A Final Thought: "Theo"

In my column last month, I lamented that kindness may be going out of style. Several readers agreed, including a delightful woman from Copley who suggested that the world’s waning kindness may explain the popularity of the best-selling novel “Theo of Golden.” She wrote, “[It’s] interesting that a book about a kind old man is selling millions. No sex. No flash. No wild adventure. Just kindness. One human being to another.”

She asked if I had read the book, and I replied that I had. A couple of months ago, several friends recommended it to me, and I read it one day, pausing more than once to wipe away my tears.

“Theo” is the story of an old man who moves to the Southern town of Golden, located along the Oxbow River. He visits a local coffee shop called The Chalice, where 92 pencil portraits of the town’s residents hang on the walls. Theo makes it his mission to purchase the portraits one by one and return them to the people depicted. He meets each person on a bench beside a fountain known as “The Fedder.”

Soon after reading the book, I discovered that the author, Allen Levi, is from my hometown of Columbus, Georgia, and that the setting is based on the city. The Oxbow River is the Chattahoochee, and The Chalice is Fountain City Coffee, which has real-life pencil portraits of local townspeople hanging on the walls, all drawn by local artist Garry Pound.

On July 31, my wife and I visited Columbus to attend a family reunion 45 minutes south in Lumpkin, Georgia. We took the opportunity to take our own “Theo of Golden Walking Tour.” We strolled along the Chattahoochee, where Theo walked, and admired the portraits on the walls of Fountain City Coffee. Columbus boasts many historic fountains, so we weren’t sure which one The Fedder is based on, but we did sit beside one just outside Fountain City Coffee.

The next morning, we drove to Lumpkin to attend the 100th Snipes Family Reunion. I’ve been attending this reunion since my mother pushed me around in a stroller. The ones from my childhood were held in Cuthbert, Georgia, at the Randolph County Country Club, a concrete-block building on a nine-hole golf course beside a cement swimming pool with green water. Lunch was potluck, so the 100-plus family members would show up with fried chicken, barbecue, ham, baked beans, lady finger peas, and every casserole found in the Betty Crocker Cookbook. People brought sweet tea in gallon milk jugs and poured them all into a galvanized No. 2 washtub.

To ensure we didn’t bring shame upon the family, Mom made my brother and me wear long pants and my sister wear a smocked dress. One year, after we were grown, my brother showed up in shorts, and my mother feigned a swoon. He had tarnished tradition and ruined the reunion. But the precedent was set. From then on, we all wore shorts.

A few years later, my brother-in-law secretly arranged for him, me and my older brother to play the nine-hole golf course before the reunion. Mom found out and swooned again. Fun was not allowed.

At this point, I should tell you that the Snipes Family Reunion is no ordinary affair. We are all descendants of William Alexander Snipes and Leuvenia Emogene Knighton—and their 19 children.

That’s right. Nineteen.

I had not been to the reunion for about 20 years when my cousin Rosemary called to tell me that this year marked the 100th anniversary. I agreed to attend, as did my sister, who now lives in Traverse City, Michigan. Although reunion attendance had dwindled to about 30 people, 50 family members showed up on August 1.

I saw distant aunts, uncles and cousins I had not seen in years, including my cousin Shannon and her husband Chuck. They’re a few years older than I am and often teased me at the reunion when I was a little kid. While chatting with Chuck, I learned that his first cousin is one of the owners of a golf course in Medina, Ohio, where Mimi has for many years sponsored a golf outing to benefit the American Cancer Society. 

There were several coincidences like that on this trip, including when my wife told a 96-year-old cousin how she loves lady finger peas but can’t find them in Ohio. The woman replied, “My sister is coming in a few minutes to bring me more. Do you want them?”

Fifteen minutes later, my wife was doing a drug deal in the parking lot with two little old ladies. She came back into the church with a 5-pound bag of freshly shelled lady finger peas, which she held in her arms like the infant Moses for the rest of the day.



And there was another coincidence. I reconnected with a once-close cousin I had not seen in many years.

His name is Theo.

Mitch@MimiVanderhaven.com