A pillar of the community in our small town passed away this week. Mr. J. He is someone I’ve known my whole life and what we in the hills fondly refer to as a squirrel cousin. Which means somewhere in a round about way we are related by marriage. He ran a gas station here in town where he pumped your gas for you, cleaned your windshield, and would sell you a cold soda. About 24 years ago I was all by myself at the building across from his station selling craft furniture. A man came came in who I had never seen before (a rarity in our town) and he was acting very strange. The man kept getting closer to me, saying odd things, and started backing me into a corner. I didn’t have a phone and I was honestly scared. I looked out the big picture window and I see Mr. J running across the highway with a billy club in his hand. He sternly told that man to get out of there and don’t come back. The guy took off once he saw that billy club. So Mr. J was my hero that day and when I kept thanking him he just said that’s what neighbors do, look out for each other. 