You just call out my name

Rock Island Argus and Moline Dispatch, Oct 29, 2009

My friend Pete just left with the bed of his pickup full of the remnants of an old wooden fence my wife and I recently tore down. He politely refused my offer to pay him for the time he’s taking to haul this lumber away and burn it at his home in the country.

This summer, a giant limb from the tree in front of my house came down in a storm. While I was standing in the yard, scratching my head and wondering whom to call about the mess, my neighbor, Dick, showed up with a chainsaw.

I’m still getting used to the Midwestern tradition of friends and neighbors lending each other a hand. I grew up in the East, where you help someone out and then submit an invoice. Midwesterners help each other simply to help. In the dead of winter, when my car is stuck in the ice, I don’t call a tow truck—I call on the young men who live across the street.

Unfortunately for my acquaintances, I possess few of the talents and tools that make for a valuable Midwestern friend. I'm not handy with rototillers, jumper cables or barbecue forks. I wouldn’t recognize a torque wrench on a shelf labeled “Torque Wrenches.”

Still, you don’t reach the age of 60 without picking up a few skills here and there. So, when you’re in a jam and need a friend, here's what I can do for you:

-- Sleep all morning. It’s really no problem, so don't feel bad about asking. If you desperately need an old guy snoring in the guest room while you're fixing lunch and listening to the Midday Farm Report, I’m your man. If you’d prefer I do it at home, that’s fine, too. I’m sure my wife will understand when I crawl out of the sack at noon and tell her I was resting up for a friend.

-- Eat a half-gallon of ice cream in one sitting. Let’s say you want to go on a diet, but there’s still a carton of Whitey’s in the freezer, tempting you to cave to your baser desires. At times like this you need a friend like me.

-- Tell boring Navy stories. Do you have houseguests who have overstayed their welcome? Give me a call. I'll drop by and start reminiscing, about my 1986 cruise from Hong Kong to the Philippines on the USS Blue Ridge. Judging by my wife’s reaction to such sagas—she’s developed the stamina to endure approximately three minutes of my naval monologues—I’d say your guests will be waving goodbye from the carport before I get the Blue Ridge out of Victoria Harbor.

-- Juggle three small objects. Sorry, but I don't do flaming torches or meat cleavers; I'm pretty much your basic lemons and oranges juggler. It’s hard to see why anyone would want me tossing citrus fruit around in their kitchen, but you never know.

-- Exaggerate the severity of minor injuries. I’m taking my wife’s word for this one. While I consider myself pretty tolerant of life’s aches and pains, Jo claims my report of a stubbed toe sounds like a deathbed farewell.

Putting this list together has made me realize just how much I have to offer. I’d better drive to the Hy-Vee and pick up some ice cream. It’s been years since I downed a half-gallon all at once, and if a friend calls for help, I want to be up to the task.

It’s about time I started giving back.