Regular Life

I walked into the room and saw her sitting there in a sofa chair upholstered yellow-gold, while a little 13” color TV sent out light and sound waves of “Everybody Loves Raymond.” Her favorite moments in that show were Ray’s father saying, “Crap!”

Betty’s arms were so grotesquely black and blue that I had to avert my squeamish eyes. She went to dialysis daily, and I think the discoloration was a result of something gone wrong.

Bob and Betty lived next to us in Bella Vista, Arkansas. It was a small hamlet in the hills that somehow hid its 20,000 residents from the US Highway dividing it. Largely a retirement village, it nevertheless hosted some young couples looking to get into a house on the cheap.

This was the recipe for our meeting.

Speaking of recipes, I’ll never forget that apple pie Bob baked, its smiley-face crust staring up at me. The fact that a man of his generation baked anything was a bit of a surprise, yet he regularly made us cookies and other delectables.

Bob couldn’t go anywhere without his oxygen bottle. Whether going to check on Betty in the back bedroom or the mail at the end of their short driveway, he wheeled the small tank alongside him. He had worked in Kansas City coating large pipes with asbestos, and was one of the many who fell ill from it. Despite that, his voice was always clear, if quiet, and I never heard him complain.

Their humble house belied their manner. If they had won any large settlement from a class-action lawsuit, I certainly didn’t know it from looking. I found out by accident that Bob had a very wealthy and powerful family member. He was talking to me about spending time with family over a weekend, and mentioned someone named Lee.

My brain’s wheels turned a bit. Bob’s last name was Scott. “You mean Lee Scott, of Wal-Mart?”

“Sure, you didn’t know I was his uncle?”

H. Lee Scott, President and CEO of Wal-Mart Stores, Inc. was Bob’s nephew. The fact that neither Bob nor Betty had mentioned it showed they were not name-droppers.

When Lee Scott took over Wal-Mart from David Glass in 2000, I was a business writer for the Benton County Daily Record (Bentonville’s hometown newspaper and a property of Walton-controlled Community Publishers). I wrote a story about Glass’ stepping down and Scott’s stepping up. I spent that day piecing together his history with Wal-Mart and trying to get one of Wal-Mart’s public relations weasels to talk to me.

Back to Bob and Betty. Despite his sickness, Bob managed to get Betty in the car every morning and drive her to her daily dialysis appointment. Betty often waved out their kitchen window to us as we worked in the front yard flower beds, always sure to ask how we were doing.

One night when Shannon was pregnant and having blood pressure problems, she got a sudden headache and felt hot. I went to Bob and Betty’s and knocked on the door.

“Well, hello, Mark,” Bob said through the screen door. By that time, I barely noticed the tubes in his nose.

“Hey there. Shannon thinks her blood pressure might be spiking. Do you happen to have a blood pressure cuff?” I asked.

“Come on in, and we’ll see what I can do.” He opened the screen door to let me into the living room.

Their house was oppressively hot. It was July in Arkansas, when the weather is always set to “sauna.” Air conditioning didn’t seem like a priority to Bob and Betty.

“Here we go,” Bob said. “Which one do you want?”

I walked to the dining table. He had laid out four blood pressure cuffs.

“I don’t know. The one that’s easiest, I guess.”

Bob sent me home with one I was able to use, and it turned out Shannon’s pressure was high. The doctor advised us to come in, but bring nothing. She was induced that night, and Ben came into the world the next afternoon.

Bob had told me I could come over and borrow any of his powertools I wanted, as long as I shut the shed door when finished. He never locked it. I took him up on his offer more than once.

For my part, I mowed the narrow strip of grass between their landscaping timbers and the street. The man who sold me the house said he had done it for them, and hoped I would do the same. The rest of their front lawn was rocks, a low-maintenance approach adhered to by many Bella Vistans.

Bob and Betty said they were very close to the family who had sold us the house. Watching the three children grow for the past seven years, they had become surrogate grandparents. Although they moved a mere 10 miles down the road, only once in the two years we lived there did I see them visit.

I can’t say we did any better. We were right next door, and besides through their kitchen window, Bob and Betty saw Ben only two or three times in the year following his birth. When I steered the UHaul out of our driveway, we had not said goodbye. In fact, we never told them we were moving. We just left.

They were two of the kindest people I’ve met, and I don’t even know if they are alive.

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