Save Some For Yourself

There is something quite eerie about Watson Boulevard at night. On the once Native American burial grounds now sits a row of white houses. They cast the shadow of everything lurking through the night, even the things whose presence you feel but never really see. Even on the windiest Kansas City nights, Watson Boulevard is still. Dana Creed had just arrived from New York to help her father pack and sell her deceased grandfather's house. Her grandfather passed away a month ago. Her father was so overwhelmed with grief after the funeral that he suffered a stroke and could not bring himself to sell his father's house.

Instead of going straight home upon her arrival, she decided to stop by Watson Boulevard, hoping to mentally prepare for the next day's task. She had not visited her grandfather in five years, although she spoke with him every day up until the day of his passing. He was not ill or demented, only tired. The last time she talked to him, he asked her about her writing career. He followed the question up with a story about his life after the war. He joked that he wanted to give her inspiration for the fiction novel he hoped she would someday write. She did not know that would be their last time speaking. He passed away that night.

Dana's father, Alexander Creed Jr., was a war hero, and so was her grandfather. Her grandfather, Papa Creed, was a Tuskegee Airman who taught agriculture at the local university after returning home from World War II. His house was filled with memorabilia, awards, and it seemed to be every book ever published on agriculture. He loved to talk about what it was like being a pilot and the lessons he brought back with him. He would talk for hours about coming home from the war to nothing. He would say, "I hopped out of the B-25 bomber and straight into the fields." He grew up working on someone else's land as he was a descendant of slaves. It was always his dream to live and eat from his own land. After the war, he got a degree in agriculture while working odd jobs until he could afford to do just that. He later taught other veterans how to do the same.

Upon entering his sterile white house on Watson Boulevard, you are greeted by a wooden sign bearing the words "save some for yourself." Dana always assumed it meant never give so much of yourself to a situation that there is nothing left for yourself. That was often the theme of her grandfather's stories when he talked about his friend's lives after the war. He would say it seemed like fighting in the war took all of the fight his comrades had in them. He said their defeat came at the Tuskegee Syphillis Experiment's hands and the desire for freedoms from a war already fought. Tears would fall on his face for his comrades that did not make it home and ones that did but never found their purpose. Dana stood in front of Papa Creed's house that night, absorbing the memories in her mind. She let the spirits of the ancestors of that sacred land fill her with courage for the moment she would climb the steps and turn the doorknob one last time.

The next day Dana and her father entered Papa Creed's house with moving boxes in tow. They went through the house with a fine-tooth comb creating piles of things to keep, donate, and sell. With each addition to the stacks, they shared a story. They organized 106 years' worth of treasures for the estate sale that would take place the next day. Cars lined up along Watson Boulevard the day of the sale with people looking for antiques and those that wanted a peek at all the war memorabilia. Dana had 35 years' worth of stories and memories of her grandfather. It was not until standing in the middle of the home he built as a spectator that she felt the most in awe of his life and legacy. She began to head outside to compose herself when one of her grandfather's neighbors approached her holding a little black book. Mr. Colinsworth had been her grandfather's neighbor for over 20 years. He would often check in on Papa Creed from time to time and keep him company after Dana's grandmother passed away 15 years ago. Dana had last spoken with Mr. Colinsworth a month ago at her grandfather's funeral. He was one of the many speakers.

He walked up to Dana and embraced her like he hoped his arms would give her the peace he knew she needed. He said Papa Creed asked him to give her a little black book. He also wanted him to make sure she takes the wooden sign hanging in his home entrance. Dana had already taken the sign, and she was curious about the importance of the little black book. Mr. Colinsworth sensed the curiosity on her face and asked her to walk with him. As they made their way down the block, passing each white house, he stopped in front of his house and told her what ended up being one of the best Papa Creed stories she had ever heard.

"You see these white houses," he said, pointing. "Your grandfather not only owned the land his house was built on but in fact, he once owned this entire block. When Papa Creed left his home in the country, he purchased a land plot for his house and every house that now sits next to it. He wanted to give veterans a nice, clean place to come home to. He wanted to give them a chance at a pure start. When the tenants paid their rent, Papa creed would record it in this little black book. Every payment represents the story of a vet who got a shot at finding his purpose outside of the military."

Tears streamed down Dana's face as she looked down the block with more admiration for her grandfather than she ever had. She could not understand why this was her first time hearing that story and why not from Papa Creed. Mr. Colinsworth continued, "I think this was your grandfather's way of reminding you to create a legacy the ones you leave behind can be proud of." He explained that the Office of Veterans Affairs purchased Papa Creed's properties when the upkeep became too much for him to maintain on his own.

After the estate sale was over, Dana and her father closed the doors to #4 Watson Boulevard for the last time. Dana headed back to New York with Papa Creed's little black book and his wooden sign. During her flight, she looked through the little black book. She studied the ink, the dates, and the names. Papa Creed recorded every payment and every bank deposit. The last entry in the book was a payment of $20,000 that coincided with the day he sold his last property. She noticed there was not a deposit date recorded for that payment. She assumed maybe he forgot, although Papa Creed forgetting anything was unlikely.

When she made it back to the room she was renting in New York; she adorned her wall with Papa Creed's wooden sign. She stared at it all night until she fell asleep. At 2 am, she was awakened by the sound of Papa Creed's voice telling her to stop wasting her time at a dead-end job, fighting for someone else's dream, and spend more time living her own. She jumped up and turned on her bedside lamp only to find Papa Creed's wooden sign starring back at her. "Save some for yourself," she read out loud. She rose out of bed and took the sign off the wall to place it in bed with her. She wanted to feel the warmth she felt when she could sense his smile when they talked on the phone. When she took it off the wall, the sign gave a little in the back under her fingertips. She turned it around and pressed it again, and the back opened like a little door. Inside was $20,000 tightly wrapped in a plastic bag with a note from Papa Creed that read, "I saved some for you." The next day, Creed quit her job as an office assistant, paid her rent up for a year, and began working on her first fiction novel inspired by Alexander Creed Sr's life.