The Story of Big Jim

Written by Rick Beneteau


The power went out. Again!

I looked out my second story office window and knew exactly why. I could hearrepparttar sounds throughoutrepparttar 122875 morning. This crew of 4 men and 3 bucket trucks stringing power lines alongrepparttar 122876 new poles they had been planting inrepparttar 122877 front and back yards of my neighborhoodrepparttar 122878 past few weeks.

Often during this time, I would be working on my laptop onrepparttar 122879 front porch and watched this professional teamwork in total synchronicity, moving from pole to pole in planned sequence. First it was connectingrepparttar 122880 phone lines. Then, cable. Today, and finally, fromrepparttar 122881 back alley,repparttar 122882 electricity.

What was of extreme interest to me wasrepparttar 122883 foreman of this well- oiled machine. A big, burly middle-aged fellow whose sheer stature and hard look would intimidate most. But, he always uttered his commands, some very loudly as his underlings were often thirty-five feet inrepparttar 122884 air, with warm authority.

You could tell his crew really liked and had great respect for him. Although this was far from your typical 'lean on your shovel' squad, they still joked while working at a well-managed pace. Bossman, whose job description no doubt mandated a no hands-on, no physical labor approach, was always doing something to speed things along, be it picking up refuse or spooling wire. In fact, while they were inrepparttar 122885 process of connecting my power, guess who was pruningrepparttar 122886 overgrown pine tree branches in my backyard to make it easier for his boys?

It was at this point that I brought my high-wire friends a sampling of my special blend coffee (I prepared this, just prior to 'lights out'), reserved usually for special company. Setting a tray down onrepparttar 122887 patio table, I engaged 'Jim' in conversation and remarked how much I enjoyed watching them work and how much it reminded me of my great production team when I owned a drycleaning business. Another well-oiled, and fun to run machine.

His sun-hardened face beamed with pride as he began telling me about what a great group of guys he had and how they wererepparttar 122888 most productive crew in this large company.

No wonder!

Our conversation was not a long one. Jim had to get his boys back torepparttar 122889 matter at hand, and that was to get my power back. But it served to make me think that here was a man who loved what he does, made a positive impact on those around him and earnedrepparttar 122890 sincere respect of those under, and, above him. I could only surmise that Jim also had a great family life.

The Ungiven Gift

Written by Rick Beneteau


He was pencil thin and walked with a limp. A thirteen year-old boy with huge yearning eyes who was always an unlucky patient onrepparttar children's floor ofrepparttar 122874 hospital where my youngest daughter was all too often incarcerated.

Curtis had sickle cell anemia, an incurable, painful and terminal disease that plagues young people of African descent.

I would meander into his room to spend a little time withrepparttar 122875 rebellious loner and would often end up refereeing a screaming match between him and one ofrepparttar 122876 nurses. The street-wise Curtis would usually win.

Overrepparttar 122877 course of a few years (the hospital was always my home- away-from-home), I eventually learned ofrepparttar 122878 horror of his upbringing,repparttar 122879 sad reality of his current life andrepparttar 122880 apparent dimness of his future.

My experience as a volunteer inrepparttar 122881 Big Brother-like program in our local Children's Aid Society was that a small dose of interest and some one-on-one attention could go a long way to helping a kid who was in trouble withrepparttar 122882 law, failing school and in Curtis' case, a social outcast.

So, when my time was over withrepparttar 122883 last boy I was involved with, I askedrepparttar 122884 CAS if I could hook up with Curtis, albeit 'unofficially' this time. Problem was, I was inrepparttar 122885 process of selling my drycleaning business while building a music production studio (for my next career) and my time was too much at a premium to commit to a structured arrangement. They agreed, and I began to hang with Curtis.

I learned in very short order that among his survival skills wasrepparttar 122886 tendency to cajole, cleverly manipulate and even outright steal. Although always kind, I had to have a second set of eyes when in his presence and was forced at times to be, well, curt with Curt.

Also during this time, I was involved in a major lawsuit after having had a song of mine "lifted" by a one-time friend and co-writing partner in Los Angeles, who had become a 'hot' producer of major recording acts. On one of his multi-million selling records wasrepparttar 122887 core of a song of mine he had heard and we discussed in my presence during one of my frequent music trips inrepparttar 122888 1980's. I was a little more than hurt and felt I deserved not onlyrepparttar 122889 royalties for my creation, but alsorepparttar 122890 credibility that went along with a "cut" of that magnitude by a name recording artist.

I retained a highly regarded entertainment attorney in Detroit (he represented many ofrepparttar 122891 athletes onrepparttar 122892 professional sports teams in Detroit as well as one ofrepparttar 122893 all time greatest boxers and even some famous civil rights icons) who just happened to also be a truly wonderful and giving human being.

It was in a meeting with this man that I casually mentioned Curtis and my desire to do something very special for him. See, in my heart, I had a feeling Curtis would not live for too many more years. Sickle cell sufferers often died in their early twenties, or even before, a decade ago. I wasn't expecting anything from my lawyer in this regard, butrepparttar 122894 next dayrepparttar 122895 phone rang and I was instructed to have Curtis "dressed up" and atrepparttar 122896 Palace of Auburn Hills at a specific gate number one hour prior to a Detroit Pistons game later that week.

He was a huge basketball fan. His hero of heroes was Isaiah Thomas, captain ofrepparttar 122897 Motor City NBA Champsrepparttar 122898 prior two years. But I didn't let on to Curtis where we were going that night. Just that we were hanging out. I just asked his foster mother (and I userepparttar 122899 term “mother” very lightly) to have him dressed nicely with his birth certificate in hand by a certain time.

Curtis was on time, eagerly waiting on his rickety porch when I pulled up. But to my utter dismay, he looked as disheveled as he always did in his overbaggy, tattered clothes. And of course, good ol' foster mom couldn't find his birth certificate. Now, can you imaginerepparttar 122900 fancy dancin' I had to do at U.S. Customs having this 'gang looking' teenager with no identification trying to crossrepparttar 122901 border in my new BMW? Well, fate and some silver tongued talkin' prevailed and we were soon racing up I-75 to The Game.

I tried to make idle conversation withrepparttar 122902 excited but slouching teenager. All Curtis could do was hound me. "Is it a ballgame? Is it a concert?" "Rick, where are we going?" I love to tease. Finally, he glimpsedrepparttar 122903 landmark dome ofrepparttar 122904 arena fromrepparttar 122905 freeway and knew he was going to get to see his favorite team play.

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