“Simple Man”

How do you define greatness in a man? Is it based solely on success, wealth, and powerful accomplishments? If that’s true, then only a few can be defined as great but that view is quite limiting and let’s be honest: it’s pretty arrogant. When Arthur Miller wrote The Death of a Salesman, critics were shocked that he implied a common man could experience “tragedy” in the classical sense (where tragedy is limited to those with nobility or high standing). In response to the critical attacks he wrote the essay “Tragedy and the Common Man,” where he argued that “the common man is as apt a subject for tragedy in its highest sense as kings were.” This redefinition was a powerful moment both in the literary world and in mine when I first read the essay years ago. It broadened my own views and tapped into something universal within them. Following his logic, it doesn’t make sense to limit a definition of greatness, especially when you take into account the personal impact “common” people have on us every day. Sure, those individuals may never be recognized as great outside of our own spheres, but that takes nothing away. A great act done in anonymity does not change its greatness. And a simple man’s life that impacts you and makes you reflect on your own can be worth more than you could ever repay. 

The fifth chapter of my book If We Never Meet Again is titled “Simple Man,” taken from Lynyrd Skynyrd’s 1973 album Pronounced ‘Leh-Nerd ‘Skin-Nerd. Whenever I think of Skynyrd, I think of my brother Drew. He’s five years older than I am and by 1984 he had a Blue, 1978 Mustang which I thought was the coolest ever. I couldn’t remember the year of it so I texted him the other week asking him about it. I could hear him laugh in my head when I read his response: “It was the crappy 78 hatchback model that looked like a pinto. It was a piece of crap but it was my piece of crap.” Maybe it was a piece of crap, but to an 11 year old kid who looked up to his brother and all of his friends, it was one cool ride. He was big into Bob Seger, Night Ranger, and had one cassette tape in there that I couldn’t get enough of:  Lynyrd Skynyrd Gold and Platinum. On side two was what would eventually become my favorite song of theirs, “Simple Man.” That opening verse where Mama told him to sit and listen to her advice, the second where she tell him what to expect, and that chorus of 

Be a simple 

kind of man 

Oh be something 

You love and understand 

Baby be a simple kind of man 

Oh, won’t you do this for me son, if you can 

Dang. I used to go sit in my brother’s car and listen to that song over and over. In fact, I think I ran that battery out one afternoon which he and my father had to replace (and yes, this is the first time I am admitting to having done so.) Sorry man!

I picked this song for chapter five because of  Mr. Miller. He was an old tobacco farmer who came onto our service in the springtime. He lived way out in the country on the farm he had worked his whole life on. He had passed it on to his son and daughter and was waiting for the inevitable. When I met him, he was in bad shape but he bounced back and lived for a few more months. In the chapter I talk about how he mistakenly thought I had been a tobacco farmer back in Kentucky and about the one day that impacted me most: 

“He took me outside and showed me around. We stood underneath that pecan tree and he talked about how he used to farm all over these parts, pointing across the road and obviously remembering years of hard work he had done. I stood there beside him and watched him take in the view. It was like being there with an old soldier revisiting the battlefield of his youth. The memories swept over him like rain rejuvenating the dry summer land if only for just a fleeting moment. I thought of a line from an old Ryan Adams song that always stuck with me: “I work these hands to bleed, cause I got mouths to feed.” I stood there with that simple man knowing fully that I could never measure up to the greatness of all he had done.” 

That was a powerful moment for me and if I could imagine any man living up to Mama’s instructions from the song it was him. He had lived through troubles, had found love, ignored the rich man’s gold for other kinds of wealth, and lived a hard working, satisfied life. What could be more honorable than what he accomplished? That man earned that song and in my mind, it’s his forever.

Later in the chapter after I talked about his eventual death I wrote what is one of my favorite lines from my book: 

“After they picked him up and carried him down those front porch steps and into the back of the van, I said goodbye to Junior and his sister, walked back towards my truck, and paused under my new favorite tree. As I looked out into that field,  I was mesmerized, and I think I finally understood what Mr. Miller was trying to teach me that day. I got into my truck and started driving down that winding stretch of South Carolina road, with my thoughts on him and the life he had lived. They buried him right there on that farm and the thought of that makes me smile. He’s right where he belongs.”

William Jennings Bryan once said “Service is the measure of greatness; it always has been true; it is true today, and it always will be true, that he is greatest who does the most of good.” To me,  that’s the real key to being great: serving the ones you love in whatever way you can. If you have had someone do that for you, you have been blessed. When people think of great men, few outside of his own circle would pick Mr. Miller and that’s ok because his kids know what he did for them. He was never looking for fame anyway; just a simple man loving his own the best he could. I am just as lucky. I have a father who worked his “hands to bleed” so I could have the life I have had and in my own way, I tried to do the same for my own children (although teaching is nowhere as difficult as farming or plumbing). The key is a simple life of service to others. That’s what Mr. Miller taught me that day and what my own Father has taught me with his life. 

In my mind, that kind of simplicity is where true greatness lies. We should all strive toward it.