Smitty, Who Died in His Car Somewhere in Arizona

One evening, a number of summers ago, my friend James told me this story about the man who lived in the small stone building visible from the road as you drive into Tuscarora.  

    James began his story.  “Smitty was filthy and he was huge.”  I immediately had trouble fitting Smitty through his narrow front door, but you don’t interrupt James when he is telling a story. 

   “ Smitty weighed at least three hundred pounds.” he continued. “ He wasn’t educated. But sayings about life poured from him.  He was one of the wisest men I have ever known.” James gave me his, “ I have known many wise men '' look.

     He continued.  “The stone house had no plumbing, no electricity.  Smitty used an old gas stove for cooking. The shelves on one wall of the room were filled with Duncan Hines cake mixes, at least fifty of them.  Clint, who had the mail route, brought him jugs of red wine and cake mixes.  Smitty baked them in 9 x 11 aluminum pans.  When I went over there, even in the mornings, Smitty offered me wine and cake.” 

  James leaned forward. “You have to understand.  He was remarkable. He was never mean-spirited.  He was tolerant, accepting.  I loved talking with him.”  The Eighties were still fresh in James’ mind.  He had lost many friends to AIDs.

     I wanted to ask, “What were Smitty’s words of wisdom?  What did he say?” I knew better.  James shifted in his chair.  All was not going to go well for Smitty.  He couldn’t sit forever in that stone house drinking jug wine, eating cake, and saying wise things.

   James sighed.  “One day Smitty said he was going back East to visit his mother who was seriously ill. He did it.  He got on a plane and flew back East.”

    I couldn’t help it. “Do you think he took a bath first?”  I asked.  “You know,  got cleaned up?”

     James thought for a moment.  “I doubt it,” he said.

     “What happened to him?”  I asked.

    “He returned, but he wasn’t well.  He was having a difficult time getting through the winters.  So he took his two dogs and left.  Drove to Arizona where he lived out of his car.  He died in his car somewhere in Arizona.”

   “That’s it?” I asked.

   “Yes,” said James.