same different as me; book review # 7

Denver Moore was a slave on a cotton plantation in Red River Parish, Louisiana, in the mid 1950s. He never wore chains, but “The Man” owned the land, the store, and the account book. Denver's job was to plant, tend and harvest 300 acres of cotton, and bring it to The Man, who weighed it but was the only one who read the scale or wrote in the book. Denver had a two-room shack with an outhouse, two pair of overalls bought on credit, a coal-oil lamp and every year at Christmas a hog. He never saw a paycheck, never knew there were schools for black people. Sometime around age 25 or 30, he hopped a freight train whose next stop was Fort Worth, Texas. He couldn't read or write, knew no job but cotton; lived on the streets, learning the code by which street people survive.

Deborah grew up in a small west Texas town “on land so flat you could stand on a cow chip and see New Mexico.” She first met Ron Hall at Texas Christian U; they had an on-and-off romance at first, while Ron did his two years duty in the Vietnam war. They married in 1969; she taught elementary school while Ron got his MBA and entered investment banking. He developed a sideline selling high-priced art to high-living clients. He was soon making far more money selling art than his bank job paid.

Deborah had strong views, and strong emotions. When Ron had a brief affair with a younger woman, Debbie exploded. “Nineteen years! What were you thinking! How could you do this!” Shoes, vases, figurines flew through the air, some were direct hits on Ron. After a sleepless night, they drove to their pastor's office where they spent most of the next day. Neither really wanted to end their marriage. They agreed to try to work things out. That night Debbie told Ron, “I want to talk with her. Will you give me her phone number?” Hesitantly, he gave it.

She spoke calmly into the phone when the woman answered. “This is Deborah Hall, Ron's wife. . . . I want you to know that I forgive you. . . I hope you find someone who will not only truly love you but honor you. . . . I intend to work on being the best wife Ron could ever want, and if I do my job right, you will not be hearing from my husband again.”

She quietly hung up and locked her eyes on Ron's. “You and I are now going to rewrite the future of our marriage. And if you go with me to counseling,” she said, “I'll forgive you. And I promise I will never bring this up, ever again.”

Denver Moore, meanwhile had been living on the streets of Fort Worth. After attempting armed robbery of a bus, he was arrested and sentenced to twenty years in prison. He got out after doing ten, and returned to Fort Worth with a reputation that most street people feared and respected. He slept in doorways, learned to scam a few dollars by faking dumpster diving, or visiting the Union Gospel Mission food line.

In 1998 Ron and Debbie worked in that mission as volunteers, Debbie seeking to renew the mission area with flowers and clean-up, Ron agreeing to help. Debbie confided that she had seen in a dream what it would look like in the future and that she had seen the man who would accomplish it. “I saw his face.” she said.

“In your dream?” Ron said.

“Yes.”

Unlike most well-to-do volunteers who served for two or three days and then quit, the Halls appeared every Tuesday night to help serve the food, and to actively converse with those in the line. Those in the line were suspicious of them. On the third Tuesday, a near riot erupted. A large man hurled a chair across the room and yelled, “I'm gon kill whoever stole my shoes!” adding a string of curses.

Debbie whispered excitedly in Ron's ear, “That's him! The man I saw in my dream—the one who changes the city. That's him!” After several of the mission staff had calmed the man and led him away, she said again, her eyes sparkling, “That's him; I think you should try and make friends with him.”

“Sorry,” said Ron, “but I wasn't at that meeting when you heard from God.”

The man they had just encountered was Denver Moore, from whom everyone stayed at a distance. Ron did take the initiative, even though reluctant. It would be weeks before Denver and Ron would understand each other or even believe each other. Deborah had no trouble with either. She had it all worked out ahead of time, including the beautification of the neighborhood and the healing of the people. After persuading the Mission's cook to provide enough meat that the latecomers in the line would get some too, her next project was Beauty Shop Night, doing facials, makeovers, passing out little makeup kits to homeless women. Next, Movie Night, that packed the dining hall on Wednesdays.

Denver observed all this, but rejected all offers of Ron's friendship, until the night the Halls took two carloads of homeless to a live concert. At the close, he approached Ron and said,“I want to apologize to you. You and your wife been tryin to be nice to me for some time now, and I have purposely avoided you. I'm sorry. Next time you is at the mission, let's have a cup a' coffee and chat a l'il bit.”

A slow start gradually grew into firm trust; Denver guided Ron in the 'hood; Ron guided Denver in the business world . And when Debbie had cancer and lay dying, Denver guided both of them in what they had yet to do for the street people of Texas.