Page 22 of Theo of Golden

When Theo had first told Mr. Ponder about the idea of giving portraits away, Mr. Ponder had offered two strong warnings: Never write a letter directly to a child, and always be careful about giving portraits to women, young women in particular. He assumed Theo would exercise such discretion without being told to do so, but he also knew, from years of undoing smart people’s fiascos, that it never hurt to state the obvious.

“Either of those can be easily misunderstood and might possibly get you in trouble these days. If you want to give a picture to a child or teenager, write to the parents, and let them decide if they want to accept your offer. And don’t be surprised if the parents show up alone.”

It had crossed Theo’s mind not to give portraits to children at all, especially so early on, but Frankie Knowles’s framed face argued to the contrary.

The boy arrived with his father and mother.

They had been to the Chalice only once in their lives — four-dollar coffee was beyond the reach of their meager income — and they were not even aware that Frankie’s picture had been placed on the wall.

When they received the letter inviting them to the Fedder, they were somewhat suspicious and ill at ease. But they lived nearby, in one of Golden’s not-so-elegant neighborhoods, and reasoned that, if nothing else, Frankie would enjoy the stroll and benefit from being outdoors. Fresh air was good medicine for a child confined to a wheelchair.

After introductions — Theo holding both of Frankie’s hands in his — the wheelchair was parked a couple of feet in front of the bench, so that the old man and the little boy were knee to knee, facing one another. They carried on like old friends for half an hour while Mr. and Mrs. Knowles sat quietly. All the while, Theo’s focus held fast on Frankie’s face and eyes.

In response to one of Theo’s questions, the boy said, “My favorite sport is NASCAR.”

Theo knew little about race cars, other than what he had learned at the famed competition in Monte Carlo one year, but he was amused by Frankie’s enthusiasm for the sport. Perhaps confinement to a wheelchair made speed a tantalizing possibility and an understandable fantasy for the young boy.

When Frankie peeled the wrapping paper from his portrait, his mother, who had stood to help him, fanned her face with one hand and put the other on her heart. Her mouth fell open, speechless. Frankie’s father was just as spellbound but less demonstrative. He too stood, shook his head, grinned, and patted his son’s shoulder. A short silence, during which all eyes were fixed on the gift, was followed by generous thanks, hugs, laughter.

Theo never saw the Knowles family again. But they spoke of him often and never missed an opportunity to tell others the story of the “genuine portrait that this old man gave us for free at the Fedder.”

The idea was off and running.

A restless accountant.

A gregarious bartender.

An aspiring entrepreneur.

A NASCAR fan.

At least eighty-eight to go.

Theo had struck a motherlode of opportunity. He had stumbled onto his purpose as the newest resident of Golden.

CHAPTER 13

When town planners designed Golden in the early nineteenth century, they had either had the foresight, the intuition, or the dumb luck to make the median wider than what was in vogue at the time. One of the planners had been to Europe — an extravagance in the early 1800s — and had witnessed some of the wide boulevards in the old cities there (the Champs-Élysées in Paris, La Rambla in Barcelona, the Via Monte Napoleone in Milan).

It was his suggestion, the story goes, that the space between the east and west sides of Broadway be ample enough to accommodate large canopy trees, fountains, open areas for play, and landscapable greenspace. The wisdom or fortuitousness of that decision had served the city well.

Early on, and largely at the instigation of the town planner who had been to Paris, the median became known as “the Promenade.”

Last syllable, “nod.”

And like the rest of the city, the Promenade experienced its share of economic ups and downs over the years.

When the city’s financial coffers were low, that fact was visible in the dereliction of plants and landmarks in the median. When, on the other hand, the local treasury had been flush and the downtown was thriving, well-paid arborists and landscapers maintained order and comeliness up and down the thoroughfare. A safe, clean, beautiful Promenade always proved good for business and public relations.

In Golden’s most recent renaissance, the one that preceded Theo’s arrival, the city had campaigned aggressively to undo the neglect of previous years. Litter, untended vegetation, cracked sidewalks, malfunctioning fountains, neglected storefronts, and algae-covered pools became the target of thorough, well-funded reclamation. The makeover brought new landscaping, street paving, fresh paint, tasteful signage, and a maintenance crew that worked daily to keep the area in good repair.

And the public, to the delight of local leaders and business owners, responded with wallets open wide.

Theo’s knowledge of Golden grew by the day. Through walks and conversation, observation and inquiry, he learned the lore and landmarks of the city. Historical markers told the stories of buildings, bridges, prominent citizens, and local industry. And there were always people like Tony and Junior to fill in the gaps.

The city, as Mr. Ponder had promised, had a rich past.

Theo did read the book Tony gave him at their first meeting. It was there he learned about the oak trees in the Promenade, one in particular. Those trees were, and ever would be, haunting reminders of grim moments and dark stains in Golden’s history.