Down to Earth People: Don

A couple of years ago I lived in San Marcos while attending Texas State University. During my time there, I needed to earn a living— it’s a college town, so I figured working at a bar would be a pretty sweet gig. Though, it had its hardships, being that Zelicks was one of the most popular bars in town, I was able to get to know some of the familiar folks that dwelled there in that humid little river town. Some “San Martians” were more eccentric than the others, but nonetheless, extremely interesting and pleasant to be around if you can break that bread and make a pretty good impression.

One night, I had played Leonard Cohen on my bluetooth speaker as I cleaned the food truck— the food truck was also property of the bar, it’s a whole ‘nother ordeal, the bar featured a food truck, some people thought it was a restaurant that featured a bar… Anywho, it’s my blog! I was listening to Leonard Cohen, at the time; I was so invested in his work and I know my Canadian Literature course had something to do with it. This elderly gentleman approached the food truck window and he set his boney arms on the serving counter.

“HEY! Is that Leonard Cohen?” he asked. His voice didn’t have much power to it, it’s almost like a hand had muffled his mouth, he spoke very softly, but if you ever had a conversation with this man it looked like he was semi winded with each sentence. I did have the chance to lower my speaker, I had noticed the gentleman walk his way over before he asked his question. I told him that he was correct, and he mentioned that he could hear my music over the ambience of the busy bar from where he had been sitting; he also extracted a cotton ball, out from each ear, to double down on the fact that he was able to use some selective hearing, so that was really impressive coming from a man in his late eighties.

We briefly exchanged our admiration to the Canadian performer and he then made his way back to his sweaty Lone Star at the table. As he made his way down the aisle, he quickly made a turn around to speak once again to me, and asked for a favor.

“May I also get a cup of that queso you got in that crock pot? I like to reuse that stuff for my eggs.” I kindly served him a cup of that queso, that had a glue like thickness to it as it slow cooked towards the end of the night, and I gave it to him on the house. I denied his payment of two bucks, and I made a promise to him that next time I see him around, he’ll be receiving a fresher batch to take home.

He rarely ever came out alone to the bar. I hadn’t seen him in weeks like the regulars that swing by, but eventually I started to catch wind on the days he usually did. It was mostly on Tuesday nights. He’d come along with a friend much younger, and I suppose to keep him from driving at night— they would talk up until closing time. His friend, Nicole, who was also a mutual friend of mine and a regular, had a curious and kind heart to make her way down from Austin to visit this fella. As much as I knew from her, she was a massive fan of music, from the psychedelic classic, to the weird outsider music around the dimly lit corners of the world.

When I saw him, I walked on over to say hi to the both of them, and behind my back a container filled with fresh queso. His eyebrows shot up, he was really excited for it, and again, it was free of charge (don’t tell my former employer). I mentioned that I couldn’t visit for too long, but I’d like to hang after. Sure enough they stuck around after I closed down my greasy office.

I’m pretty sure I was drinking at the time, so I had myself a brew, maybe a Martin House Sour, those were my favorite at the time, and I planted my keister next to Nicole. Across was the elderly man. I finally introduced myself to him, and he gave me his name. His name’s Don, he’s a scorpio, and he lives in a massive storage unit outside of town. He usually wore the same black tank top, and during the colder seasons he’d sport a black leather jacket much bigger than his frame. Don had aura. He was ragged man, and individual of that caliber definitely had some tough times, but I won’t get too much into his backstory.

Don had invited me countless times to come see his place. He wanted to show me all the antiques he’s collected and restored, but his main prized possession was his audio system. I mean, I heard stories upon stories about his audio equipment from the man himself, but I think it’s because he kind of forgotten the other times he had mentioned that information to me. EVENTUALLY! I took him on his offer and I took my point and shoot with me.

He wasn’t joking… He lived in a storage unit. His neighbors was a boxing class… I enter his garage door and there’s Don, eating dinner. With a wave, he greeted me from his seat and continued eating his eggs, beside it, a bowl of half eaten queso. It was around May of 2024 when I had visited him— it was at night, it wasn’t too hot, but boy was it getting there.

He allowed me to rummage around his collection of dressers, mirrors, rusty tools, while he continued eating. It was more of an antique store than a hoarder mess. Things were sectioned in a particular way: antique radio systems were in the middle, mirrors were along the metal wall, and his tools set on top of the many tables and counter spaces. There was a walkway system, though it was cluttered, it wasn’t impossible to get by.

Once he was done, he asked, “Would you like to see the system?”

He led me to his sleeping quarters, a door that looked like an office to a tire shop. He picked around his keys and unlocked the room door. I followed his way, and there it was to the left of the door, his speaker system. It was gnarly! I know nothing about audiophiles, but Don was an absolute wiz at assembling all the antique elements to today’s technology. He mentioned I should sit squarely in the middle of the sofa so the speakers hit of my ears, I didn’t argue, most importantly, I was a little worried about losing my hearing— he did shove cotton balls in his ears.

Before I knew it, it was like Leonard Cohen was conjured before us. The audio was so crisp and distinctive— I could hear the bow of a violin float over its strings before it made a sound, it was that crystal clear. To this day, I’ve never heard anything like it. We heard an entire record of Leonard’s live performances and man, I was spellbound. At one point, I looked over at Don, he was rocking back and forth in his seat with his eyes closed— it was like his lullaby.

After we listened to the record, I needed to go home, but he insisted on showing me around his place before I departed. He gave me a quick tour of his collections and personal projects, nifty finds, and his issues with the boxing instructor next door. Don, you’re one in a million and I’m glad to have gotten the chance to meet you. I hope you’re doing well out there.