Nicodemus


Yesterday I heard someone telling a story about a man that had done odd jobs for their family for years. He said the man's name was Bomonisious and he was an able worker. Whatever they asked him to do he would do well, even though he was an older man. Bomonisious always preferred to be paid in cash. He said, "One day I didn't have the cash money on hand to pay him. So I asked if he would mind accepting a check. He agreed, reluctantly, and when I started to write his name on the check, I said, 'Bomonisious, how do you spell your name?' He looked at me and said, 'I've been meaning to tell you for a long time, when I started working for you, you asked me what my name was. I said it was Billy Ray but you can call me by my 'nitials.' "

When I heard that story, my memory automatically drifted back to when I was a little boy living on Ellicott Street and an old man who lived in our neighborhood. His name was Nicodemus. All of us kids thought he was really old. Thinking back, I guess he was around 60. He lived in a chicken coop. Yes, that's right. Nicodemus lived in a chicken coop. It's funny that, back then, nobody seemed to think much about it. None of our families would ever live like that, but to each his own. We boys thought it was just the coolest thing ever.

Nicodemus lived on Wilder, two streets over. There were all these regular houses up and down the street and toward the end of the block was a vacant lot. That's where Nicodemus lived. The perimeter of the lot was fenced with chicken wire.

There were about 30 or 40 chickens living in the chicken yard. Mostly hens. Egg-laying hens and a big red rooster. We loved to go and just look at the chickens. Red ones, black ones, and the kind that had the fine stripes on the feathers. Those were my favorites.

Over to one side of the yard was the chicken coop. A little shed about 8ft.X10ft.

Curiosity got the best of us one day and while Nicodemus was gone we went in and looked inside. The sides of the shed were made of old doors, plywood, and flattened-out cardboard boxes. It kind of felt like running up and touching Boo Radley's front door. Except Nicodemus wasn't scary. He was nice, but very mysterious. I still wonder what his story was. We didn't touch anything.

On cold winter nights, when we were all tucked snuggly in our warm beds under covers and coats, I wonder how Nicodemus stayed warm. I envision looking across the chicken yard on a shivery moonlit night and seeing the glow of a small fire inside his little ramshackle coop with all the holes blocked off with cardboard.

During the summer, you'd always see him coming down the road, usually on Sunday mornings, with a croker sack over his shoulder. A croker sack is what a lot of people call a burlap bag. There would be a chicken or two in the sack. He, of course, wore disheveled clothes, an old suit coat, and an old beat up hat that he would always tip when he'd pass my mother or the other ladies on the street. Sometimes he'd stop and talk for a spell. They'd usually ask him, "Nicodemus, where are you going this morning?" Everyone always knew what his answer would be, because it was always the same.

"Oh, I'm going to see my mother-in-law and take her this chicken."

All of us kids had a little game we played with him. We'd say "Nicodemus, can I touch your mustache?" He had a salt and pepper mustache. At that time very few men wore mustaches. And he always had a three or four day shadow of a beard, which is the style now but wasn't back then. He'd kneel down and we'd cautiously stick our little squiggly finger out and touch his mustache and the second we touched it he'd make a loud snorting sound like a pig and we'd squeal with delight. He always did it and we always knew he would but it never lost its thrill.

After I was an adult I didn't think much about Nicodemus for quite a few years. I had bigger thoughts to fry as most young people do. But when things "normaled" out, I went back to the old neighborhood. I drove down Ellicott Street and looked at our old house, and also Wilder Street. There, where Nicodemus's chicken yard and coop used to be, was a little brick house with nice landscaping. I don't know what ever happened to Nicodemus and I doubt if anyone else does. His life was a mystery and so is his absence. I like to imagine he just floated away on a breeze and disappeared like one of the chicken feathers...and was gone.

Lash Out Loud