Bennie

Bobbie Jean, Bennie and Candace at the ranch

What can I tell you about Bennie? Bennie is the grandson of America Stokes. He and his older sister, Bobbie Jean, spent much of the summers at the ranch with us.

 Bennie was two or three years younger than I, but he could outrun me. He was smart as a whip and great at games. My sister, Candace, and I had so many fun times with Bobbie Jean and him.

 Bennie’s parents lived in Elmendorf on a small parcel of land they owned. When Elizabeth and I moved to San Antonio, I became their attorney. Through Jack and Lydia, I maintained contact with the family.

 Bennie was drafted when he graduated from high school, served in Viet Nam and returned a damaged soul. Disabled, alcoholic, trauma stricken.

 Bennie couldn’t hold a job. His parents supported him, plus he received monthly disability. After his parents died, Bennie did odd jobs on the East side of San Antonio, around the house kind of things.

 I don’t know when he started coming by my office in downtown San Antonio—probably sometime in the late 80’s or early 90’s. I do remember the first time. The receptionist came in to tell me there was a man (homeless person) asking to see me.

 Bennie would always start our conversations with “Mr. Cauthorn,” and as long as I was Mr. Cauthorn, he was “Mr. Davis.” That would continue until he would lapse into calling me what he called me when we were boys. Then it would be Bennie and Tommy.

 The law office became a safe place for Bennie. He would drop in for coffee and a good visit, whether I was there or not. I became the repository of his personal records.

When we met, we would talk about riding horses at the ranch and the big flood, when electricity went out and we had to eat a summer’s supply of ice cream and steaks before they spoiled.

Every visit, Bennie would share in detail his visions of fire burning up the world and God destroying everything.

 I served Bennie, took him to my doctor on one occasion and to the VA numerous times. The homeless get such a runaround unless they have an advocate.

 On one visit, I offered to give Bennie $100 per month. He said “NO”. On a later visit, Bennie asked if I remembered what we had talked about. I said that I had. He said “Okay.” I took Bennie to the bank, introduced him to my banker, who opened an account for Bennie and who gave him a debit card. Bennie died in 2004.

 Recently, I received the following text from Bobbie Jean, whom I have also stayed in touch with all these years—

 “You were a God send with us dealing with Bennie. He trusted you and did what you said. You don’t know how much you are appreciated. It seemed that once he went to the military hospital he settled down. I know he had problems. I learned when he passed that he was drafted from high school. 

 My heart went out to him, and I believe the Viet Nam war had a lot to do with his problems. He couldn’t cope when he came home alcoholic and messed up. I do grieve that he never had a chance to enjoy life.

 I thank you for interceding for him.”

 I, too, grieve for Bennie.