Permission Granted, No Forgiveness Needed

I went home last week to research some family history on my mother’s side of the family for my book when I came across a few newspaper clippings my grandmother kept.

One of the articles was from 1968 about my great-grandfather, “Blackie,” a long-time sheriff in Monahans, Texas. He died before I was born, so I didn’t know a lot about him. The article was aged, yellow, and fragile, crumpling in my hands as I held it and read the first sentence, “And then there was the time the sheriff tried to sell the courthouse.”

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I read on about how he landed in Texas from Arizona after his car broke down, and never left. I learned about his time as an oil rig builder in the 1930s, how his nightwatchman job led to a position at the local police department, and how he eventually became the sheriff of Monahans. He moved my great-grandmother into the courthouse, where they would make their home and raise a family for the next 22 years.

In 1958, after some road work was done in the county, there was a dispute over who was responsible for the $73,780 bill. The construction company sued the commissioners and won, leaving my great-grandfather in an impossible situation. The courthouse was the only clear property the county owned, and the legal system had let him down, so what did my great-grandfather do?

He advertised “One Courthouse For Sale” in the Monahans news, essentially putting the courthouse, jail, and his home up for auction to the highest bidder.

“I knew I couldn’t do it, but I had to go through with it,” he told the San Angelo Standard-Times.

Now I know where I get my tenacity from. I feel like I’ve been living these words my entire life. I grew up in a family that taught me it’s better to ask forgiveness than for permission. But in that one sentence, and 56 years later, my great-grandfather gave me the permission I needed to be exactly who I have been all along, no forgiveness needed. It’s like he whispered from the grave, “I know you’re nervous, but do it anyway, even when they tell you you can’t.”

Even if the New York Times and Chicago Tribune come a callin’.

As a woman, advocate, writer, and mother, I second-guess every idea, every word, and every decision I make. We are made to believe we’ve got nothing of value to add, especially if it involves controversial or unpopular opinions. We are warned of all the ways to be afraid if we take those risks or say what we really want to say because, basically, having any opinion at all as a woman is a risk in and of itself. We are Sophie’s choiced every day of our lives. Damned if we do, damned if we don’t.

Well, damn me no more because I have permission now, and so do you. If they can do it, we can do it too. Even, and especially, if it’s never been done before, and we create “a right smart of excitement” just like my great-grandfather did.

Soon after the news broke he got a call from Bob Wills and the Texas Playboys offering to host a benefit dance to save the courthouse. I had no idea who Bob Wills and the Texas Playboys were until today, so I looked them up. I downloaded New Spanish Two Step, a nod to my childhood history and an extension of my gratitude to the band and the community for helping save my family’s home.

The contractor was eventually paid, and my great-grandfather did not have to sell the courthouse and his home after all. The risk he took paid off, and he did it all himself, even while he was being told “no” by half of the country.

Could he have lost everything in the gamble? Yes.

Did he? No.

Because he put on his brave suit and tried something that had never been done before, he was met with a sense of humanity I’m sure he’d never seen before.

Sometimes—not always, but sometimes—the worst ideas can be the best ideas, and we just have to recognize them for what they are and say, “I’m gonna do it anyway."