AN EXAMINED LIFE OF A RARE MEEK MAN (part 2)

Part two  of four   

By Robert R. Schwarz

 And He [ Jesus ] has  said to me, " My grace

is sufficient for you, for power is perfected

          in weakness. " ….For when  I am  weak,

                                              then  I am strong.  ( The Apostle Paul, 2
                                             Corinthians 12: 9,10 )

             VI 

The Kuss Family: ( front row, from left ) Sister Elaine and son
Ryan; Willete, Bruce's mother; niece Connie; and Bruce, then 33.

            For the next 44 years, Bruce worked as a clerk in various departments of the Sears Roebuck and Company at the Golf Mill shopping center in Niles, Illinois.  He was, I believe, like  an orphan in need of a humanized  home. When I  once saw how his face could light up with contentment  as  he rang  up a sale for a pair of shoes  and handed it to an obviously  pleased   customer , I knew Bruce had found his  niche in life . And he now could  shield himself from his chronic  crowd-induced distress by  exercising his salesmanship skills. To his aid had also come those inanimate sales counters that emotionally walled him  off from anxious customers . Perhaps, what my friend really needed was a governor placed on his  overabundance of God-given empathy .

Sad events easily brought tears to his  eyes,  such as his hearing of as a young girl being killed  in front of a supermarket by a runaway car . Once or twice I resisted the temptation to advise him of the ancient proverb of those  three wise monkeys who , as depicted in  small tabletop  figurines ,   see no evil, hear no evil, and speak no evil.

Whether it was the shoe , furniture or camera  ( best liked by him ) department where Bruce had been  placed precipitously by management,  he moved quickly and diligently around the   glass counters , always reaching  for the appropriate sales  item and ringing the cash register as  a  happy climax  . But the day Sears digitized its cash registers, Bruce felt  intimidated . He tried  hard to join the digital world—he never was to  own a computer—but, like many of us , was allergic to it.

His  speaking voice, particularly on the telephone ,  belied  Mr. Kuss's profile;  its mellow timbre  resonated with  self-control and perfect diction , easily reminding  one of a radio announcer or cool-headed executive.   A stranger might  hear a boorish monotone in his voice, but if attentive to it, would  hear sincerity instead.  To his credit, Bruce knew exactly who and what he was; he shared with me a thought about being short , now weighing 40 pounds  less since his army days .  " When they put me in the camera department at Sears," he related with a  frown of  self-disapproval. "I began to notice that when managers from the Sears home office visited the store, they all seemed to be six-foot-two ." 

             

VII      

A memory across the street on second floor center...
his monastic-like home for 30 years.  

 In his simple apartment on Touhy Avenue , Bruce lived a monastic life for  three decades.  "He was  a private man, "  said his  niece  Connie Obrochta , a teacher who lived near Park Ridge.  "I got to see his apartment only once, when I helped him  move in and showed him how to work his hide-away bed. "

            I well knew my friend's typical day of  unchangeable routine . He was  up at 5 a.m. ,  put on one of  two  suits, a white shirt , and  one of four  neckties ,  each  a past Christmas  present  from Connie or  his married   sister , now living  in Michigan.   Breakfast was   a muffin—usually blueberry—and a cup of decaffeinated instant coffee. Bruce  had an aversion to cooking his own meals—caused by bad memories  of  army chow and  punishing  KP duty. After his heart attack years later, his doctor told  him that his   meal regimen of too many of those affordable  fast-foods  had likely caused the attack. 

            Bruce then  descended two  flights of stairs and  drove  his car out of a small  outdoor  parking lot across the street , often with  a worried thought about the cost  of a needed brake job for his 14-year-old Chevy .  In  ten minutes,  he would arrive at Sears. But in winter, because his  car once didn't start, forcing him to take a taxi,  Bruce now arrived  at the shopping center 90 minutes  early and  sat  in the car until the employee entrance  opened.   When I  questioned his excessive prudence, he calmly argued ,  " Bob , I wanted to make  sure I never would be late and never have to take a cab again.  "

After work  on payday,  Bruce went  to his favorite  shopping center café for either  pasta   or his  hot beef sandwich on white bread  with  a side of  instant mashed potatoes, all  smothered with canned gravy . Arriving at his apartment building (or when leaving it in the morning),  Bruce used the backdoor to avoid encountering a woman tenant who, for unknown reasons , would hurl  insults at him on sight.  He thought her demented.  "If I saw her   a block away , I went around her . I just tried to avoid her.  She had once said I was lying to her when I told her about that lightning experience in the army.  I finally shouted at her, Leave me alone !  " Likely it was the first time in his adult life that Bruce had shouted in anger at a human being. When the  woman eventually moved  away,  Bruce said, "I felt sorry for her. " 

Keeping him company in evenings were a few hours of either  a  library-borrowed movie  from the 1940's  or  comedy television , particularly  I Love Lucy, Mash, The Nanny, or Hogan's Heroes .

On any of  his two days off, Bruce   might spend a few hours reading the Wall Street Journal at the public library  or taking the train (once a month ) to the Loop for   a corn beef-on-rye   at the renown German restaurant,  Berghoff's . This, and lunch in the Loop  every four months with a Polish immigrant friend of his who owned a small custom suit business,  were the only   luxuries Bruce could enjoy without going into debt. 

VIII    Some would say that Bruce had a few

               things in common with these three: 

                Helen Keller, Dr. Martin Luther King

                Jr., and Mahatma Gandhi . 

