13. Mr. Jacobson
13
MR. JACOBSON
A knock from the door jerks me out of my doom-scrolling. I look up and smile when I see Jenni Morgan standing on the other side of the door. I’ve known her since she was a kid, and now she’s twenty-seven, just graduated college, and is ready to start her life. She got a late start because she could only go to school part time, since she was taking care of her granny.
I open the door and Jenni rocks onto her toes. “Hi, Mr. Jacobson,” she says with a nervous wave. “Is this a bad time?”
I open the door wider and motion for her to come inside. “Never a bad time for good guests,” I say. I motion for her to take a seat at the kitchen table.
“Where is everyone?” she asks, looking around. The only things here that move are the two cats we adopted. Captain Twinkles blinks at Jenni from beneath the table, and the other dangles from her perch on the cat tree. I reach up, give her a gentle shove to put her back in place, and she starts to lick herself. Damn cats. Funny thing is that I enjoy them almost as I do my grandkids. I never thought I’d say that, but it’s true.
“Katie and Jake took the kids to a carnival,” I explain. “After the last two weeks, they needed a good break.”
The wedding was fun, but it was a lot of work. Truth be told, though, I’d do it all over again; it was that rewarding.
Jenni wrings her hands together, obviously nervous. “Mr. Jacobson, you knew my mom, right?” she asks.
“I did,” I say slowly. “She used to go to school with Jake.” Jenni’s mom was an addict, and Jenni’s grandmother raised Jenni, almost from the day she was born.
“She died eight years ago,” Jenni says quietly.
“I remember. I went to the funeral,” I say. It had been a somber affair.
“My grandmother was so mad that day,” she says with a chuckle. “But she was also relieved that it was over, I think. No more wondering when—or if—Mom would come home. No more hiding anything of value to keep her from stealing it. No more worrying about the days she showed up sober, because those days always came right before the worst.” Her voice trails off.
I lay my hand on top of hers, and she flips her palm up to give me a squeeze. She doesn’t allow the hold but for a moment, and then she pulls back.
“Did my grandmother call you?” she suddenly asks in one quick rush.
“Not today, no. Was she supposed to?”
“No, I mean before. Before the interview.”
“Oh,” I say. I don’t say more than that. I will neither confirm nor deny until I find out what she wants to know.
“I graduated with a degree in journalism,” she explains. “And I had applied at all the local newspapers, radio stations, and everywhere I could think of. No one would hire me. My granny suggested that I look outside our little town, but I don’t want to get too far from her. She’s all I have, and she’s getting older.”
“Aren’t we all?”
“There is a lot of judgment attached to being a Morgan. My mom was fairly well-known, and not in a good way.”
“Made it tough to get a job, did it?” I ask. I already know the answer, but I want her to tell the story.
She hauls in a breath and says with an exhale, “Very. You have no idea.” Her eyes suddenly meet mine. “Why do you do what you do?” she asks.
I startle. I can’t help it. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“You help people, Mr. Jacobson. Nobody even knows you do it, but I’ve seen it.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” I have quite a reputation as an old curmudgeon, and I’d like to keep it that way.
“I saw you one day. You left food on our porch.”
I scratch my head. “Did I?”
“I was a little girl,” she begins. She stops and shakes her head, biting her lower lip. Then she rushes on. “You brought it by, and you said that someone in the campground had left it behind when they went home after renting one of the cabins.”
I nod. “That happened a lot. We ended up with a lot of crazy stuff renters left behind.”
“Granny was thrilled. The box had frozen vegetables, bread, sandwich meats, chicken and hamburger, and some snacks in it.”
“That sounds about right.”
“You forgot to take the receipt out of the box,” she suddenly blurts out, all smiles as her eyes get watery.
I get up to go look in the refrigerator, searching for something—anything—to do. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“You bought the food, you delivered it, and you lied to my granny about where it came from so you could save her pride. You made her think it was things that would go to waste if she didn’t take them.”
I scratch my head. “Must have been a mistake,” I say.
“I found the receipt that day, and I hid it so my granny wouldn’t know. She never would have accepted it otherwise.”
“I did know that.” I think on it, trying to figure out how to salvage this situation. “I don’t remember that particular day,” I say, trying to skirt around the truth.
“I do,” she says. “Because that’s when I knew how much you value your community and the people in it. That’s when I learned what a good man you are, Mr. Jacobson.”
“Well, don’t tell anybody,” I grumble. I kind of feel like my guts are hanging on the outside of my body right now. “I have a reputation to protect.”
She narrows her eyes at me, and I can see her granny’s determination in her. “How did you get the interview with the Reed brothers?” she asks. “Did you have to pull major strings?”
I hold my finger and thumb an inch apart. “Maybe just one little string.”
“They don’t even do interviews anymore,” I tell him.
I nod. “I’d heard that.”
“How’d you do it?” she asks.
“I was talking to your granny at bingo, and she was telling me what a hard time you were having finding a job, and she asked me if I could help.” I shrug. It’s that simple. Well, sort of. She came to me and asked me if I could grease any wheels or open any doors. I called Paul up and said, “I have this reporter who’d like to talk to you when you’re here. She’s something special.” I didn’t go into more details. He agreed. My definition of special might be the same as his. I never could tell. “I greased a wheel. But you got it turning, so don’t give me too much credit,” I tell her.
“Well, I wanted to say thank you,” she says. She reaches into her bag and pulls out a newspaper. “This is tomorrow’s edition. My article will be in it. I got the job!” She punches the air. “They’re giving me a chance, and it’s all because of you. You opened the door so I could walk through it, and I am so grateful.”
