The curious Mr. Poole

For the second apartment in a row, I've got a quirky elderly neighbor, though this is decidedly Southern.

That's James Poole, Mr. Poole or just Poole, as my landlord and other neighbors call him.

His house wouldn't be built today; in affluent suburbs, there are garages larger his home (my apartment might actually be larger). That weathered cinder block hut hums from air conditioners at its two windows, and from the rear door a large Christ statue oversees his small kitchen. Humans are no different than other creatures - we adapt to live in the space we have.

Mr. Poole walks everywhere and yet always wears a flannel shirt even as the temperatures regularly crest above 90 and the humidity has moved in. He even wears it when mowing the lawn and tending to the grounds.

I rarely see him, though on a few late-night walks I caught his shadow clouded by smoke from his corncob pipe. With viewing his expression, he looked as if there might be an ancient rifle hidden close to him, loading and ready for anyone willing to disturb his puffing.

Yesterday we finally exchanged more than pleasantries, as I discovered a package from the VA Hospital pharmacy service on my doorstep.

He trudged outside, perking up immediately once he saw what I carried. He stood shorter than I remembered, my memory discolored by the stress of the move and his strangely imposing silence. But he was awfully glad to recover his new supply of medicines that took an inordinate amount of time to arrive from the VA.

Speaking in a rapid old-Nashville accent (Mr. Poole is not a fellow transplant, that's for sure), he gave me a brief synopsis of the neighborhood (he doesn't think it's safe and isn't afraid to involve the Metro police) and the VA's sloth.

In many urban neighborhoods, the older crowd tends to be the ones who hang on, that won't give up as younger people flee to safer, blander suburbs.

If he's calling the police all the time, I'm guessing Mr. Poole doesn't have a shotgun cocked and loaded for intruders.

Still, he's one of those welcome characters I wouldn't find at a sprawling apartment complex.