Shortly before I began working at the university, a local woman had donated her ranch to the institution for its ag program. She also sold part of the land to the university and then donated the funds for a large endowment. I say “local,” even though she then lived in Houston but she and her late husband had lived in the piney woods Texas town for a long time years before. I saw in the files that the university had provided her a framed copy of an annual festival poster as the thank you gift for her contribution. I was mortified. And then, I had the chance to meet her. She was amazing.
Listening to her stories, it became clear that she had not given land to the university. She gave memories, labors, challenges and dreams. She had an amazing, beautiful story.
When I returned to campus, I went to the ranch to take photographs and then sent her a small photo album with a note saying that I hoped she liked what she saw of her ranch. She was too old and frail to be driven to the ranch, and I knew the photos would be her only view of the old property. On one of the images, I placed a sticky note stating that the university was using prison labor to clean the fence lines.
About a week later, she called me. She was crying. “I had given up on my ranch,” she said, “but now I see what you are doing with it. This makes me happy. And how did you know?”
“How did I know what?”
“Your note. Remember your note on the photograph with the fence lines? My husband would wake up early every day just to ride his horse along the fence lines. He loved to have clean, clear fences. It is time for him to come back to his ranch. I had given his favorite photo of him and his prized bull, Atlas, to a cousin after my husband died. I will call him. My husband belongs back at his ranch now.”
I knew immediately that we had to create something else for her to realize that we truly understood and appreciated what she had given to the university. I spoke to the chairman of the art department about my plan and he suggested a specific graduate student for the commission. I shared with the student that I wanted a painting with key elements that I garnered from her stories, and that I wanted her, at her present age, on the porch of the house. The student created a beautiful, large paining with the house, the lake, the horses, the cattle, the cowboys, the trees, the fences…everything was there except the deer blind. On the porch of the house stood a gray-haired lady in a red dress, overseeing all the sights.
The day to deliver the framed image arrived. I had told our donor that I was “going to be in town” and asked if I could drop by. She agreed. I had the university president with me, the dean of the college that housed the ag program and the chair of the ag program. We hid the painting in the hallway outside her luxury, high-rise condo and when she answered the door, she was surprised by the group. She invited us in with “I didn’t know I was going to have so much company!”
“Ok, Ruth. I need you to sit on the sofa now. And play a little game with me, okay?” I said.
“Oh, you know I love games, Dion.”
“Ok, close your eyes.”
She closed her eyes and then I retrieved and uncovered the painting from the hallway. I asked the others to stand behind the sofa, right behind her. I put the painting in position and one of the others held it up. I moved into position with my camera.
“Ok, Ruth. Now you can open your eyes.”
She opened her eyes. She inhaled slowly as she looked at the painting. She touched the foreground of the image where the artist had included the view of the favorite portrait: her late husband and his prized bull, Atlas. As she touched his face, she whispered. Then she pointed to the woman on the porch of the house and said with glee, “That is me, isn’t it?” A beautiful visit ensued.
A few years later, I worked at another university was to be in Houston for a visit. I asked Ruth if she was up for a visit. “Sure, but came later in the day so we can open the bar,” she said.
I arrived at the appointed time and she asked me to mix drinks for us. I obliged and then we shared stories. Then, she said, “Dion, I would like your permission to have that painting put at the old house on the university’s ranch.”
I explained that it was her painting and the university’s ranch, and that she could do whatever she wanted, though I thought it was a wonderful idea and that the university would not mind at all.
“I know that I would not have received that beautiful painting if not for you. I have hung it proudly ever since you gave it to me. I would feel better if I had your approval,” she said. “I am not going to live forever, you know, and I would be more at ease knowing that painting would be there. Over the fireplace.”
“In that case, I more than approve,” I said.
That is the last time that I saw Ruth. She died a few months later. I believe in my heart that she had a new peace because we listened to her and let her know through actions that she mattered and made a difference. She knew that we cared for her as a human being who had a life fully lived.
~Dion McInnis
