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Stuart Revercomb

Stuart Revercomb is a marketing consultant and joyously married father of four children. He seems to remember someone once telling him he ought to be a writer. "The Unseen Here and Now" -- Thursdays.

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August 2, 2001

Big George's Day Of Grace

Do you remember the kind of desire you used to have as a child? I mean REAL desire - the kind that became such a preoccupation that nothing could distract you from it - the kind that was like a sort of "cellular thirst", where every cell in your body screams for water - the kind you used to get with the Sears and Roebuck catalogue on the living room floor in early December... If you remember that kind of desire then you know how bad my son George has wanted a turtle this summer.

Such was the depth of his longing that when we planned a camping trip in June on the Cow Pasture River we made the focus of the expedition a turtle hunt for George. As soon as we exited off Interstate 64 outside of Covington he and sister Gussie began to scan the sides of the road for some sign of a wayward terrapin.

It didn't take long to find one, the only problem was that it was the car in front of us. The guy was maintaining a melancholy 47 MPH in a posted 55. As soon as we came to the first clear passing zone, I moved out to pass. 50-55-60-65... we passed the vehicle quickly in order to get back in our lane before the dotted line turned solid. It was about the time we crossed it that I saw the drab brown Allegheny County Sheriffs's cruiser backed up against some bushes along a railway trestle.

We sailed by at a cool 68 MPH.

My Ray Bans met his as the lights came on. "Of all the rotten luck", I thought... "Maybe he'll let me off since I was passing that guy". But something told me it was unlikely. I advised the children what was about to happen. There was great excitement as they had, never done this before" They both beamed like Cheshire cats out the back window as the officer came on in hot pursuit.

"Dad are we ALL going to jail or just you?", Gussie asked matter of factly.

The officer was professional and courteous, but he wasn't forgiving. "That's 71 in a 55 Mr. Revercomb. If you don't wish to pay it out of court you need to be at the Covington Court House on July 19th - Circuit Court - First Floor."

"Hey! That's my birthday!", George excitedly offered. The officer smiled as he walked away.

"Thank You", I said. I hate it when I thank a Policeman for a ticket.

The rest of the trip went much better - in fact it was a glorious weekend for camping with lots of fishing and river rafting and snorkeling. But there weren't many turtles to be had. George's cousin James did spot a whopper of a snapping turtle living under a ledge about 8 feet below the river's surface. As soon as the question was out of George's mouth I gave him a firm answer :

"George, your Dad is safely on the surface and that 2 foot wide snapper is 8 feet under right where he should be, and "ne'er the twain shall meet", I said.

"What's ‘twain' mean Dad?," George asked.

"No turtle", I replied.

As the weeks passed George eventually resigned himself to never finding a turtle. He did keep a line of his prayers dedicated to finding one, however, so I knew the desire was still there.

In the meantime, I had decided not to pay the ticket out of court. I had three reasons : A. I had never seen the Allegheny County Courthouse in Covington where my Grandfather had practiced law and where my Dad's Cousin, Roscoe Stephenson of Supreme Court fame, once sat on the Bench. B. I wanted 8 year old George to get an idea how our legal system works, and C. I wanted to see if the law would differentiate between someone cruising happily along at 71 MPH and someone who had jumped up to that speed to get back in a lane safely while passing.

When my name was called, I gave all 3 reasons to the judge exactly as you see them above. I told him I was as guilty as the day was long and that the officer at hand was as professional as they come, but I did give the word "differentiate" a good bit of emphasis. The judge rubbed his chin for a moment - George watched curiously from the gallery.

"Of course the law differentiates...", he finally said rather exasperated. "I tell you what, do one session of a driver improvement class and I'll drop the charge - how's that sound?"

"Reasonable enough", I responded.

"Send me the certificate when you're done", he said looking over his glasses.

"Yes Sir," I replied.

We decided to celebrate our big legal victory with a glass of chocolate milk at the "Boxcar" in Clifton Forge, where we also picked up some sandwiches for lunch. It was here that our day began to gather some very positive momentum. Before leaving Clifton Forge we browsed a small antiques shop a couple of doors down from the Boxcar. George spotted a stack of something half way back and moments later came up with an antique NFL platter that featured all the old team's helmets on it.

"HOLY COW DAD - LOOK AT THIS!", he exclaimed loud enough for the stores owners to hear him. There would be no dickering on the $8.00 price tag.

