Suddenly, I found myself rising from my seat at the IHOP restaurant in the Brick, NJ waiting area just inside the front door and turned around to face the old man in the wheel chair. He was parked somewhat in the middle of the room with his back to the people sitting on the benches that lined three walls. He was toothless, had hollow cheeks, and had thinning gray hair that slightly brushed the tops of his ears. A younger looking beach-comber type man with a dark tan appearing to be around forty-five sat in back of him with both his hands holding the arms of the wheelchair. He was positioned so that when the waitress called their name he could easily wheel the older gentleman to their table.
Once inside the waiting area my friends, Marie, Anna, Lorraine and I, looked for a seat. There wasn’t room for all four of us together, but I found a spot on the other side of the almost filled seating area next to the man with his hands on the wheel chair. Within minutes, Marie’s attention went to the wheelchair and she commented on what a nice chair it was due to the updated style. Almost simultaneously, everyone turned their head and all eyes were on the wheelchair.
And, that’s when the impetus to rise hit me. Everyone was talking about this man’s shiny, steel wheelchair as if he wasn’t even there. Perhaps it was something I’d learned from my nurses training from over forty years ago that you speak directly to people in wheel chairs and that you make eye contact. That being in a wheelchair doesn’t mean a person is deaf, dumb, or blind. Or, perhaps it came from my inability to sit still. Or, maybe it was just the excitement of having a couple of days away at the New Jersey Shore for rest and rejuvenation and getting caught up in the fun and frivolity we were enjoying as friends
But, what really stood out as I leaned over to make myself eye level with the old man in the wheelchair, was his black ball cap with the bold, gold lettering. It read, WW II. I was stunned. Right in front of me sat a veteran who had fought in a war over sixty years ago. Wearing my own ball cap of stars and stripes to cover a bad hair day, I slowly shuffled around so not to startle him and stood off to the side.
Cheerily, I greeted the veteran and asked his name.
“Jooohnnnn”, the man in the wheel chair replied.
It was then that I saw his murky blue gray eyes. What they must have seen during war times. Unsure of what was driving me to engage in conversation with this old man, I continued making polite conversation, “How old are you, John?” I inquired with a smile.
“85”, he said, though his response was more mouthed than spoken. Still, I heard him loud and clear.
“Wow!” I said, amazed. “Eighty-five years old”. Sixty years ago on the battlefield, he would have been in his early twenties. So young; so brave “It’s my birthday”, he said, with some effort. Now, I was in over drive.
“Your birthday”! I exclaimed. “Ok, everyone, let’s all sing Happy Birthday to John.” As our voices rose in unison, a roomful of strangers became united in spirit.
We didn’t learn why John was in the wheel chair but when his party was called, the man I’m assuming to be his son, spoke up with heartfelt emotion, “Thank you very much”, he nodded to me while pushing the wheel chair past us and through the door to their table. The simplicity of the moment was so powerful tears began welling in my eyes.
Yes, my girlfriends and I laughed, talked, walked the Point Pleasant Boardwalk stopping at Jenkinsons for black licorice, had ice cream at The Music Man in Lavallette, ate pizza, strolled along at the craft fair in Avon by the Sea, and even went to a concert to see Ronan Tynan, the Irish tenor, in Ocean Grove at the Great Auditorium. But, the silly, serendipitous conversation that began over a steel wheel chair that took on a life of its own, left us all a little prouder to be an American living in the land of the free and the home of the brave.
