Part one 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 )
The meek man is not a human mouse afflicted
with a sense of his own inferiority. Rather
he
may be in his moral life as bold as a lion
and
as strong as Samson; but he has stopped
being
fooled about himself. He has accepted God's
estimate of his own life. He knows he is as
weak and helpless as God declared him to be,
but paradoxically, he knows at the same time
that he is in the sight of God of more
importance
than angels. In himself, nothing; in God,
everything.
That is his motto. ( A.W.
Tozer , 1897-1963 ,
American Christian pastor, author, magazine editor,
and spiritual mentor. )
Meekness is an attribute of
human nature and behavior.
It has been defined several
ways: righteous, humble,
teachable, patient under suffering , and willing to follow
gospel teachings….Meekness means restraining
one's
own power, so as to allow room
for others. (Wikipedia,
the online encyclopedia )
A few introductory
words… Dear Reader, with these few
thousand words I present to you
Bruce Kuss , a kind of man many of
us have met and instinctively
trusted. Yet, for some reason, we also
instinctively avoid friendship with people like Bruce and away from ever asking why., strangely , forever avoid asking why.
***
I am a journalist and former facilitator of interpersonal communication workshops , two influences which spurred me
to know why I was one of those who perceived Bruce as someone I could
trust yet never tolerate as a friend. As you wade into this report, you might find
it depressing. That likely will change
if you not presume that Mr. Kuss is a foolish wimp.
God's grace I thank for enabling me
over several months to research and
write this report. Also helpful was the
patience of my wife , Mary Alice, who often suffered my 20-minute delays coming
to the dinner table after I had shouted from my office "be right there ! "
I
In the rehab center's dinning room, sadness and joy fluctuated across
the aged face of my friend Bruce
as he told me about a cherished
memory…
 |
| Fishing at age 7 on Big Spider Lake where he "never did catch anything " |
He was 12
years old and sitting
with his parents and a few guests around a evening birch log fire at the Cedar Lodge resort on Big Spider Lake
, 20 miles from Hayward in northern
Wisconsin. Everyone was talking up their
fishing day: "that exact
location of a lily pad" where aggressive strikes of large-mouth bass
occurred ; or the drama of how "
that Musky followed my Johnson spoon almost to the boat , then dove down…That's
August fishing for you… water too warm
. " A few wives empathized with the
wife of the lodge owner, Frank
Letourneau ( he was of Chippewa descent
) when she quipped , " I'm thankful
you men didn't catch more . You guys don't have to clean them."
Several
decades later Bruce would visit Mr. Letourneau in a nursing home, listen to his
demented Indian chanting, and weep over it.
For an hour, Bruce absorbed the ambiance of family-like friendship that warmed him
more than the log- burning fire. He sat between his father and mother , Willete
and Val Kuss, a sales manger of an International Harvester truck dealership in
Chicago. My absent father was one of his salesmen and often his fishing buddy. Near nine o'clock, everyone began returning to their log cabins , some making an outhouse stop . Bruce
rose reluctantly , and when his parents
exited the lodge , he followed for a few
yards , then halted as they disappeared into the night .
" It
was so dark that I couldn't see my hand in front of me ,"
Bruce later would later
recall. He looked up at the star-lit
sky, so unlike his Chicago night . Somewhere from the nearby ink-dark lake came
the piercing and frantic cry of a bird ,
aptly named a loon. Bruce stood
still, hoping to hear that howl of a
lone wolf heard by everyone two nights ago. It never came. On this same lake ,
I would someday memorialize the death of my parents. To Bruce's s right stood the "Honeymoon Lodge" cabin, named
for my parents who honeymooned a week
there as its first guests.
Bruce went to
bed grateful for a peaceful day, especially for the hours in
his father's presence. Trust them, listen to them, and things will go my
way, a thought he would someday share with
me. The thought through ensuing years would often be put to the test
; it would also become a profound building block of his core character.
