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Poor, but proud"No, I couldn't accept it," said my father in a hoarse voice as he stood on the cracked porch of the old red house and looked at the man standing in front of the border of lilies about two feet below him. "I'd sure feel better if you let me pay for your hearing aid," said the man again and again. "Nope, wouldn't think of it," said my father with an exaggerated shake of his head. This exchange followed a fishing trip where our two families had gone to the "Deep Fork" of the North Canadian River and the man's son had fallen into the water. It was swift and deep, at least by Oklahoma standards and he was in danger of drowning. As a 6-year-old boy, I remember that we were playing when he fell from a slippery log and into the current. We started yelling and my dad came out of nowhere to run down the log and dive into the stream. I still have an image of him frozen in my mind with his hands shaped into a "V" in front and going headfirst into the water in full overalls and boots. He was also wearing his pocket hearing aid. He easily scooped up the little boy who was, according to dad in later stories, swimming toward the surface and had yet to figure out he was in trouble. The boy's father came down the bank and dad just tossed him out and then swam to the bank and pulled himself out the river. It was one of those dramatic moments that you could play back in your mind, literally frame by frame. We'd gone home and dried out but the hearing aid wouldn't work. My mother was as angry at him as you could be for ruining the device that he relied on to hear because it was expensive and had to be replaced. I think that it cost $60 and the year was somewhere around 1954. She asked him why he didn't take it off before he jumped in and he explained that there was nothing on his mind but saving the little boy. She'd then go back to the money issue and he'd plead his case for taking action. The next evening the family stopped by and the man offered to pay for the hearing aid. This was a real quandary for farm folks with literally no money but mom never challenged dad when he refused. After several attempts, even going to the car and coming back to the house, the man left with thanks for saving the child from drowning but not being able to pay for the loss of the precious hearing device. I saw this behavior several times in my formative years and found it standard across our farming community. The people held their pride above their pocketbook and would not accept payment for any action that helped another. If you got stuck in a ditch and had to walk to the neighbor's house to ask to be pulled out, they did so immediately. It was then customary to say: "What do I owe you?" Their response was to say that you owed them nothing. They would not consider any payment and no matter how hard you tried, there would be no money changing hands. If someone did charge for such action, they were looked down upon for preying on the misfortune of others. Needless to say, we had no wrecker service in that community. We really didn't have any services except a telephone and that had eight houses hooked to each line so you could keep track of what was going on at the neighbors just by listening to whose phone was ringing throughout the day and night or listening in, which my mother adamantly refused to do. She did visit with Florence, who ran the "central" switchboard and got lots of news from her. The work ethic of these rural people had been put to the test as the Dust Bowl and Depression of the 1930s took out anyone who had the slightest weakness. Following the war, there were more off farm jobs and my memory is that dad worked on a bridge with the man he invited fishing. No matter the source of income, these people saw themselves as farmers and held strictly to the code of accepting no charity. They would accept money from the government, however. This has always been a humorous contradiction in my mind as they were almost Amish in their justification of this income stream. Grow the wheat, seal the bin, take the payment or put land in the soil bank. It was rudimentary compared to the finesse of farming the government today, but they did their best to maximize the revenue while criticizing the program. The fact was that they had a simple moral base from which they directed their lives. They were willing to be poor if they could also remain proud. In small communities with a static population, the social pressure was so great that any step across the line was seen and discussed by all. It was the closest to pure communism that this country could achieve. So my mother relented. Dad bought a new hearing aid and they paid for it from farm production and laborer's wages. They grumbled at each other (forever) but the actions of my parents became a part of my moral base. In my adult life I find myself wanting to help others more often than I can justify doing and when I do, I cannot accept more than a token payment for doing so. When I am assisted, I sincerely wish to pay, but I am careful not to insult the person who helped me by pushing to hard with offers of compensation. We are all the product of our raising. In my mind, the example set for me, by my parents and farming community, is a good moral base from which to direct my life. Editor's note: Ken Root is now celebrating his 34th year as an agricultural professional. His career began as a vocational agriculture teacher then turned to agricultural broadcasting and writing as well as environmental consulting and association management. He was the original host of AgriTalk (1994-2001) and now is lead farm broadcaster for WHO Radio in Des Moines, Iowa. Ken also contributes to the Midwest Ag Report electronic newsletter each Friday. A free e-mail subscription is available by going to www.hpj.com and clicking on Midwest Ag Report. Date: 8/24/06
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