Thankful People: Thankful for the time remaining, and the opportunities to serve

On the day before his final surgery in late September, Floyd "Frog" Penny's flip phone wouldn't stop ringing. The callers were old classmates or business partners, friends and associates who had heard about his cancer and wanted him to know he had their prayers before he made the transition to hospice care at week's end. At 79, Frog said it was one of the upsides of an otherwise dire prognosis: the chance for proper goodbyes.

Most of the callers, he said, ended up reminiscing about one or more of Frog's charity projects over the years, which he said he's perfectly happy to talk about. He seemed to draw a sense of peace from looking back on works of service.

"I've done what I could," he said. "I did my best once I accepted Christ. When He spoke, I moved."

It started about 35 years ago, he said, in the barber shop he kept on Independence Street in Cape Girardeau.

"Some people can tell you to the exact second what they were doing (when they felt their conversion), but I'll be honest, I can't," he said. But looking back on his life, his one regret is that it didn't happen sooner.

Once he found faith, he said, he poured himself into service. But rather than extravagant gestures, Frog preferred small-scale acts; a free haircut to a homeless veteran he met through a food pantry, or some pro bono plumbing work for a neighbor who needed it.

Less Jimmy Carter, more good Samaritan.

But that changed in 1988, when a small gesture became his biggest inspiration.

"I was selling turkey legs and lemonade out at the fair," he said. "And this guy come over and he ordered a lemonade. I told him, I can't remember how much it were now, a dollar or 75 cents, but he said, 'Well, I don't have no money.'"

This sat poorly with Frog, who had earned his nickname through a childhood hot temper -- it doesn't take much to make a frog jump, as the saying goes -- and for a second, he admitted, he was angry.

"I asked him, 'Well, why did you order that lemonade?'" he said. "Because I don't like to see anybody shaft anybody."

But the man said he was thirsty, and Frog realized the man had gotten away from his group, an outing for handicapped people organized by local advocacy organization VIP Industries.

"I told my wife, I said, 'Start shakin' lemonades,'" he said. "And my wife, she's a dear woman for the Lord, too, but we might'a shook 60. We shook them lemonades and the Lord spoke to me."

The encounter, he said, inspired him to put on another fair specifically dedicated to VIP Industries and other area work shelters. He decided he would put the whole thing together in three weeks, if for no other reason than he figured he could pull it off. It seemed like the right thing to do.

"People say, 'God don't talk to me,'" he said. "Well they're not listenin.'"

Three weeks later, Frog had his fair, complete with a marching band, rides and a greased-pig contest featuring a circuit judge, the chief of police and the city mayor, Gene Rhodes.

"I'll never forget 'em out there; they were shovin', grabbin' hold of those greased pigs," he said. "And [Circuit Judge A.J.] Seier won. ... With God's help, all things are possible."

While the fair was his most high-profile charity project, there were many smaller undertakings of which Frog is similarly proud.

He raised money to buy Christmas gifts for children on the cancer ward at Cardinal Glennon Children's Hospital in St. Louis. In recent years, he walked in parades carrying an actual cross as men with stage whips drove him on. He even took karate classes to learn how to fall safely.

"You know who really got the happiness out of it?" he said. "I got the joy out of it."

It's moments like that, he said, that allow him to feel thankful even though his illness is making it harder to get through the day. In mid-November, he said he didn't know how much longer he has.

When he was diagnosed and doctors told him he had to stop working, he said there was only one thing he still wanted to do: demonstrate one last time at the cemetery of the unborn to protest abortion laws, which he was able to do earlier this month.

"It's a wonderful life. ... I feel good knowing I was able to do it," he said. "The weather was so warm and I felt so good."

tgraef@semissourian.com

388-3627