Photos by MATT GENTRY The Roanoke Times

Wig Morris leaves the checkout line with soft drinks in his cart at Wades Supermarket in Christiansburg.

MATT GENTRY The Roanoke Times

Dennis Davis (left), a sanitation worker with the town of Christiansburg, talks with Willard "Wig" Morris after accepting drinks from Morris outside Wades Supermarket. Morris is a retired construction worker who distributes cold drinks to those who need them.

| Donna Alvis-Banks

Special to The Roanoke Times

CHRISTIANSBURG -- Tuesday at Wades Supermarket is Senior Discount Day.

Here come the gray-haired, slow-walking, sweet-talking folks older than 55 for their 5 percent grocery discount.

Here comes Willard "Wig" Morris, 79.

"I go to Wades on Tuesday and Friday," the burly man in bib overalls says. "I go to the stores that's got drinks on sale.

"I keep drinks on the truck all the time."

"Hey, Wig, how you doin'?" hollers 68-year-old Bobby Collier as he strides across the parking lot with a cart of food-filled plastic bags.

"Hey there, Coconut," bellows Morris in response. "Wanna drink?"

Collier makes a beeline for Morris' teal green '95 Chevy pickup. He reaches into the large cooler in the truck's bed and extracts an icy bottle of Coke.

"He's been giving away drinks for a long time," Collier says. "He gives them to anybody that's working. He's a good fella, Wig is."

Morris explains that he got his nickname from his oldest brother.

"He couldn't say Willard. I didn't know my name was Willard until I was 40 years old."

Dennis Davis, wearing a hard hat and a neon yellow safety vest, walks past with his lunch in a white paper bag. He's heading across the street to the town garbage truck where his partner waits. The two men will devour their noon meal in the front seat before returning to the streets of Christiansburg, where the townspeople's trash awaits them.

It's hard, tedious, stinking work.

"Get a drink," Morris orders Davis. "Get one for your buddy, too."

Davis jabs his strong hand into the ice and retrieves two frosty sodas.

He thanks Morris without smiling.

"I reckon he just donates to the community," Davis says of Morris' philanthropic pastime.

Morris grins, a grin that seems to switch on a light under his weathered face.

"You don't lose anything by giving," he says. "It'll come back to you."

Pay it forward

Morris had his stroke in 1991.

He remembers falling asleep while watching television and waking up to a spinning room.

His wife, Marie, summoned the Blacksburg Rescue Squad to their 28-acre spread in McCoy, where Morris grew up with his six siblings. In the hospital, he was first treated for an inner ear infection.

"They didn't know till the next day that I'd had a stroke," Morris said. "It crippled me in my left side, my arm and leg. After that stroke, I had to retire."

Always a worker, Morris had used the strength of his body to provide for his wife and two daughters, Sheila and Cheryl.

"I started out as a coal miner when I was just a boy. Then I went to construction. Those is the hardest work there is and I done both of them."

Morris did construction work at Virginia Tech in 1954 when he came out of the Marine Corps. In 1975, he went to work for the university in the carpenter's shop and transferred from there to the planning and engineering department, where he was an inspector.

His experience in construction left him with lots of memories.

"I've been out a lot of times on a job and would've give a million dollars for a drink," he said with a sigh.

So when he found himself unable to work after the stroke, Morris did the next best thing.

"I said, 'Well, I'm not able to do anything else. I'll try to help somebody else.' "

He started delivering drinks to folks earning their living by the sweat of their brows. He went to hayfields and building sites -- anywhere he could find laborers in need of refreshment.

"When we started building our house, he came every day to bring the workers drinks and snacks," recalled Lilly Martin of Blacksburg. Her husband, Dale, has come to depend on Morris, too.

"Whenever Dale's in the hayfield, he's there. Wig is so terrific. We just love him to death."

After "fighting like a bear" to regain some movement in his left side, Morris said he wanted to do something to help working people. He figured a cold drink might stave off heatstroke.

Although he moves slowly and with the aid of a cane, he still can drive. He spent this past summer maneuvering country roads in search of farmhands.

"I usually go to the hayfields, but cuttin' is about over," he said. "Now I carry soft drinks and bottled water for anybody that needs it."

Although he had a heart attack in 2007, Morris doesn't plan on giving up.

"I've been tough," he said. "I don't know how long I can be that way."

Attitude of gratitude

While he doesn't really need to stock up on drinks, Morris decides to spin a shopping cart through Wades.

It's Tuesday, after all. Senior Discount Day.

"I can use one of these, I know," he says, picking up an eight-pack of Dr Pepper.

"I need one of these, too," he adds, grabbing a diet pack.

He looks at the sale sign on the soft drink display.

"Well, I might as well get another. It's three for $10."

In goes a pack of Mountain Dew.

Morris admits that he has a basement stocked with bottled water and pop, but he likes the peace of mind that comes with knowing he has an assortment of drinks for anybody he might encounter.

He has no idea how much money he spends for that peace of mind.

"I don't plan on taking any money when I leave here anyway," he says, shrugging. "I'd rather have a lot of good friends than a lot of money."

Wades deli workers Bobbi Conner and Tyler Myers greet Morris with smiles.

Myers, 26, is awed by Morris' generosity.

"You don't see people doing things like this," he says. "He doesn't ask for anything. It's just the goodness of his heart."

"I've known Wig for years," adds Conner. "They don't make them like him anymore. When my husband was living and doing road work, he used to take drinks to him."

"When do you have your break?" Morris asks the two. "Y'all go on out there and get you a drink."

At the supermarket checkout counter, Morris pulls a soft, brown leather wallet from his overalls and pays the clerk. He loads the drinks back in his shopping cart and shuffles out the door to his truck.

He lifts the cooler lid to restock the drinks he has given away but ice spills over the sides. An anonymous donor has filled the chest with cubes.

Morris appreciates that.

He knows that he, too, is appreciated by working folks thirsting for relief.

"I never have been run off anywhere I went," he says. "I never have dealt with one that didn't appreciate it. I hope I've helped a few people along the way."

Morris says the reason for his generosity is simple.

"I've been blessed myself. Not too many people come out of a stroke and still know who they are."

"The fact is," he adds, "we don't live in this world by ourselves."