An Honest Man

I've always thought of maternal grandfather as an honest man. Of course that was probably clouded by the fact that most of see our grandparents in a hero-worship kind of way, but that was just the impression I had of him; still do. It could be argued that the generation he came from was more honest than people are now, but I really think that no matter what era you are from there are good ones and bad ones; the honest and the dishonest.

When I realized this morning that my bagel was taking forever to toast because I had placed it on my plate instead of in the toaster, I began to wonder about the rest of my day. I had already asked my daughter the same question three times on our trip to school (I caught myself the third time) and had to stop in the middle of brushing my teeth to turn my shirt right side out two hours after I dressed! Should I just stay inside and look out the window the rest of the day? Stay away from the sharp knives in the silverware drawer?

By now I’m sure you are wondering what exactly this has to do with my honest grandfather. Not much really, but it made me think of a story he told me years ago. My grandfather had several jobs in his long life, but the one that I remember him having the longest was as an insurance salesman for Life Of Georgia. Not the kind that sits in front of a computer screen all day giving quotes, but the old fashion policy man that went door to door selling and collecting money for small accident and hospitalization polices. They were pretty cheap by today’s standards and many of his premiums were so small they were paid for with coins. This doesn’t sound that dangerous today, but given the fact that he did this in downtown Atlanta makes it another story.

Anybody that has ever been a salesman (or self-employed period) knows that taxes take on a new meaning when they are not magically removed from your paycheck every month. You fear the tax man in a different way! Instead of sending in a few pages and waiting by the mailbox for your refund, a self-employed person has to write the government (typically) another check several times a year. The paperwork is much more involved and the margin for error is much greater. You live in fear of your worst nightmare, an audit! This doesn’t mean that the IRS has to prove you owe them more money, it means you have to prove to them that you do not. Guilty until proven innocent!

Well my grandfather was called to a downtown IRS office for an audit. He was a good record keeper and had no trouble with the preparation involved, but this is still a situation that makes an individual very nervous. He was on time for his appointment and they called him in to a back office with several (he said 5-6) men in dark suits already seated at a large table. My grandfather was a “sweater” and I can only imagine that he was, at this point, dripping wet. They motioned for him to sit, and he placed his box of records on the table. That’s when the lights went out!

Well let’s just say his lights went out; he passed out. The next thing he remembered after sitting at the table was a group of men in dark suits standing over him as he lay on the floor. They were fanning him with one of his folders and offering him a glass of water. “Can you hear us Mr. Fort? Drink this water; it will make you feel better. Stay with us!” He was ok, but the game was over; they sent him home with a “we’ll be in touch”.

Well he never heard from the IRS again. If he is anything like me, I’m sure he was even more careful with his paperwork after this near-miss; we’ll call it a training exercise. But what it makes me understand is that we are only given what we can handle. It would be easy to say that his body failed him when he needed it most, but I say it saved him. Not from is dishonesty, but from harm’s way; he was not ready for this. We should never forget to listen for subtle clues we are given by our body and our “gut”. Of course I have always planned to fake pass out if I get audited, but that’s another story. Damn, I left the iron plugged in…