Cowboys in McDonald's

Yesterday I drove Northwest into cattle country to do a memorial service for one of our former hospice patients named Oscar. The service was at the nursing home where he spent the last years of his life. Up front the family placed a cowboy hat and boots on a table next to a picture of Oscar, because he was an "ol' cowboy" at heart. He'd ridden in rodeos, worked on ranches in the area, and one family member even told me that he'd ridden horses with John Wayne there in Northern Nebraska. But, she told me, John Wayne was just another guy to Oscar. "He rode pretty good," Oscar'd said about John Wayne.

The chapel of the nursing home was packed with people. Most of Oscar's family was gone, but even living in a nursing home, he'd managed to make a lot of friends who loved to listen to his stories. John Denver sang out of the CD player as the people gathered. The congregation was made up of people dressed in suits and ties, others in blue jeans and work shirts, a kid slouched in the front row with a heavy metal T-shirt on and a oversized cap pulled down over his face and long hair. There were people in wheelchairs who didn't look long for this world, and a woman who was hard of hearing who said really loudly in the middle of the opening prayer, "Where's my glasses? Someone stole my glasses!"

A nurse sang a song as an offering to Oscar, a rendition of the "Old Rugged Cross." She sang from the back of the room so no one could see her because she's really shy. But her voice rang out clear and beautiful, sounding as if it were a recording of Patsy Cline. Later she blushed and thanked me when I told her what a beautiful singer she was.

Afterwards, we all gathered in the dining room and ate cookies. People I'd never met approached me and told me I did a good job, and then told me their own Oscar stories. He was quite the character. Loved a good joke and a tall tale. Loved his fast cars and fast horses. He was, someone said, "one of the last true cowboys." Others asked me if I was related to the Rush's in Western Nebraska, and I'm asked this a lot, so I said no, probably not, that my husband's "people" are from Pennsylvania.

After we left, Sarah and I stopped at the local McDonald's-- the one where just last week a man had shot himself in the head in the parking lot. As we waited in line, a weather-beaten old man approached me, wearing cowboy boots and jeans and a large belt buckle, and he, too, asked me if I was related to the Rushs he knew. When he found out we were from "back East" he said he'd been stationed at Fort Monmouth during the Vietnam War.

"Wow," I said, that' right outside of Red Bank, where I grew up!"

"Yeah, I know Red Bank. Shoot. Don't you miss them hoagies?" he laughed.

He invited us to sit down with him, and after we got our drinks, we did. We talked about the beach at Asbury Park and that he'd heard that Ed McMahon owned some property there. We talked about how you just can't get a real hoagie in the Midwest, that Subway is a poor imitation, and about how crowded it is back there. We talked about the cost of living , and how sad it is that old people can't generally stay in their own homes in Jersey like out here because you can't count on your neighbors. He told me stories of being in the military but clammed up when he said that he finally got shipped out to Vietnam. Apparently he didn't want to talk about that.

"It was just nasty out there," was all he said about that.

A woman came over and asked him for his newspaper. She looked at me and said, "I've known Bob all his life," as if I'd asked. He talked about Oscar and how impressed he was at how many friends Oscar still had. "He was quite a guy," Bob said, shaking his head. He used a lot of four letter words, and it was refreshing to me that someone didn't apologize for swearing around me.

Finally, I decided it was time to get back on the road, we had a long drive back home. Bob waved us off, "Nice talkin' to you," he said, and went back to reading his newspaper.

Sarah got in the car and said, "I love Nebraska!" And we drove home through the rolling hills of Northern Nebraska, slowing down for the towns along the way with populations of 150 or less. We looked out at the herds of cows grazing in the barren fields and the endless horizon of prairie and cornfields still waiting for spring planting. We chuckled about ol' Bob in McDonald's. how cool it was that he'd been to my hometown in Jersey, and wondered if Oscar had really known John Wayne.

Yeah, I love Nebraska too.