I glance at the article, taking in her byline.
“Well, look at that,” I say. I turn it to face her. “Look what you did. That’s fantastic.”
“All because of you,” she says wistfully.
“All because of you ,” I say to correct her.
She stands up. “I just wanted to say thank you and bring you a copy of the article.”
“I’ll be sure the Reeds see it.”
She smiles. “That would be great. Thank you again.” She hugs me quickly and mutters in my ear, “Thank you so much.”
“I might have to frame this,” I say. “Your first article. Look at that.”
She laughs. “Granny already did.” She turns to open the door, but at the last minute, she turns back. She nods toward the newspaper. “That article was about the Reeds, but it may as well have been about you, Mr. Jacobson.”
“You’re giving me too much credit,” I grumble.
“I don’t think I’ve given you nearly enough.” She walks through the door. I follow her out onto the back porch.
“Jenni,” I say. She turns back, her brow arched.
“Someone helped me many, many years ago. I felt like it was fair to pay it forward. You do the same when you’re able, okay?”
She smiles. “Yes, sir,” she says. She opens her car door, gets in, and shuts it with a clunk behind her.
Her window is down, so I call to her, “Drive safe! Watch for deer! Tell your granny I said hello!” I could go on and on, but I stop there. I watch her until she’s out of the drive, her beat-up old car puttering down the road.
I go back, pick up the newspaper, and start to read.
The Reed Brothers: From Humble Beginnings to Heartfelt Success
By: Jennifer Morgan, Local Correspondent
Sitting by the dock on a crisp afternoon, I had the pleasure of speaking with Paul Reed, one of the famous Reed brothers. Known for their TV show, businesses, and impressive camaraderie, the Reeds have become household names. But behind the fame, what remains clear is the genuine kindness that has defined their journey, from humble beginnings to well-deserved success.
Meeting Paul was an unexpected delight. Despite the initial hesitance to open up, his warmth shone through. We spoke barefoot by the water’s edge, which seemed fitting for a family that has always remained grounded, no matter how high they soared.
When asked about their early life, Paul was quick to clarify a common misconception. “Who told you we came from nothing?” he said, smiling. “Whoever told you that was wrong.” Yes, the Reeds may have grown up with less money than most, but it’s clear they were never without the things that mattered most—family, love, and an unbreakable bond.
“It didn’t mean we had nothing,” Paul added, reflecting on their upbringing. “We had all our needs met, and we got some of our wants met. But we were rich in a lot of ways that other people weren’t.” His parents, despite their limited means, instilled in the brothers values of love, unity, and resilience. “Even after they died, they had set us up to love one another, and after they were gone, that’s what we did.”
It’s this bond that viewers have seen on their popular TV show, filmed at the brothers’ tattoo shop. “Five hot guys with tattoos,” I jokingly mentioned, to which Paul laughed, “No, that’s not why.” He paused, then continued, “It was the camaraderie between all of us. Aside from my wife and kids, my brothers are the most important people in my life. The show saw our bond, and they wanted to share it.”
The Reed brothers have built more than just a business empire; they’ve built a legacy of kindness. Whether it’s Paul making sure people in his community have what they need, Matt running cancer fundraising events, Pete mentoring at-risk youth, Sam feeding communities with his restaurants, or Logan leading deaf advocacy initiatives, each brother finds a way to give back. Their fame never disconnected them from where they came from. In fact, it seems to have fueled their desire to lift others up.
Paul shared a touching memory that embodies their spirit of community. “One year, we couldn’t afford a Christmas tree,” he said, recalling how they felt the absence of what many consider a holiday staple. But their neighbors stepped in. “We woke up to find a four-foot fir tree with lights and Christmas balls all over it. There were presents for each of us under the tree.”
“There was also a Christmas ham. Sam and Pete ate ham for a week.” He laughed, remembering his brothers’ joy. That act of kindness made a lasting impression on the Reeds. “That’s what community is for. We take care of one another. When we started making money from the show, endorsements, commercials, and all that stuff, the first thing we did was give back to the people who gave to us.”
“But what you give is so much bigger than a tree and a ham,” I pointed out.
Paul shook his head, “Not really. It’s all pretty much the same—giving what you can when you can, any way you can.”
And then there’s Friday, the woman who keeps them all in line. “She never took any crap,” Paul said with a chuckle. “The first time I met her, she told me I needed to fix the tattoo on my neck because it looked terrible.” It’s clear that, for the Reeds, honesty and straightforwardness are part of what makes their relationships strong.
But it’s not all about hard work and giving back. The Reeds have shown that fame and family can coexist beautifully, and their close-knit bond is the heart of it all. They’ve managed to do the impossible—keep their lives real and relatable while being in the spotlight. It’s rare to see a family so widely loved who are equally committed to their community and each other.
In a world that often focuses on what divides us, the Reed brothers stand as a testament to the power of unity. From the downtown apartment where they grew up to the red carpets they now walk, they’ve shown that success isn’t just about rising to the top. It’s about bringing others up with you every step of the way.
As our interview drew to a close, Paul reflected, “You see a lot, but no, you don’t see everything.” What we do see, though, is enough to remind us that kindness, authenticity, and love can still make a mark on the world.
From where I was standing, it was easy to see why the Reeds have captured the hearts of so many. They aren’t just famous—they’re genuinely good people. And that’s a story worth telling.