II
We talked for any hour that day in the
rehab center. Bruce was high-spirited
and full of memories he had wanted to express ever since arriving there. His
eyes moistened from thoughts of the beauty nature he used to shared with Mom and Dad , like when the family drove through the Garden of the Gods in Colorado when Bruce was 16.
 |
| With sister Elaine: "I always wanted a big brother to tell me about the birds and the bees " |
But that particular
memory darkened at roadside lunch stop and the soon arriving ambulance that took his father to a Denver hospital . It was some
blood disease doctors couldn't diagnose
. His father remained hospitalized in Denver for two months while mother and son waited
hourly for a diagnosis that never would be determined. Gravely ill, his father, accompanied by
his wife, was flown back to the family's home in Normal
, Illinois . In nearby Bloomington, Mr.
Kuss had bought a partnership in a farm machinery dealership. Because Bruce had no
driver's license, the dealership dispatched an employee to Denver to
drive Bruce home in the family's new Pontiac. "The trip home was painful , and I never forgot it," Bruce told
me. Two months , his father died.
Then
glancing around him in the rehab center lunch room at all the other
seniors in wheelchairs waiting for food
as he was, my friend said, "Mom
told me to be true and cling to people who cling to you . My biggest challenge
was trying to be like my Dad. But I've
done my best. " He bowed his head.
" Maybe things would have been different then if
I had had a Dad. "
III
Back home, Bruce and his mother
decided to move to the Chicago suburb of
Park Ridge and enroll Bruce in his
senior high school year before
September. They made a down payment on a home. Mr. Kuss's death and that torturous long vigil in Denver had bonded mother and ever
tighter. Bruce committed himself to the
dual role of friend and permanent
companion to his mother.
Bruce
toured the Maine Township high school before enrolling . Seeing a student
population at least four times that of his high school in Normal , Bruce was quickly overshadowed
with anxiety. The hustle and bustle of this high school was intense, so unlike his student life in Normal. Social interaction around Normal was
a kind which Bruce had learned to trust, for it did not demand any change in
behavior inimical to his temperament and moral code. Walking through the hallway during a class-break amidst
the clanging of hundreds of lockers
opening and closing and feeling his body
repeatedly jarred by a stampede of
students during class-break, Bruce felt
overwhelmed . Though quite aware of his
five-foot-five-inch frame—he would never
grown an inch taller— he was yet to see
it as a social or employment disadvantage
nor yet to acquire a short-person's sometimes sense of vulnerability . At one of my
future birthday parties I saw him
interact gracefully with my friends—all several inches taller than he and
having an assortment of
imposing temperaments. I gradually began to admire a few traits in
my friend which I lacked. He would
become a likeable salesman, even under pressure.
" I
wanted no part of that school, " Bruce told me decades later. " Mom and I returned to Normal, and we lost the house down payment. "
In Normal,
Bruce attended a Presbyterian church and went to Sunday School ( he
described his father as not " very religious " ) , earned a few more Boy Scout merit badges,
graduated from high school, and dated a few girls, one of whom he proposed to.
She was from a wealthy family , a fact eventually causing Bruce to break off
the engagement after acknowledging he'd never be able to give her what she would
want. " But I regretted that I didn't find someone who was right for me,
" Bruce said during one of our many
talks. He would remain, by choice,
a bachelor for the rest of his life—no boyfriends nor
girlfriends.
IV
Bruce enrolled at the University of Illinois
and braved its campus for 4 years. He
studied business administration and
participated in the R.O.T.C.
program for two years. After graduating,
he volunteered for the draft and
soon wore an Army private's uniform at
Fort Carson, Colorado. Coincidentally, I was taking my basic training there at
the same time and, by chance, bumped
into Bruce on an Army bus taking us
trainees with weekend passes to Colorado Springs. We hadn't seen each other in several
years , and after a hurried conversation,
wouldn't see each other for another three years. All I remember from our meeting was Bruce's
account of a fatal lightning strike he had witnessed while on a training maneuver at another camp a few weeks ago.
He recalled
it one day in the rehab center: " We were marching into camp. Three guys were a short distance behind
me when a lightning bolt hit them. It
killed them right there ! "
His face showed confusion and deep thought, expressions which Bruce , it seemed, always kept sealed in mind and heart. His voice trailed off saying, " Bad
things happen to good people… "
Though these words for years would beg him to ask why? , I don’t believe
he ever got a comforting answer.
