Penny Candy Courage

“Courage is just fear plus necessity and love.”

I still remember the day my father said those words to me. It was the fall of 1952, a year of firsts for many things. The microwave had just become available for people to buy. It was half the size of a refrigerator, and cost a small fortune but hey, progress right? Mr. Potato head was the new toy for kids, and the Chevrolet Corvette prototype was the new toy for grown men. Even though the Korean conflict was still ongoing, and America had just tested its first hydrogen bomb, all seemed right in the world to a nine year old boy sitting in his father’s five and dime store.

My dad, known to most in our neighborhood as Pops, was a genuinely nice man. When people came into his store he met them with a smile and a warm greeting. He was quick to make small talk with the regulars about their families and helped carry out purchases to any who needed it. He was a hard worker but always made time for me and our family. Most days after school, he let me sit behind the counter eating penny candy (only a few though so I didn’t spoil my dinner), and read comics off the stand. I would sit with my back to the front of the store beside Dad as he worked the register and couldn’t really be seen unless you leaned over the counter. I would spend hours lost in the heroics of Spiderman and the Flash. Dad warned me if I damaged the comic, and it couldn’t be sold, that I would have to pay the ten cents to buy it myself. I had only damaged one before this day and I made sure to treat each one I read with the utmost care.

It was a Tuesday, and as usual I was sitting behind the counter with my head buried in the colorful pages of the latest Superman edition. I vaguely heard the bell on the door ring now and again as customers came in and out. It was getting to the end of the day, just starting to get dark out, and almost time to lock up and leave.

I do remember the bell chime of this customer who entered the store, but I didn’t think anything of it. I felt my dad stiffen as he stood beside me at the register. I could feel the tension in the air change and looked up at my Dad. He had his hands in the air in front of him and was looking at the customer over the counter. I couldn’t see who it was due to the angle and how I was seated.

Dad said, “Everyone just be calm and stay where you are.”

I felt like he was talking to me even though he was looking at the customer. I felt his foot move a little and step on top of mine, not to hurt me with his weight, but to keep me from getting up.

I heard the man (I know it was a man now because of the voice) say, “Gimme the cash in the register Pop.”

I saw my dad move slowly and open the register, pull out the money inside and hold it over the counter out of my sight. I guess the man (the robber), took the money because he said, “Is that all you got Pops? You better find more or else.”

My dad shook his head but never looked down at me. Dad said, “I’m sorry but that’s all there is. It’s been a slow day.”

I heard a metallic click that I now realize was a gun hammer being pulled back. I felt my dad move his leg slightly, so it was up against mine. I was trembling in fear! I’m sure he could tell. That’s when he spoke - calmly in a voice that I know was for me even though he said it to the man. He said, his voice filled with love and warmth, “Courage is just fear plus necessity and love.”

There was a pause and then a gunshot. My dad collapsed beside me. I heard footsteps and the bell on the door ring a couple seconds later. I looked down at my hands. I had squeezed the comic I was holding into a crumpled ball. That’s the last thing I remember before the police got there. They said I was in shock and had just kept saying, “I’m sorry dad. I will pay for the comic,” over, and over.

That was 70 years ago, and some days I can still remember the way the new comics smelled in dad’s five and dime store, or the warmth of my dad’s hand patting me on my shoulder when he would tell me it was time to lock up and go home. I have good and bad days now. It seems like the good days are getting further and further apart though. I can definitely smell the antiseptic and alcohol they use to try and cover the urine odor from my incontinence. Nurses and staff come and feed me and take care of me. They bathe me, dress me, and give me medicines that are supposed to treat my physical and memory disorders. I know they are just delaying the inevitable and one day I won’t remember anything important. My wife is gone now, but my son and his family come and visit me on a regular basis. They always visit on major holidays and even small ones like today…Father’s day. My son is a good man and has taken on the responsibility of my care, and the costs of me being here. I heard he and his wife arguing quietly. They thought I was sleeping. They argued about having to get a loan on their house to pay for my care. I don’t want that. I thought about my dad’s final words many times through my life, and I always thought I had understood them.

Today is a good day for me and I can remember exactly how he said them, and I think I finally believe I know what he really meant. “Courage is just fear plus necessity and love.” I strain to reach and unplug the nurse call button. And smiling to myself, I carefully roll up the comic book my grandson … whose name I just can’t seem to remember … gave me, and push the power button on my assisted breathing machine. As darkness comes I thank my dad, who also gave his life so his son could have a full one.