Read Online The Little Way of Ruthie Leming: A Southern Girl, a Small Town, and the Secret of a Good Life by Rod Dreher - Free Book Online
Authors: Rod Dreher
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commute from Starhill longer. Worse, the cut in pay over his Guard job would be steep: he would lose over one-third of his annual salary, a big blow to their family. Could Ruthie stand to tighten their belts even more?
“She didn’t hesitate one bit,” Mike says. Ruthie’s willingness to support her husband’s vocation was a gift. She gave Mike a second family, for he would grow inextricably close to his fellow firefighters over the next few years. While on duty the men lived with each other in the firehouse, which usually meant hours spent together, just talking. Firefighter families would come by the station to visit during downtime, allowing the men to get to know each other as more than work colleagues. Weekend camping trips knitted the ties among the men and made their families even closer.
“Being a fireman, you knew you were going to put yourself in harm’s way, and take more of a risk than in any other job,” he said. “I enjoy serving. I guess it’s just something innate. I try to help somebody out when they’re down, or at their worst. It feels good to at least try.”
Fresh out of rookie school Mike met a firefighter who would become one of his, and his family’s, closest friends: Steve Shelton, a tall, burly man with a chiseled jaw, a laidback demeanor, and eyes that sparked with merriment. Everybody called Steve “Big Show,” a nickname he earned in a charity boxing tournament in 1998. It was a cops versus firefighters contest billed as Guns and Hoses. Each boxer had to pick a stage name; someone stole the moniker of a professional wrestler and christened Steve “The Big Show.”
The nickname might not have survived the day if not for a startling turn of affairs. Steve is a big man, but he was puny compared tothe muscle-bound behemoth of a Louisiana state trooper they pitted him against. Not too long after the first bell, Steve somehow connected with the big bruiser’s jaw, cleanly cold-cocking him. Down went the giant for the TKO!
Steve has been Big Show ever since.
After they became close Mike invited Show to come up to Starhill from his home in the nearby town of Zachary and hunt deer on Paw’s place. Show readily accepted, and quickly fell in love with Mam and Paw. When Mike had to leave town for an extended period of Guard training, Show started helping Paw, who had an ailing back, take care of his land. This is how he became tight with the Starhill crew.
“Your mom and dad never meet a stranger,” he said. “Once they get to know you, you become family right off, especially if you help them with something. Whatever’s theirs is yours.”
Whatever’s theirs is yours. That’s the first thing John Bickham noticed about Mam and Paw when he moved with his wife and two girls to Starhill. John, a trim, unassuming man of average height and build, and thinning salt-and-pepper hair, does not stand out in a crowd. He doesn’t speak loudly or forcefully, but when he does you realize that he sees a lot more through his wise, observant eyes than you might have thought. John Bickham—or J.B., as Paw calls him—is intensely conscientious, and never talks about or draws attention to himself. He works as an operations controller at the ExxonMobil Refinery in Baton Rouge, one of the largest petrochemical complexes in the world. He sits at a bank of computer screens all day keeping things moving in the synthetic rubber unit. When you find out from someone (never J.B.) how much responsibility for the life-and-death safety of refinery workers rests on his shoulders, you think, “Of course; that’s the quiet man you would absolutely trust with your life.”
Growing up in Baton Rouge John had always longed for country life. In 1990 he and a pal bought a piece of land in Starhill, split it between them, built houses there, and moved north out of the city withtheir families. John’s father had always wanted to live in the country too, and his son talked his folks into making plans to move to
“She didn’t hesitate one bit,” Mike says. Ruthie’s willingness to support her husband’s vocation was a gift. She gave Mike a second family, for he would grow inextricably close to his fellow firefighters over the next few years. While on duty the men lived with each other in the firehouse, which usually meant hours spent together, just talking. Firefighter families would come by the station to visit during downtime, allowing the men to get to know each other as more than work colleagues. Weekend camping trips knitted the ties among the men and made their families even closer.
“Being a fireman, you knew you were going to put yourself in harm’s way, and take more of a risk than in any other job,” he said. “I enjoy serving. I guess it’s just something innate. I try to help somebody out when they’re down, or at their worst. It feels good to at least try.”
Fresh out of rookie school Mike met a firefighter who would become one of his, and his family’s, closest friends: Steve Shelton, a tall, burly man with a chiseled jaw, a laidback demeanor, and eyes that sparked with merriment. Everybody called Steve “Big Show,” a nickname he earned in a charity boxing tournament in 1998. It was a cops versus firefighters contest billed as Guns and Hoses. Each boxer had to pick a stage name; someone stole the moniker of a professional wrestler and christened Steve “The Big Show.”
The nickname might not have survived the day if not for a startling turn of affairs. Steve is a big man, but he was puny compared tothe muscle-bound behemoth of a Louisiana state trooper they pitted him against. Not too long after the first bell, Steve somehow connected with the big bruiser’s jaw, cleanly cold-cocking him. Down went the giant for the TKO!
Steve has been Big Show ever since.
After they became close Mike invited Show to come up to Starhill from his home in the nearby town of Zachary and hunt deer on Paw’s place. Show readily accepted, and quickly fell in love with Mam and Paw. When Mike had to leave town for an extended period of Guard training, Show started helping Paw, who had an ailing back, take care of his land. This is how he became tight with the Starhill crew.
“Your mom and dad never meet a stranger,” he said. “Once they get to know you, you become family right off, especially if you help them with something. Whatever’s theirs is yours.”
Whatever’s theirs is yours. That’s the first thing John Bickham noticed about Mam and Paw when he moved with his wife and two girls to Starhill. John, a trim, unassuming man of average height and build, and thinning salt-and-pepper hair, does not stand out in a crowd. He doesn’t speak loudly or forcefully, but when he does you realize that he sees a lot more through his wise, observant eyes than you might have thought. John Bickham—or J.B., as Paw calls him—is intensely conscientious, and never talks about or draws attention to himself. He works as an operations controller at the ExxonMobil Refinery in Baton Rouge, one of the largest petrochemical complexes in the world. He sits at a bank of computer screens all day keeping things moving in the synthetic rubber unit. When you find out from someone (never J.B.) how much responsibility for the life-and-death safety of refinery workers rests on his shoulders, you think, “Of course; that’s the quiet man you would absolutely trust with your life.”
Growing up in Baton Rouge John had always longed for country life. In 1990 he and a pal bought a piece of land in Starhill, split it between them, built houses there, and moved north out of the city withtheir families. John’s father had always wanted to live in the country too, and his son talked his folks into making plans to move to
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