Free Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil by John Berendt Page B

and left a baby girl and I want him to come by my office and pay me fifteen dollars.’”
    When we parted at the corner of Oglethorpe Avenue, I realized I was still in the dark about the imaginary dog, Patrick. A week or so later, when I next fell in step with Mr. Glover, I made a mental note to bring the subject around to it. But Mr. Glover had other things to talk about first.
    “You know about psychology,” he said. “You learn that in school. You learn people-ology on the Pullman. I was a porter for the Pullman during the war. You had to keep the passengers well satisfied for ’em to tip you fifty cents or a dollar. You say, ‘Wait a minute, sir. You going up to the club car? Your tie is crooked.’ Now, his tie is really straight as an arrow, but you pull it crooked and then you pull it straight again, and he likes it. That’s people-ology!
    “Keep a whisk broom in your pocket, and brush him off! He don’t need no brushing off, but he don’t know it! Brush him off anyhow, and straighten his collar. Pull it crooked and straighten it again. Miss Mamie don’t need a box for her hat, but you be sure and put her hat in a box! If you sit and don’t do nothin’, you won’t get nothin’!
    “Another thing I learned: Don’t ever ask a man, ‘How is Mrs. Brown?’ You ask him, ‘How is Miss Julia?
Tell her I ask about her.’
I never did ask Mr. Bouhan about Mrs. Bouhan. I ask him, ‘How is Miss Helen?
Tell Miss Helen I ask about her.’
He liked it and she liked it. Mr. Bouhan gave me his old clothes and shoes. Miss Helen gave me records from her collection, all kinds of records. I got records I don’t even know I got. I even got records of that great opera singer … Henry Coca-ruso!
    “I keep busy,” Mr. Glover said. “I don’t sit down and hold my hand. I got five hundred dollars of life insurance, and it’s all paid up. I paid twenty-five cents a week for seventy years! And last week the Metropolitan Life Insurance Company sent me a check for one thousand dollars!”
    Mr. Glover’s eyes were sparkling. “No, sir, I don’t sit down and hold my hand.”
    “Glover!” came a booming voice from behind us. A tall white-haired man in a gray suit approached. “Still walking the dog?”
    “Why, yes, sir, yes I am.” Mr. Glover did his little bow and tipped his hat and gestured to the invisible dog behind him. “I’m still walking Patrick.”
    “Glad to hear it, Glover. Keep it up! Take care now.” With that, the man walked away.
    “How long have you been walking Patrick?” I asked.
    Mr. Glover straightened up. “Oh, for a long time. Patrick was Mr. Bouhan’s dog. Mr. Bouhan used to give him Chivas Regal scotch liquor to drink. I walked the dog, and I was the dog’s bartender too. Mr. Bouhan said that after he died I was to be paid ten dollars a week to take care of Patrick. He put that in his will. I had to walk him and buy his scotch liquor. When Patrick died, I went to see Judge Lawrence. The judge was Mr. Bouhan’s executor. I said, ‘Judge, you can stop paying me the ten dollars now, because Patrick is dead.’ And Judge Lawrence said, ‘What do you mean Patrick is dead? How could he be? I see him right there! Right there on the carpet.’ I looked behind me, and I didn’t see no dog. But then I thought a minute and I said, ‘Oh! I think I see him too, Judge!’ And the judge said, ‘Good. So you just keep walking him and we’ll keep paying you.’ The dog is dead twenty years now, but I still walk him. I walk up and down Bull Street and look over my shoulder and say, ‘Come on, Patrick!’”

    As for the mysterious old lady who punched out Joe Odom’s windows with a hammer, I never saw her again. I did learn, however, that there were quite a few people in Savannah who might have felt justified in smashing Joe’s windows as a result of having done business with him. The ranks of such people included any number of old ladies.
    At least half a dozen people, for instance, had come