By Neal Wooten
In the early 1990s, while living in Montgomery, I bought out a fitness center that had closed. Before I could open Neal’s Gym, however, I needed a few more pieces like a cable-cross and dip rack. One day I saw a fellow welding some guard rails at my apartment building. I asked him if he could make some exercise equipment if I drew it up for him.
You just never know when you’re going to meet a stranger who will become an important part of your life. His name was George Griffin, and he was an amazing and intelligent person. He was a black guy in his mid-40s, short and stocky, who walked with a limp thanks to a mortar shell in Vietnam. He agreed to take the job as if he had been waiting for this moment. He did an awesome job.
George owned a small welding shop that made security windows and doors, which was a growing industry in Montgomery. His shop was in a bad part of town. He had a nice home, but he loved that shop and spent so much time there. I fell in love with the place too, and for years spent many nights hanging out there as well. Colorful characters would frequent the place during those late-night hours but never troublemakers. I think they respected George too much for that.
He grew up in Michigan. Around 1968, after he turned 18, his mom asked him to go stay with his grandmother in Montgomery because of the civil unrest. George said he was pretty worried about moving to Alabama, but he didn’t have to stay long because he got an invitation from Uncle Sam and was shipped off to the war. After he was injured, he came back to Montgomery and stayed.
One night a middle-aged man came in begging for money, no doubt to get something to drink. He told me of his time in Vietnam as part of his story. I probably would have given him some money, but I never took cash with me to that area. After he left, I said, “I feel sorry for the guy, especially since he’s a Vietnam vet.”
George laughed. “He ain’t been to Vietnam.”
I was confused. “How can you tell?”
George smiled. “If I described Sylvania to you to make you believe I’ve been there, could I fool you?”
Good point. He was full of wisdom like that and great stories and great jokes. He was the most laid-back and cheerful person I’ve ever met. I know time has a way of marching on, but I miss those nights in George’s shop. I guess I just miss old George.