We took our new found treasure and headed down Rte 220 towards "Roaring Run"- a National Park location just outside of Fincastle where we had decided to have our lunch. As we passed the Gala Natural Gas Substation we noticed an archeological dig going on and pulled off the side of the road to investigate. The scientists were carefully exhuming the remains of a 1200 year old Indian tribe. One of them stopped to give us a 15 minute tutorial. George and I were enthralled. It was like being on the set of a National Geographic documentary. The day just kept getting better.

When we arrived at "Roaring Run" we made our way down to a large rock in the middle of the stream that runs directly in front of the 100 year old Iron Ore Furnace that stands at the site. The air was cool and verdant among the moss covered rocks and fast moving water. We talked and laughed and had our fill. Things were going so well that we decided to look for a turtle. We didn't find one, but we did find an incredible blackberry patch. George thought it would be best if we left them for the bears.

On the way out I slowed down at the entrance to the park and contemplated going back the way we had come. But somehow that didn't feel quite right. "Lets keep going forward", I said. We took a right turn towards "Oriskiney".

A couple of miles later George brought the turtle up again. He started telling me something about what turtles liked and how they were around with the dinosaurs and where they were likely to be found on a day like today. I was half listening looking out over the rolling farmland as we eased around a bend in the road when, boom - one of those moments hit that makes you feel as though you must be dreaming. There in the middle of the road with his head arched high and his legs fully extended was the most glorious Box Turtle you have ever seen. I had just enough time to bring the car to a stop.

George's mouth was drawn in a big oval. His eyebrows angled up like a porch roof. We both sat there staring out the window incredulously.

"That's a turtle", I finally said.

George turned his head and stared at me a moment. Then his whole face became one big smile. We both jumped out of the car and ran towards the turtle who beat a hasty retreat back inside his home. We did too. But not before driving across a shallow part of Craigs Creek on Rt 617 where the road runs out and exploring the area around Oriskiney.

That afternoon George had 6 friends coming for a Birthday sleepover. We went to see the movie "Cats and Dogs" and then went out to dinner at a Chinese restaurant that only the "old man" knew about. The boys howled with laughter at the movie, and the "Pu-Pu Platters" were quite the hit at "Fiji". The day just couldn't get better for George.

But the night could.

To entertain, (and wear out), the boys, I had planned a nighttime "flashlight" hike up the old road that winds up the front of Mill Mountain. As we rounded the turn 2/3 of the way up we ran into Mayor Ralph Smith who was just coming out of his house. I hailed Ralph and asked him if he would mind greeting George and his friends on his special day. Ralph's eyes beamed when I asked him. "Send them on over", he said with a smile. The boys might as well have been meeting the President. They stood at attention nervously as George introduced himself.

"I-I-I'm George Revercomb", he said shakily.

"Well George, it's so very nice to meet you", Ralph said humbly. "Is it really your birthday today?"

"Yes sir", George replied.

"I bet you couldn't guess when my birthday is..." said Ralph.

"No I'm sure I couldn't", George responded sheepishly.

"Today", said Ralph with a grin. George looked like he'd just won a Noble Prize.

"You're kidding". Said George

"No, I'm not", said the Mayor. "C'mon boys", said Ralph, " I've got something for you." A few minutes later they were all having cake with the Mayor on his terrace overlooking the lights of the city.

That night when I went down to the basement to check on the boys, I found George lying awake in his sleeping bag among his slumbering friends. "Animal Planet" flickered quietly on the TV in the corner. I crawled over top of the conflagration of puffy bags to say goodnight.

"I hope you had a good birthday", I whispered, unable to contain a smile that gave away my happiness for him.

George paused for several seconds and then without breaking his eyes from the ceiling, said with a grin, "Probably the best day of my life Dad."

I wanted to ask if he remembered the disappointment of the camping trip in June, and how the ticket that had seemed like such a bad thing at the time, had ultimately led us to what we had hoped for all along. I wanted to ask him if he had felt the Grace of the day as it had unfolded, and if the sheer joy of so many unexpected good turns coming on his birthday had made his heart leap as it had mine.

But I didn't. I could see it playing out in his eyes as he stared at the flickering ceiling and I knew that things discovered and contemplated on our own have a way of staying with us in ways that a parent can never teach. I kissed him good night and turned off the T.V. and started up the darkened steps. As I got to the top of the stairs, I heard George whisper softly, "Thanks Dad".

If I've had a better day, I can't remember it.