Watercolor Pencil

The weather channel said that it would be sunny, mild, and dry...RIGHT!! The only thing they got right was that it was relatively mild if you consider 40 degrees mild. It was cloudy and rainy, not the usual downpour that we expect in the spring here in the northeast, but it was a steady rain. I dressed for my morning walk, wearing my red and black Columbia jacket with the hood up so that no umbrella was needed.

I made my usual stop at the corner Dunks to get my regular coffee before I headed toward the Boston Public Garden for my warmup lap. I’ve been taking the same general route for the past couple of years, so I tend to encounter most of the same people along the way. For the most part, we acknowledge each other with a nod of the head or a slight smile. There are others that I see, but they are in their own world. One who has caught my eye over time is an older gentleman who usually hunkers down on a bench near the perimeter of the Swan Boat pond. He never seems to make any kind of eye contact with passersby or acknowledges anyone in any way. I always view him from a distance as I head in his direction, but avert my eyes as I get closer to him, not wanting to make him uncomfortable.

Today, as I approach him, I see that he has dropped something near his feet, but does not seem to have noticed the loss. Several walkers have bypassed him, also not seeming to notice what he has dropped. I debate whether I should stop to pick up the item or let him know that he has dropped something. As I get closer, I see that the item is a colored pencil. I decide to stop and retrieve the pencil.

“Excuse me sir, but you dropped this colored pencil, and I didn’t think you noticed,” I said as I handed him the pencil.

“Not ‘sir’, just Gus, Thanks.” He spoke without looking up and went back to what he was doing.

Not wanting to disturb him, I pulled my hood forward on my head and kept walking. By the time I made my next circuit around the Garden, Gus had left.

Over the next six to eight months, I saw him at least once a day. I never interrupted whatever he was doing, but he always seemed to notice me coming his way, and would look up and nod, to which I would respond. After about a month or so, I might say hello or good morning, and eventually, he would say hi. One beautiful, sunny, warm late spring day, I saw that he had dropped another colored pencil, so I stopped and picked it up. When I handed it to him, he asked me if I was in a hurry to go someplace. I said no, and sat down next to him on his bench. He didn’t say anything for a while, but I noticed that he was drawing on a piece of paper about 5”x7”. I didn’t want to be too obvious that I was checking out what he had drawn, but he realized that I was curious, so he angled the paper so that I could get a good look. I was truly gobsmacked! It was an extraordinary image of me!! He handed it to me with a slight smile on his face. I was speechless for at least 30+ seconds before I said thank you. He waved his hand in a dismissive manner and went back to what he was doing. I walked away in a daze!

A few weeks later he saw me walking toward him, and patted the seat next to him indicating that he wanted me to sit. I did as indicated, at which point he handed me about four sheets of paper that he had taken out of a little black book that he had inside his jacket. They were intricate images of some of the other walkers from the Garden. The images were so detailed that I was able to immediately recognize each person. I asked Gus why he was giving them to me, and shrugged his shoulders, and said, “Because.” I looked at him and said thanks before he bent his head down again intent upon his task.

This went on for the next few months, throughout the summer into the early fall. Every few weeks, he would pat the bench next to him to get me to stop, open the little black book, and hand over a few more images of regulars in the Garden, and sort of sending me off.

The second week of October, I didn’t see Gus. It was cloudy and a bit drizzly, so I didn’t think too much about it, but after about a full week of not seeing him, I began to worry. I figured that he was about in his late 70’s-mid-eighties, and as much time as he spent sitting out on that bench in all kinds of weather, he could be sick. I had no way of knowing where he lived and under what circumstances. I continued to check for him every day and sometimes went back later in the day to see whether he had just changed the time of day he went to the Garden. But no luck.

One morning three weeks later as I was starting my walk, a gentleman in a suit was sitting on Gus’s bench. As I was walking by, he said hello and asked me if I knew the older gentleman who usually sits on this bench. I stopped, and said yes, eager to get any word on Gus’s welfare. He patted the seat, just like Gus would do, so I sat. I was a bit apprehensive as to what he was about to tell me. The gentleman introduced himself as Finley Renoir, Gus’s nephew. He told me that Gus had been sick for some time, had been diagnosed with stage 4 colon cancer, and knew that he had less than a year to live. Gus succumbed to his illness the first of October, and as executor of his estate, Finley had been trying to follow through with his wishes, and one of the last tasks had been to locate me. Finley explained to me that Gus had wanted to give me all of his drawings, as he felt that I was the only one who would really appreciate them. His favorite pastime was drawing, especially here in the Boston Public Garden. He explained that Gus had always wanted to draw and paint professionally, but his father insisted that he follow in the family business. Gus acquiesced to his family’s wishes but followed his heart once he retired and moved to the Boston area.

Finley then handed me a large manilla envelope which contained some papers, a letter in a legal size envelope, and what I recognized as Gus’s little black book. I slowly removed the book first. Upon opening it, I was again gobsmacked by the images that he had drawn. I sat there in silence as I thumbed through the pages. When Finley placed a handkerchief in my lap, I realized that I was crying. I looked up at him and saw that the book had had the same impact on him. I decided that I would put it away and peruse it later in the privacy of my own home. I next pulled out the sheaf of papers that Finley said I needed to sign to acknowledge receipt of the letter and the little black book. I carefully read and signed the papers handing them back to Finley. The last item was the legal size envelope, which I opened very deliberately. Inside was a hand-written letter from Gus. I won’t relate the contents, but the gist is that he appreciated the time that I spent with him and my appreciation of his artistic talent. I was about to fold up the letter and put it back in the envelope when Finley told me that I had missed a piece of paper in the midst of the letter. I took a second look, and found a cashier’s check for $2.5 million!! I turned to Finley, and said, “I can’t accept this! It needs to go to his family, to you!!

“We have already been provided for by the proceeds from the family business. This money comes from the proceeds from his favorite pastime, drawing, and painting. He had already sold a number of his art pieces and wanted the proceeds and his little black book to go to you.”

“I-I-Uhm?”

“Everything was processed through probate once we were able to acquire your information, so there is nothing that you need to do except deposit the check in your account. If you have any questions, here’s my card. Please feel free to call me at any time. By the way, those drawings in the book are probably worth an additional couple million dollars should you decide to sell them.”

“Finley, why are his drawings and artwork worth so much if he didn’t start drawing until he retired?”

“Gus’s full name was Pierre Auguste Renoir IV. He was the only one in the family that inherited artistic talent. Go figure!” Haha, he chuckles as he walks back across the Garden.

I continue to sit on Gus’s bench holding the manila envelope to my chest, thinking of the missed opportunity to get to know him. R.I.P. Gus, and thanks so much for everything.