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SHEARON: Brother king of cool during confrontations |
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Wednesday, 17 October 2007 |
 Robert Shearon
He was always the better looking brother. While I was a marginally better student, he and I both graduated with bachelor’s degrees. He has always earned two to four times what I make. He’s a heck of a guy.
Anyway, he doesn’t suffer fools kindly. There are numerous stories to illustrate this, but my favorite is from about 33 years ago. He was 21 and I was 18 and we were at a country club swimming pool.
Every so often, someone would jump in the pool and a middle-aged man would jump up and command, “Get out of the pool with those cutoffs on.” Apparently you weren't supposed to swim wearing cutoff jeans. I think he did this to impress his trophy wife, who was, as I recall, a babe.
I went to the concession counter to get us a couple of drinks (okay, it was beer, which probably plays a small role in what follows) and while I had my back to the pool I heard, in succession: splash, “Get out of the pool with those cutoffs on” and then my brother’s voice saying “Come get me out, partner (pronounced pahd-nah).”
I turned around and saw my brother standing in the pool with a cheshire grin on his face. The middle-aged guy was standing, and was turning red in the face from anger, and, as he stood there without a response, embarrassment. The trophy wife seemed amused. The moment dragged on. The middle-aged guy apparently realized two things — my brother wasn’t kidding, and he had no chance, even on his best day, of getting my brother out of the pool, even to impress his trophy wife.
Finally, the man huffed off. My brother swam to the side of the pool.
I handed him his beer.
A couple of minutes later a lifeguard wandered up. Sizing my brother up, I suspect he realized he didn’t want a physical confrontation. “Uh, you’re not supposed to be in the pool with cutoff jeans on.”
“The seams are hemmed up,” my brother replied calmly.
“Uh, well, you’re still not supposed to be wearing those in the pool,” he said, obviously worried that the situation would spin even farther out of control.
“OK,” my brother said, and heaved himself out of the pool. “I don’t mind getting out of the pool. I just wasn’t going to let HIM tell me to get out.” The lifeguard grinned. He thought the guy was a jerk, too.
Later, in the locker room, we ran into the middle-aged guy, who apologized to my brother for “calling your bluff.” Huh? My brother laughed it off.
A few years later, I was faced with a situation, and I found myself thinking, “What would my brother do?”
I had some business that frequently took me from Arkansas to Memphis. It got to be a habit that I would drop off any film that needed to be developed at a store that rhymes with “not smart.” Then I’d pick up the film on my way back home later that day.
So, one time I did this, went in to pick up the film, and the photo department was closed.
I tracked down a clerk, said I needed to get some pictures from the photo department, and was told I would have to come back when it was open.
“No,” I said. “I don’t live anywhere near here. I’m not coming back. Just get me my pictures and I’ll be on my way.”
The clerk was determined. “No,” he said, “We don’t go into the photo department after it’s closed, you will have to come back.”
And then it hit me: I should just do what my brother would do.
I smiled, said OK, then stood there while the clerk wandered off in triumph.
I reached over the counter and pulled out the tub of photos. Mine were on top. I slid the tub back and walked to the checkout counter, paid, left, and never darkened their doorway again.
I’m not really like my brother that much, but sometimes it’s great to follow in his footsteps. Actually, I suppose he might have reached over the counter and grabbed the photos while the clerk looked on trying to figure out how to salvage his pride and the situation. Still, it felt pretty good.
Robert Shearon is news editor of the Courier. His column appears weekly.
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