A Man`s Word is His Bond

A Man`s Word is His Bond
By Hal Haralson

[Hal Haralson practices law in Austin, Texas and is a frequent contributor to Christian Ethics Today.]

My father "graduated" from Centerpoint school near Haskell, Texas in 1915. The highest grade was the eighth grade. That was the end of his formal education.

He appears on the 1920 census as a farm hand near Haskell. (Thanks to the Internet sleuthing of his attorney-grandson, Brad Haralson of San Angelo.)

Delma Watkins Haralson surfaces again as the owner of a Texaco "filling" station at 2nd and Hickory in Abilene, Texas. "Old Man Roach" or "Uncle John," as he was known to most people, took a liking to the young man at the Texaco station.

"Delma, I know where we can buy 100 head of sheep near Roby for $200.00. They`re worth twice that much. We`ll bring them to Abilene and double our money."

"But," said Delma, "I don`t have $100.00."

"My boy, we`re gonna be partners. I`ll loan you the $100.00. You sign a note and pay it off when we sell the sheep." (I still have that note).

Pappa told me how exciting it was to buy and sell the sheep. "It was the easiest money I ever made."

Thus began the lessons of Uncle John Roach. "Delma, I`m going to teach you to be a horse trader." That meant buying and selling horses, cows, pigs, tractors, and/or automobiles.

He married at age 35 and bought a small dry-rland farm eight miles north of Loraine, Texas.

There, he and his wife raised three sons. Ken, who died of leukemia at age 35, Dale, an attorney in Tucson, and me.

He was only 5`4" and weighed 135 pounds. But he was strong and wiry. There was a running contest between him and his favorite nephew. Sit ups, push ups, chin ups. Pappa always won, much to the frustration of the six-rfoot, 175-rpound nephew, whose name was Browning Ware.

He laughed in later years, "I never expected to make any money off the farm. I wanted it so I could keep you boys busy."

And that he did; driving a Ford tractor, chopping cotton, and milking the cows.

School took up much of our time. We lived at the end of the bus route. First on the bus in the morning and last off in the evening. 120 miles a day. Two hours in the morning and two in the afternoon.

Much of our education was on that bus. The Texas Education Agency doesn`t know this: the first sex education classes in Texas were on rural school buses.

Many times my father said to Dale and me, "A man`s word is his bond. Tell the truth….Never go back on your word."

This became the bedrock of his teaching. I took it as my own. It almost cost me my job.

During my second year in law school at the University of Texas, I got a job as a law clerk.

Since I was 34 years old and married with three small children, this income was very important.

There were eight law clerks. We were all referred to as "Boy" by the lawyers. This "Boy" was older than some of the lawyers.

My job was taking statements from parties in the law suit and witnesses to the accident.

The lawyer told me the facts of the case and what we needed the person to say. A favorable statement early in the suit could bring about a good settlement for our client.

One of the senior partners called me in and told me our client had fallen while stepping off the stairs in a building. She broke her hip.

If the janitor had recently mopped the floor and had not put up a sign warning about the wet floor, we had the case in the bag.

My assignment was to get a statement from the janitor.

From the information in the file, I knew the janitor was an old (over sixty) Negro man. He lived in Dale, Texas.

Dale, Texas was south of Austin and east of Lockhart. It is a town made up of the descendants of freed slaves who went there from Austin following the civil war.

There weren`t any street signs in Dale. Most of the buildings were boarded up.

"Do you know where Elroy Jones (not his real name) lives," I inquired at the garage/filling station.

The directions were easy to follow.

I pulled up in the front of an old shack that was about the same color as the rickety fence that surrounded the yard. The last time it had been painted was right after the civil war.

The old man had on faded overalls, brogan shoes, with no socks. He was leaning against a tree in the front yard. The chair was solid metal, so old the legs had given way. The bottom was held up by two cinder blocks.

"Mr. Jones, my name is Hal Haralson. I work for the law firm in Austin that represents the lady who fell and broke her hip."

He invited me in and offered me a beer. Our conversation was relaxed and non-threatening. We talked about picking cotton, pulling bolls, chopping cotton, and the knee pads I have in my

office.

Mr. Jones decided I was not out to trick him and answered my questions about his job and when he mopped the floor near the stairs.

His answers were exactly what I had hoped to hear.

"Mr. Jones, I want to write down what you have told me so I can be sure it is right. When I get through, you can look at it and I`ll make any changes that are needed. Then you can sign it."

He balked.

"I ain`t signing nothin`. I probably shouldn`t have told you any of this. I`m gonna retire next year and this could cost me my job."

"I`ll talk to my boss Monday and ask him if its okay to sign. I want you to promise me you won`t do nothin `till I talk to my boss."

"Okay, Mr. Jones. You have my word. I won`t do anything else `till you talk to your boss on Monday."

It was late Friday afternoon when I got back to the office. The partner was waiting for me. I told him I had talked to Mr. Jones.

"Well, what did he say?"

"He had mopped the floor about fifteen minutes before our client fell and didn`t put up a warning sign."

"Let me have his statement."

"He wouldn`t sign a statement and I told him I wouldn`t do anything until he talks to his boss Monday morning."

"Damn, if he talks to his boss, he won`t sign anything. He`ll probably change his story."

"Here`s what I want you to do. Call the old man and get him to give you the details of his statement over the phone. Record the conversation and we`ll have him."

I looked at the senior partner. My heart was pounding….Iwas hearing my father`s, "A man`s word is his bond."

"I can`t do that. I gave him my word."

"I`m ordering you to call that man and tape his conversation. If you don`t, it may cost us the law suit."

"I`m sorry, I gave him my word."

I was ordered out of the office. I later learned that another law clerk had been told to make the call, but the old man wouldn`t talk.

By the time I got to work Monday, the rumor was going around that I was to be fired for refusing to do what the partner told me to do. There was a firm meeting that evening.

Tuesday came and nothing was said. Nothing was ever said. I worked there until I finished law school.

I had been practicing law about two years when I saw the lady who was office manager for the firm at the time of the incident.

"Hal, did anyone ever tell you what happened in that firm meeting?"

"No, not a word."

"Well, no harm can come from your knowing now."

She told me that the partner I had disobeyed was furious and demanded that I be fired. The founding partner had asked what happened and was told the full story.

Then he said, "I grew up in the country where we had a saying about his kind of thing. `A man`s word is his bond.` Hal gave the man his word. He was right to keep his word. We need more employees like that. He keeps his job."

My father would have been pleased.

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