The late Stan Hickman, Dallas realtor, and I met when we worked on the Daily Texan, the UTexas student newspaper. We became close friends. Stan even said he would sponsor me to join his Jewish fraternity, if I would change my name to “Elamski”.
Maxine’s mother came to dine with this engaged couple, and we invited Stan to join us. We warned him to curtail his frequent curse words. And not to order a beer.
When the waiter asked for our drink orders, we stared Stan down and he ordered a coke. But when my future mother-in-law, a woman raised on a Hill Country ranch, said she thought she would have a beer, Stan hugged her shoulders and exclaimed…
“Lord Almighty, Mom, where did you find these two prudes?” And changed his order to a beer.
By the turn of the century, Stan had made enough Dallas real estate deals that he could expand to Oklahoma City. He bought into a 7-Eleven convenience store.
When Stan went to inspect his new property he saw an old lady, shawl draped over her shoulder, carrying her shopping bag. Stan noted his staff were frowning, offering no help. Stan offered her assistance.
“How about this fine product, Grandmom?” he asked as he sheparded the aged lady down the aisles, even carried her basket to her car after she checked out. Then he returned to upbraid his scowling clerks.
“What’s the matter with you guys? Don’t you have a grandmother? Why were you so discourteous to that old lady?”
The cashier answered. “Mister Hickman, that ‘old lady’ is Oklahoma City’s most notorious shoplifter.”
