PARTLY TRUTH AND PARTLY FICTION

I have often said, in jest, that my musings have become famous on three continents. The U.S., Canada and England. Geography teachers please withhold your scorn. I write a lot of made up stuff. But, sometimes, it’s based on facts. In November of 2022 I cobbled together a story about a man who lived in his car. I named him John Tucker and placed him in Ratcheds. There was such a man in a similar town. Nobody knew his real name or his story. I now do.

The internet is a magical place. You can find anything from a cure for hemorrhoids to how to contact anyone. You can also write a story that is initially read by a hundred people and can be forwarded and reread multiple times. And if the gods of cyberspace are in a particularly generous mood, you can get the following letter.

“Dear Mr Prout, I am hoping that this reaches you. I Googled your name, and, hopefully got the right address. A relative of mine recently read your article titled ‘A Thanksgiving Story’. When she sent it to me my heart almost exploded. ‘That’s my brother Tom!’ I yelled. Ed, my husband, and Margie , my daughter came running into the kitchen. I guess they thought I was hallucinating. When my heart stopped racing, we read and reread your story. I understand that you took some basic facts and wove them into the story. Many of your suppositions are off the mark, but there is enough for me to know that you were writing about my brother, Tom Berman. I am giving you my phone number in the hope that you will call me and find out the real story of Tom Berman.” Sincerely Virginia Cruz.

This blew my mind. I have no idea where to start, so here goes nothing. I have written several dozen pieces over the past few years. “ A Thanksgiving Story “ about the fictional John Tucker has given me the most satisfaction.

I have spoken with Virginia several times over the past few weeks. It’s her wish that I tell enough of her brother’s story that his family may treasure it. She insisted that I doctor the facts so they can keep it in the family. So, Tom Berman, aka John Tucker, is a walking contradiction. Partly truth and partly fiction.

Tom Berman was born and raised in the southwestern part of the United States. Let’s say Arizona. Normal kid. A little shy. An average student. When he was a teen, he decided he wanted to be an engineer. His family didn’t have much, so, Tom worked with his dad as a carpenter. He was very good at what he did and loved doing it. He had a girlfriend named Ellie and started applying to colleges.

One day he received a letter. YOU ARE HEREBY ORDERED TO REPORT…

He left home a week later. “ The last letter Ed and I got from him was written the night before he was sent over there. A place that wasn’t even on our old maps. He didn’t say much, but, I could sense the terror he felt.” Tom put in his time. Saw and did things that broke him. He went home with an honorable discharge for what was called P.T.S.D. Virginia said he had a vacant look. Almost catatonic at times. Withdrawn. He never talked about his service. Hardly talked at all. He pushed Ellie away and just hid. Ed and Virginia tried to get him some help. No help ever came. They don’t understand why.

“ He started drinking. At first I thought it was to help kill the pain he was in. The terrible mental pain. Then my pastor suggested it was to kill what he had become. See, Tom couldn’t get help. So I had to “

This is a story repeated and repeated over millennia. Everyone has a breaking point. Fortunately most of us never have to reach it. Ed and Virginia did. “ One night we asked Tom to join us at the kitchen table. We wanted to discuss our options. We never got a chance. Tom took one look at our faces and walked out. We never saw him again. Years later we got a post card from Oregon. The name of the place was blacked out. It just said
‘I am well.’

The gods of cyberspace cooperated again. Virginia had read about the church where Tom stayed and was able to contact the current incarnation of Pastor Don. He’s been in Ratcheds for ten years and worked with Tom. Tom had lived in the church parking lot in the old Ford. “ He told me he kind of inherited Tom. Previous pastors kept a history of working with Tom. Much of your story was spot on. Tom became a part of Ratcheds. He lived in that old car almost thirty years. He worked as a handyman and was loved by everyone he met. One morning he didn’t come to breakfast. Pastor Don went to check. Tom had died in his sleep. Whatever demons possessed him were also dead.”

Ed and Virginia now have closure. They understand that they didn’t lose Tom, they loaned him to a community that loved and appreciated him. He led a meaningful life and touched many hearts.

I’ve learned a valuable lesson from all of this. Words have power. Words, true or not, can make a difference in people’s lives. A story I wrote for a small number of friends reached far beyond what my imagination could conceive. My words reunited a family.

R.I.P. Tom Berman. R.I.P. John Tucker. Your life story touched more than you could ever know.

P.S. As agreed, I sent this finished piece to Ed and Virginia. They asked for some small changes and asked that I end this tale with the following:

TO ALL THE TOM BERMANS AND JOHN TUCKERS OUT THERE; YOU WILL NEVER BE FORGOTTEN. WE , WHO LOVE YOU WILL KEEP YOUR SPIRIT. FOREVER.

Fred