Vernie

I want to tell you a story.  This blog, too, will be longer than normal.  If you don’t wish to read it, I will understand.  I would ask my sister to bear with me and read through it, however.  She knows who I am talking of in this piece.
I went, as you know if you read earlier blogs, to Western Kansas last weekend.  Goodland was the destination, to be exact.  I left on Friday morning and got back late Saturday evening.
Friday about noon I made it to Hays.  I stopped in at the local Wal Mart to see my son, who works there.  We had a nice visit for a few minutes, I stretched my legs, then went to the best place in Kansas for hamburgers…Vernie’s Hamburger House.
My wife and I have been to Vernie’s many times.  I remember when I moved to Hays in the late 1960’s that Vernie was frying burgers at 27th and Vine.  He called it the Mecca Hamburger House.  Later on, he moved his place to its present location at about 17th and Vine on the west side of the street.
I took her there in the early years when neither of us had money.  We left Hays in the mid 1970’s, but always tried to stop in when we came through town.  Sometimes, we’d time our trip so we’d have an excuse to stop.  I’d imagine that since we left Hays, we’ve been to Vernie’s maybe 30 times.  We’ve been there more often the last few years, as our son has lived there for the last 5 or so years.  But all in all, only about 30 times have we graced his place in those years.
The place isn’t really unusual.  They sell burgers, slaw, fries, chili in winter, fried pies, shakes, etc.  But the burgers just seem to have that flavor that stays the same year in and year out.  The slaw is made from the same recipe, I think, that they used years ago and the chili is some of the better chili you’ll ever get at a restaurant.
Vernie is always, it seems, there.  Businesses where the owner is present and active just seem to give better service and better goods.  The wait staff is friendly and well-trained.  Vernie himself will often be seen stirring chili, manning the register, or bussing tables.
A few years ago, living in Western Kansas, I was asked to write a periodic column for the Hays Daily News chronicling life in a small Western Kansas community.  I thoroughly enjoyed doing that.  One of my articles was about small business and small business owners.  I remarked in the column that those folks are “the backbone of the business community today as they fry burgers, carry out the trash, order supplies, meet and greet customers, write out payroll, and the thousand and one other things they do every hour, every day.”
One of the small business owners I talked about was Vernie.  Of him, I said, “I don't believe for a minute that (the man I also mentioned who ran a pizza place) will make his fortune selling pizza, nor do I believe that Vernie has become a multi-millionaire because of his hamburgers.  I don't even think that these guys make a very good living at what they do much of the time.  I do believe, though, that they love what they do and are dedicated to the success of their stores.  All too many owners and managers are absentee, and they manage through six dollar-an-hour novices that have no clue what to do or how to do it.  Those managers and owners certainly aren't available on Saturday night, and wouldn't be caught dead making pizza crust, bussing tables, stirring chili, or ladling sauce.
Vernie saw the column and committed my picture (they printed my mug shot with each column) to memory.  Next time I came into the place, Vernie collared me at the cash register, told me he liked the column, appreciated my mentioning him, and bought my lunch as well as that of the person I had with me (not my wife…but a business associate…yes, my wife knows all about it).
In later visits, he would try to visit with me if he had time, and once remarked, knowing that I was in health care, that he had prostate cancer.  He said they were treating it and he thought they were making good progress.
Now back to the present.  I went in to Vernie’s, ordered my burger and slaw, and sat down.  The waitress brought it to me (they don’t call numbers—they watch and see where you sit, then remember that and bring your order to you—how novel and how refreshing!!) and I started to eat it.
One of the waitresses came to my table as I was working on my meal.  She said that the cook (she said her name, but I didn’t get what it was) asked her to come out and tell me something.  She asked me if I knew that Vernie had prostate cancer.  I said I did, and she told me that Vernie was very ill and wasn’t expected to live more than a week or two.  He was in hospice care and was comfortable and well-cared for.
She said that the cook (whom I think is a family member) didn’t want to come out and tell me herself for fear that she wouldn’t be able to get through the story without a breakdown.  The young waitress herself had difficulty getting through it.  I visited with her a minute or two, told her how much I appreciated her telling me, and she left.
I sat there dumfounded.
Here I am, a once-in-a-while customer being afforded the privilege of knowing about Vernie from someone I did not know, never met, and have never talked to (the cook).  I marveled all that day and the next about what I had experienced.
I say all of that to say this:  I realize now more than ever before that I am never truly anonymous.  Something I said, something I did, or something I wrote stuck with this woman who was cooking burgers and I was privileged to receive a special message from her via the waitress.
I am humbled and awed by the power of what we say and do, even from several years and countless hamburgers ago.  It was a sad day indeed knowing that I would never again see Vernie at the chili pot or visiting with his customers.  But his restaurant, and the staff and family that obviously love him, are testimony to the life of a man who, quite simply, found his niche in life and made the most of it.
The eloquent simplicity of his life is an understated testimony to the greatness of the human spirit God put into each one of us, and the decency, graciousness, and dignity that Vernie imparted to a sometimes cold-blooded and cruel place.  Rest well, my friend.