I spent most of Friday in Temple, Texas.
While my Bride met with doctors, I sat in the waiting room of a automobile service department as the Clanton Conestoga underwent diagnostics for what would emerge as a dead cell in the battery.
Sitting in the waiting room like some kind of interloper, eavesdropping on the comments and conversations amongst the citizenry as they continued to react and respond to the shootings at nearby Ft. Hood.
We’ve all done this, haven’t we? In a restaurant, unable to ignore the words of the loudmouth in the booth behind you…at a football game, becoming more intrigued by the inebriated goof in the next row than what’s happening on the gridiron.
Friday afternoon was expended watching the cable news fed into the waiting room—some of the live-shots originating a few blocks away, from the front door of Scott & White—and listening to the color-commentary of the locals.
And colorful it was:
“I’d shoot him on the spot,” said one older observer, of the suspected gunman.
“Put him on trial, then shoot him,” echoed another.
Those were the kinder remarks.
A buddy of mine was also at Scott & White on Friday, tending to his ailing mother, and also listening to the pulse of the hospital staff. He posted a message over the weekend: “...having breakfast at Shipleys and it is so quiet. Normally you hear joking and the usual sounds of people eating and conversing. All you hear this morning is the occasional bell ring at the drive-up window. No one talking, just reading the paper and speaking in low voices.”
You’ve already seen examples of the fabric of the Bell County communities that will sustain these people through this tragedy: Love and compassion for one another.
Even the shooter.
I find it amazing that everyone is so amazed at the selfless sacrifices that have already been shown at Ft. Hood and the surrounding communities.
It shouldn’t surprise anyone:
That’s why it’s called “being in The Service.”