said, like that settled any argument.

This was another part of Woody’s rededications. He wouldn’t allow me to make any negative comments about anybody without reminding me that they had a soul. Of course, everybody has a soul, but I didn’t need to be reminded every time I had a problem with anybody!

“Yeah, he has a sole on each foot, ” I retorted. Woody shook his head like a disapproving granny.

The hitcher’s hand was on the door handle as soon as Woody made a complete stop. He opened the door and climbed in. He brought an odor into the truck of clothes and skin that hadn’t been washed in a few days.

“Howdy, stranger!” Woody greeted him like a long last relative. “Where can we take you?”

“Logansville,” he drawled. I tried to place the accent. Mississippi or maybe Louisiana, I thought.

“That’s where we’re headed, pardner!” Woody said. He was being way too friendly for my taste. “I’m Woody Rawlings and this is my good friend, Danny Righthouse. What’s your handle, friend?”

“Call me Gus,” he replied. The glare on his face told me that he didn’t enjoy answering questions once. He reached into shirt pocket and pulled out a battered business card that he handed to me.

Augustus Q. Ragland

Raconteur, Gadfly, and Professional Agitator

Jerusalem, Israel

Well, that’s wild, I thought. I stuck the card into my shirt pocket and wondered exactly what Woody had gotten us into.

The hitcher took his knapsack off of his shoulder and dropped it into the floorboard. He kicked off his sneakers. He wasn’t wearing socks. His feet were dirty, blistered, and smelled really bad. Woody rolled down his window.

“So, you got people over here in Logansville?” Woody asked. I fought the urge to tell him to shut up.

“You know something, pal, ya talk too much!” Gus said, his voice rising almost to a yell.

“Now, that ain’t no way to be,” Woody said, his voice a high pitched whine.

“ Look, we ain’t a goin’ all the way to Logansville, boys!” Gus said. He hissed the words like a snake. Something about the situation made me feel cold chills even though it was a very warm evening.

“What are you talkin’ about?” I asked. I was trying to sound tough. Instead, I sounded like a teenaged boy trying to sound tough.

At that point, Gus moved more quickly than I’d ever seen a human being move. He reached down, unzipped the knapsack, and before I knew what was happening, he held a pistol in his hand.

“W-w-w-h-hat are you d-d-d-doin’?” Woody’s voice cracked as he spoke.

“They’s a left hand turn comin’ up here in about a half mile, gravel road!” Gus said in a harsh sounding voice, “Take that turn!”

That road was Capps Holler. Guys went out there for only two purposes- to de-flower a young girl or to do a drug deal! I had no desire to see what Augustus Q. Ragland, raconteur, gadfly, and professional agitator of Jeruselaem, Israel would do out there!

“L-l-look, b-b-b-buddy, we don’t want no trouble!” Woody sounded like a small child begging for a toy!

“No trouble!” Gus barked. “Just a bullet in your brain if you don’t follow orders, boy!”

To this day, I don’t know how I did what I did next.

I reached into my back pocket and pulled out my switchblade. As quickly as possible, I flicked it open and held the blade to the hitcher’s neck!I pushed the blade against his neck until I saw a few drops of blood trickle down.

“Stop the truck, Woody!” I hollered. Then, to Gus, “You roll down that window and throw the gun out!”

He seemed paralyzed. He didn’t move.

“You might get a shot off, but I’ll stick this blade into your jugular as soon as you squeeze the trigger!”

I was shocked when he tossed the gun out the window. I heard it hit the pavement and grinned.

“Nobody threatens a friend of mine, you scraggly lookin’ hippie!” I was trying to sound like a tough guy again. Now open that door and climb out of this vehicle!”

He opened the door and moved to get out of the truck. I swung my legs around and kicked him in the rear end, knocking him face-first to the roadway!

“Let’s git!” I yelled at Woody.

Tires squealing, Woody tore down the road toward Logansville!

“It’s not too late to ask the Lord for forgiveness!” Woody yelled back at the hitcher. I threw his knapsack and shoes at the window as we headed down the road.

For a few minutes, nobody spoke. We were at the Logansville city limits when Woody finally said something.

“Where in the world did you get a switchblade, brother?”

“Remember when my folks and me visited Chicago a few summers back?”

He nodded.

“Well, my cousin, Adam gave me the knife. He said ‘I know you church people believe in turning the other cheek, but you might need this someday!’

“He was right!” Woody said. His voice was a high pitched squeal.

“Woody, there’s something my uncle didn’t mention in his sermon,” I said.

“What’s that, brother?” Woody asked.

“Some people have entertained angels unaware, but a few of us have entertained a devil!”

“I heard that!”