Thoughts from Dr. Joe: Girl Scouts cause hoopla at Joe’s Bar
It’s been said that angels watch over fools and children. Well, if that’s the case, I figure I’m covered. Since I believe an angel has my back, I’ve always had a couple of extra doses of moxie. But having moxie is both a blessing and a curse; it just all depends on the day.
Last week I was in Llano, Texas, trying to determine what all the hoopla is that Josh Abbott sings about in “My Texas.” He implies that you ain’t never lived until you’ve had brisket smoked over mesquite at Coopers Barbecue in Llano.
I passed the courthouse and saw a sign that indicated Coopers was down the next street. However, what got my attention was the stone monument memorializing the Confederate soldiers who served during the Civil War. I stopped and paid my respects. I’m a student of the war and have devoured Shelby Foote’s “The Civil War: A Narrative.” Soldiering, both North and South, and how Foote explains it takes me to the next level of wonder.
I perched on the courthouse wall, enjoying a few contemplative moments and noticed a dilapidated neon sign that had seen its best day long ago. It read, “Joe’s Bar.” I drove across the street, parked my powder-blue Kia next to assorted trucks, summoned my angels and walked in.
The room was smoky. It had a long wooden bar. The stools were filled with men staring coldly and holding bottles of Lone Star. “What do you have on tap?” I asked the barkeep. I was outgunned. Regardless, I sat next to this big ol’ boy who seemed annoyed at my very existence. I began to reach for my pistol until I realized that I had none. I met his stare. He noticed my cap, which had “U.S. Marines” embroidered on it.
“Where were you?” he asked.
“Nam, ’70,” I replied. “You?”
“I was there in ’67. Do you want to do a shoot?”
The boys at the bar, including myself, shot a few rounds of whiskey, and that’s only part of the story.
Moments later, five little Brownies entered the bar pulling a wagon loaded with assorted boxes of Girl Scout cookies. They were in full uniform and wearing vests adorned with badges and medals. One of the girls, Penelope, was the barkeep’s granddaughter.
“Y’all wanna buy Girl Scout Cookies?” one of the children asked. The juxtaposition of these beautiful children standing amid cowboys and haulers was a moment that mixed the naivete of innocence with men whose years have extinguished all wonder.
One of the ol’ boy’s remarked, “Sure ’nuff, darlin’. Whatcha got?” The little Brownies sold every box in the wagon. One of the children then ran outside, where her mother filled the wagon with more cookies, and they sold that inventory as well.
I mentioned to the boys about the gift of caring, where they could purchase cookies and have them sent to the soldiers. The little Brownie Scouts sold more.
It doesn’t matter where you are, Llano, Texas, or La Cañada, there are a million Girl Scouts who will try to sell you cookies. Buy a few boxes and then buy a few for the troops.
The children thanked the boys at the bar for supporting Girl Scouts, pulled their empty wagon, and left Joe’s Bar. I watched the men closely. Their demeanor had changed; the children had softened their hearts.
Once more, we shot whiskey, and then I dropped the bomb. “Boys, I was a Girl Scout leader in La Cañada, California, for 13 years.” They looked like they were gut-shot.
We said our farewells and I drove away in my powder blue Kia, taking my angels with me. I never made it to Cooper’s Barbecue. I’d eaten too many Thin Mints.
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JOE PUGLIA is a practicing counselor, a retired professor of education and a former officer in the Marines. Reach him at doctorjoe@ymail.com. Visit his website at doctorjoe.us.
