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Mrs. Graves was a woman who
was past the bloom of youth which was to be respected. Replacing that time
of life was a bearing of maturity. As I sat across from her now with
Rhonda beside me in the wheelchair her traits of having worked with people
was evident. She was unhurried as we visited. One after another topic was
discussed regarding doctor’s diagnosis, schools Rhonda had attended and
whatever else might help her in making a decision for placement. I fully
expected to have to go home and come back, but not so. She called an aide
into the room and we visited for a while about Rhonda’s special needs and
she was willing to do what was necessary to get started. Finally Mrs.
Graves called a girl into her office.
The girl, who was Rhonda’s
age, looked to be healthy in every way. She was quite shabby in her
appearance though. There were no shoes upon her feet, the t-shirt she was
wearing had “Annie Green Springs Wine,” lettered across it. The girl-child
had a pleasant personality even though she was a bit quiet and reserved
the quick smile when she looked at Rhonda seemed to light up her face.
“Marcy will be taking
Rhonda to her classes and stay with her to see she has any help needed.”
Mrs. Graves was matter of fact, as if she had already done this many times
and I knew that couldn’t have been so. My thinking was a little guarded on
the appearance of the girl but the lady in charge was so competent there
was no room for discussion on this matter.
“When would you like for me
to bring Rhonda to school.” I asked.
“Well, if you don’t mind,
we would like for her to start immediately.” Mrs. Graves was ready to
accept the challenge. “In a few days, if you wish, it would be good to
make a visit to meet her teachers and go from class to class with her just
so you can get an idea of what her schedule will be.”
I did just that but, right
away, could see there was no need for me to be there. Annie Green Springs
had everything under control and the two girls seemed to be fast friends
by this time. Gone was the labeled shirt and it was replaced with a cute,
fashionable one. She wasn’t wearing shoes yet but she did have a pair of
flip-flop thongs on her feet. Instead of her loose oily looking hair
hanging about her face it was now shining clean and caught up into a pony
tail held there by a faddish tie. Something about her taking care of
Rhonda had changed her personality from one of a retiring, shy person to
an outgoing, smiling, friendly teen-age girl. The two girls went giggling
down the hall as I slipped out the door. Rhonda was in her chair and the
girl was bending over to whisper into her ear something only the two of
them could share.
Driving back and forth
morning and night to deliver and pick the two up was something I enjoyed.
As I drove over a road that went by the legendary house where the evening
sitcom, Dallas, was filmed. I saw the property when it had falling down
fences and was unpainted to the time it was back to the shining place it
must have once been. Natalie Duncan and her husband, who was a contractor,
were working on it. She had a son who went to school with Mark.
The curving road wound
through the new mansions where Arabian stallions stood on the lawns
obediently dressed in their coats. I enjoyed watching a hired hand
painting the miles of white fences only, finally, to be seen with a spray
gun as he whipped out the job with ease.
The Donahoes, my landlords,
were growers and in production as a large farm. I believe, the show
Dallas, the story, was really about them. Certainly, the names gelled.
There was Bud, Bill, the Mother, Mrs. Donahoe herself, who favored Bell in
the show. Patsy, Bud’s wife, was as perky as Bobby’s wife in the movie. I
became acquainted with them and would enjoy their hospitality much like
family. |
