Column: Gifts From Strangers

*This is an opinion column*

NORTHPORT, AL — The regular City Council meeting had just wrapped up. After another long Monday as a one-man newsroom, I tried to hide my tired and sour face under the bill of my cap as I trudged out of Northport City Hall.

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Despite a concerted effort on my part to embrace the holiday season this year, I've still managed to take advantage of the ample opportunities to let folks down — big surprise, right? It's hard to explain, because it's not just one big or little thing. There is just something about this time of year that makes me prone to bouts of anxiety, selfishness and unprovoked negativity.

But as I stepped outside into the unseasonably warm December evening, a man's voice caught me off guard from my right. Sporting a crisp Member's Only jacket and a head full of commendable white hair slicked to one side like John Wayne, his face was familiar but I couldn't recall his name. He stood there in the soft white glow of the City Hall Christmas lights holding something with both hands.

"Hey Ryan — I got something I want to give you."

Without making assumptions about his age, he was an older gentleman who wasn't an imposing or threatening presence. But, as a career journalist, it's hard to not let your paranoia activate when someone approaches you from the shadows.

In one hand, he held an old, half-folded white envelope. It was dog-eared and unsealed, the adhesive strip now yellow and virtually useless from the years gone by. With a kind of mischievous smile and saying little more, he handed me the envelope.

I opened it to find 27 glossy photos taken on a disposable Kodak camera. When I saw the first picture on the top of the stack, my heart nearly thumped through my chest with one burst and I could feel tears immediately well up in the corners of my eyes.

"I bet you know who that old man is right there, don’t you?" the man asked me with a laugh, grabbing my arm and pointing to the picture. He already knew the answer.

Even as I write this, tears are streaming down my face.

The "old man" pictured was wearing a blue snap-back trucker hat, talking to two other gentlemen in front of a cemetery and holding a red Solo cup. It was my Granddaddy ... Joe Phillips. It was a picture taken in the late 1980s just before I was born and one I had never seen before. This was the theme with all of the photos, taken by the stranger at hog-killings, family reunions at the Samantha Lion's Club and decorations.

Many of the folks in the pictures have since gone on, buried just off Highway 43 and Mormon Road. But through a simple act of thoughtfulness by a man I hardly knew, I now have another handful of priceless artifacts to hold on to for the rest of my life. The older I get, the more I look to the past for comfort, but the harder it becomes to grasp with each passing day.

While I'm far more blessed than I deserve, this year has not been any easy one. It's been less than two months since I had to watch helplessly as my late grandparents' house in Samantha burned to the ground. It's not to say we don't have plenty of tangible reminders of my Grandmother and Granddaddy, but I have to agree with my Dad when he said it was "like watching them die all over again."

The pictures brought back so many memories, even though they were taken before I was a glimmer in Dale Phillips' eye. One photo of my Grandmother dragging on a long cigarette reminded me of the carton of L&Ms I recovered from her house a few days after she died. I kept those cheap lung darts in my freezer, burning through them one-by-one over nearly two years.

And while a terrible habit, sure, I found quick comfort breaking them out when the stress got to be too much and I wanted to be transported back to their living room. Needless to say, they hardly lasted through the pandemic.

So, considering I'll never be able to have that luxury again, it's hard to put into words what receiving those old pictures meant to me ... especially coming from a man I didn't know. I was ashamed of how long it had been since I had shown anything resembling that level of compassion.

My stomach had been in knots since I watched that old house smoldering in October, because it reminded me of the impermanence of everything we hold dear in our short lives. But for me, getting those old photos showed me what's possible by looking up from our devices to think of others.

I desperately needed to be snapped out of that funk — and not a moment too soon! Like an enlightened Ebenezer Scrooge dancing down his steps into the London snow on Christmas morning, I knew I wasn't a lost cause.

There was still time!

Rock on a little more than a week later to Friday morning and I was sent a Facebook post made by a relatively-obscure country music artist collecting donations for a 75-year-old cashier at the truck stop McDonald's in McCalla. Mind you, the gesture by the older man at Northport City Hall had done wonders for my mental state and left my overall attitude much improved.

"There you go, Ryan," I thought to myself. "You can pay it forward by finding this lady."

After touching base with Fordie Hays, the big-hearted country singer who first started this wonderful endeavor, I set out to find Ms. Annie Myrick.

She was exactly where I expected her to be, standing behind the register at the McDonald's inside the Love's truck stop Friday afternoon, working the 2 p.m.-to-midnight shift. Even in cowboy boots, I'm barely six feet tall, but had to lean down on my elbows on the fast food counter just to get eye-level with Ms. Annie.

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While never missing a beat at the register taking orders, Ms. Annie spared quick moments for polite asides to tell me about being the sole breadwinner in her home, how her car was in need of expensive repairs from a recent accident and how she still managed to work five days a week while receiving chemotherapy treatments. After hearing much more of her story than I had previously gathered from social media posts, the myriad triggers for my depression seemed insignificant.

But the perspective I took away was that, at not one time in the conversation, did I hear her complain or blame her situation on anyone — save for the idiot driver of the SUV who nearly ran her off the road and caused her to damage two tires.

I had to bend at the knees to be able to hug her neck before I left and, on the drive back across the county, caught myself counting my blessings as they compared to the hardships being faced by that precious, blue-eyed lady.

By this point, the GoFundMe for Ms. Annie had already raised over $3,000 in less than 24 hours, and while I thought there was something I could offer through my craft that would make her Christmas bright, the perspective I gained from her, alone, was another beautiful gift from a stranger that I didn't know I needed until I said "Merry Christmas" and hurried out of that county-line truck stop.

Just since the story was published Friday, the GoFundMe launched by Fordie Hays has raised nearly $9,000 for Ms. Annie. At a time of hyperinflation, political tumult and existential dread, the generosity I've seen with my own eyes gives me so much hope.

Click here to donate to the GoFundMe for Annie Myrick

Getting gifts is great. Don't get me wrong, I love the holidays. But it's the love behind gifts like a stack of nearly-forgotten photos, or money for a hard-working woman to have the Christmas she deserves, which embody a reason for the season that those of all beliefs can get behind.

So, instead of being one of the many to urge you to give back, it's my hope this holiday season you'll find ways to show gratitude for the gifts you've been given that can give you perspective — at a time when we all so dearly need it.

Thank you James South and Annie Myrick. Merry Christmas.

Have a news tip or suggestion on how I can improve Tuscaloosa Patch? Maybe you're interested in having your business become one of the latest sponsors for Tuscaloosa Patch? Email all inquiries to me at ryan.phillips@patch.com