Take The Risk

---

When I was a boy, my best friend and mentor, Jaybird, often took me to the Mount Ararat Multi-Congregational Chapel, a tiny country church near Dad’s Mississippi Delta cotton farm. I remember the towering, trumpet-voiced preacher, Reverend Moses Malachi Magee, whose sermons balanced hell-fire-brimstone admonitions with impassioned pleas to do unto others, as we would have them do unto us. I remember the ladies in their Sunday-best dresses and wide-brimmed hats, who writhed uncontrollably in rapturous moments, shouting hallelujahs, offering orisons to the Almighty, waving bright red bandannas, and having to be ushered outside to regain their composure.

---

---

I remember the powerful, moving, rhythmic, hypnotic, gospel music — how it coalesced the congregation into a collective, swaying mass, chanting in unified, volcanic voices that rolled like a symphonic tsunami across surrounding fields. I remember the pews — uncomfortable, straight-backed, flat-bottomed, cypress board benches. When the church bought new ones, I asked Jaybird what would happen to the old pews. “They’ll burn ’em, but if a fellow was to fix ’em up, they’d probly sell lak hotcakes.” “Really? Let’s do it!” I pleaded — just what the old black man hoped to hear. From the pews that were beyond repair, we salvaged pieces, and used them to patch up the rest. When we finished, thirty were in fine shape, and we set one on the porch of the farm’s commissary store with a “For Sale” sign on it. 

I thought we should write “$10” on the sign, but Jaybird said, “First, let’s see if anybody makes us an offer.”

 Not long after, a town lady, Mrs. Garren, noticed the pew and stopped for a closer look. “That would look nice under the shade tree in my backyard. Is that yo’ pew, boy?” she asked. “Yessum.”

 “Will you take $20 for it?” Straight-faced, I held out my hand, and told her we had more pews, if she knew anyone who wanted them. I gave Jaybird the money, and we hauled another pew to the store. Smirking, he asked, “You still want to write $10 on the sign?” 

 The next day, several ladies, friends of Mrs. Garren, pulled up to the store in a pickup with a trailer behind it. Each wanted two pews. After loading them and collecting a hundred bucks, Jaybird said, “We only got a few left. If y’all know anybody who wants them, we’ll take $30 apiece while they last.” The ladies nodded and drove away. “Do you think folks will pay $30 for those old pews, Jay?”

 “Well, they didn’t cost us nothing,” he said. “So, whatever we make is profit. I say we stick with $30 apiece.” 

 Once again, my beloved old mentor taught me a valuable lesson by using a simple little business venture. Our gamble paid off; we sold every pew. When Jaybird handed over my share, several hundred dollars — more money than I’d ever seen — I gave him a big hug. Chuckling, he said, “Boy, when there’s a buck to be made — take the risk.”

---