Doc King Broke The Mold!

                "Coach, are we paying you enough to live on?"

           I paused and pondered on the question. Where I came from it was pretty bold to ask a man about his income. I would learn quickly that being direct and to the point was a trait that Robert E. King wore proudly.

           "Well, sir," I was a fresh out of college and didn't know a half-dozen people in St. Joe. I figured the truth couldn't hurt. "I'm making almost five-hundred a month and I've got a hundred and fifty-six dollar car payment, I'm paying one hundred and seventy dollars a month on eighty acres I'm buying in West Tennessee, I'm making payments on a National Defense loan that got me through school, I'm helping my brother a little and my rent is one hundred dollars a month."

           It was Doc's turn to pause. But only for an instant, "Boy, your math ain't no good!" He frowned like I was crazy. And then he grinned. It was a wide open grin. One that I would come to love and appreciate over the years.. He wasn't prying. He was interested! "We will have to do something about your math!"

           And he did. In less than a week he stopped me after football practice. "Coach, I've got an empty store building down town. It ain't no fancy beach house. But it's got a shower and bathroom in the back. You are welcome to it. And it won't cost you a thing."

           It was a large building right on Reid Avenue. "Doc," We were moving in a bed and a couch that he'd found somewhere. "I see people staring, is it legal to live in the middle of town?"

           "You let me worry about that."

           I moved in. And you should have seen Doc's grin when I bragged to folks about having the largest living room in Northwest Florida. Listen, I had a seven car garage! And we'd pull a bench out front on Saturdays and the kids would come "sit a spell" and wave to shoppers hurrying along Reid.

           If there was any official opposition to me living down there I never heard a word about it. Doc took care of it.

           Miss Janet hugged me like I'd lived here all my life. Karen, Chris and Cuyler didn't listen much in class but they were a heck of a lot of fun away from school. Chris spent the summer of his junior year in Tennessee with me. Doc just grinned when I told him of almost killing his son when the barn collapsed. He could see that Chris made it home in one piece. That seemed enough to him. It was years later, when I had a junior in high school, that I began to understand the trust and care he'd placed in my hands..

           I went by to see him when I decided to run for a political office. He frowned. And then the grin, "Man, have you lost your mind? That's the worst job in the county! They're going to blame you for everything!t"

           It didn't take long to find out he was absolutely right.

           He'd come around every year with those Kiwanis Pancake tickets. He wouldn't let me buy just one. He'd stand there and hold'em out until I'd bought what he thought was an appropriate amount. He'd get all the cash I had on me! And then the grin, "Now, that's more like it!" I ate so many pancakes one year, he made me pay again before I could leave!

           He'd didn't charge for the "down home" meals he whipped up in the "kitchen" beside his office. I figured he put the cookery there so he wouldn't have to tote the turnip greens and collards far from his garden. He'd call, "Coach, soup is on. You'd better get down here quick. We don't like politicians but we're going to make an exception this time!"

      I wouldn't take anything for the lunch time I spend in that old shed. Eating mustard greens, cornbread and buckets of rutabagers while listening to Doc "hold forth" on a variety of topics. You talk about shinning times!

      His favorite story concerned my role as county property appraiser. He'd make me get up and tell it every time he could gather up a crowd. I'm going to do it one more time just to see Doc grin..There was a couple in the office from Montgomery, Alabama, and they were determined that I had one set of books for the local people and an entirely different set for out of town tax payers. Of course, they gave me way too much credit; I'm not smart enough to pull something like that off. I spent an exasperating hour or so showing them every assessed value up and down the coast clearly demonstrating that they were all the same. The man was convinced. The woman wasn't dead certain positive but she was leaning my way when Doc, who I hadn't seen in six months and who certainly had no idea what I was doing or who I was talking to, stuck his head in the door, "Kes, are you still taking care of us local folks and socking it to those out-of-towners!" He ducked back out without missing a stride leaving two steaming mad and one astonished appraiser behind! 

      He always had a word for me when we met. Most of it was printable. He could lambaste, congratulate, encourage or ease me down a notch with equal aplomb. He loved this town, this area, this state and this nation. If ever a man wore his feeling on his sleeve it was Doc. There was no guile or deception about him. Truly, what you saw was what you got.

      I tried to thank him several times for the early days when he gave me the rent free living quarters. He'd wave his hand and change the subject. It was like he'd done nothing. Or it was something anyone would have done for anyone! Well, it wasn't. But Doc didn't keep score like the rest of us.

      I miss him. And I'm thankful for him. Without the help he so graciously bestowed on a fresh out of college youngster who owed more than he could pay back in 1969 I don't believe I could have stayed. He is directly responsible for everything I have accomplished in Gulf County.

      I bet that would get a grin out of him.

       Respectfully,

            Kes