       My first and late wife Judith and I had been living out-of-state for two  years,  and Bruce and I had lost touch until a conversation . H e had just returned from a two-day trip to Minnesota  for his sister  Elaine's funeral. She was the last of his immediate  family member and had  died at age 86 of a heart attack.  While telling me this on the  telephone, Bruce had  rare outburst of
emotion :  " I was never even warned ! "  Since many of our of soul-sharing conversations had been over coffee and a pastry ,  I suggested we meet e ww at a Caribou . At that time, Caribou  was my friend's  favorite  coffee spot ; its fireplace and knotty pine walls took him back to family days at  the Spider Lake resort  and to Frank, that convivial ,  nature-sage  resort owner of  Chippewa descent. 

As usual, Bruce insisted I choose where to sit. Bruce appeared to be in good health despite  his heart attack and angioplasty of    several years ago.    His face had  aged some ;  a few feint wrinkles  here and there, but  had remained  sculpted  with  transparent friendliness. His  eyes told me  no trespassing.  I reminded him that it was his turn to pray.  His prayer was brief , expressing gratitude for life itself and  asking blessings for my wife, Mary Alice.  I got the impression that Bruce wanted nothing that might diminish  his health or modest income . He had remained, I perceived, a man without a trace of duplicity . Of course, he was human , and  therefore   I wondered if a day of leisure or work had ever passed him when he could not resist a temptation to lie ,  or if  his pride was ever seriously wounded . Had my friend learned the art living simply and silently in the heart of a  disordered , drum-banging culture ? 

With its ambiance of rock music and  loud  ,  caffeinated  chatter , Caribou on this particular Saturday morning was not kind to our palaver, let alone prayer. Sooner of later, our coffee talk went to  Hollywood movies in the 1940's or the inflated  cost of living today .  Bruce delighted in reciting biographical data about his favorite actors such as his  favorite,  Gary Grant.  Our voices grew louder on the topic of what new cars cost in the 1950's ;   and  finally  we got philosophical about the very rich and famous  and how  they unwisely or wisely spent  their money—and how they died. Bruce  then  related  the time he found $l4 ,000 at  Sears . It was in a pouch  on the floor, dropped accidentally by  a cashier rushing to the security office. "It was anyone who wanted it, "  Bruce said, still irritated at the cashier's clumsiness.    "No one was in sight at the time ,  and the cashier would never recall where she had  dropped it. When I turned it in to security, they    grabbed the pouch  from me and  gave me a queer  look . I think they might have said 'thank you. ' " 

Bruce often was vexed about the  boldness of shoplifters at Sears . There was a thin woman who, before she was caught, had  walked out of a dressing room   wearing two layers of stolen dresses concealed under her own dress . And  there were "customers"  who switched their own shoes with those in a  shoe box.  Bruce found this disgusting.  When the topic of charity came up, it was a rare time I saw Bruce get angry. "I don't understand it," he said , laying aside a large Caribou  chocolate chip  cookie. "When  we give  change back to a customer and suggest they consider dropping just  a LITTLE of it  into this box on my  counter   to help our  veterans, they make the lamest excuses. "  Bruce rattled off the excuses. 

              We  leaned back and   drank the rest  of our coffee in silence. Eventually , I became  impatient with  the idle silence  and , giving in to  a journalist's curiosity,  asked:  "Doesn't anything ever really   upset  you , Bruce? I mean,  do you ever think about heaven or hell ?" 

Justifiably irritated for my presuming to much about the depth of  his faith, he shot back with:  "Look, I don't know much about where I'm going when I die. I'm just concerned about all the tragedy that's now in  the world. "  It sounded like a  plea .  I sensed  my friend had exposed a fear he had confronted, unwillingly , for the first time.  I became  embarrassed and retreated into  silence. My question , however, had  incited Bruce to say a few minutes  later,    "I wonder why God allows good people to suffer."

            " I don't really know ,"  I answered . "I've heard different explanations , but none satisfy me a hundred per cent. "  Glancing up at the ceiling, I said ,  " You know, Bruce, His ways are not our ways. "   Though I thought my  comment  appropriate , it echoed  back to me years  later as superficial  and lacking empathy for Bruce's unique spiritual trek.

    A few days later,  my wife and I had  Bruce over for dinner. Mary Alice asked him how his new boss was treating him .   Flashing a smile that lingered  for several seconds,  Bruce  was anxious to reply:"Well,   her name is Doris ,  and she's  maybe 28. A little assertive and doesn’t know how to say to her employees ,  ' Would you mind doing this?' or  'Why don't you…?'   But then she's  under a lot of pressure to turn things around in our department."

      Bruce always could find a kind word for  anyone, no matter how they treated him.  Over dessert , he had  more to say about Doris. 

     "Listen to this now: I come to work early one morning, set things up in  the stock room before I clock in. I didn't know there had been a mistake in the shift schedule and that I wasn't suppose to work  that day. My new boss comes in, sees me,  says she's really sorry for the mix-up and gives me a big hug. Can you imagine !   Then she says, 'We're going make it up to you with five  extra hours of work for you  next week . ' " 

Bruce badly needed  this overtime pay, and so  I clapped and Mary Alice , also  happy,  bit her lip.

      "I'm not finished, " Bruce said.  " You know that car brake job I've been putting off?  Two hundred bucks less than I thought !"  Simple  and  meticulous  ownership of his car sweetened his life.  

We escorted Bruce to the front porch.  I watched him walk into the night towards his  car. " He's wearing that same  plaid  shirt," I murmured  to my wife. " Be quiet, " she told me. 

Bruce's walk was  slower now , his back  slightly  hunched and his arms  dangling rather than swinging at his sides.  How ever does  his kind manage to  survive ?  I asked myself.  For the  first time I saw  nothing  ordinary about my  friend.  He was on a trek which, and   I had to know where it led.  

This completes the second of this four--part article.

 

All comments are welcome.

rrschwarz7@wowway.com

© 2016 Robert R. Schwarz