I'm not sure this story is funny, but it did pull at my heart strings a number of years back.
It was on a saturday, early may of 1999 when I got the urge to do so MDing at a small park in a town some 50 miles from my home. I awoke before dawn, packed extra batteries, fresh water and I headed out. I found the one and only park they had rather easy, with a small steam running behind it. The town maybe had less than 300 people living there, but the park was as old as the town itself.
It was early in the day when I first pulled up, with a few children running wild on the two lane black top road, but very few people even looked my way. I thought it was because I might have been the only caucasan male dumb enough to MD the park, seeing how most of the people living there were African-American. It was an old town with one stop sign and an old water tower looming over their heads.
I had all of my gear either hanging off me, or in my hand when I first started out. With the car doors locked I wasn't bothered until around noon. That's when the Mrs. Bee woke up to find me MDing in her park. A few people came over, asking the normal questions, but quickly walked away after learning what I was doing.
Mrs. Bee came up behind me while I was pulling yet another wheatie out of the ground and tapped me on the shoulder. (Seeing how I had headphones on, I didn't hear her at first).
She was old, with dark wrinkled skin that looked like a walnut, with short, snow white hair, but her large brown eyes were sharp and clear. She leaned on an old croaked cane and smiled at me before she introduced herself. "Mrs. Bee", was the oldest living person living in the small town. She asked what I was doing, and if I had found anything of value. I showed her everything, including the trash. Rusty nails, pieces of iron, pull tops etc. which she was thankful for having it gone, even though it didn't leave too much of a threat at that time. (Everything was buried at least 4-6 inches deep)
She then started talking about when she was first married. She and her late husband would have picnics in the park, down by the stream. She told me they had lost their wedding rings somewhere in the park during a 4th of July fireworks display back in 1943, and were never able to find them. She didn't say why they took them off, only that they were now lost. Her husband had placed them in his shirt pocket, for safe keeping he would say.
This woman had pride, and it showed.
She then asked if I could try to find her rings, showing me where they were sitting and where they went during that time. She pointed out where every carnaval stand and rides sat, what the games were and what each game and ride cost to play. Scanning the area I hit a gold mine of coins, toys and what-not, but no rings.
She mentioned it started to sprinkle soon after the fireworks were over, and she, her late husband and a few friends ran to a large oak tree, that once sat in the center of the park until the rain stopped.
"A big oak tree, some hundred years old sat there," pointing at a very large old stump where the tree one sat. She told me many a child climbed its limbs, or sitting there under its wide branches during hot summer nights sipping Coca -cola in 10 oz. bottles. (I knew that, after finding a boat load of rusty bottle caps).
"Not once was it ever hit by lightning. We knew we were safe under those limbs."
So I started to search around the tree trunk and sure enough, I hit silver. I pull out a beautiful silver ring, with a nice red gem surrounded by four diamonds. It was dirty, but it was indeed beautiful. I washed it off with the water I was carrying and handed it over.
Mrs. Bee held it in her hand, turning and staring at it carefully. She then shook her head. "Sorry son, that's not mine," and she handed it back. I was shocked. (The ring was later valued at over $2,400)
Placing the ring deep into my pocket, I started sweeping the area around the tree trunk once again, getting another good signal. Needless to say after the third ring, I was about to give up. The other two rings were mens gold wedding band, value turned out to be $300.00 a piece.
Sweaping the area away from around the trunk, near the roots I hit another signal, but this time it was a very weak signal and I kept hearing an echo in my headphones. Getting on our hands and knees I started to dig around a large root, looking for our next find. Mrs. Bee using her cane, pulled the dirt out from under the root. It was getting close to sunset, I had dug down to 8" when I first saw them.
After careful digging, I unearthed two rings, both faded gold in color. But both were quite thin from age and wear. I thought then and there Mrs. Bee was going to have a heart attack. She was waving her arms in the air and screaming for all to hear.
"Praise the Lord, Praise the Lord! He's found my rings, God have mercy he's found my rings."
I had indeed found their rings. After washing them off in water I learned Mrs Bee and her late husband were dirt poor farmers when they were first married. They didn't have two coins to rub together, but a traveling salesman traded them the rings for an old plow horse they had on the property. It seems he was tired of walking trying to sale his wares and decided to ride the rest of the way home. She could not understand why anyone selling brushes had a set of gold rings on them, but her husband at that time didn't care.
"It was an act of god," he told her. She never denied it. She hated that old plow horse.
Now everyone in town came running into the park. Everyone wanted to look and touch Mrs' Bee's rings, everyone praising the lord for her good fortune. I sat there, with my back pressed against the stump, one arm holding me up, my headphones resting on my shoulders. My MD was resting between my legs, so it wouldn't get trampled. My balding head was sunburned, I was sweaty, my fingersnails were brokn and dirty and I was dying of thirst, but I could not get that s^!#-eating smile off my face.
"We did it Mrs. Bee," I remember whispering.
My back started to hurt from all of the 'That-a-boy' and 'god bless you' remarks, and I stopped counting the offers to stay for dinner after twenty.
I was offered a nice cold bottle of Coka-cola which I drank down in two large gulps, and the best fried chicken I had ever tasted in my life. (Sorry Mom!)
It even beat KFC, it was that good. By the time I got ready to go, until the time I closed my car door, Mrs Bee was hanging on to me, thanking god for allowing me to find her wedding rings. As I drove away I watch her clutching the rings against her chest, with tears falling down both cheeks. The whole town stood behind her, waving as I drove away.
I later learned I was the first, and only person to ever MD that park. Anyone else who tried has been ran off. (Or so I'm told) I knew there would be more treasure to unearth there, but I never went back after that day.
Until July 5th, 2001.
I received a phone call the night before that had cut me to the core.
Mrs. Bee had passed away in her sleep July 4th, 2001. She was 98. In her right hand, clutched tight to her chest was her husbands ring, on her left ring finger her thin, gold ring rested there. They say she showed no pain, only a soft smile on her lips.
I said my final goodby that day, and placed two full 10oz. coca-cola bottle beside her. The whole town turned out to see her off. After that we have a great wake in the park, with fine southern food, ice cold bottles of coke and RC cola, and the best fried chicken this side of the Mississippi. I learned what Grits tasted like, but never had another plate after the first one.
I sat on that old stump, a balding gray mustached old man, staring at the root I had to dig under to find Mrs'. Bee's rings and I smiled as firework lit up the night sky overhead. Life was good, and I still think back to that fateful day when I made a whole town very happy.
I still hear from Mrs. Bee only daughter, telling me someone has left two full 10oz bottles of cola on her grave, every 4th of July since that fateful night.
"Was it me?" she keeps asking. I'm still not talking, but I do know a great lawyer...