Bruce
had spent his draft time in Germany driving a jeep for Army
personnel, an assignment he thought " humdrum . " But thereafter
he would honor any military
fund-raising request with a few dollars
of his always-meager salary.
V Now living with his mother in a Park
Ridge apartment, Bruce went to work
selling lawn care products for the Scotts Company. He had found his life's
niche in interacting with people who needed something he could give
them. Customers sensed that this smiling salesman with the
blue eyes and brown hair—now a bit pudgy for a five-foot-five body carrying
175 pounds—was someone who really wanted them to make a wise
purchase at a fair price. It was the
kind of salesmanship his father and mine presented when selling International
Harvester trucks , that is, telling a
customer the truth about the highly technical topic of gear ratios ; it would
have all too easy to promote a much more expensive and— unnecessary— gear
ratio. Salesmanship like this would
remain one of Bruce's prime joys in his
life . He would, however, be persecuted
for it .
My friend
was heading of a life-long , successful career at Scotts when it begun laying off employees. As his niece Connie Obrochta remembers : "My nephew was always the
"consummate gentleman, gentle and
thoughtful, a hard worker who never
complained. " Arguably, my
friend's future might have been colored quite differently if he had done some complaining at the right times. Being mild-mannered did not explain his
behavior . An explanation for it was unfathomable to me at the time .
When Scotts began unexpectedly to lay off employees, Bruce quit. " I quit before they fired
me," he told me . Prudence remained
a virtue of his, along with a mouth which I never heard utter a profanity nor
eyes I ever saw wink at someone's
uncharitable act. Quote honestly, there were times when all this
goodness of Bruce's discomforted me .
Bruce made me think of Pinocchio , the puppet who became a human being because he
listened to his constant cricket companion and nag , Jiminy Cricket, a conscience given to him by an
angel. On a few occasions, I judged
Bruce's behavior as foolish and weak,
only later to be self- convicted of ignoring
my mother's exhortation when I was a child: Robert, soften your heart
and look for the good in people .
Bruce
and his mother continued to share their
apartment for 23 years . "He was
always the apple of his mom's eye
," said Connie. Mother and son took
vacations together throughout the country. His sister, Elaine,
now married, would often accompany them. " I didn't like to take vacations
by myself, " Bruce said . They saw
Las Vegas three times and took
vacations to Spider Lake in Wisconsin to
relive early family memories.
Bruce loved to drop a dollar into
a slot machine or bet two dollars on a
horse race (usually on a
five-to-four favorite ) when at the Arlington Park Race Track near
his home . A lifestyle of necessary
frugality prevented him to wager more.
As his
mother aged , Bruce assumed the role of caregiver, cook, and part-time housekeeper . They became each
other's best friend. Then, at age 86,
Willete suffered a fatal heart attack .
Bruce felt absolutely abandoned . For
reasons neither I nor his remaining family members would know, Bruce from now on , lived a solitary life .
My friend tried to
resume the church attendance with which he had been raised but could not pray once inside. "
I became depressed inside when I
thought of all the people I knew who had
died ," he said during one of our talks at his rehab center. " Then I found out that I didn't have to
be in church to pray but could pray in my
home. " Home now was a Spartan,
one-room , low rent , second-floor walkup apartment near the center of
Park Ridge. His quarters consisted of
one large walk-in closet, a bath and shower, a hide-away bed , a refrigerator
and a microwave oven he said he never used.
A block away was a bank where Bruce had a small checking account, and
across this six-corner intersection was the
art deco Pickwick movie theater , built in 1928. Bruce saw only one movie here. His sister invited
him to see the life of cook and author
Julia Childs . Next to it was the Pickwick Restaurant where , when
not eating at a McDonald's , Bruce dined on his favorites:
either a hot beef sandwich or a bowl of pasta .
This completes the
first of this four-part article.
( Parts 2, 3, and 4 were posted, respectively, on
Dec. 3, 10 , and 17, 2016 )
( Parts 2, 3, and 4 were posted, respectively, on
Dec. 3, 10 , and 17, 2016 )
All comments are
welcome.
© 2016 Robert R.
Schwarz
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